It's Easier to Believe: Part 2/2 by Rachiraptor
Category: Story, Mulder/ Scully Romance, Humor
Rated: "R" for language and adult situations-mostly "PG-13"
Disclaimer: I don't own them…yadda-yadda…
Summary: As the targets of a new conspiracy, Mulder and Scully must admit their feelings for one another before time runs out.
All comments to: Rachiraptor@yahoo.com
Jacobs, Ross, and McKinze occupied a table along the parquet aisle leading to the dance floor and awards table. They had arrived early and had been taking full advantage of the open bar. The trio had been recounting embellished tales of their own heroism; congratulating themselves for their own deeds. Jacobs, who faced the entrance, stopped short in the middle of a joke involving a naked blond, a poodle, and a large salami. He craned his neck, squinted ahead and smiled.
"Finish the joke man." Ross demanded in his deep, ex-Marine voice.
Jacobs motioned to the door, a cocky grin plastered across his features.
"What?" the others asked impatiently.
Jacobs sat back in his seat and folded his hands behind his head. "Roll up your trousers, men."
"Huh?"
Jacobs continued in a poorly done British accent, "Iceberg! Right ahead! And she's headed for a melt down."
McKinze was momentarily confused, "Janet Reno?"
"Better," came Jacob's oily reply as he extended an index finger towards the doors.
McKinze and Ross swiveled around to behold the spectacle for themselves. "Holy Shit!" McKinze exclaimed.
"Man, I've seen everything now," mumbled Ross.
Jacobs, self satisfied, purred, "Pay-up gentlemen." He curled his fingers in a hasty gesture for the cash.
"Proves nothing," argued Ross.
Jacobs, not about to be talked out of his money, contended, "What do you need, a neon sign?"
McKinze quietly observed the scene in question. "I hate to break it to you guys, but I'm not sure that she's here with Mulder." McKinze raised a challenging glance to his compadres. "Looks to me boys like all prior bets are off. We appear to have another contender in the arena."
Ross and Jacobs watched as Agent Scully was accompanied to a table near the back of the room by a tall, attractive man with dark hair and fashionable glasses. The mystery man pulled her chair out for her then seated himself at her side. AD Skinner broke away from Mulder once they were inside, leaving Mulder hesitant and at a total loss of how to proceed.
Ross looked positively triumphant. "Are we agreed?"
The others nodded. Jacobs pulled a small note pad out of his pocket. A pen materialized in his hand. "Let the best man win."
*****
The tables had filled,as the time was now ten until eight. Mulder had two choices. He could sit with Scully and her "date", or he could sit with some of the more obnoxious guys from upstairs; really not much of a choice. If he sat with the rat pack, he knew that he'd be trying to slit his wrists with a butter knife within minutes. After one last resolute look at the empty chair at Scully's table, he stepped over and asked if the seat was taken.
Mike gestured to the empty chair, "Please join us, Fox."
Scully cringed then whispered into Mike's ear.
"Sorry. Mulder."
Mulder sat down in the chair next to Mike. So much for boy-girl-boy- girl, he thought resentfully. Mike sat with his arm draped around the back of Scully's chair. Mulder wanted to hack *it* off with a butter knife. This is what you wanted, Mulder's mind reprimanded the aggressive impulses that surged through his body. As the waiter delivered dinner rolls and salad, Mulder had an opportunity to size up the man seated to his left. Mike was being irritatingly polite to Scully, offering her this and that as they settled into the ritual of dinner. He was friendly, damn friendly, too damn friendly. Mulder half expected him to solicit life insurance over dessert. Mulder was unaware of conversational content exchanged between Scully and this, this guy. Mulder didn't trust Mike. His gut instinct told him that something was wrong here. This stranger was after something. It was Mulder's job to find out what that something was.
"So, what department did you say you were from?" Mulder interrupted.
Scully shot him a look of warning.
Mike rolled with it, "Microforensics and chemical analysis."
"I don't remember seeing you around before."
Mike supplied a prompt and concise reply. "I'm new."
Scully felt as though she were witnessing a tennis match taking place in the middle of the Spanish inquisition.
"From?" Mulder leaned into Mike's space.
"Texas by way of Michigan."
"And you are under?" Mulder cross-examined.
Scully tried to kick Mulder under the table, but her petite leg struck Mike's lanky leg instead.
"Ow."
"Sorry."
Mike supplied Mulder with, "I'm here to upgrade several of the forensics labs." Mike, tired of Mulder's inquest, tried to attend to his date. "Dana, do you work out of the labs here or at Quantico?"
Scully mentally thanked Mike for the change of subject, as she had been growing increasingly perturbed by Mulder's grilling of her date.
Scully, not Dana, you creep. *My* Scully, thought Mulder as he made an effort to bury his foul mood, portraying the quintessence of cool.
Scully gifted Mike with her full attention. "Both actually, and everywhere else it seems." Mike didn't quite follow, so she expanded her exposition. "We are frequently in remote areas on assignment and often have to make do with whatever is available."
Mike seemed genuinely interested, "Give me an example."
Scully leaned forward to include Mulder in the discourse. "An example. Hmm. Well, we discovered a prehistoric parasitic worm that caused homicidal tendencies in its host while we were trapped in an arctic research outpost." Mikes eyes grew larger in response to her statement.
Mulder chimed in, "That was nothing. She pieced together the remains of over fifty people in a small southern town and uncovered a cannibalistic cult." Mulder perked up and continued enthusiastically, "Once, we were exposed to a lethal agent that caused rapid aging. We were adrift on a ship on the North Sea. I was ready to attribute our condition to some type of Bermuda Triangle like phenomenon, but Scully's investigation, notes, and treatment recommendations were used to reverse the condition." Mulder's eyes shone with admiration. "I couldn't begin to count the number of times that her methodology and expertise saved our lives and the lives of many others."
Scully couldn't believe her ears. Does he mean what he is saying, she dared to hope, or is he just marking his territory? In that hallway, before the bee, he had told her that her work and her support of him mattered . She had been tempted to believe him, but in the months that had followed, she had come to the conclusion that Mulder only considered her to be a traveling companion, a secretary, a piece of lab equipment, and nothing more. Sure, he accepted her presence and her ability to take care of the grunt work, but sing her praises so convincingly to a total stranger? His approval meant so much to her. She needed to receive some kind of validation that she and the choices she had made in her life mattered. Mulder's words wrapped around her like a warm blanket in a cold world. We really need to work on our communication, thought Scully as Mulder stopped just long enough to take a breath.
Ten minutes later, Mulder was forced to desist with his accolades. Mike appeared to be somewhat relieved. Scully smiled knowingly at Mike's reaction. She was accustomed to Mulder's pressured speech and his bullet train of thought speeding down the axonial expressways of his mind. To a stranger however, Mulder's explosions of dialog were most likely to be perceived as quirky at best, at worst, as a sign that he needed to up the dose of his lithium or something. Scully knew the truth. Mulder's mind worked so much more quickly than the average person's. She suspected that his insomnia was also due in part to the rapidly flashing images collected by his eidetic memory that refused to power down even long after his eyes had closed.
Scully now found herself embroiled in one heck of an awkward situation. She took her complaints to the party responsible for this scenario, Could have listened to Mom, but no-ooo. Scully pictured herself on an ante-bellum plantation in a hoop skirt, surrounded by gentlemen callers. The mental picture was hilarious, to say the least. God, I miss Tara. She thought then stifled a giggle as she turned her attention back to the boys.
Mulder turned to face Scully, a devilish smile on his face.
Scully recognized the expression and whispered, "What?"
His eyes blazed a trail across the room and locked onto a certain congressman and his bodaciously built wife who was at least forty years his junior. Scully nonchalantly twisted her head to look then returned to meet Mulder's gaze. Mulder dipped his head and leaned across Mike. Scully did the same, expecting to receive a hushed acknowledgment about the members of the consortium or an alien presence nearby. He whispered into her ear and they split apart laughing. Scully swatted his arm in mock punishment then added, "No, I don't think that is what they mean by a 'congressional probe'".
The two continued to snicker until it dawned on Scully that she had just behaved very rudely to her date. Truth be told, for a moment, she had forgotten that she even had a date. Scully filled Mike in on the joke and received only a tight smile in response. After a long pregnant pause, Mike vied for Scully's attention with a joke of his own: "How many FBI agents does it take to change a light bulb?"
Scully gave a flat, "How many?"
"None," blurted Mike--enjoying his joke immensely. "They can't touch it unless the light bulb in question has been illegally transported across state lines." Mike cracked himself up.
Scully indulged Mike with a laugh. Mulder smirked then pounded the ball back to his court and began to set up the next shot. "Good one, but did you hear the one about the naked blonde, a poodle and a large Salami?"
Scully shook her head, amazed by what was taking place. They had been attempting to best one another for a good five minutes. She wondered how long the competition would continue before one of them whipped out a tape measure for the "who has the biggest penis" contest. Luckily, fate intervened. Steaming bowls of pasta with marinara sauce and baby shrimp were placed before them. Scully secretly hoped that both men would keep their mouths stuffed, thus effectively silencing the verbal sparing. "Gee, this sure looks good." Scully commented loudly enough for three other people on the other side of the table to look up.
Both men twirled the fettuccini onto their forks with skilled precision. Scully on-the-other-hand, struggled to capture the elusive noodles that were bobbing and weaving in her bowl. Mulder stole a glance in her direction and felt a warm smile beginning to spread across his features. How does she do that? he asked himself. One moment, she looks as cool as ice; one moment she looks hot enough to burn the sun, and the next moment, she is the epitome of all that is warm, fuzzy, and cute. Mulder's perusal of her angelic face revealed one minute flaw that warranted immediate attention. Suddenly, Mulder had to get closer to her.
Mulder surreptitiously watched Mike and waited. Mike spun his fork and lifted another hefty delivery of Italian flavor to his mouth. "Ah- Choo!" Mulder sneezed and "inadvertently" jolted Mike's arm, sending a load of crimson covered pasta down to splatter onto the virgin white cotton of his starched tuxedo shirt.
Mike groaned and picked up the dripping pasta, returning it to his plate. As he inspected the large stain, Scully noticed that his face was turning red. His friendly demeanor metamorphosed before their eyes. "Shit! Why don't you watch what you're friggin' doing, you moron!" Mike dabbed at his shirt with a dampened napkin, becoming more irate by the second.
Mulder and Scully exchanged a look to confirm the other's suspicions that they were indeed seeing an unusual display, grossly disproportionate to the circumstance at hand. Scully lowered her voice and began to speak to Mike in a voice that Mulder had come to think of as her concerned, almost maternal, you're-only-embarrassing-yourself-here voice. "Mike, why don't you get some club soda from the bar. It might come out if you go ahead and rinse it right away."
Mike remembered where he was and who he was supposed to be. His entire affect changed back into the laid-back, good-natured Dr. Mike. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry about that. I think that I must be wound a little too tightly after today's testing errors." He smiled, looking at Scully to ascertain whether or not she was buying the act.
Scully let out a breath and returned a reassuring smile--the false kind of smile given to Mulder whenever she lied that she was "fine". Mulder's mind flashed on several previous assignments and decided that she could have a limb chewed off and be bleeding out of her eyeballs, and she would still present that smile as a demonstration of how "fine" she was.
Her hesitant expression and tone were interpreted by Mike who decided that a temporary retreat sounded like a good idea. He hastily excused himself from the table.
Mulder cut his eyes to Mike's retreating figure then back to Scully. "Nice guy." The sarcasm-o-meter was off of the scale. "Where did you meet him again?"
Scully's defenses went up. Her brows raised to her hairline. There was a definite look of warning returning to her eyes.
Mulder decided to stand down, for the moment. "Come over here," Mulder commanded. Scully didn't budge. Mulder tried again, this time in a hushed tone akin to seduction and all things secret. "Scoot over for minute. I don't bite." A slow, lazy grin formed on his mouth, and he said even more quietly, "Well, not hard anyway."
She hated when he used that voice. Well, all right, she loved the voice and that half-lidded bedroom look that he seemed to be able to turn on and off like a light switch. What she hated was the fact that it still worked on her. You'd think that after all these years, that I'd be immune, she pondered. He had more weapons in his arsenal, all of which she was vulnerable to in varying degrees. Therefore, she chose to comply, lest he bring out the big guns.
She slid over into the center seat, leaned a fraction towards Mulder, and asked, "Yes?" Scully expected shop talk, a lecture about dating safety, or some implicating remark about showing up with another guy. Scully did not expect what Mulder did next
Mulder's eyes moved to her lips and his hand stretched up to her face. Scully's calm facade barely obscured the quickening of her pulse. With the pad of his thumb, he brushed the corner of her mouth.
Scully's thoughts tumbled over one another, jumbled and barely coherent. In the space of less than a second, she thought: What is he doing? He's going to kiss me. Not here. Not now. Oh well, I don't even care anymore. God, he's touching my lip. Tingles. Back away. Give into it. Crack a joke. Avert your eyes. Oh, his eyes are incredible. I love them when they're dark green with golden red star burst around the pupils. People are probably looking. Forget them. They can get their own Mulder. My date will be back any second. What was his name? And I should care because...? Why is Mulder smiling at me and pulling his hand away?
Mulder held Scully captive with his eyes, momentarily forgetting his previous promises sworn to himself and the fact that they were currently surrounded by over a thousand colleagues. He brought his thumb, now covered with a droplet of marinara sauce to his lips and slurped away the sauce.
Years before, they had been eating barbecue in some rinky-dink town, and he had reached across the table and wiped away a renegade drop of sauce from her chin with his napkin. She had been younger then. It had taken place shortly after her abduction. Mulder seemed to have had a stronger need to protect her then, treating her with special care. She remembered that evening, and how although they were on assignment, it had felt more like she was on the date than just the usual quick stop to re-fuel and to discuss their latest case. Years ago, she had averted her eyes self- consciously then dared to gaze up at him shyly, a rosy blush on her cheeks. Now, as a more mature woman who could honestly say that she had seen just about everything and rarely exposed more than the slightest hint of reaction, she averted her eyes self consciously then dared to gaze up at him shyly, a rosy blush on her cheeks.
Mulder's heart slammed against his ribs. He too recalled their previous close encounter with fond nostalgia. But what really got to him was that, for a moment, he had seen the exact same bashfully radiant look upon her face as if they existed in a bubble unaffected by time and space. The perfection of the moment stole his breath away.
The bubble had burst all too soon when Scully noticed a flurry of activity and an increase in volume from across the room. "What was that?" Scully asked, once again in complete control of her faculties.
Mulder turned to look. "Probably a dirty joke fest if Jacobs is involved."
Scully shrugged in agreement.
Meanwhile, Jacobs' hand had begun to cramp as business was beginning to pick up. Money literally changed hands under the table. Ross kept lookout, perspiration beading on his forehead at the risk of getting caught. Harmless bets between a couple of buddies were fine, but word had spread and the wagering was increasing by the minute. So far there were fifteen bets for Mulder, five for the new guy, one insisting that the iron maiden wouldn't succumb to either, and McKinze had just added seven to two odds that Mulder and Scully would lock lips right there in the ballroom.
Scully willed herself to relax, "So what did you want to say?"
Mulder leaned closer and waggled his eyebrows like a comic book Valentino. "Is your pasta al dente?"
Her eyes rolled, and she petitioned him to come clean, "Muul-Deerr".
"Okay-okay," Mulder put his hands up in surrender, "I took the projector and one of the gun crates to the Lone Gunmen this afternoon."
"And?"
"And nothing." Mulder shook his head at yet another mystery slipping through his fingers. "Frohike and Langly went over every millimeter of the projector. It's a common video projector set to loop the image we witnessed last night. Oh, you'll love this. The ghost appeared to be three-dimensional because a trough of dry ice was positioned overhead, constantly being doused by two IV bags set to drip at steady intervals. I pulled the foam out of the trapped door and inspected it for prints."
Scully interrupted, "Find any?"
"None. Whoever pulled this off knew what they were doing. Mulder had her rapt attention now. "Before you ask, no hair or fibers were found other than the ones from your coat along with a six inch strand of red hair and three broken fingernails." Mulder look down at her nails which had been recently filed shorter than usual and polished to perfection. "Manicure today, Scully?" Scully quickly tucked her nails into her palm. "You're a lousy criminal, you know?" Mulder took her hand in his and ran his thumb over the backs of her smooth nails. "You skipped out of work to get a manicure?"
Scully snatched her hand back. "I didn't *skip-out* of work. I took a personal day." Thinking back on that morning, she felt her anger beginning to re-surface.
Mulder must have sensed it also. He hadn't meant to insult her. The unease of the moment prompted him to say what he had really been wanting to say all evening. "Well if your needing a personal day was responsible for this," his eyes leisurely roamed over her body then returned to meet her gaze, "then I'm in favor of it. I've never seen you look more beautiful that you do tonight."
The flush on Scully's cheeks deepened, and she was temporarily at a loss for what to say. She could take his double-entendres, playful leers, and innuendoes in stride, but sincerity rendered her motionless.
Mulder hadn't meant to be so bold. Mulder hadn't meant to say that at all. Now you've done it. She may never come close to you again. Mulder thought while taking in her stunned silence; her open mouth, her eyes wide and starring. Well, at least you won't have to push her away anymore. She's liable to run from you on her own initiative. That's what you wanted, right? Mulder swallowed hard, and again his mind uttered a quiet but powerful, No. Mulder fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, wishing desperately that he had a time machine.
Scully spoke a scarcely audible, "Thanks, Mulder."
As seconds passed, neither one of them spoke. Scully finally said something, "I think that I should switch places again. Mike probably won't appreciate the change in seating arrangement."
"You think that he'll throw another hissy fit?" Mulder winked. "Or, are you just trying to get away from me?"
Scully took the bait. "Yes."
"Aw come on, if you don't sit next to me, who's going to help me stay awake for the awards ceremony?" Mulder playfully laid his cheek upon her shoulder and delivered his patented poor-little-puppy-dog look.
"Oh no," Scully shook her head from side to side. "Don't even think about it." Truth be told, Scully would've been happy to have Mulder's head resting against her shoulder for the remainder of the evening. However, she was at an official function of the Bureau, in full view of her colleagues, and she had come to this affair with another man. She also took a moment to remind herself that had Mulder not been acting so strange and extra self-indulgent lately, she would have never resorted to asking a complete stranger to bring her to this dance.
"Scullllllyyyyy.....pleeeeeeaaase," he begged shamelessly.
"Uh-uh Mister," Scully tried with little success to gently pry Mulder's head away from her arm. "You made your bed, now lie in it."
Mulder moved his lips a little closer to her ear and countered, "Only if you join me."
"In your dreams..."
"My better ones anyway," Mulder lulled, his hot breath against her collar.
When Mulder decided to flirt, he went all out. The trouble was, Scully was never certain whether he was in earnest or in jest. Regardless of his intent, now was not the time nor the place to call his bluff. So, she settled instead for poking her index finger into Mulder's temple.
"Ow, Scully, what did you do that for?"
"I tried being nice," Scully explained sweetly, "but you wouldn't budge." Scully blew on the tip of her index finger as though she were blowing the smoke away from the barrel of an imaginary gun. "That always worked on my brothers during long car trips." Scully grinned wickedly without a speck of remorse. "Nobody ever fell asleep on this little sister in the back seat." Thoroughly pleased with herself, she holstered the "gun" and started back to her seat. Scully chanced a look at Mulder who was preparing some lewd retort about her being in a back seat., and stopped him in his tracks. "Don't even..."
Mulder held her forearm to prevent her from moving. He then turned his head in the direction of the main stage area and pointed. "Hey Scully, look over there." Scully turned her head to look, while Mulder took the opportunity to reach across and exchange Mike's place settings with hers. By the time he had completed his less than covert operation, Scully had turned to face him with hands on her hips and the look on her face.
"Cute, Mulder. Now put them back." Mulder sat defiantly and refused to cooperate. Scully made no serious attempt to rectify the situation. Rather, she continued to play the game a little while longer, her date all but forgotten. Sometimes on occasions like these, when they disagreed over silly and frivolous things, she would get the insane impulse to plant a quick kiss square on his mouth, just to see if she could confuse him enough to give up and let her have her way. Not that she would ever act on such a crazy notion.
Mike chose that very same moment to return. He stopped behind the chairs, pausing before seating himself on the other side of Dana. If he was annoyed in any way, it didn't show. Scully turned her attention back to her date, inquiring about his luck at removing the stain. Scully laughed at some comment whispered into her ear.
Mulder watched the two of them from the corner of his eye. Mike's fingers cupped Scully's shoulder. Mulder thought seriously for a moment about leaning down and biting off the offensive digits. Maybe he was just over protective. Maybe he was just jealous. All Mulder knew was that something didn't add up about this guy.
A battalion of waiters appeared with trays full of turtle cheesecake. Supper dishes were cleared efficiently, and wonderful plates of creamy confection were placed before each guest. After the waiters retreated, the lights dimmed in preparation for the awards presentations.
An hour later Mulder awoke to the feeling of Scully's three-inch heel jabbing at his foot. He was relieved that he had slept through the entire ceremony. Typically, the upper echelon and brown-nosed usurpers were the only ones who benefited from dog and pony shows like these. Now that the ceremony was over the lights dimmed further still and a reflected shimmer originating from the center of the dance floor swam around the room, bathing everything and everyone in swirling bands of starlight. The musicians began with a few watered-down selections of popular music. By the time they began their fifth piece, an instrumental version of "Careless Whispers", the dance floor had begun to fill. After agonizing minutes of internal debate, Mulder had finally worked up the courage to ask Scully for a dance, but he was too late. Mulder watched as Mike guided Scully to the dance floor, Mike's hand touching her bare back as he maneuvered her effortlessly around the floor. Who is this guy? Mulder asked himself, Arthur Murry? Scully twirled away from Mike then back into his embrace before being dipped deeply in perfect sync with the music.
Mulder eyed Mike with thinly disguised contempt. His mind replayed the scene from earlier in the evening when Dr. Mike had given his best Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde impersonation. The thought of another man's hands on Scully angered Mulder. It reminded him of how he had felt when he had learned of Scully's seedy encounter with Ed Jerse and that damned tattoo forever marring her otherwise flawless skin. Mulder had always felt responsible for that particular episode. Maybe it was simply a byproduct of his egocentrism--always having to be an integral part of every situation, but Mulder had come to believe that, had he listened to his partner, cared for her needs better, that she would have never gone looking for fulfillment and rebellion in the form of a tall, dark, total stranger. That stranger, in a heightened state of psychosis, had beaten and almost killed his beloved. Mulder was not about to let anything like that happen again.
Since Mike hadn't been very forthcoming with information about himself, and since Scully wasn't likely to tolerate any further interrogation of her dinner guest, Mulder took it upon himself to do a little investigating on his own. He unfolded a clean dinner napkin and wrapped it around Mike's empty drinking glass, then slipped the goblet into his pocket and headed for the door. Mulder thought that he heard a surprised gasp and saw the flash of money being exchanged out of the corner of his eye as he reached for the exit.
Scully suppressed an ever-increasing wave of nausea as she was spun for the hundredth time back into the predatory clutches of Dr. Mike Adams. She was uncertain of whether the sick feeling was in response to Mike's tobacco-ripe breath, his escalating campaign to invade her personal space, her guilt over being with another man within Mulder's sight, or just plain old motion sickness. Scully stiff-armed her date in a futile effort to recapture a few inches of freedom. His stale breath fell upon her in repulsive puffs as Mike suggested that she go out with him for some coffee or something after this "shindig" came to a close. What a no-brainer, Scully thought caustically. She may have been originally taken in by his innocent act, but it had become increasingly apparent to her that she had picked up a weirdo. The song ended, and she sighed in relief. Maybe she and Mulder could get that telepathic partner thing going when she returned to their table. If she were lucky, maybe Mulder would run interference for her, save her from another dance with Dr. Strangelove here. Maybe, she dared to hope, Mulder would ask her to dance, purely as a friendly gesture. And maybe he will pass you a note in study hall, her inner voice censured. Grow up, Dana.
As Scully approached her table her heart sank. Mulder had left. Why should that surprise you? It's been over twelve hours since the last time he took off without you, she acquiesced. Unfortunately, she felt a stab of sadness rather than a resurgence of her prior anger as she contemplated the possibility that Mulder had been bothered by her relationship--if you could call it that--with Mike.
Maybe I'm being too hard on Mike. That shirt was probably expensive and he has been treating me well. Scully rebuked herself for instantly dismissing Mike's company simply because he danced too closely for her comfort and had a bit of a temper. Compared to Mulder, Mike comes across as fairly mild. Compared to Mulder, Mike is attentive and sensitive. Compared to Mulder, no other man alive stood a chance, and she knew it. So, where did he run off to this time?
The band broke out in its version of "Jump, Jive and Wail". Mike stood and offered his hand to Scully. "I love to Swing Dance. What do you say?"
Who is this guy, Arthur Murry? Scully questioned and begged out of dancing with the ever popular, "I'd love to but these new shoes are killing me" excuse.
Mike accepted her refusal grudgingly and sank into a nearby chair. Scully busied herself by thinking up a plan to get out of any more "fun" with Mike. Now that Mulder had left the party, she didn't see any point in hanging around. She couldn't help it. He could be a complete ass at times, yet her loyalty and friendship never waned. She didn't want to miss him. She just did.
Just as Scully was about to call it a night, Mike's breast pocket began to ring. "Oh, be right back." He made his way to the exit as though he was escaping a burning building.
You have a gift Dana, given that men just can't seem to leave you fast enough. A few minutes later, Scully was growing increasingly impatient. Mike hadn't returned quickly as promised. For a woman who had gathered more male attention earlier in the evening than she knew what to do with, she felt alone and vulnerable as she sat at her empty table, toying absently with the centerpiece. After another five minutes, Scully had gone from feeling vulnerable to feeling down right naked. Time to leave, party girl. Maybe Dr. Mike has ditched you too, Scully thought but refused to give into the self-pity that threatened to overtake her. To save herself from unwanted conjecture from the peanut gallery, she palmed her evening bag and stood to leave.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jacobs, Ross, and McKinze were beginning to realize that they were looking at a rainout as far as bets were concerned. It should have occurred to more than one of them that Agent Scully might go home alone, but it hadn't. They had apparently been fooled by her appearance tonight in conjunction with her choice of two men in such proximity. Jacob's let out a huff of resignation and began to tally the damage. Ross was just happy that no one had been caught gambling less than one hundred feet from the Attorney General. Unfortunately, the thirty- seven participants in the pool weren't as glad to forfeit the game so quickly. Jacobs was doing his best to smooth feathers.
*****
Mulder clinched his jaw as he ascended the stairs to the lobby of the hotel. He had to get to Scully before she was in true danger. As he reached to push the revolving door to enter, he caught the scent of cigarette smoke on the wind. Something about it's particular aroma made his blood run cold. A smoldering cigarette butt lay on the pavement, and upon closer inspection, Mulder discovered that it was the same brand as that smoked by Cancer Man. Mulder looked around and spotted a faint trail of fresh smoke coming from a recess in the outer wall behind a potted tree. Mulder eased his way closer and peered cautiously around the corner, expecting to see the last man on Earth that he would ever trust. He had been wrong, but only by degrees.
Dr. Adams sucked on the Morley smoke, and whispered harshly into the phone. "No, but I'm working on it. I've won her trust. It's only a matter of time before you'll get what you want...Yeah, well, by reputation, I'm surprised he stuck around for as long as he did......No, but in the process I can't say that I haven't enjoyed getting closer to this supposed Ice Queen of the FBI......Yes, I know what you want, and you'll get it. I've got to go. She may be getting suspicious by now."
Mulder rushed inside before he could have been spotted and made a beeline for the ballroom. He entered in time to see Scully begin to collect her belongings and stand. The last thing that Mulder wanted was to allow Mike to intercept Scully in the foyer. Preoccupied by the hem of the gown caught on her heel, she didn't see Mulder enter the room.
An electric pulse shot through her, originating at the small of her back in response to the large, warm hand of one Fox W. Mulder. Scully tried to turn in his direction only to be halted by his other hand encircling her shoulder. He bent down, brushing his cheek along her hair and murmured, "Can I have this dance?"
Scully wanted to know where Mulder had gone and why he had decided to return. He promised answers if she followed him. A part of her brain observed that the rumor mill would spin out of control if she danced with Mulder. She looked helplessly at the door and inadvertently made eye contact with Mike, back from his sabbatical no doubt. Mulder leaned to her ear again, "Come on, Cinderella." In the end, she was spared any decision trauma as she had instantaneously been stricken with a complete loss of higher brain function. Every molecule of her being focused on the sound of his voice and the energy being transduced through her cool skin and into her body via his strong steady hands on her bare skin. Mulder had touched her back and shoulders thousands of times, but never like this. She drifted along the path to the dance floor, a weightless extension of Mulder's arms.
The band wound down a jazzy number then went silent. The pianist was joined by a young man with a saxophone. All of the other musicians stilled in preparation for the duet. The pianist played four solitary chords, filling the room with haunting vibrations that called to the hearts of every unrequited lover within its reach. Rich, deep tones from the saxophone melted into the tune, providing a melody that had surely been composed for the lost, the love lorn, and the hopelessly hopeful of the world.
Mulder enfolded Scully into his embrace and waltzed her around the floor. The dim light accentuated the fire in her hair, and Mulder couldn't get enough of the sight of her. His thumb stroked her back. Mulder had lost what he had intended to tell her. Lost.
Scully felt nervous as her body waged war with her mind. Mulder's arms felt so good around her. They conjured up the memory of the time when he held her to his chest and bent to kiss her. She could still feel it, the anticipation, the inability to stop it, the disappointment as she twisted her head to the side abruptly because of that damn bee that had almost taken her life. More importantly, it had cost her the one time opportunity to experience Mulder's kiss. It had probably been for the best, she lied to herself. Her partnership depended upon maintaining a professional association with Mulder. Yeah, like things have been going so smoothly since then, her mind pointed out. Regardless, Scully struggled inwardly against the need to be held by him. His heartbeat called to her like a siren's song. It would be so incredibly easy to close the gap between them and to lean into his frame. So, so easy.
A collective sigh emanated from most of the women watching the floorshow from the "Pro-Mulder" table.
Scully's sense of self-preservation alerted her to the potential disaster presented by their current situation. Her mind was becoming acutely aware of the fact that they were most likely being watched. As a woman in a man's field, protecting her reputation and career had always been priorities. If she were to slip up here and now...
Still, the look in his eyes made her knees weaken and hushed the opposing views from within. Game over. The impulse to rest in his arms could no longer be resisted. Mulder hugged her close to his chest. Both of his hands caressed her bare back as he abandoned the waltz in favor of smaller steps taken near in the center of the floor. Somehow, ballroom- style dancing and the intimacy of the moment seemed incongruent.
Mulder's eyes fell upon her upturned mouth, the ruby softness of her lips tempting him. To prevent himself from stealing a kiss and possibly embarrassing Scully, he squeezed her closer still, resting his forehead gently upon her temple. Scully didn't resist, her small, soft body melding into the hard planes of Mulder's chest as he clasped her to him. She adjusted her head slightly against his, and he took the movement as an unspoken invitation to kiss her.
Mulder pulled away the merest fraction, looking for confirmation. And, as much as she wanted to protect her heart and her pride, she was powerless to keep her need for him out of her eyes. Mulder began his descent. Scully's heart beat wildly. His mouth closed from a mere three inches away. He had never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life. Her arms slid around his neck and "WHAM!" McKinze fell backwards out of his chair.
Mulder and Scully jumped guiltily apart. A roar of laughter mixed with muffled exclamations of reproach rose up from the general vicinity of Jacob's table. At least the attention wasn't on us, Scully thought thankfully. Disappointed but pragmatic as always, she took the distraction as a chance to compose herself then redirected Mulder, "So, what did you want to tell me?"
For Mulder, the urge to kill had never been stronger. He quelled his anger by rationalizing that McKinze had most likely saved Scully's and his working relationship given that fraternization between partners was definitely an official no-no. Mulder refocused on the mission at hand. "So, when *did* you meet this Mike character?" He was unable to keep his voice free of disdain.
"Excuse me?" Surely Mulder wasn't going to do this here? Now?
Mulder didn't attempt to clarify his words, opting instead to get straight to the point. "I did some checking on your Dr. Adams. There is no record of him at the Bureau as an agent, a contractor, a janitor, nothing. I took his glass, checked the prints, and..."
Scully interrupted, "You did what?" Scully felt as if the world had suddenly tilted 180 degrees as she had gone from absolute bliss to defensive rage in the matter of a few moments. A haze of red began to blur her vision. The pounding in her ears made it challenging to hear his response.
Oblivious to the fury building in front of him, Mulder continued, "Checked his prints. Nothing. This guy doesn't exist anywhere in the system." He spoke quickly, eager to tell her of his valiant detective work. "Oh, when I came back in, he was smoking Morleys and speaking about you cryptically into his cell phone." Mulder draped a protective arm around her shoulders as if to bring her into his confidence. "I think that you should stay away from him, Scully. He's trouble, maybe even a plant from the consortium or someone trying to exact revenge on us from a previous conviction. Anyway, I just wanted you to be on the up and up. Meanwhile, I'll keep digging to see what I can find." Thoroughly pleased with himself for preventing Scully from making a dangerous mistake, Mulder completely missed her thinning lips and cold glare.
"Come with me, please." Scully put her hand up to block him from responding. "Honest to God Mulder, one sexual wise-crack out of you, and I'll deck you so hard that your great grand children will feel it."
By now, Mulder had concluded that she was a little upset. Probably just relieved to avoid another close call, he reflected as he was led out into the hallway and then into an adjacent empty lounge. Nothing had prepared him for the daggers in her eyes when she turned.
Scully paced in front of him, muttering to herself briefly before turning directly on him. She began to speak with a low and quiet force that scared him to death. "Tell me Mulder, at which point during the evening did you decide to treat my date like a suspect?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "Let me guess, two seconds after you met him, right?"
"Oh, that's gratitude for you. I keep you from making another mistake, and you chew me out." Mulder rapidly exchanged confusion for indignation.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Afraid that I might decide to have a life, or is it my judgment in general that is in question?" Scully saw the lock slide open to the place where she had packed away all of her pain and frustration over the past five years. It was too late to shove them back inside. Her voice wanted to crack and crumble into pieces only to be swept away by her angry tears, but she refused to fall apart now.
"Hey, your track record with men isn't exactly stellar, you know? I mean, for all you know, this guy could be a serial killer." Mulder stood his ground.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Scully spat sarcastically. "I wasn't aware that I had to submit any potential dates for your approval. God knows Mulder, no one could ever measure up to your standards when it comes to scoring dates. I mean, you waited all of what, thirty seconds before going down on a suspect, a police chief, a self admitted vampire, that English bitch, the bug doctor...shall I continue?" Scully dropped her gaze to the floor as white-hot pain tore through her body at the memory of Mulder's conquests.
"So what? This is about jealousy? Did you pick up Mike--if that really is his name--just to get me back for not asking you to this friggin' dance?"
Hurt pride propelled Scully to say what she had been thinking on many occasions since they had begun to work together. "Of course Mulder, isn't everything about you? I mean, my entire purpose for being is to clean up your messes, take your phone messages, go with you whenever and wherever simply out of my undying allegiance to you. And if that wasn't enough, apparently I'm supposed to remain chaste and available, as monument to my loyalty, while you parade your whores in front of me without a second thought. On the few occasions that I slipped up and decided to have a moment of my life that didn't revolve solely around you, you wait and watch for the perfect opportunity to come charging in to say, 'I told you so'."
"Well, I never had to wait and watch for long, did I?" Mulder lashed. "Let's see now, there was Eddie the shape shifting serial rapist who had you practically falling over with your legs in the air. And my favorite, Ed Jerse the tattooed, psychopathic barfly that you *literally* picked up on a street corner. You came back with a tattoo and several contusions as souvenirs from that little trek as I remember. So don't stand there with that holier-than-thou attitude and lecture me about whoring!" Mulder recoiled, horrified by what he had just said, the stricken look on her face more than he could bear. If she cried, he would go down upon his knees and beg for forgiveness for what he had just called her.
Her mouth clamped shut to stifle the sob brought forth by one of the most painful moments in her life. With unshed tears standing in her eyes, and a heart full of scorn, she wanted to hurt him back. "You think I'm stupid? I came in my own car. I haven't been drinking. And yes, I figured out on my own that Mike should be avoided, and all of that, without your self-deluded assistance, thank you very much." Scully turned to leave then looked back, a tear streaking down her face. "And another thing Mulder," she rasped, "I only got that stupid snake chasing its tail tattoo because I was drunk, lonely, and pissed off about the repetitive futility that has reigned supreme in my life since the day I first met YOU!" The world dissolved around Scully into blurred streams of bleeding color as she all but ran away.
Mulder stood in stunned silence, the process of numbing disassociation already in progress. It was as if all of his strength had been siphoned away, and his mind intentionally blocked any coherent thought or plan of action that could be summoned. He fell backwards onto the rounded lounge sofa and hung his head.
McKinze stepped back so as not to be caught spying. He had been sent out into the hallway to verify that Mulder had won. It seemed an unnecessary formality given what he had seen in the ballroom before he tumped over onto the floor.
McKinze couldn't really say that he knew either Agent Mulder or Agent Scully personally. Everyone knew of them. Despite the lack of respect given to them by virtue of the nature of their work, most agreed-- whether they wanted to or not--that the pair was unbeatable in terms of profiling and resolving cases. McKinze had always felt that the resentment and teasing of the agents was most likely a product of bruised male egos on the behalf of Agent Scully and envy regarding the loyalty they had towards each other and towards their work. Even though he'd never been an actual friend to either of them, McKinze felt as though he had just witnessed the final act in a tragedy of gigantic proportions. The dissolution of a close friendship and, he suspected, the breaking of two hearts was never an easy thing to watch.
McKinze returned to the table and delivered the solitary statement that Mulder did not leave with Agent Scully. He felt as though he somehow owed it to them not to report on what had befallen the couple. Reactions were varied. Payments were exchanged. Janet Reno's personal assistant, Kevin, commented that the mood of the festivities now seemed about as upbeat as a homecoming dance after the home team had gotten its ass kicked. With the party winding down anyway, the crowd began to disband and leave for home.
Some time later, Mulder tugged his bow tie loose and ambled back into the main hall, heading for the door. Someone thumped him hard on the shoulder, and he spun around to see who was bothering him now. Attorney General Reno scowled at him and, with a disapproving shake of her head, informed him that he owed her twenty dollars. Ms. Reno left a befuddled Mulder in her wake, and Kevin chuckling after her.
"What the???" Whatever, he thought. Mulder couldn't get back to his apartment fast enough.
*****
Fiery liquid seared its way down Mulder's throat and chest, the burning sensation replacing the aching in his heart for a few seconds only. Light from the fish tank provided the only illumination in his apartment, casting its long, rippling shadows over the living room; the stretching light like fingers in search of something elusive.
It was over. It was over.
Every word, every vision from that evening replayed relentlessly in his mind; her words still ringing in his ears. He had been right. She *had* regretted ever meeting him, working with him, everything that had happened. She had lied to him. The only truth that he had ever been sure of, and she had lied to him.
I don't need her. She saved me the trouble, he thought, feeling as though he had been wronged. If that was the way she felt, then he was glad to be rid of her. For all he knew, she could have been a spy after all. She had me convinced of her loyalty and friendship. Hell, I was stupid enough to have believed that maybe she felt...that she was in...Shit. Screw her! Anger flooded through him. Mulder rubbed his bleary eyes while nurturing the hostility growing in his breast. I was right. She couldn't wait to walk out on me, stuck around all of this time just to mess with my head, the bitch. I wonder why she waited this long. Mulder slammed another shot and pitched the glass against the wall sending shards scattering across the hardwood floor.
Mulder buried his face in his hands and waited for the tequila to go to his head. It was then that he detected something peculiar. Scully's scent, the one he had secretly enjoyed over the duration of their partnership, clung to his hand from their dance earlier. But instead of the excitement and the peace typically derived from catching a trace of her scent on the wind, Mulder thought that there was something disturbing about the sweetness of the aroma. A foreign fragrance exacted its influence by attempting to conceal Scully's own heavenly redolence. In comparison to Scully, the perfume seemed stale and acrid, yet there was something familiar about it. Mulder inhaled deeply and opened his mind in a sort of free-floating association in an attempt to unlock memories and form connections. Mulder's mind did not disappoint, although a part of him wished that it had.
The memory of a small town under the tyranny of two teenage witches slid into focus. They had been called in by a local police detective to assist with an investigation. Mulder was still unclear as to why he and Scully had behaved as badly to one another as they had. The universe itself had seemed on edge that week.
Basically, Mulder had behaved like a perfect ass. He had demonstrated the audacity to announce to all present at a suspect's interrogation that *someone* in the room was wearing his favorite perfume. He had unceremoniously sniffed Scully's neck before deciding that the leggy, blonde detective in the room was the lucky winner. Later that day, Scully had walked in on him and saw that same detective straddling his thighs. Even though he had truly been trying to get away from the overly aggressive blonde's grasp--out of loyalty to Scully--it had to have looked as if he had been "going down" on Detective White from Scully's perspective.
However, Scully's unfavorable assessment of his indiscretions hadn't been totally unfounded. During his association with an entomologist named Dr. Bambi--the kind of name one would expect to see in the title of one of Mulder's *special* movies--he had been unthoughtful and crass towards Scully. Even so, if his brief liaisons with Dr. Bambi, Detective White, Phoebe Green and a few others over the years had proven anything, it was that no woman in his arms could ever compare to Scully in his heart, and he had unjustly resented her for it. The knowledge that his feelings could never come to fruition frustrated him to the point of anger. After all, it was surely easier to agitate and to vex Scully than to have remained foolishly optimistic about a relationship with her that most probably existed solely in his head.
That argument may have alleviated some of his feelings of guilt at one time, but now he experienced that guilt returning to him ten fold. He wished that he possessed the ability to blot the betrayals, perceived or otherwise, from existence. The trouble was, apparently Scully hadn't forgotten, and he had never felt as low as he did now.
Scully had come to the banquet earlier that night wearing the very same perfume previously in question. Even after he had rejected her, she had come to him wearing what she thought he would like best. The act humbled him. As they had danced, he discovered that he had been unable to discourage his draw towards her. Holding her close amidst the crackling current surrounding them, he found that he had wanted and wanted and wanted her with every fiber of his being. He could have cared less about the scrutiny that they had most likely been receiving. She was the only thing in his universe. They were gravitational bodies. He stood no greater chance of escaping her pull than the Earth stood in breaking away from the blazing sun. And he found that he had simply wanted and wanted and wanted her.
The cocktail of endorphins pumping through his body had loosened his inhibitions. Thought had fled, the all-encompassing attraction irresistible. Unfortunately, thanks to the loud clatter of McKinze's chair hitting the parquet, they had thought it necessary to relinquish each other's grasp in retreat.
For the first time in a long while, Mulder stepped outside of himself and began to see things from a new perspective. Scully must be thinking that the only reason that he had condescended to dance with her in the first place, was merely to discuss his latest "case" regarding her date. From her vantage point, he had as much as said that he wasn't interested in her socially despite their apparent closeness, that she wasn't even close to being his type, that she had perpetually lousy judgment when it came to the few men she had gone out with in almost six years; and that although she was the first person he would almost always run to when he needed something, he chose to look elsewhere when what he needed was a woman.
Mulder had been so busy trying to stay away from her lately that he had ceased to consider his reasons for doing so. Now, faced with a future that didn't include Scully, his heart suffered the burden that he had forced her out of his life hurting her deeply in the process.
Mulder stared at the phone for a good five minutes as he tried to compose his thoughts into spoken language and, for the second time that night, found that he couldn't. He slumped against the worn leather of his couch wanting nothing more than to undo what he had done that night.
There was a knock on the door. Mulder stood and looked quizzically at the clock that read 2:31 am. He opened the door to find the only woman he would ever love standing in the hallway. Her hair was damp and she looked pensive, reluctant to intrude into Mulder's domicile. He offered to take her trench coat, but she refused. Mulder moved to the back of his living room and into his comfort zone, willing the words that he needed to say into existence, but they adamantly refused to cooperate.
Scully experienced the same aphasia, her voice trapped beneath a deluge of tears waiting only for her first syllable to begin their downpour. His image swam before her as he turned to face her with his own tears standing in his eyes. He opened his arms to her, and she rushed into his embrace. "I'm sorry," tumbled from his lips.
"I'm sorry, too," she managed to choke out.
No other words were needed as they fell into one another. Mulder kissed away each tear and held her as closely as he could. He traced the shell of her perfect ear and down the column of her neck. She shivered in response to his hands on her body and also because the coat around her had become cold and wet on her way to Mulder, she supposed, unable to recall the details. His hands dropped to her chest as he unfastened her coat. There was nothing accidental about his touch this time as he pushed the jacket from her shoulders and kissed a patch of pale skin where her shoulder met her neck. Scully felt Mulder stepping back slightly as he took in her dress or lack there of. She was clad in a forest green slip of a nightgown that hugged her body in all of the right places. It's shimmering satin begged to be touched. Mulder smiled his gratitude, and then, with his index finger, he lightly tilted her face up to meet his as he descended upon her waiting lips.
There was nothing sweeter in the world than that kiss.
The rush he felt gave him the courage to finally say aloud the words that he had never said to anyone, even to himself. "I love you."
Scully broke away from his kiss to look him in the eye. She wanted desperately to tell him of her feelings for him, "Mulder, I love you too." Her heart soared. She Soared. Higher and higher she flew, the weight of her secret no longer holding her down. She opened her eyes when she heard Mulder calling after her. She could no longer see him. "Mulder!" she cried. "Mulder!" She lost her bearings as she felt herself being carried across some invisible land. "Mulder! I'm here. Mulder! Don't leave me. Mulder!?"
The sound of her voice evaporated as Mulder watched his worst nightmare coming true. Their admissions of love had caused a rift, breaking them apart with an unearthly power and taking her away from him. He could do nothing but watch her drift further and further away.
Mulder woke-up with a start, his brow glistening with perspiration. His mouth still feeling and tasting hers as he recalled the dream that had felt so real. "If only it were that simple," he said to himself. Maybe she felt that way now, maybe she didn't. Either way, the tatters of their joint careers and relationship had already received irreconcilable damage from earlier that evening. Either way, he wasn't about to go over to Scully's apartment and confess his love for her. No good could ever come of it. Unwilling and unable to sleep, Mulder sat at his computer and began to type.
*****
Dana Scully sat bolt upright in bed. Her bedside clock lit the time as 2:36 a.m. Her hand pressed against her lips savoring the sensation of Mulder's kiss that had felt so incredibly real. In the fantasy, Mulder loved her as much as she loved him. She loved him. She *loved* him. The thought spun in her mind. Her heart had known that she had loved him almost from the beginning. But now, the intense revelation refused to be hidden any longer. And although it was a fact that had been evident for a long time, attaching the words and the scope of the commitment inherent in them shook the foundation on which she had so carefully constructed her life. Thrilled by the clarity of the moment, she hopped off of the bed, shoved her cold feet into her fuzzy slippers and began to pick out clothes from her closet in preparation to go running to Mulder in the middle of the night.
Scully ran a hand through her hair which was still damp from her shower over an hour ago then stopped short of her dresser. She had shaken off the last traces of sleep and began to think more clearly. Mulder hadn't said that he loved her. Mulder hadn't apologized and neither had she. In truth, he would probably never speak to her again after the spiteful things that she had said. She'd lost her opportunity to love him, and even more importantly, she had just lost the closest friend she'd ever had.
After setting the blue jeans on the bed, she walked over to her dresser and unlocked her drawer of secret treasures. In it, she found the same green shift that she had been wearing in her dream. Melissa had given it to her for her birthday, shortly after her recovery from her abduction and coma. Scully smiled a sad smile when she recalled her sister's words. "I definitely think that you'll be needing this in the future." Scully discounted Melissa's prediction stating that was not the kind of relationship she wanted to have with Mulder. Melissa got that far away look on her face and said in an almost a trance like voice, "When two souls are joined so completely, there will come a time when they are no longer able to stand the hardship of separation. When that moment comes, give into it, Dana. Fate will take care of the rest."
Scully looked heavenward for her sister, "Well Melissa, at least I got to wear it once, even if it had been only a dream." Scully smiled inwardly thinking that Melissa would have liked that.
Scully neatly folded the nightgown and placed it back into its cubbyhole. She retrieved a picture frame, and started to tear up. There she sat at a picnic table, her mock disapproval clashing with enjoyment on her face in a half smirk as Mulder took their picture with a Polaroid camera. On the table in front of her, sat the most lop-sided cake that she's ever seen. It sported drooping icing and two birthday candles, an emergency candle, a half used up votive candle and two lit matches sticking up on the cake blazing brightly. He had baked, or tried to bake, a cake for the six-month anniversary of her cancer's remission. He admittedly hadn't had all of the necessary supplies, but it was a rare and touching gesture all the same. He had remembered her, not their work, not his own interest, but her. It had felt good, and she held that day snugly to her, keeping the picture for when she needed a good reason not to kill him.
Her friend.
Her love.
Her loss.
For that evening, she had cut him to the core, feeding upon his insecurities and natural distrust. She had done such a good job of it, that he would most likely never willingly be in her company in the future. Oh God, what have I done? she petitioned God in the solitude of her bedroom as she fell to her knees and wept.
Scully awoke to the shrill ringing of her telephone. Her sleep- addled brain was momentarily disoriented as she had apparently cried her self to sleep, spending the entire night and a good deal of the morning on the floor by the foot of her bed. She rose to her bed side--now more fully awake, and her heart leapt with joy at the mere prospect of talking to Mulder. As she answered, she tried hard to hide the disappointment from her mother on the other end of the phone. "Hi Mom." Scully pulled the phone into her lap as she scooted to the headboard for support. "No, I'm just a little tired, that's all." Scully listened to her mother's plan to come into the city for other errands and that she wanted to stop by and check-up on her. Normally, Scully would have refused to admit that she needed someone to comfort her. Today however, she really, really needed her mother. Therefore, after a surprising lack of resistance, Maggie stated that she'd be by around one o'clock p.m. and that she would bring over some lunch.
Three hours later, her mother arrived. Scully picked at her sandwich. Maggie sighed in distress at her baby girl's anguish. Grudgingly, Scully had recounted the events of last night's party including the argument. After she had finished the tale--excluding the dream, of course, she sat back nibbling at a now rubbery french fry.
"Was he wrong?" Maggie asked.
"About what?" Scully puzzled.
"Was he wrong about Mike?"
Scully hedged and tried to avoid comment, but one look at her mom told her that Maggie had no intentions of backing down. "No, not really," came the meek reply.
"And those other men, was he wrong to want to protect you?" Margaret waited for Dana to run through every evasive strategy in her pretty head. She could honestly see the wheels turning. Under maternal duress, Scully folded, nodding in silent agreement.
Scully rallied back, "So he potentially could have saved me from them, big deal. What gives him the right to assume that I couldn't have fended for myself . Especially since I hadn't slept with any of them or anyone else for longer than I care to admit. Meanwhile, his picks for female companionship have demonstrated worse judgment than I've ever shown."
"Are you sure about that?" Scully looked confused. "Let me ask you this way, had your situations been reversed, what would you have believed and done? Would you have wanted to keep him from making another mistake, even a life threatening one?" Maggie took her daughter's hand and smiled compassionately. "Honey, I'm not justifying those things that he said to you. I just want you to try to see two sides to this. You two have to talk this thing out. When you love someone, that's what you have to do."
Scully swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and gave a curt shake of her head. Then with scarcely enough volume to reach her mother, "I'm afraid that I've already lost him forever. Assuming that I could make him listen to me, what would I say?"
"That's for you to know and for Fox to find out. Believe me, it's not as impossible as you both think. He loves you, Dana. I've seen it. It scares him just like it scares you. He's probably never put that amount of faith in another living soul. And I'm certain that you love him deeply also. If you both believe in that truth, then that truth can save you both." Maggie rose from her chair and cradled Dana's head against her waist, dipping to kiss the top of her head.
Scully's lip began to quiver as her mother eloquently spoke what had been written in Dana's heart for so long. That she had done so with words that were echoes of Mulder's past reassurances to her, only strengthened their impact and validity. "But how do I tell him? How do I get him to open up to me?"
Maggie smiled wistfully and paused as if she were listening to a sound carried on the wind, then said, "Trust your heart and bare your soul. Fate will take care of the rest."
As promised, fate did make an appearance that afternoon. A few minutes after her mother left, Dana answered the door to a skinny, acne riddled, teen-aged messenger. He was thanked, tipped, and practically pushed out of the doorway in her haste to open the letter.
Scully,
I really need to talk to you. I will wait for you at Goodwill
Harbor at four o'clock today. Directions are enclosed. Please
come and everything will be made clear.
-M
Two hours later, Dana found herself tempted to strangle Mulder for his directions. Leave it to him to come up with the most convoluted route to the Marina. Still, she would make it by four p.m., a fact that reassured her and terrified her simultaneously.
The weather had not improved. Perpetual drizzle saturated the air, and the temperature hovered around forty degrees. Her car ground to a halt in the parking lot overlooking rows of sailboats and commercial fishing boats. Most obviously had better sense than to traverse the elements. Scully hopped from one patch of exposed blacktop to the next, in a game of puddle hopscotch. She looked all around for Mulder who was nowhere in sight. A man in a yellow rain slicker waved from the deck of a nearby schooner. Scully cautiously made her way to him.
"Are you Scully?" he shouted through the increasing rain.
"Who wants to know?" Scully ventured with an instantaneous paranoia that surprised her.
"Look, Miss, I was hired by this guy named Fox Mulder to give you a ride out to the old lighthouse on the edge of the harbor." He looked like he would much rather be at home watching sporting events than out in this slush doling out taxi rides.
Still wary, "How do I know you're telling me the truth?"
The man laughed. "He knew you were going to ask me that." The round, jovial man almost put her at ease, but she still stayed at the ready to pull her revolver from her holster if necessary. He stepped closer to her and motioned for her to open her hand. He proceeded to fill her palm with sunflower seeds. She smiled in relief and climbed aboard.
Together, they made their way across choppy seas through the veil of increasing fog. "Are you sure that it's safe to be out in this?" Scully asked.
"Oh yeah, we go out in much worse conditions than these" he answered and gave his boat a pat in camaraderie and respect. In an effort to distract his passenger, Mitch--as he preferred to be called--asked, "Did you hear the one about the naked blonde, the poodle, and the large salami?" Scully smirked and informed him that he was the third person to tell her that joke in as many days. Mitch shrugged apologetically and told her that it was the only joke he could come up with at the time.
A few minutes later the engine slowed then cut off completely. Scully went on alert then walked out onto the deck once she realized that they had reached their destination. Through the blanket of fog, she saw the revolving beacon of light from the turret above. Mitch told her that the lighthouse itself was something of a dinosaur. Computers now maintained the lighthouse, and the cottage attached was often rented out for weekends. Scully placed her foot over the bow and onto a pile of slippery rocks, hoping that she could manage the landing without breaking her leg or falling into the water. She successfully made it up the embankment. Mitch waved from the boat, "Go on in. I'll wait."
Scully opened the unlocked door and entered into the cozy room lit entirely by fire light from the big stone hearth on the opposite wall. "Mulder?" she called. "Mulder?" No answer. Again, "Mulder, this isn't funny. Come out." Nothing. Mulder wasn't there. Scully ran to the entrance, "Mitch, there's nobody...." Scully stopped yelling when she rushed out in time to see Mitch's boat pulling away into the thick fog and mist. "Damn-it." Was this Mulder's idea of revenge? Scarier still, was this part of the same plot from those who perpetrated the hoax and possibly employed Mike as well. Scully pulled her gun and began to surveil the house.
The cottage itself was charming. The nautical inspired decor reminded her of her father and some of the bases she'd lived on while growing up. Scully fingered a brass bell and barometer mounted on the wall near the door. Further into the house, there was an overstuffed chair near the fireplace huddled against a navy and white striped loveseat in the small living room. She turned to advance into presumably the bedroom area when she detected something on the brass and glass-topped coffee table. There, a large manila envelope waited. Written in sloppy, red ink, the outer envelope read, "Stolen from the encoded journal of Fox Mulder". Goose bumps broke out on her skin as she lifted the envelope wondering if she should read it. It could be an essential clue to deciphering the conundrum in which she now found herself mired. What if Mulder's in trouble? she rationalized. You owe it to him to read what is in the envelope. Before she could change her mind again, she ripped the tab, wincing slightly at the paper cut incurred as a result of her impatience, and withdrew a single typed sheet of paper.
November 7, 1998
How did everything become so complicated?
Dana Scully came into my life, presumably to tear it apart. In a way, I suppose that she has, although not as intended. The intensity of my feelings for her defies reason. Their magnitude leaves me small and insignificant by comparison. The emotions that I feel for her have become the most powerful force in my life. Put simply, she is the most infuriatingly wonderful pain in the ass that I've ever known.
Somewhere along our twisting journey through prevarication and unprofitable enlightenment, I allowed myself to trust in her, sharing my darkness, relying upon her to lead me through the mazes of life and into the safety and comfort of her presence.
Scully stepped blindly to the sofa, feeling her way down as she leaned upon an armrest for support, never daring for a second to pull her eyes away from the paper held in her trembling hand. She felt the prickle of future tears from behind her eyes as she resumed reading.
Were it completely impossible to believe that my feelings might be returned, I think that I would accept the situation with more ease. There would be no "what-ifs" to fill my days and plague my deepest slumber with visions of her fastened to my side, sated in my arms. Unfortunately, my cursed photographic recollection presses the fleeting moments of clarity to the forefront of my consciousness in which I possess the knowledge that our connection goes beyond partnership, far beyond friendship. I live with the temptation that, were I to curry her favor, romance her, it is possible that she would indeed surrender to me.
However, I must ask myself, if I were to hold her not only as a friend, but also as a lover, would it bring redemption for all that has befallen us, or would it create a pain more intense than either one of us has ever known?
I have delivered precious little to her other than sorrow. She has lost so many parts of her life as a direct result of knowing me. No matter how I have longed to protect her from the evil that draws us as we attempt to understand and to classify it before it destroys us, I have failed. I have absolutely no right to take any more from her than I already have.
Those convictions are not new to me. They bite at my heels until I acknowledge their presence and feed them by unpacking my heart with promises I find impossible to keep. I have never been able to let her go. I'm a selfish bastard-- always have been, but the burden of voluntary sacrifice has apparently been lifted from me now, for I have surely said and done things this evening that will no doubt cause her to revile me. Dana Scully is out of my life. I can no longer hurt her. It is for the best as I might never have mustered the strength to remove myself from her world of my own volition, coward that I am.
The printed words blurred as Scully dashed the tears from her cheeks with a swipe of the back of her hand.
I will keep the memory of my Scully with me forever, this love for her with me forever--perfect and untarnished by time. Better that, than to watch her slip away from my grasp a little at a time as she discovers how much I've taken and how little I have to give. I will take refuge in my solitude for I could never bare to watch as she leaves me, another chapter in her book of regrets entitled, "Fox Mulder".
Oh God, please make it all right. I can't lose him. Scully dropped the page, and it flitted down to the rug beneath her feet. She began to pace within the confines of the room. Her distress practically caused the stone walls to bulge with tension. She had to get to him. She had to talk to him. Now. After a few seconds, she managed one coherent thought. Phone. She dug her cell phone out of her blue jean's pocket and dialed his number with practiced precision and speed. It rang. "Come on, Mulder" And rang. "Come on, come on..." And rang. Then answered: "The cellular customer you have called, is either out of the service area, or unable to take your call at this moment. Please push the # key if you wish to leave a voice mail message." Scully smacked the phone against her thigh, silently cursing Mulder for deactivating his line.
Scully felt rather than heard the rumbling vibrations from a boat outside. With her ear pressed to the door, she listened as someone ran up the steep stairs towards her. She flattened her back against the wall, drew her weapon, and waited. The door knob twisted slowly. Scully pulled the hammer back. Just as the door began to creak open, a violent gust of wind and horizontal rain sent it slamming open on its hinges, followed quickly by a darkly clad, hooded figure whose hand still clutched the knob. Scully touched the barrel to the back of his head and issued a forceful warning, "Federal Agent! Put your hands where I can see them!" He complied with the command, and waited until she circled to face him before speaking.
"Jeez, Scully, you scared the shit out of me."
"Mulder?" Scully squinted into the rain at Mulder's face. He turned and closed the door, securing it with the dead bolt.
"Yeah, who did you think it was, the Gorden's Fisherman?" He was happy to see that she hadn't been harmed but simultaneously dismayed by the scene in which he had entered. "What's going on? Are you all right?" Mulder shrugged off his rain coat and went to warm himself by the fire.
Scully was confused, "What do you mean, what's going on?" She joined him by the fire.
Perplexed, Mulder posed, "I mean, I get a call from your mother an hour ago saying that you needed me and that I should come to the harbor to find you. I damn near wrecked my car in the rain trying to get here as fast as possible, and when I do, the 'Skipper' takes me on an abbreviated three hour tour in the driving rain out to this lighthouse at your request." Mulder shook the water from his hair and face, his clothes were beyond soaked. After visually inspecting the room and finding no perilous circumstances, Mulder grew impatient. He deserved to know what kind of little game she was playing. "So allow me to repeat, what the hell is going on here?" Scully ran to the door, pried it open just in time to see the last traces of Mitch's boat disappearing in the fog and heavy rain. Mulder glanced past her, "Hey, where's he going? He said he'd wait!"
Scully's patience had just about run out. "Mulder, what kind of a game are you playing?"
"Me? I was going to ask the same of you." Mulder felt that spider tingling sense on the back of his neck. He began to surmise that neither he nor Scully bore the responsibility for the situation at hand.
"My mother called you?!" Mulder's statement finally penetrated her thoughts.
Mulder massaged the knotted muscles at the base of his skull and squinted his eyes closed tightly against the pain residing somewhere beneath his tired lids. "Like I said, I received her call a little more than an hour ago. I was having lunch with Byers about halfway between here and downtown. She said that someone told her that you desperately needed my help. She told me that you might be in danger. I almost hydroplaned my car into a ditch to get here quickly." Mulder, having decided that there was no immediate threat, sat on the floor and began to pry his sopping shoes from his cold feet. "So, I show up... uph!" one final tug sent the dress boot skittering toward the fireplace, "and Mitch tells me that you hired him to bring me out here regarding indispensable information that I needed to see for myself. So what do I need to see for myself?" Mulder made no attempt to mask the ire in his voice. "Have you got a Fiji Mermaid stuffed behind the couch, or is this some kind of payback for last night?"
Scully pursed her lips and shook her head once in disbelief. She pulled a piece of paper from her coat pocket and extended it to Mulder who accepted it with questioning eyes. He read the invitation that someone had sent in his stead. "I didn't send this, Scully."
"No kidding," came the deflated reply. After years of never knowing which versions of the truth to accept as valid and which versions were presented for the express purpose of misleading one or both of them, Scully's skepticism mingled with a healthy sense of paranoia and began shaping the evidence into plausible scenarios which might explain why the two of them were now basically stranded in the middle of nowhere. Mulder's mood had smoothed a bit since his arrival going from hostile to the down- graded state of aggravation. Mulder pitched the crumpled invitation into the fire. He kept his back to her.
Scully wondered if he had written the journal entry that she had viewed earlier, or if it too had been drafted merely to perpetrate this fraud. That line of thought forced her to deal with the unsettling possibility that someone had coerced her mother into participating in this Byzantine exercise. The notion seemed too far-fetched for serious contemplation. "Mulder, if you are bullshitting me, so help me..."
"Hey!" he snapped. "I'm as curious as you are to find who orchestrated this little holiday and why; so back off!!!" Mulder's voice reverberated around the room, filling the small space with its painful cacophony.
Scully shrunk away from the sound in defense. The color drained from her face.
Childhood memories of argumentative snippets of conversations punctuated by an echoing slap across his mothers face temporarily blinded him, as though he himself had been on the receiving end of the blow. In his own voice, Mulder detected the remnants of his father's temper, leaving him nauseated with self loathing. Had he any doubts about his decision to leave the bureau and Scully, they had just been obliterated by the pungent remembrance of his ability to injure Scully and himself were he to continue their affiliation.
Scully didn't move from the corner she had tucked herself into. He couldn't look her in the eye as he spoke. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage.
Scully had to make this right somehow. She understood better than anyone, how Mulder thought. He possessed a talent for internalizing blame. Suddenly, nothing else mattered to her other than quieting his distress. He had to be as emotionally raw as she at this point. "I'm sorry too, Mulder." Her words were a whisper, a deafening whisper that curled around Mulder and pulled his body to hers, his steps involuntarily guided by his soul.
Scully couldn't read the expression on his silhouetted face. The guilt she carried within her breast over the spitefully cruel things that she had said to him the previous night saturated her words as she repeated herself. She had been unable to keep the hitch out of her voice, her tears too close to the surface.
Mulder's heart broke at the sound of her choked sob in the midst of her heartfelt apology. She's sorry that she hurt *you*. He moved to better see her face in the amber light. A trail of salty tears broke free and slipped down her face. He raised his hand to smooth her temple. His fingers tangled in her hair, and his thumb gently stroked the peripheral recess of her cheek. Mulder couldn't find his voice. He looked into Scully's eyes with every transgression etched on his face then cleared his throat in an effort to summon the words. "I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean any of the things that I said." His voice began to disintegrate. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a litany of his laments as he hugged her tightly to his chest. "I didn't mean it. You were right to hate me for the way I treated you."
Scully's fingertips reached up to his mouth, pressing softly against his lips to quiet his admission of sole responsibility. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you. It's o-kay. It's o-kay." She gently rocked him as they stood in their embrace. She tilted her face up to meet his. "Those terrible things that I said last night, Mulder, I didn't mean them. I was angry. I didn't mean what I said." In his eyes, she saw the turbulence of doubt. "Believe me, Mulder. Believe me."
Mulder nodded and wrapped her completely in his arms. He wanted to believe her words with startling vehemence. He wanted to believe more than he had ever wanted to believe anything in his entire life, but a lifetime of vacillation and mistrust prevented him from fully accepting her forgiveness. Still, it felt too good to have his friend back, even if it only lasted a little while. He savored the moment.
Scully sensed the conflict within him. Somehow, she had to let him know how she felt. The fear that she would say the wrong thing, fear that he didn't share her feelings, even the fear that the journal entry hadn't really been his, prevented her from speaking. Her hand traveled from his lips to caress his cheek. Her cool knuckles skimmed the sides of his face before her hands circled around the back of his head, fingers burrowing into his hair as she exerted an almost imperceptible pull in her direction. It was all automatic. Scully lifted to her toes, bringing herself nearer to the mouth she so desperately needed to kiss. If she kissed him, this spell of darkness would end. She knew it.
This would make it right.
Mulder read her eyes and stiffened, breaking away from her and the uncomfortable moment. He couldn't allow her any closer to him than she already was. Impossible, Mulder thought as he flashed forward to the prediction of emotional fall-out in one possible future, one in which he wanted no part. Instead he chose to drop into professional mode for protection. "So," he clapped his hands together, "why don't you try to get some help on the phone, and I'll go outside and look for a boat or something."
A chill raced through Scully when she realized what was happening. It was the same thing that always happened whenever they were brazen enough to slide a cautious foot across the intimacy barrier between friendship and love. She nodded to Mulder in mute agreement. Her brow knitted together as she removed herself mentally from her surroundings. Her mind's eye projected a vision of being on that tight rope again. She had no more strength to balance on the quivering line any longer. The net stretched reassuringly below her, waiting for her fall, but apprehension kept her riveted in place. Then, from somewhere outside of her own person, she heard a whisper. "Tell him, Dana. Tell him before it's too late."
Scully listened to the familiar voice in disbelief and argued, I can't do it, I can't.
"Yes you can, Scardy-cat. Jump."
Scully held onto her insecurities, What would I say? I still don't know what to say.
To Scully's amazement, the journal entry, forgotten on the floor, rustled slightly against her foot. "You know what to say. Jump, Dana. Jump."
Catch me Mulder. Scully spoke softly as if the lack of volume provided some protection. "I'd never leave." She mumbled and looked at the floor.
Mulder had finished donning his shoes and raincoat in preparation for his reconnaissance mission and walked to the door. He'd heard what she said, he simply didn't believe what she had spoken. He turned to her, "What?" he asked in quiet bewilderment.
This was Scully's out, her one chance to remain on the wire. "Jump!" she heard again and physically felt a push from behind, causing her to stumble forward and jarring the truth out of her. "I said that I won't leave you." She was free falling as she waited expectantly for his response.
Mulder still didn't allow himself to believe and asked again. "Scully, what are you saying?
Still plummeting, Scully found that her courage was returning. Why not? She was already speeding towards the ground with nothing to lose. She took his hand in hers, her unguarded emotions displayed plainly for him to see. "I'd never leave you." To Scully's relief, recognition passed over his features; caught, but still unwilling to admit it.
"Scully, I don't know what you are getting at, but..."
"Yes you do." She tentatively slid her other hand up his arm. Her eyes never left his. "Mulder, I know that you are afraid that if you let yourself care for me too much, that I'll leave you someday, and that fear is what's been making you push me away recently. But I'm not going anywhere, I don't want to leave you. I want to stay with you if you'll let me." Scully held her breath while Mulder pieced it together. "Let me."
I'm dreaming again, he reasoned and waited for an alien or some hideous mutant to drag him away from his dream of Scully.
She watched and waited for some acknowledgment of what she had said to appear. One hundred years worth of a few seconds passed, and she was still waiting. "Mulder? Will you let me?" The cold ground loomed closer. Falling. Falling.
"I still don't understand what you're talking about." Mulder disentangled himself from her grasp. His eyes darted around the room for an escape route. Finding no avenue of flight, he settled for verbal confrontation to see him through this crisis. "I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression, but I don't feel that way about you. You and I are just friends and colleagues, right?"
That's it, thought Scully. No more games. She stalked over to the sofa and retrieved the journal entry from the rug. After returning to him, she exclaimed, "You want irrefutable proof, then here you go." She slapped the paper into his palm. "And before you ask, no, I don't have a clue about who stole it or how it got here."
This was it. She would wind up splattered against the cement if he failed to catch her now. The urgency of the moment brought about a clarity of purpose like no other. If this was to be her final act, then so be it. Scully drew in a breath, fortifying her courage and confessed. "Mulder, you *do* know what I'm talking about." He started to interrupt, but she halted his words with her fingers again. "I don't regret our past." He snorted in disbelief. "O-kay, let me rephrase that. Yes, there are things that have happened that I regret, but everyone has things about their pasts that they wish hadn't happened. Our regrets are just stranger than average." The sight of a tiny smile on his lips made her heart leap. "The point is, I want to work with you regardless of those risks. And yes, I have suffered losses since I met you Mulder, but you are not to blame for any of them." He shook his head. "You have saved me, Mulder, so many times; my best friend, the only one that I trust. Don't you know that's more valuable to me than almost anything?"
"I *can't* believe that, Scully." He labored with angst. "There isn't one good reason for you to continue to subject yourself to me. Not one!"
"Yes there is, Mulder. Yes there is. If you don't know by now how much I love you, then you're not half the behavioral psychologist that you claim to be." He looked surprised. She smiled as a feeling of freedom swept through her. Truth had a way of doing that sometimes. "I love you. I have for a long time. There is nothing that you could do that would ever make me want to leave you, *so stop trying*. There is no way in the world that I could ever leave the only man I've ever loved. Trust me and take that leap of faith. I'll catch you. Believe in it, and be happy." Scully had followed her heart and bared her soul. Now she was just waiting around to see if fate was going to make another cameo appearance and help her out a little.
Fate did.
Scully was lifted into the air and swung around in a fierce, almost bruising, yet incredible hug.
"I love you too." Mulder settled her feet back down to Earth again. Her spirit continued to spin with glee. To Scully's joy, he was laughing and crying at the same time. Come to think of it, she was too. "I don't deserve you, Scully, but I love you. I don't want you to leave either. Ever." Both of his hands wound their way to her face. Just as he had done in his dream, he kissed away her tears with the feather soft caresses of his lips brushing across her cheeks. He then pulled back to search her eyes for permission to finish what they had started ages ago.
Scully gazed up at him with sparkling eyes that told him exactly what she wanted at this glorious moment in time. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Her bottom lip caught on her teeth in nervous expectation; an unconscious gesture that Mulder considered to be sexy as hell. Slowly, he descended. His eyes never left hers while he bridged the gap between them. Scully had to force herself not to yank his head down and capture his lips with her own. Slowly, slowly they came together, each aware of the finality of the act. She could feel his breath upon her face. His jaw slanted. Their lips encountered each other's electrical boundaries. Just one more millimeter and they would be home at last. Just one more sec... "DING!"
Scully jerked her head towards the noise as Mulder's mouth went off target and grazed her chin, his frustration complete as he exhaled, "Sonofabitch!"
"Did you hear a bell?" Scully perked an ear in the direction of the kitchen area.
"Scully, you're not supposed to hear bells until *after* we kiss." Scully twisted her lips into a wry grin in response.
Mulder now knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that some powerful force in the universe had a really wierd sense of humor *and* his zip code. Disappointed, he sighed and kissed the top of her head before unholstering his gun and flanking the swinging door. Better be an entire bell choir in there, I'm in the mood for some target practice, he thought gruffly. They silently counted down to three and kicked the door open.
The door swung open with a bang, and the agents advanced with weapons brandished, ready to take on any threat. However, the threat in this instance consisted of an immaculate kitchen; a small table, two chairs, and two place settings; and a kitchen timer. Scully was the first to stand down. "It's o-kay Mulder, I don't think that the toaster is packing heat." Mulder gave her his ha-ha-very-funny look and holstered his gun as well. "Hmm, something smells good." Scully went to investigate. She peeked into the oven astonished by what she saw. Only then did she notice the note taped to the oven timer. "Hey, come here and look at this." She read the message first and surprised Mulder by throwing her head back with laughter; deep, snorting, full-toothed, honest-to-God laughter.
Mulder couldn't have loved her more than he did when he saw her free and unbidden attack of the giggles. Whatever was on the note, he wanted in on the joke. "What does it say?" he smiled, enjoying the rare sight of a giddy Scully. Scully tried repeatedly to tell him but continued to fail to get out more than a syllable or two before another siege of hysterics stole her breath. She was absolutely precious to him like this. He made a mental note to be sure to tickle her later. Scully, still shaking with laughter, clutched her stomach while trying to breath. After a few more seconds, she managed to control herself long enough to hand him the note as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
Mulder read aloud:
Dear Mulder and Scully,
Don't kill us. We sincerely want you two to be happy, and we came to the conclusion that the only thing that would make you happy would be to open your eyes and to get the two of you to admit your feelings for each other. After all, "If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps." (-W.S.)
-LGM and Mom
PS Enjoy dinner on us.
Mulder twisted his mouth in a half smile thinking to himself that he never would have suspected that Frohike, Byers, and Langly included Shakespeare in there repertoire. He pulled his journal entry and another note from his pocket and offered them to Scully.
Scully had no trouble recognizing the handwriting on the second sheet. Of course not, it had apparently been photocopied from her own journal. She began to read the highlighted portion only to be interrupted by Mulder who recited it from memory. "We stood on the verge of expressing everything that we feel towards each other on that fateful day before Antarctica. Now however, I find myself questioning the reality of that moment with each passing day. I'm afraid that any chance we had of being together remains buried on that frozen continent, abandoned in the ice.
Although you and I have searched tirelessly for some elusive truth, some understanding about the unseen forces that push and pull at our world, we have continued to blind ourselves to the one truth that has been there all along. Is it easier to hide behind the veil of denial, or is it easier to believe that one day, we will be forced to look head long into the brilliance of our feelings for one another, to embrace them, and to never again be forced to return alone to the dark, frigid places within our hearts? For me, for now, it's easier to believe. Whether or not we will ever allow ourselves the opportunity to experience the truth that we deserve so much more than the narrow, self-imposed boundaries governing our lives, remains uncertain. I pray that we will uncover all that we've hidden before it vanishes completely, plunging us both into an existence without the life-giving, warmth of the only truth that ever really mattered."
"When did you...how did you..." Scully stammered. "That wasn't for anyone to see."
"Yeah well, they had no qualms about stealing my private journal either." Mulder touched her shoulder reassuringly.
Scully continued to process, "But if you knew...?"
"Like you said, blinding ourselves to honest emotion has become second nature to us." Mulder kissed her forehead, tapped the two journal entrees in her hands, and pronounced, "'A miracle, here's our own hands against our hearts.'" Scully may not have been schooled at Oxford, but she had seen the video version of "Much Ado About Nothing" and returned his grin.
"Clever, but what was so funny?" Scully pointed to the oven. Mulder arched a suspicious brow and opened the oven door as if he were defusing a bomb. Inside sat a roasting pan. He looked up at Scully, "Sooo?" still not getting the joke.
She lifted the lid to the pan, "Turkey?" he guessed.
"No." Scully's mouth twitched. "It's one of my mother's dishes. It's the breast of a goose on top of a bed of wild rice and cornbread dressing." Scully mentally counted down the seconds that it would take for the ramifications to set in. As predicted, Mulder started to grin knowingly.
"So, what your saying is that," he started to laugh, "your mother and the Lone Gunmen sent us on a wild goose chase?!?" The oven door slammed shut as the pair tried and tried to bring their laughter under control. Scully squeezed his side in solidarity. Boy it felt good to stand atop the ruins of the walls so well maintained previously and laugh until their sides hurt.
Scully placed another bite of dressing into her mouth and smiled. She couldn't remember when she had enjoyed a dinner this much. They exchanged information about the conspiracy aimed at them and came to the conclusions that the Lone Gunmen had obviously bugged their apartments and tapped their phones. Scully said that if she found any cameras hidden in her bedroom or bathroom, that Frohike was going to require that they be surgically removed from his ass. Mulder never doubted for a second that she would make good on her threat. Still, they agreed that overall, the bumbling attempts to bring them together were well intended and somewhat comical in retrospect. Neither one of them wanted to admit how close they'd come to losing each other forever after last night's argument.
Apparently, Margaret Scully's job had been to point Scully in the right direction and to misinform Mulder. Langly, had most likely rerouted their cell phones so that they were unable to contact each other prior to being marooned on this island. The warehouse set-up and trap had to have been constructed to ensure that they were within close proximity to one another, letting nature take it's course. The only question that remained was about how they had come to receive the ghost assignment and how "Mike"-- decidedly another player in the scheme--had breached the banquet's security so easily, yet not appear anywhere in the database. Possibly, an insider at the FBI had been involved, but who? They had so few allies. Skinner's name joined the extremely short list of possible suspects but was immediately eliminated. Skinner had been involved in some strange plots within the Bureau, but help the Lone Gunmen and Scully's mom play matchmaker? Ridiculous. The gunmen most likely forged any of the identification required and the ghost assignment documents.
Mulder finished eating, pushed his plate away a few inches and patted his stomach appreciatively. "Good eats. Hey Scully, is your mom seeing anyone?"
Scully arched one eyebrow, "You're not going to get all Dustin Hoffman on me, are you?"
Mulder gave his empty plate a longing glance and sighed, "That depends, Scully. What have *you* done for me lately?" He winked and flashed a come-hither smile.
Suddenly, it occured to Scully that they weren't playing anymore. She and Mulder were about to, to...She hadn't thought that far ahead until now. She had no idea of how to make good on almost six years of sexual double talk. All right, she had some idea, but not with *him*. It's Mulder. Mulder. Your buddy, remember? she considered as panic seized her by the throat. She returned a tight, nervous smile as she hopped up and began to clear the supper dishes.
Mulder looked on with great interest. She heaped dirty dishes and silverware on her wrist. The cups and plates teetered. An IHOP waitress wouldn't even attempt to carry a stack of dishes piled that high. Unable to help himself, he held up a butter knife, "You missed one." She leaned down to retrieve the utensil and almost lost the load. How she managed to transfer the stack to the sink defied logic and gravity.
Scully lifted the tap and waited until the cold water rushing over her fingertips turned warm. Dish soap bubbled up from the basin, sliding over dishes and over her hands. Her mind kept on repeating the same telegraph: Mulder. Sex. Sex with Mulder. Help? Get a hold of yourself, Dana. It's not like you've never... That argument worsened the situation at hand. By modern standards she was practically virginal. She had been considered by most men to be a challenge; a conquest, and that alone attributed greatly to her need to keep men at arms length. She had slept with two other men in her lifetime, and neither were relationships that she cared to recall. Two. And that had been a long, long time ago.
Did Mulder know that she hadn't slept with anyone since she had met him? Should he know? Given the reputations and appearance of Mulder's prior lovers, and the fact that his taste in videos was "exotic" to say the least, it was logical to assume that he expected experience and a decided lack of inhibition. Would Mulder be disappointed in her? What if things go badly and we are unable to just go back to being friends? she worried. The more she thought about it, the less having a physical relationship with Mulder sounded like a good idea. Maybe she could still bow out gracefully. The last time that we had almost kissed, nothing had changed, right? Liar, she censured herself. Everything changed, we were both just too chicken to admit it until now.
Mulder watched as his impeccably confident and capable partner grew ever distracted by the battle within until he finally decided that it was time for an intervention. He moved undetected to the sink and settled himself behind her. She stiffened after detecting his presence and made unsuccessful, repeated attempts to convince her brain that Mulder wasn't psychic. He moved forward until the entire length of his body pressed against her back. Mulder's arm slid along her side as he shut the water off.
"Want any help with those?" Mulder offered sincerely. Scully realized that, had he not shut the tap off, soapy water would be all over the floor by now. Mulder moved to take a cup from her sudsy hand only to have her reel nervously away from his touch causing her to drop the piece of china against the tiled counter top. The crash not only shattered the cup, it went a long way towards breaking apart any semblance of control she had somehow managed to preserve over her body. Mulder could hardly believe what he was seeing. If she was this freaked out on his behalf, then it was up to him to rectify the situation as soon as possible. Maybe she isn't as interested in you in that way as you thought. The idea immediately went to work on his less than terrific self image. Rather than subject himself to a protracted internal analysis, he decided to test the theory as soon as possible. A lab experiment of sorts was in order.
Scully continued to pick broken pieces of china from the sink, placing them carefully on a paper towel. Warm fingers gathered at the back of her neck and swept her hair aside. "Don't worry," he murmured. "I'll protect you from the fog." Goosebumps raced down her arms and she shivered. Mulder halted her attempt to turn in his direction. Instead, he held her by the shoulder and leaned in to kiss the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. She could feel his hot breath blowing across her skin followed directly by the warmth and softness of his lips. The involuntary tremor and the quiet moan that escaped from somewhere deep within her throat told Mulder all that he needed to know for now. "I think that these can soak for now, don't you?"
Scully nodded mutely and allowed herself to be led by the hand into the living room. She hated the feminine passivity that tempered the behavior of such a previously strong-willed person. She supposed that even a cavewoman would have put up more of a fight. She couldn't even fall back on the old, "I had to go with him. He knocked me out cold with a wooden club," excuse. As a matter of pride for women everywhere, she smiled and boasted resistance. "Well, who says first dates are awkward?" She glanced around the living room and commended, "Great restaurant choice. Now if you'll just have the valet pull my yacht around, I'll be on my way."
Mulder shrugged and shook his head. "I would, but the brochure specifically said dinner AND dancing."
Scully raised her eyebrow and smirked, "Love to, but the band didn't make it in tonight. Will you take a rain check?"
Mulder, not about to be out maneuvered, opened a curtain to a small window cut into the stone. Water pelted the heavy glass. "It's raining, Scully. How about it?" He offered his hand and added a dramatic bow for effect.
"Ah, but Mulder, there's still no music, and we both know how badly I sing. So, I'm afraid you're out of luck." Scully concluded, sarcastic remorse punctuating her less than serious decline.
She should have known better. When she saw the triumphant glint in his eyes, she *knew* she should have known better. "Not that I wouldn't love a rebroadcast of your concert in the pines--unplugged, but in this case, it won't be necessary. Nope, our conspirators apparently thought of everything." Mulder ducked into the bedroom and returned with a small tape deck complete with a note attached that read, "Play Me." "Curiouser and curiouser, don't you think, Alice?"
"I suppose, Tweedle-Dumb. What's on it?" Scully interjected, genuinely intrigued at this point.
"No idea. Hopefully you can dance to it though." Mulder pressed the play button and snagged Scully by the waist, yanking her into his arms as the music began.
Four solitary chords spilled from the speaker, filling the room with their familiar angst. The melody drifted into the mix carried by the lilting voice of Sarah McLachlan. Scully identified the song as the same tune that they had been caught up together in at the banquet. "Hey, isn't this the same..."
Mulder nodded and tenderly shushed further inquiry by pulling Scully firmly against his chest as they swayed to the music. The lyrics washed over the couple, and they listened reverently to the words that defined what their lives apart had been and what could belong to each of them were they to banish their fear and learn to trust in the connection between them that struggled so valiantly for recognition and surrender.
And Sarah sang:
Spend all your time waiting for that second chance, for a break that will make it o-kay.
There's always some reason to feel not good enough, and it's hard at the end of the day.
I need some distraction, oh some beautiful release, as memories seep from my veins.
Let me be empty, oh and weightless and maybe, we'll find some peace tonight.
In the arms of the angel.
Far away from here.
From this dark, cold hotel room,
And the endlessness that you feel.
You are pulled from the wreckage,
of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel.
May you find some comfort here.
Scully felt a single tear drop rolling down her face. The fact that it wasn't one of her own prompted her to cling more tightly to Mulder, smoothing her hands along his back as the song continued.
So tired of the straight line, and everywhere you turn, there's vultures and thieves at your back.
The storm keeps on twisting, you keep on building the lies that you make up for all that you lack.
It don't make no difference. Escape one last time. It's easier to believe,
In this sweet madness, oh in this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees.
In the arms of the angel.
Far away from here.
From this dark, cold hotel room,
And the endlessness that you feel.
You are pulled from the wreckage,
of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel.
May you find some comfort here.
You're in the arms of the angel.
May you find some comfort here.
The song played out and another selection began. Mulder needed distance. He needed to objectify the encounter. It wasn't good to feel so exposed. How could a perfect stranger write his secrets. Had the song not impacted him so profoundly, he might have noticed that his partner had also experienced an epiphany of her own. So instead of taking comfort in their shared state, Mulder retreated into his verbose comfort zone. "Gotta give them credit for finding the same song that we danced to at the dinner last night. Probably a pretty new tune also. I've never heard it before, have you? If I was a fatalist, I'd probably be fairly spooked-if you'll pardon the expression-by now..."
Scully could actually see Mulder picking up the bricks and cementing them into place. Given this display, it became clear to her that Mulder had as many fears, if not more so, as she about crossing the intimacy barrier. She now saw that it made no difference whether those fears were about the emotional or physical aspects of a relationship. Scary stuff was scary stuff. Discovering that Mulder had his own case of the nerves regarding the next logical step in their relationship released her from her own anxiety and gave her the courage to help Mulder conquer his demons. "Mulder?" she interrupted.
He continued to spew useless statistics undeterred. "For example, there is a tribe in the Malaysian Mountains that believe that music transcends time, that it calls to us not only from the past, but also from the future. To ignore its presence..."
"Mullllll-Derrrrr" She sang. He continued. "Oh Mulllll-Derrrrr."
He scowled, "I'm making a point here, Scully. Anyway, as I was saying..."
"Mulder." She took his face in her hands. "Any idea about when you plan to shut up and kiss me?"
That did it. "Huh?"
Scully wound both arms around his neck, dragging his face closer to hers. "I said, shut up and kiss m..."
This wasn't a dream. There were no bells, bees, or clumsy agents falling over backwards to spoil this kiss. No, this wasn't even a practice drill from the emergency kiss broadcast channel. After long, frustrating years in the making, this moment was worth it.
Definitely worth it, they thought in tandem--the last coherent thought that either was likely to conjure once reality set in, and the dream of all that had been too long denied came to life in the most exquisite of ways.
Mulder captured her lips with his fully, pulling her body into his with their insistent tug. His hungry mouth consumed hers as he deepened the kiss. Scully welcomed the onslaught, responding to his fervor with her own demand. Her lips parted hesitantly beneath his, giving him access to the soft recesses of her mouth. His tongue tasted her lips, and she sighed. No longer satisfied with his superficial exploration, Mulder plunged his way into her mouth, coaxing her tongue to join his in an ancient mating dance carried instinctively within us all.
Limbs beginning to weaken, Scully relied heavily on Mulder's strong arms to hold her up. She broke contact long enough to trail moist, tiny kisses across his jaw and down his throat, inhaling the heady musk scent of his skin as she went. A deep growl emanated from his chest as he tilted his head to one side giving her free reign in her assault on his senses before turning her momentary advantage. Scully felt the earth roll beneath her faltering knees when he planted his lips on the back of her neck. He varied the attack by alternately nipping at her flesh with his teeth then running his tongue across the nape. Scully clung to him tightly as the thin ribbon of strength holding her upright came undone, falling slack, lapsing into loose folds of fabric helplessly heaped upon the floor. Her body sagged against his until the rapid percussion of his heart pounding in her ear infused her with the energy to resume her voyage of discovery.
More. He needed more. Mulder's skin cried out to be rid of the constricting clothing that separated them. He had often thought of what it would be like to slowly undress his partner. In his fantasies, he had lightly pulled the hem of her shirt up, his hands lingering on her warm skin as he drank in the sight of her, all the while driving her mad with his practiced patience. Like a splendid present he would slowly unwrap, he would cherish her body with his hands and lips as he peeled away each layer of her clothing. His dream Scully would look up at him, eyes glassy with burgeoning passion, almost pleading for him to hurry, which of course, he wouldn't. In his mind, his seduction was smooth, controlled, and excruciatingly wonderful. Now that the blessed moment had arrived, controlled was the last thing he was.
Unwilling to break their kiss, their hands fumbled blindly for buttons, hooks, buckles and any other obstacles separating their greedy bodies. Mulder jerked Scully's sweater up swiftly, shrouding her head as he tried to pull it free, then stopped. He gave a frustrated grunt having realized that his wristwatch had snagged the knitted material. He heard a muffled, "What's wrong?" from Scully while he attempted to wrest the tangled watch loose. Giving up, he snapped the band from his arm and threw it on the floor along with its cable-knit captor. Having been freed from her woolen prison, Scully continued to pry apart the buttons of his dress shirt at a frenzied pace, pushing it aside before pressing her bare flesh against his. Mulder used the opportunity to nuzzle her ear as he tried repeatedly to unhook her bra. His fingers pinched at the back strap, doubling the elastic over onto itself in order to slide the hooks from the ayes. Scully, preoccupied with his belt buckle and the feel of his chest hair against her cheek, didn't notice his unsuccessful efforts for awhile. Once she figured out what he was trying to do, she took his head in her hands, smiled into his mouth and murmured, "front."
"I knew that," he teased. "I was just seeing if you were paying attention." His head bent to look at his hands followed shortly thereafter by the snap of the clasp.
Still grinning from his retort, Scully hadn't prepared herself for the intense electrical sensation brought on by the closing of his fingers upon her uncovered breast. She sucked in a cool breath as her head pitched backwards involuntarily. Much better without the coat, she decided. "You definitely have my attention, Mulder." came her ragged reply.
Pleased with himself, Mulder focused his energy on her blue jeans. Luckily, he had no trouble with the fasteners and tugged the snug denim down her legs with all due haste. Now he would be able to fulfill his fantasies unencumbered. The last thing that he expected to see when he returned his gaze to her face was her trademarked raised brow and lips pursed in amusement. What now? He wondered apprehensively.
Reading his expression, she offered a wry grin and pointed down at her legs. Mulder followed her gaze then hung his head in defeat. "It works best if you take the shoes off *first*."
So much for smooth, he thought tersely. Weighing his options, he decided that his best bet was to herd her into the bedroom, hoping that his technique would benefit from a horizontal, gravity-lessened environment. Turning her towards the darkened bedroom door, he gave her a little shove and barked, "Move." Scully shuffled forward in penguin-like fashion. Mulder passed her by in search of a light switch.
Scully heard a loud crash followed by a string of muttered expletives and flipped on the light. Having forgotten the two overnight bags in the middle of the room, Mulder had tripped and now lay sprawled on the floor. Refusing to give in to the rediculousness of the moment, Mulder glowered at the luggage as he stood, then tossed the bags into a nearby closet. When he turned around, he saw his smart-ass partner with her hands clasped to her chest, smiling up at him sweetly. "Gee Mulder, this is exactly how I've always pictured it!"
He smiled dangerously and crooked his index finger in her direction. The mirth in his eyes sparkled as he started towards her. "Come here, you."
Uh-oh, thought Scully ruefully, recognizing his mischievous expression, she started to back away, hands up in surrender. "Now Mulder," she inched further away, "don't do anything that you might regre...Ahh!" She shrieked as he bounded across the room, cornering her. Mulder loomed ever closer. Scully jigged left then right only to be caught in his lightning fast arms. She squirmed in a half-hearted effort to break free.
"That's it!" Mulder proclaimed. "No more Mr. nice guy." He knelt briefly before hoisting her onto his shoulder. The effort brought forth a chain of giggles from his cargo. "That's enough out of you," he commanded in jest and smacked her playfully on the butt for good measure, causing another outburst of laughter. Mulder dumped her like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the big brass bed. "All right, now where was I?"
Scully quickly pried her sneakers from her feet, still smiling as Mulder yanked her jeans the rest of the way off. Her laughter died abruptly when she looked up into Mulder's eyes. He was staring at her intensely. Scully suddenly felt too exposed, wishing for a sheet or the cover of darkness to relieve her embarrassment. She averted her eyes, praying that he would say or do something to reassure her of his attraction. She was fit, not a bad little body really, just not the luscious type she was certain were to his liking. How long is he just going to stare at me like that? inquired the most unsure portion of her psyche. Beginning to feel humiliation, she snapped him out of his trance. "Mulder?" she called in a voice far too tentative to have come from her mouth. He blinked twice as if waking from a dream, and a beautiful smile began to curl on his lips. Scully could hardly believe the love and desire on his handsome face was for her.
"Scully." Her name sounded like a soft caress carried from his heart to hers by the hoarse whisper of his voice. She reached for him to join her, noting with astonishment that his hand was shaking when she clasped his fingers. The knowledge that she could make him actually tremble with need made her feel drunk with power, and every doubt she'd ever had about their relationship simply melted away.
The world itself melted away.
The storm outside continued to rage against the turbulent sea, while inside, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully rose and fell, rolled and pitched, flowed and crashed together in a tempest of their own making. The only calm came in the eye of the storm.
Mulder stilled, pulling away from her slightly. He reverently stroked her cheek, and with awe in his eyes and love in his heart, he offered a silent vow of his devotion to her. Scully felt overwhelmed with emotion and answered him with her own forever look. The warmth of pure joy showered over them as they acknowledged the commitment that they were making to one another, and then they began to swirl again, caught up in the ever increasing squalls of passion. Once spent, the storm subsided, its furious waves gave way to a peaceful tide filling their souls with contentment under the luminescence of a moon lit sky.
Scully's head fell back against Mulder's arm in sated exhaustion. He pushed a damp tendril of hair from her forehead and twisted his head to drop a kiss upon her brow. As soon as her oxygen deprived lungs could manage, she sighed in accolade, "Oh. My."
"God." Mulder finished for her. He kissed her temple again and hauled her closer to his side. With eyes closed dreamily, Mulder grinned and said, "Scully?"
"Hmm?"
"I think I just saw lights in the sky."
"Really?" She added. "Me too."
"Now there's a first." He replied dryly. "If I'd known that this was the only way to ever get you to agree with me, I would have seduced you sooner. Come to think of it, Scully, why didn't we do this years ago?"
Scully rolled over onto his chest and propped her head upon her forearms. Looking down at him happily, she answered honestly, "Because you and I are very, very stupid people. That's why."
"Good point." Mulder concluded. Having pulled the covers around them, he kissed her sweetly, and the couple drifted off to sleep.
Scully, the first to awaken, opened her eyes reluctantly to the iridescent pink and orange light streaming in from the arched window behind the bed. Cold, she thought and then looked over at her sleeping partner understanding why. At some point during the night, he had flipped over onto his stomach taking the covers with him. Scully rolled her eyes and thought, and so it begins. She knew that she could now look forward to razor stubble and toothpaste globs in her bathroom sink, sunflower seed husks sprinkled across her coffee table, and smelly, abandoned jogging shoes on her living room floor. Still, it was a small price to pay for the spine-shattering experience that was last night and for the companionship and love yet to come.
She pushed herself silently up from the mattress, and was caught off guard by the splendor of the sunrise across the bay. Dawn stretched its blazing fingers across the sky as it shook the last vestiges of sleep from the horizon with the promise of another day and all of the possibilities that it possessed. Scully felt as though she had begun anew as well. The dark shroud of loneliness brought on by too much self-reliance and doubt had been cast off. The shimmer of hope blinded her, but after a moment, her eyes adjusted to its intensity, and she began to view the world through its rosy hue of bliss.
She would have liked nothing better than to stand at the window and watch the rising sun, but the chill in her hands and feet protested. Having stoked the fire in the living room, turned up the radiator, and donned Mulder's discarded dress shirt, she turned her search to the procurement of a pair of socks.
She remembered the overnight bags in the closet and headed in that direction. Damn, she groused, top shelf. Scully raised up on her toes and swiped for the handle. Not even close. Another swipe. Jump. Swipe. Grumble. Not about to give up, Scully continued her struggle unaware that Mulder had rolled to the foot of the bed and was enjoying the show immensely. Each time she reared up, she exposed a little more thigh from under the tail of his white shirt. He licked his lips appreciatively and made a mental note that, from now on, he would gladly let her borrow anything in his wardrobe. As she started to pull herself up to the shelf with her arms, the shirt tale rose higher and higher until satisfying his curiosity about what she didn't have on underneath. He must have given himself away, because she was now pinning him with her eyes. "You know, Mulder, I'm beginning to believe that you keep putting things where you know I can't reach them on purpose."
Mulder, opting not to play dumb, shrugged and flashed her a devilish grin as evidence of his remorseless guilt. Stacking her hands on her hips, Scully pretended to be upset only to falter at the sight of her bare- chested partner and his sexy smile. It ought to be illegal to look that good first thing in the morning, she contemplated half dazed. His only concession to modesty was the white sheet gathered low across his hips. Mesmerized, she had to force herself to tear her fixated gaze from his broad shoulders and the well-defined muscles of his trunk. Feeling a rush of physical awareness, she channeled her adrenal-heightened energy back to the closet, and was rewarded for her efforts by the thump of canvass on her head.
A note pinned to the strap, written in her mother's handwriting informed her that the boat would pick them up at two o'clock. On top of her clothing, sat a string of colored condoms, causing her to turn three shades of red. She held them up for Mulder to see, shaking her head, eyes wide in disbelief, "My catholic mother."
"Remind me to send your mom some flowers when we get back."
"I'll do that." she dead-panned. Tucking them back into the bag, Scully smiled the smallest of smiles to herself as she remembered the previous night. Mulder had seemed distracted in his kiss, and she had wondered why until his arm had come up from the bedside with a wallet in his hand. A well-worn foil packet had tumbled onto the bed, and she had grabbed it before he could recover the fumble. Looking down at her sheepishly, he'd inquired what she wanted to do regarding protection. Some women would have probably found the question embarrassing and extremely unromantic. For Scully however, it spoke of care and respect. Squinting in the lamplight, she'd made out that the package was a little over a year past its expiration date which secretly thrilled her. Conceding internally that sadly, pregnancy was not an issue and that she had personally signed off on his two most recent physicals, she'd looked at the condom in her hand and back to Mulder. "Anything I need to be aware of?" she'd asked gently in a non-accusatory tone.
"Only that you ruined my attraction for other women a long time ago." He had whispered, basking in the delight beaming from her face as she had pitched the packet over her shoulder then kissed him soundly.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor with her bag in her lap, she found a thick pair of socks at the bottom. Her withdrawing fingers brushed slippery, cool folds of satin. She hoisted the garment to the top of the stack. Recognition turned her skin to goose flesh and the color drained from her face as she thought back to her dream, her mother's words, the sound of Melissa's voice admonishing her for her cowardice, and the unseen but truly felt push in Mulder's direction yesterday. Her voice shook a little, "Mulder, do you believe in ghosts?"
"Oooh baby, you know the paranormal gets me all hot and bothered."
"I'm serious."
Although she kept her back to him, he heard a beat of vulnerability in her tone and straightened. "Sure. Why do you ask?"
"Promise not to laugh?"
He shrugged in agreement, "Promise."
"I know this sounds nuts, but I've felt a presence during the past couple days." She hesitated before saying, "Missy's presence." She paused. No laughter. "Mom sounded just like her at lunch yesterday, and last night, I could have sworn she was here, talking to me, trying to shame me out of backing down when you started to head for the door. Mulder," she called over her shoulder, "I, uh, she pushed me towards you just like she used to shove me in Sister Mary's class when she wanted to get me into trouble." Scully stroked something in her lap. "I'm certifiable, right? I mean, I think that a part of me almost believes that she was involved in this little melodrama of ours."
Mulder was tempted to start looking under the bed for the empty pod. Her words were disconcerting, not because he doubted the possibility of such an entity, but because she seldom accepted concepts like the one she had just volunteered without a heaping serving of skepticism. Scientific Scully needed proof, hard data before considering the extreme. Intrigued, he prompted, "Have you had that feeling about her before yesterday?"
She nodded mutely, uncertain whether or not to continue. She studied the green satin in her lap and spoke softly, "Yes." She cleared her throat nervously. "After that terrible fight, I felt so drained and just fell into bed. Then, I uh, started to dream, um, about you."
The hairs on the back of Mulder's head stood on end. "Go on."
"I went over to your apartment and told you how sorry I was, and then you told me that you loved me. I felt so light, like I was flying. When I woke up, I could still feel your lips on mine. Absolutely convinced that the dream had really happened, I jumped up and started to put my clothes on. Then I realized that it had only been a dream." Scully waited for reassurance that she wasn't cracking up.
"What were you wearing?"
Thinking that her entire admission had just been reduced to a trivial running gag between them, she nodded impatiently at his apparent insincerity. "You'll love this part," she began sarcastically. "After I had been released from the hospital following my abduction, Missy had given me a nightgown, a sexy one. She said that I'd be needing it. I dismissed her inference, but then she got the look. You know which one I mean. Anyway, she told me that we were soul mates and to accept it. Silly, I know." She added for his benefit, embarrassed having recounted something so preposterous. Better to turn it into a joke and be done with it.
Mulder sat up on the edge of the bed, acutely aware of his own throbbing heartbeat. "Scully. Your hair was damp. The gown was short, dark green satin. It had a row of embroidery across the bodice. You woke up at 2:35 a.m. Am I right?" She didn't answer. "I'm right, aren't I?"
Scully stood on unsteady legs and turned around slowly. She held the gown against her torso for Mulder to see. They just stood there speechless for several minutes. Scully finally broke the charged silence. "My mother found this in the bottom of a locked drawer in my dresser. I've never worn it."
"Yes you have, Scully. I was there."
The conspiracy of light had indeed been played out on a much larger scale then anyone had ever suspected.
*****
"He knows." Scully breathed as she pushed the elevator button.
"How could he know?" Mulder chided.
"I don't know how, Mulder, but he does. Why else would he have requested this meeting on a Tuesday at 5:30 p.m.
Mulder looked down at her affectionately and whispered. "Honestly Scully, we've been together for less than a week, and so far you've already confessed to seeing lights in the sky, ghosts, and now you're becoming almost as paranoid as I am." He eyed her speculatively, "What's next? Elvis mania?"
"Bite me, Mulder," she said under her breath.
He bent to her ear, "Where do ya want me to bite you this time?"
The elevator doors parted and McKinze stepped into the car. He gave the cursory, "How's it going?" Mulder nodded his hello. From the back of the elevator, McKinze witnessed the sidelong glance between the other two agents and the faint bloom of a blush on Agent Scully's pretty face. He smiled knowingly. Working in the violent crimes division, he seldom had the opportunity to appreciate any of the good in the world. Rather than divulge this revelation to his crude partner, Jacobs--who would feel compelled to scandalize the information for his own gain, McKinze decided instead to keep their secret. He looked up at the stupid grin on Fox Mulder's face and decided to offer his discretion as a gift to the lucky bastard in front of him.
*****
Assistant Director Walter Skinner exhaled heavily and tilted his chair back a fraction before rubbing the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to release the tension that dogged him constantly. He thought back on the meeting he had just had with Mulder and Dana and shook his head in bewilderment. Glad they were still talking to one another after last week's manipulations and even more glad that he hadn't been caught interfering, he had felt at first as though he had dodged a bullet. He was more than willing to look the other way regarding the no fraternization between partners rule, but he'd be a lot more comfortable if the fact that they were in love or whatever wasn't so blatantly obvious.
Agent Scully at least presented the semblance of propriety, a good poker face and all that, but Mulder gave the game away without ever saying a word. Smiling. Agent Mulder couldn't stop smiling to save his life. A happy Mulder was, well, spooky.
Skinner prayed that Mulder would get his act together and soon. In the meantime, he had just sent them on mandatory vacation leave for three weeks. Neither had taken time off in well over a year with the exception of the occasional hospital stay. Bureau policy encouraged employees to take their allotted paid time off each year as it had been shown to decrease burn-out and increase productivity. It provided a good excuse to get them out of the Hoover building anyway. The hope that they would return a little less cow-eyed and a lot more sober motivated Skinner to act in their best interests. Shaking his head, he thought with trepidation, This is the kind of aggravation I get for not refusing to go along with this cockamamie plan in the first place. He opened the top drawer of his desk and retrieved another antacid tablet before thinking derisively, Oh well, at least I know which way to place my bet if I ever decide to take up gambling.
*****
He should have been mad as hell.
Mulder had returned home Sunday night to discover that he'd been robbed. He drew his gun and made his way cautiously around the apartment. In the middle of talking to the emergency operator, he'd started to realize that whoever had infringed upon his property had done so in a meticulously selective manner. He apologized then hung up on the overworked and grouchy dispatcher. Shelves had been dusted, books straightened, and he could actually see his bed. That had been the biggest shocker. Boxes and boxes of videos and magazines were missing along with his mangled bicycle frame. New sheets and a comforter replaced his dingy bedding. In addition to those oddities, the floor had been cleaned and the bathroom was no longer a refuge for stray hairs, towel lint, and microbes of all varieties. You didn't have to be a FBI profiler to name the most likely suspects. A brief call to Frohike had assured him that his treasures were safe and sound at the Gunmen's headquarters, and that the guys had boxed up and cleared away all of the incriminating porn prior to Maggie's extraordinary cleaning efforts.
That night, he had flipped and flopped while trying to get comfortable in his new sheets for an hour or more. What good is a bed without a Scully? He'd asked himself on the way to his battered and beloved leather sofa. Still, something niggled at his brain, preventing him from nodding off to dreamland. And then it hit him. How had the Lone Gunmen and Scully's mom paid for the charters, the remote cottage, the new stuff in his apartment, and all of the other sundries required to carry out their plans? He had sat up and started to punch numbers in rapid succession into his cell phone in the dark, pausing to listen to the next menu item. Grimly, he had deducted the worst. His credit card; they had used his credit card numbers for everything.
Yep, he should have been mad as hell, but he wasn't.
Mulder hovered above the alabaster shoulder of the pretty red-head asleep on his new sheets, and busied himself with a new game. So far, he had identified two constellations as he mentally played connect the dots with Scully's freckles. She stirred for an instant then snuggled down deeper into slumber.
Despite the fortitude of his relationship with Scully, he found himself feeling a little paranoid. He didn't feel as though he truly deserved her. There had to be some catch. However, after four days of speculation, he hadn't come up with anything; no catch, no strings, no fine print, just the best gift he had ever received. He promised to strive to become worthy of this special lady cuddled against him. I'm one lucky bastard, thought Fox Mulder for the first time in his life.
He decided that the comforter tucked beneath Scully's nose had been money well spent. Besides, he had inherited his father's estate. Mulder had previously convinced himself that it was most likely comprised of hush money and vowed to only spend the festering fortune on expenses directly related to his crusade. Until now, that multiplying horde of cash had never bought one single moment of happiness. He rationalized that, with all of the shit he'd been through, he had earned the right to blow a little of that money. Mulder resolved to take Scully on a real vacation. She'd more than earned the right to a little pampering as well.
That settled, he resumed his game, spotting the little dipper just above her ear. He wished that he could see underneath the stray lock of copper upon her cheek. Maybe he could move it carefully as not to wake her. He tweezed and lifted the strand, repositioning it behind her ear. Ah-ha! It is the little dipper! Now, if I can just find Ursa Minor, he puzzled.
Scully opened one eye to look at Mulder. "What are you doing?" she mumbled into the mattress.
"Admiring."
"Oh brother," she huffed as she pulled the digital numbers of the alarm clock into focus. It read 4:32 p.m. She lurched up into sitting holding the sheet to her chest. "Four-thirty?! How did I oversleep so much? I was sure I set the clock."
They had come over to Mulder's apartment at eleven o'clock that morning on the pretense of packing. She'd made the crucial mistake of following him into the bedroom and taking a test bounce on the soft, ivory covered bed. She had commented on his fancy new digs then stilled having seen the lust in his eyes. Brace for impact, she'd thought with chagrin. As he tackled her onto the bed, she had told him that he was going to put her in the hospital. He had returned that it wouldn't have been for the first time.
"You looked tired." Mulder admitted. When Mulder replayed the past five days in his head, he thought that it was no wonder that she was exhausted. A triathlete would have collapsed by now if confronted by the grueling pace they'd been setting. There was the lighthouse. Then there was Scully's bedroom, hallway, tub, kitchen counter, and almost once in a parking garage--damn security guard. After all, they had six years of catching up to do. "You're on vacation, remember?"
"How could I forget?" She started to recline once more and then froze half way, concern entrenched across her forehead. "We are going to have to start being more careful, you know." She settled back into his arms before resuming her lecture. "I can't believe that you told Skinner you were planning to spend your holiday fly fishing amidst the naked wilderness!"
"I can't believe you kicked me under the table," he retorted with mock irritation.
Changing the subject completely, she posed, "So what am I supposed to call you now?"
Confused, Mulder countered, "Huh?"
Scully dipped her head shyly, "Do I call you Fox now like your other..." She trailed off having not intended to say what she had begun to say.
Mulder caught her chin and kissed the tip of her nose, "Never like the others," he stated emphatically, and she smiled. "I guess you can call me Fox if you really want to, but I think I'd miss the way you say 'Mulder'"
"Well then, Mulder," she ran her index finger down the length of his trunk and back again before asking coyly, "Do you think that you could call me Dana sometimes when we're alone?"
So that's what this is about, he mused. He found her coquettish presentation unsettling. Scully had always been too direct a person to resort to feminine tactics such as these. "But I like 'Scully'," he pouted.
"Dana, Mulder. Dana," she argued.
"I'm sorry, Scully. Did you say something?" he teased with a hand cupped around his ear.
"Dan-na. D.A.N.A. Dan-na. Repeat after me."
"I'm afraid I can't hear a word you're saying, *Scully*."
Fine, she could play too. "Never mind Fox William. It wasn't important. Do you want to go get something to eat, Fox William? What would you like on your pizza, Fox William?"
She scooted to the side of the bed and started to rise before being caught by the waist and trapped beneath her partner who glared menacingly at her. "I'd lay off the 'Fox William' thing if I were you."
Dana Katherine Scully hadn't made it through medical school and the FBI academy by kowtowing to threats. "Foxwilliamfoxwilliamfoxwilliam," she sang childishly.
The tickle fight that followed was of epic proportions. Shrieks, giggles, and cries for mercy reverberated around the room. In the aftermath, lay two heaving lovers atop a bundle of pillows and tangled blankets.
Still a little breathless, Mulder asked, "You know what?"
"What?"
"I love you."
She steamrollered across him until she met his eyes, "I love you too." ("foxwilliam") she muttered into his chest. "I bet we're driving your neighbor nuts." Scully advanced the rest of the way to his neck where she went back to work on the tastefully small hickey just above Mulder's collarbone. He really liked that spot and moaned his appreciation. She raised a measuring gaze and added, "I sure hope that no one can hear us."
As they began to kiss once again at a delectable and leisurely pace, neither one of them had the slightest clue that a tiny, button-shaped listening device had slipped from somewhere behind the head board, becoming lodged between the bed frame and the mattress.
*****
"Who was on the phone?" inquired Langly from his position on the floor as he rifled through the stack of cardboard boxes.
Byers called out from the kitchen, "That was Maggie. She wanted to invite us over for Thanksgiving this year."
Frohike sounded back, "That's nice of her. You can really tell where Scully gets her class."
Langly selected the two most worn-looking tape boxes, hoping that their abused appearance denoted Mulder's choicest picks. He stood studying the two video tapes in his hands thoughtfully. He scratched his chin in consideration before deciding to submit his dilemma to a vote. "Hey guys, what do you think; 'Hot Babes in Toy Land' or 'An Officer and a Genital'?"
Byers and Frohike answered in unison, "Babes."
Having set the videos on the crumb-covered coffee table constructed of four cinder blocks and a piece of sheet metal, Langly called, "Hey Byers, your cousin Mike is a major creep. Did you listen to his answering machine message yesterday?"
"Yeah, I know. I sent him a check to cover his fee, dry cleaning expenses, and the bonus he insisted upon. Two years of community theater and the guy thinks that he's some kind of super star." Byers grimaced as he recalled Mike's sleazy voice on the recorder referring to Scully as a nice piece of ass and asking to let him know when she dumped that looser, Mulder.
Frohike started towards the VCR when a blinking light caught his eye, "Why is this light still blinking?" Not waiting for a reply, Frohike touched the audio output button on the receiver, turned up the volume and heard the voices of Scully and Mulder laughing, shouting and squealing, and laughing in addition to the syncopated squeaking of springs and the periodic thud of a pillow hitting a wall. "Come over here." Byers popped his head out of the kitchen and Langly approached. "You guys told me that you got rid of all of the surveillance equipment in their apartments.
"I did," Byers answered defensively on his way to the console.
Langly stammered and pushed up his glasses. "Um, I got all but one."
Frohike and Byers exchanged a disappointed look. "Which one?" asked Frohike.
"Well, I couldn't really get into Mulder's bedroom before we cleared it, so I just sort-of tossed it in like a grenade and couldn't find it when I went back." Langly's apologetic body language perked up however when the seed of an idea began to take root in his mind. Reaching for the panel, he turned the volume up just in time to hear the leavings of a conversation dissipating into the sounds of carnal rapture.
Frohike sighed heavily and turned off the unit. Byers, the most sensitive of the trio, sympathized for his friend's grief over his dream girlfriend. He clapped the shorter man on the shoulder and consoled, "You did a beautiful thing, man." Frohike nodded in resignation-still not entirely certain why he and Maggie Scully had decided to start to play matchmaker two weeks ago. The idea had just come to him in a dream or something, and he had felt compelled to act on it-go figure. Frohike sighed again, forcing Byers to defuse the tension. "So, you think Mulder is ever going to want his stuff back?"
Frohike gave the receiver one parting glance and answered, "Would you?"
No way, thought Byers visually asking Langly for help in distracting their sorrowful comrade.
"Hey Frohike, you cue the tape, and I'll grab the beer." Langly gave Frohike a tap in the direction of the television set. "Popcorn?" he requested of Byers.
"I'm on it," answered Byers before ducking back into the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, the Gunmen parked themselves in front of the first of their lifetime supply of smut. Frohike took a long swig from his brew and propped his feet on the coffee table. A short time later, he found himself snorting a sardonic chuckle when the business-attired, red-headed, hotel manager in the film entered a hotel room, commenting that it was *so* hot before stripping off her blazer and leaning over the faulty air conditioner just as Luke, the tall, dark and brooding maintenance supervisor known for being good with his hands entered the room and stepped up behind the perspiring woman.
*****
Yep, it was pretty much a happy ending for everyone.
**************************************************************************** ****************
Acknowledgments:
This story is dedicated to my terrific husband who had actually been forced to wear the matching "disco peach" tie and cummerbund in 1988 and is still around today. Thank you for the unconditional support, the editorial talents, and the romantic inspiration.
These are the wonderful people who helped me to whip this little ditty into shape:
Carl (Carl-o-saurus)
Frances/Mom (the Grammarian-Librarian)
Joanie (England's finest)
Heather (I wish *I* was sleeping with Mulder!)
Deborah-Dawn (Patron saint of all lost pennies)
***You guys are the best!!!!!!!
I would also like to recognize William Shakespeare who is still packing in the crowds centuries later, Sarah McLachlan whose song, "Angel" got me through the many times that I was ready to chuck this project in favor of something more productive, those who have created a show appealing enough to compel us to write these things in the first place, and the many extremely talented fan-fic writers who have provided me with hours of splendid entertainment. (I'm not worthy! bow, bow, kiss the ring, bow...)
Content Disclaimers: If you have been wondering why Mulder and Scully are so much more open, friendly, and silly in my version? Well, my only defense is that it couldn't be helped. I believe that romantic fiction is in part a function of how the author perceives the ideal relationship. In sharing this tiny bit of philosophy with my husband, I joked that , no matter how hard I tried to stay true to the characters, I found that I kept writing casual romantic moments sandwiched between one liners. My husband smiled and commented that that pretty much sums up our love life. "For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion."(-W.S.) I'll try harder next time to be more morose. : )
Also, I tried to avoid reading fan fiction that was similar to my premise as not to prejudice myself while writing this story. However, this being a romance piece, and a formula one at that, I inadvertently hit on several of the same plot points and like details that I have since read in other fan-fic selections. The major difference being, the other selections are much, much better written. No plagiarism was intended. I guess that maybe fan-fic writers possess a collective unconsciousness of fantasy.
Recommended Reading: An elaborate plots unfolds when a morally upright, intelligent, honest, and independent woman who has been strengthened by the personal tragedies that she has stoically endured is forced to work beside a dark and brooding hero who has been deceived and manipulated into a tortuous existence from which he has no escape other than to contemplate a forbidden union with the partner who has come to embody the sweet relief and companionship for which he has secretly longed throughout his life. Conspiracies of silence abound. Secrete chambers, gruesome sights, mysterious and unsavory figures attending to hidden agendas, temptations, and distorted truths are expertly woven into the tale. Sound familiar? This story even has a Diana Fowley character, although she goes by the name of Blanche Ingram. Don't worry Mr. Carter and 10-13 Productions, I sincerely doubt that the estate of Charlotte Bronte is likely sue you for infringement. After all, regardless of whether the story is set in England's past, or science-fiction's future, it is a universal tale that has captured our hearts and minds for centuries no matter how often it has been told. If antiquated English or time constraints prevent you from enjoying "Jane Eyre", but you are still interested, try renting the four hour video. I strongly recommend the version staring Timothy Dalton. I think that it's the way that Charlotte would have wanted it.
Public Service Announcement Disclaimer: For those of you who were wondering why I felt it necessary to include a condom reference in a story that, for the most part, stuck to dirty innuendoes and metaphorical sex, I basically wrote it in because I'm tired of movies, television, and mainstream romance novels not dealing with it honestly. As a society, I hope that we are not sending out the message that pregnancy and disease control issues kill any pretense of romance or that the subject itself isn't something one should bring up before having sex because of perceived lack of trust in one's partner and/or because of fear about the image one might present. If an actual person or even a fictional character is planning to have sex, but feels too uncomfortable or embarrassed to bring up the subjects of protection and sexual history prior to the deed, call me old fashion, but that ain't love, baby. (Um, any body got a ladder I can borrow? This soap box is a lot taller than I thought. : ) )
***THANKS FOR READING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! : )
Again, All Comments to: Rachiraptor@yahoo.com
Category: Story, Mulder/ Scully Romance, Humor
Rated: "R" for language and adult situations-mostly "PG-13"
Disclaimer: I don't own them…yadda-yadda…
Summary: As the targets of a new conspiracy, Mulder and Scully must admit their feelings for one another before time runs out.
All comments to: Rachiraptor@yahoo.com
Jacobs, Ross, and McKinze occupied a table along the parquet aisle leading to the dance floor and awards table. They had arrived early and had been taking full advantage of the open bar. The trio had been recounting embellished tales of their own heroism; congratulating themselves for their own deeds. Jacobs, who faced the entrance, stopped short in the middle of a joke involving a naked blond, a poodle, and a large salami. He craned his neck, squinted ahead and smiled.
"Finish the joke man." Ross demanded in his deep, ex-Marine voice.
Jacobs motioned to the door, a cocky grin plastered across his features.
"What?" the others asked impatiently.
Jacobs sat back in his seat and folded his hands behind his head. "Roll up your trousers, men."
"Huh?"
Jacobs continued in a poorly done British accent, "Iceberg! Right ahead! And she's headed for a melt down."
McKinze was momentarily confused, "Janet Reno?"
"Better," came Jacob's oily reply as he extended an index finger towards the doors.
McKinze and Ross swiveled around to behold the spectacle for themselves. "Holy Shit!" McKinze exclaimed.
"Man, I've seen everything now," mumbled Ross.
Jacobs, self satisfied, purred, "Pay-up gentlemen." He curled his fingers in a hasty gesture for the cash.
"Proves nothing," argued Ross.
Jacobs, not about to be talked out of his money, contended, "What do you need, a neon sign?"
McKinze quietly observed the scene in question. "I hate to break it to you guys, but I'm not sure that she's here with Mulder." McKinze raised a challenging glance to his compadres. "Looks to me boys like all prior bets are off. We appear to have another contender in the arena."
Ross and Jacobs watched as Agent Scully was accompanied to a table near the back of the room by a tall, attractive man with dark hair and fashionable glasses. The mystery man pulled her chair out for her then seated himself at her side. AD Skinner broke away from Mulder once they were inside, leaving Mulder hesitant and at a total loss of how to proceed.
Ross looked positively triumphant. "Are we agreed?"
The others nodded. Jacobs pulled a small note pad out of his pocket. A pen materialized in his hand. "Let the best man win."
*****
The tables had filled,as the time was now ten until eight. Mulder had two choices. He could sit with Scully and her "date", or he could sit with some of the more obnoxious guys from upstairs; really not much of a choice. If he sat with the rat pack, he knew that he'd be trying to slit his wrists with a butter knife within minutes. After one last resolute look at the empty chair at Scully's table, he stepped over and asked if the seat was taken.
Mike gestured to the empty chair, "Please join us, Fox."
Scully cringed then whispered into Mike's ear.
"Sorry. Mulder."
Mulder sat down in the chair next to Mike. So much for boy-girl-boy- girl, he thought resentfully. Mike sat with his arm draped around the back of Scully's chair. Mulder wanted to hack *it* off with a butter knife. This is what you wanted, Mulder's mind reprimanded the aggressive impulses that surged through his body. As the waiter delivered dinner rolls and salad, Mulder had an opportunity to size up the man seated to his left. Mike was being irritatingly polite to Scully, offering her this and that as they settled into the ritual of dinner. He was friendly, damn friendly, too damn friendly. Mulder half expected him to solicit life insurance over dessert. Mulder was unaware of conversational content exchanged between Scully and this, this guy. Mulder didn't trust Mike. His gut instinct told him that something was wrong here. This stranger was after something. It was Mulder's job to find out what that something was.
"So, what department did you say you were from?" Mulder interrupted.
Scully shot him a look of warning.
Mike rolled with it, "Microforensics and chemical analysis."
"I don't remember seeing you around before."
Mike supplied a prompt and concise reply. "I'm new."
Scully felt as though she were witnessing a tennis match taking place in the middle of the Spanish inquisition.
"From?" Mulder leaned into Mike's space.
"Texas by way of Michigan."
"And you are under?" Mulder cross-examined.
Scully tried to kick Mulder under the table, but her petite leg struck Mike's lanky leg instead.
"Ow."
"Sorry."
Mike supplied Mulder with, "I'm here to upgrade several of the forensics labs." Mike, tired of Mulder's inquest, tried to attend to his date. "Dana, do you work out of the labs here or at Quantico?"
Scully mentally thanked Mike for the change of subject, as she had been growing increasingly perturbed by Mulder's grilling of her date.
Scully, not Dana, you creep. *My* Scully, thought Mulder as he made an effort to bury his foul mood, portraying the quintessence of cool.
Scully gifted Mike with her full attention. "Both actually, and everywhere else it seems." Mike didn't quite follow, so she expanded her exposition. "We are frequently in remote areas on assignment and often have to make do with whatever is available."
Mike seemed genuinely interested, "Give me an example."
Scully leaned forward to include Mulder in the discourse. "An example. Hmm. Well, we discovered a prehistoric parasitic worm that caused homicidal tendencies in its host while we were trapped in an arctic research outpost." Mikes eyes grew larger in response to her statement.
Mulder chimed in, "That was nothing. She pieced together the remains of over fifty people in a small southern town and uncovered a cannibalistic cult." Mulder perked up and continued enthusiastically, "Once, we were exposed to a lethal agent that caused rapid aging. We were adrift on a ship on the North Sea. I was ready to attribute our condition to some type of Bermuda Triangle like phenomenon, but Scully's investigation, notes, and treatment recommendations were used to reverse the condition." Mulder's eyes shone with admiration. "I couldn't begin to count the number of times that her methodology and expertise saved our lives and the lives of many others."
Scully couldn't believe her ears. Does he mean what he is saying, she dared to hope, or is he just marking his territory? In that hallway, before the bee, he had told her that her work and her support of him mattered . She had been tempted to believe him, but in the months that had followed, she had come to the conclusion that Mulder only considered her to be a traveling companion, a secretary, a piece of lab equipment, and nothing more. Sure, he accepted her presence and her ability to take care of the grunt work, but sing her praises so convincingly to a total stranger? His approval meant so much to her. She needed to receive some kind of validation that she and the choices she had made in her life mattered. Mulder's words wrapped around her like a warm blanket in a cold world. We really need to work on our communication, thought Scully as Mulder stopped just long enough to take a breath.
Ten minutes later, Mulder was forced to desist with his accolades. Mike appeared to be somewhat relieved. Scully smiled knowingly at Mike's reaction. She was accustomed to Mulder's pressured speech and his bullet train of thought speeding down the axonial expressways of his mind. To a stranger however, Mulder's explosions of dialog were most likely to be perceived as quirky at best, at worst, as a sign that he needed to up the dose of his lithium or something. Scully knew the truth. Mulder's mind worked so much more quickly than the average person's. She suspected that his insomnia was also due in part to the rapidly flashing images collected by his eidetic memory that refused to power down even long after his eyes had closed.
Scully now found herself embroiled in one heck of an awkward situation. She took her complaints to the party responsible for this scenario, Could have listened to Mom, but no-ooo. Scully pictured herself on an ante-bellum plantation in a hoop skirt, surrounded by gentlemen callers. The mental picture was hilarious, to say the least. God, I miss Tara. She thought then stifled a giggle as she turned her attention back to the boys.
Mulder turned to face Scully, a devilish smile on his face.
Scully recognized the expression and whispered, "What?"
His eyes blazed a trail across the room and locked onto a certain congressman and his bodaciously built wife who was at least forty years his junior. Scully nonchalantly twisted her head to look then returned to meet Mulder's gaze. Mulder dipped his head and leaned across Mike. Scully did the same, expecting to receive a hushed acknowledgment about the members of the consortium or an alien presence nearby. He whispered into her ear and they split apart laughing. Scully swatted his arm in mock punishment then added, "No, I don't think that is what they mean by a 'congressional probe'".
The two continued to snicker until it dawned on Scully that she had just behaved very rudely to her date. Truth be told, for a moment, she had forgotten that she even had a date. Scully filled Mike in on the joke and received only a tight smile in response. After a long pregnant pause, Mike vied for Scully's attention with a joke of his own: "How many FBI agents does it take to change a light bulb?"
Scully gave a flat, "How many?"
"None," blurted Mike--enjoying his joke immensely. "They can't touch it unless the light bulb in question has been illegally transported across state lines." Mike cracked himself up.
Scully indulged Mike with a laugh. Mulder smirked then pounded the ball back to his court and began to set up the next shot. "Good one, but did you hear the one about the naked blonde, a poodle and a large Salami?"
Scully shook her head, amazed by what was taking place. They had been attempting to best one another for a good five minutes. She wondered how long the competition would continue before one of them whipped out a tape measure for the "who has the biggest penis" contest. Luckily, fate intervened. Steaming bowls of pasta with marinara sauce and baby shrimp were placed before them. Scully secretly hoped that both men would keep their mouths stuffed, thus effectively silencing the verbal sparing. "Gee, this sure looks good." Scully commented loudly enough for three other people on the other side of the table to look up.
Both men twirled the fettuccini onto their forks with skilled precision. Scully on-the-other-hand, struggled to capture the elusive noodles that were bobbing and weaving in her bowl. Mulder stole a glance in her direction and felt a warm smile beginning to spread across his features. How does she do that? he asked himself. One moment, she looks as cool as ice; one moment she looks hot enough to burn the sun, and the next moment, she is the epitome of all that is warm, fuzzy, and cute. Mulder's perusal of her angelic face revealed one minute flaw that warranted immediate attention. Suddenly, Mulder had to get closer to her.
Mulder surreptitiously watched Mike and waited. Mike spun his fork and lifted another hefty delivery of Italian flavor to his mouth. "Ah- Choo!" Mulder sneezed and "inadvertently" jolted Mike's arm, sending a load of crimson covered pasta down to splatter onto the virgin white cotton of his starched tuxedo shirt.
Mike groaned and picked up the dripping pasta, returning it to his plate. As he inspected the large stain, Scully noticed that his face was turning red. His friendly demeanor metamorphosed before their eyes. "Shit! Why don't you watch what you're friggin' doing, you moron!" Mike dabbed at his shirt with a dampened napkin, becoming more irate by the second.
Mulder and Scully exchanged a look to confirm the other's suspicions that they were indeed seeing an unusual display, grossly disproportionate to the circumstance at hand. Scully lowered her voice and began to speak to Mike in a voice that Mulder had come to think of as her concerned, almost maternal, you're-only-embarrassing-yourself-here voice. "Mike, why don't you get some club soda from the bar. It might come out if you go ahead and rinse it right away."
Mike remembered where he was and who he was supposed to be. His entire affect changed back into the laid-back, good-natured Dr. Mike. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry about that. I think that I must be wound a little too tightly after today's testing errors." He smiled, looking at Scully to ascertain whether or not she was buying the act.
Scully let out a breath and returned a reassuring smile--the false kind of smile given to Mulder whenever she lied that she was "fine". Mulder's mind flashed on several previous assignments and decided that she could have a limb chewed off and be bleeding out of her eyeballs, and she would still present that smile as a demonstration of how "fine" she was.
Her hesitant expression and tone were interpreted by Mike who decided that a temporary retreat sounded like a good idea. He hastily excused himself from the table.
Mulder cut his eyes to Mike's retreating figure then back to Scully. "Nice guy." The sarcasm-o-meter was off of the scale. "Where did you meet him again?"
Scully's defenses went up. Her brows raised to her hairline. There was a definite look of warning returning to her eyes.
Mulder decided to stand down, for the moment. "Come over here," Mulder commanded. Scully didn't budge. Mulder tried again, this time in a hushed tone akin to seduction and all things secret. "Scoot over for minute. I don't bite." A slow, lazy grin formed on his mouth, and he said even more quietly, "Well, not hard anyway."
She hated when he used that voice. Well, all right, she loved the voice and that half-lidded bedroom look that he seemed to be able to turn on and off like a light switch. What she hated was the fact that it still worked on her. You'd think that after all these years, that I'd be immune, she pondered. He had more weapons in his arsenal, all of which she was vulnerable to in varying degrees. Therefore, she chose to comply, lest he bring out the big guns.
She slid over into the center seat, leaned a fraction towards Mulder, and asked, "Yes?" Scully expected shop talk, a lecture about dating safety, or some implicating remark about showing up with another guy. Scully did not expect what Mulder did next
Mulder's eyes moved to her lips and his hand stretched up to her face. Scully's calm facade barely obscured the quickening of her pulse. With the pad of his thumb, he brushed the corner of her mouth.
Scully's thoughts tumbled over one another, jumbled and barely coherent. In the space of less than a second, she thought: What is he doing? He's going to kiss me. Not here. Not now. Oh well, I don't even care anymore. God, he's touching my lip. Tingles. Back away. Give into it. Crack a joke. Avert your eyes. Oh, his eyes are incredible. I love them when they're dark green with golden red star burst around the pupils. People are probably looking. Forget them. They can get their own Mulder. My date will be back any second. What was his name? And I should care because...? Why is Mulder smiling at me and pulling his hand away?
Mulder held Scully captive with his eyes, momentarily forgetting his previous promises sworn to himself and the fact that they were currently surrounded by over a thousand colleagues. He brought his thumb, now covered with a droplet of marinara sauce to his lips and slurped away the sauce.
Years before, they had been eating barbecue in some rinky-dink town, and he had reached across the table and wiped away a renegade drop of sauce from her chin with his napkin. She had been younger then. It had taken place shortly after her abduction. Mulder seemed to have had a stronger need to protect her then, treating her with special care. She remembered that evening, and how although they were on assignment, it had felt more like she was on the date than just the usual quick stop to re-fuel and to discuss their latest case. Years ago, she had averted her eyes self- consciously then dared to gaze up at him shyly, a rosy blush on her cheeks. Now, as a more mature woman who could honestly say that she had seen just about everything and rarely exposed more than the slightest hint of reaction, she averted her eyes self consciously then dared to gaze up at him shyly, a rosy blush on her cheeks.
Mulder's heart slammed against his ribs. He too recalled their previous close encounter with fond nostalgia. But what really got to him was that, for a moment, he had seen the exact same bashfully radiant look upon her face as if they existed in a bubble unaffected by time and space. The perfection of the moment stole his breath away.
The bubble had burst all too soon when Scully noticed a flurry of activity and an increase in volume from across the room. "What was that?" Scully asked, once again in complete control of her faculties.
Mulder turned to look. "Probably a dirty joke fest if Jacobs is involved."
Scully shrugged in agreement.
Meanwhile, Jacobs' hand had begun to cramp as business was beginning to pick up. Money literally changed hands under the table. Ross kept lookout, perspiration beading on his forehead at the risk of getting caught. Harmless bets between a couple of buddies were fine, but word had spread and the wagering was increasing by the minute. So far there were fifteen bets for Mulder, five for the new guy, one insisting that the iron maiden wouldn't succumb to either, and McKinze had just added seven to two odds that Mulder and Scully would lock lips right there in the ballroom.
Scully willed herself to relax, "So what did you want to say?"
Mulder leaned closer and waggled his eyebrows like a comic book Valentino. "Is your pasta al dente?"
Her eyes rolled, and she petitioned him to come clean, "Muul-Deerr".
"Okay-okay," Mulder put his hands up in surrender, "I took the projector and one of the gun crates to the Lone Gunmen this afternoon."
"And?"
"And nothing." Mulder shook his head at yet another mystery slipping through his fingers. "Frohike and Langly went over every millimeter of the projector. It's a common video projector set to loop the image we witnessed last night. Oh, you'll love this. The ghost appeared to be three-dimensional because a trough of dry ice was positioned overhead, constantly being doused by two IV bags set to drip at steady intervals. I pulled the foam out of the trapped door and inspected it for prints."
Scully interrupted, "Find any?"
"None. Whoever pulled this off knew what they were doing. Mulder had her rapt attention now. "Before you ask, no hair or fibers were found other than the ones from your coat along with a six inch strand of red hair and three broken fingernails." Mulder look down at her nails which had been recently filed shorter than usual and polished to perfection. "Manicure today, Scully?" Scully quickly tucked her nails into her palm. "You're a lousy criminal, you know?" Mulder took her hand in his and ran his thumb over the backs of her smooth nails. "You skipped out of work to get a manicure?"
Scully snatched her hand back. "I didn't *skip-out* of work. I took a personal day." Thinking back on that morning, she felt her anger beginning to re-surface.
Mulder must have sensed it also. He hadn't meant to insult her. The unease of the moment prompted him to say what he had really been wanting to say all evening. "Well if your needing a personal day was responsible for this," his eyes leisurely roamed over her body then returned to meet her gaze, "then I'm in favor of it. I've never seen you look more beautiful that you do tonight."
The flush on Scully's cheeks deepened, and she was temporarily at a loss for what to say. She could take his double-entendres, playful leers, and innuendoes in stride, but sincerity rendered her motionless.
Mulder hadn't meant to be so bold. Mulder hadn't meant to say that at all. Now you've done it. She may never come close to you again. Mulder thought while taking in her stunned silence; her open mouth, her eyes wide and starring. Well, at least you won't have to push her away anymore. She's liable to run from you on her own initiative. That's what you wanted, right? Mulder swallowed hard, and again his mind uttered a quiet but powerful, No. Mulder fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, wishing desperately that he had a time machine.
Scully spoke a scarcely audible, "Thanks, Mulder."
As seconds passed, neither one of them spoke. Scully finally said something, "I think that I should switch places again. Mike probably won't appreciate the change in seating arrangement."
"You think that he'll throw another hissy fit?" Mulder winked. "Or, are you just trying to get away from me?"
Scully took the bait. "Yes."
"Aw come on, if you don't sit next to me, who's going to help me stay awake for the awards ceremony?" Mulder playfully laid his cheek upon her shoulder and delivered his patented poor-little-puppy-dog look.
"Oh no," Scully shook her head from side to side. "Don't even think about it." Truth be told, Scully would've been happy to have Mulder's head resting against her shoulder for the remainder of the evening. However, she was at an official function of the Bureau, in full view of her colleagues, and she had come to this affair with another man. She also took a moment to remind herself that had Mulder not been acting so strange and extra self-indulgent lately, she would have never resorted to asking a complete stranger to bring her to this dance.
"Scullllllyyyyy.....pleeeeeeaaase," he begged shamelessly.
"Uh-uh Mister," Scully tried with little success to gently pry Mulder's head away from her arm. "You made your bed, now lie in it."
Mulder moved his lips a little closer to her ear and countered, "Only if you join me."
"In your dreams..."
"My better ones anyway," Mulder lulled, his hot breath against her collar.
When Mulder decided to flirt, he went all out. The trouble was, Scully was never certain whether he was in earnest or in jest. Regardless of his intent, now was not the time nor the place to call his bluff. So, she settled instead for poking her index finger into Mulder's temple.
"Ow, Scully, what did you do that for?"
"I tried being nice," Scully explained sweetly, "but you wouldn't budge." Scully blew on the tip of her index finger as though she were blowing the smoke away from the barrel of an imaginary gun. "That always worked on my brothers during long car trips." Scully grinned wickedly without a speck of remorse. "Nobody ever fell asleep on this little sister in the back seat." Thoroughly pleased with herself, she holstered the "gun" and started back to her seat. Scully chanced a look at Mulder who was preparing some lewd retort about her being in a back seat., and stopped him in his tracks. "Don't even..."
Mulder held her forearm to prevent her from moving. He then turned his head in the direction of the main stage area and pointed. "Hey Scully, look over there." Scully turned her head to look, while Mulder took the opportunity to reach across and exchange Mike's place settings with hers. By the time he had completed his less than covert operation, Scully had turned to face him with hands on her hips and the look on her face.
"Cute, Mulder. Now put them back." Mulder sat defiantly and refused to cooperate. Scully made no serious attempt to rectify the situation. Rather, she continued to play the game a little while longer, her date all but forgotten. Sometimes on occasions like these, when they disagreed over silly and frivolous things, she would get the insane impulse to plant a quick kiss square on his mouth, just to see if she could confuse him enough to give up and let her have her way. Not that she would ever act on such a crazy notion.
Mike chose that very same moment to return. He stopped behind the chairs, pausing before seating himself on the other side of Dana. If he was annoyed in any way, it didn't show. Scully turned her attention back to her date, inquiring about his luck at removing the stain. Scully laughed at some comment whispered into her ear.
Mulder watched the two of them from the corner of his eye. Mike's fingers cupped Scully's shoulder. Mulder thought seriously for a moment about leaning down and biting off the offensive digits. Maybe he was just over protective. Maybe he was just jealous. All Mulder knew was that something didn't add up about this guy.
A battalion of waiters appeared with trays full of turtle cheesecake. Supper dishes were cleared efficiently, and wonderful plates of creamy confection were placed before each guest. After the waiters retreated, the lights dimmed in preparation for the awards presentations.
An hour later Mulder awoke to the feeling of Scully's three-inch heel jabbing at his foot. He was relieved that he had slept through the entire ceremony. Typically, the upper echelon and brown-nosed usurpers were the only ones who benefited from dog and pony shows like these. Now that the ceremony was over the lights dimmed further still and a reflected shimmer originating from the center of the dance floor swam around the room, bathing everything and everyone in swirling bands of starlight. The musicians began with a few watered-down selections of popular music. By the time they began their fifth piece, an instrumental version of "Careless Whispers", the dance floor had begun to fill. After agonizing minutes of internal debate, Mulder had finally worked up the courage to ask Scully for a dance, but he was too late. Mulder watched as Mike guided Scully to the dance floor, Mike's hand touching her bare back as he maneuvered her effortlessly around the floor. Who is this guy? Mulder asked himself, Arthur Murry? Scully twirled away from Mike then back into his embrace before being dipped deeply in perfect sync with the music.
Mulder eyed Mike with thinly disguised contempt. His mind replayed the scene from earlier in the evening when Dr. Mike had given his best Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde impersonation. The thought of another man's hands on Scully angered Mulder. It reminded him of how he had felt when he had learned of Scully's seedy encounter with Ed Jerse and that damned tattoo forever marring her otherwise flawless skin. Mulder had always felt responsible for that particular episode. Maybe it was simply a byproduct of his egocentrism--always having to be an integral part of every situation, but Mulder had come to believe that, had he listened to his partner, cared for her needs better, that she would have never gone looking for fulfillment and rebellion in the form of a tall, dark, total stranger. That stranger, in a heightened state of psychosis, had beaten and almost killed his beloved. Mulder was not about to let anything like that happen again.
Since Mike hadn't been very forthcoming with information about himself, and since Scully wasn't likely to tolerate any further interrogation of her dinner guest, Mulder took it upon himself to do a little investigating on his own. He unfolded a clean dinner napkin and wrapped it around Mike's empty drinking glass, then slipped the goblet into his pocket and headed for the door. Mulder thought that he heard a surprised gasp and saw the flash of money being exchanged out of the corner of his eye as he reached for the exit.
Scully suppressed an ever-increasing wave of nausea as she was spun for the hundredth time back into the predatory clutches of Dr. Mike Adams. She was uncertain of whether the sick feeling was in response to Mike's tobacco-ripe breath, his escalating campaign to invade her personal space, her guilt over being with another man within Mulder's sight, or just plain old motion sickness. Scully stiff-armed her date in a futile effort to recapture a few inches of freedom. His stale breath fell upon her in repulsive puffs as Mike suggested that she go out with him for some coffee or something after this "shindig" came to a close. What a no-brainer, Scully thought caustically. She may have been originally taken in by his innocent act, but it had become increasingly apparent to her that she had picked up a weirdo. The song ended, and she sighed in relief. Maybe she and Mulder could get that telepathic partner thing going when she returned to their table. If she were lucky, maybe Mulder would run interference for her, save her from another dance with Dr. Strangelove here. Maybe, she dared to hope, Mulder would ask her to dance, purely as a friendly gesture. And maybe he will pass you a note in study hall, her inner voice censured. Grow up, Dana.
As Scully approached her table her heart sank. Mulder had left. Why should that surprise you? It's been over twelve hours since the last time he took off without you, she acquiesced. Unfortunately, she felt a stab of sadness rather than a resurgence of her prior anger as she contemplated the possibility that Mulder had been bothered by her relationship--if you could call it that--with Mike.
Maybe I'm being too hard on Mike. That shirt was probably expensive and he has been treating me well. Scully rebuked herself for instantly dismissing Mike's company simply because he danced too closely for her comfort and had a bit of a temper. Compared to Mulder, Mike comes across as fairly mild. Compared to Mulder, Mike is attentive and sensitive. Compared to Mulder, no other man alive stood a chance, and she knew it. So, where did he run off to this time?
The band broke out in its version of "Jump, Jive and Wail". Mike stood and offered his hand to Scully. "I love to Swing Dance. What do you say?"
Who is this guy, Arthur Murry? Scully questioned and begged out of dancing with the ever popular, "I'd love to but these new shoes are killing me" excuse.
Mike accepted her refusal grudgingly and sank into a nearby chair. Scully busied herself by thinking up a plan to get out of any more "fun" with Mike. Now that Mulder had left the party, she didn't see any point in hanging around. She couldn't help it. He could be a complete ass at times, yet her loyalty and friendship never waned. She didn't want to miss him. She just did.
Just as Scully was about to call it a night, Mike's breast pocket began to ring. "Oh, be right back." He made his way to the exit as though he was escaping a burning building.
You have a gift Dana, given that men just can't seem to leave you fast enough. A few minutes later, Scully was growing increasingly impatient. Mike hadn't returned quickly as promised. For a woman who had gathered more male attention earlier in the evening than she knew what to do with, she felt alone and vulnerable as she sat at her empty table, toying absently with the centerpiece. After another five minutes, Scully had gone from feeling vulnerable to feeling down right naked. Time to leave, party girl. Maybe Dr. Mike has ditched you too, Scully thought but refused to give into the self-pity that threatened to overtake her. To save herself from unwanted conjecture from the peanut gallery, she palmed her evening bag and stood to leave.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jacobs, Ross, and McKinze were beginning to realize that they were looking at a rainout as far as bets were concerned. It should have occurred to more than one of them that Agent Scully might go home alone, but it hadn't. They had apparently been fooled by her appearance tonight in conjunction with her choice of two men in such proximity. Jacob's let out a huff of resignation and began to tally the damage. Ross was just happy that no one had been caught gambling less than one hundred feet from the Attorney General. Unfortunately, the thirty- seven participants in the pool weren't as glad to forfeit the game so quickly. Jacobs was doing his best to smooth feathers.
*****
Mulder clinched his jaw as he ascended the stairs to the lobby of the hotel. He had to get to Scully before she was in true danger. As he reached to push the revolving door to enter, he caught the scent of cigarette smoke on the wind. Something about it's particular aroma made his blood run cold. A smoldering cigarette butt lay on the pavement, and upon closer inspection, Mulder discovered that it was the same brand as that smoked by Cancer Man. Mulder looked around and spotted a faint trail of fresh smoke coming from a recess in the outer wall behind a potted tree. Mulder eased his way closer and peered cautiously around the corner, expecting to see the last man on Earth that he would ever trust. He had been wrong, but only by degrees.
Dr. Adams sucked on the Morley smoke, and whispered harshly into the phone. "No, but I'm working on it. I've won her trust. It's only a matter of time before you'll get what you want...Yeah, well, by reputation, I'm surprised he stuck around for as long as he did......No, but in the process I can't say that I haven't enjoyed getting closer to this supposed Ice Queen of the FBI......Yes, I know what you want, and you'll get it. I've got to go. She may be getting suspicious by now."
Mulder rushed inside before he could have been spotted and made a beeline for the ballroom. He entered in time to see Scully begin to collect her belongings and stand. The last thing that Mulder wanted was to allow Mike to intercept Scully in the foyer. Preoccupied by the hem of the gown caught on her heel, she didn't see Mulder enter the room.
An electric pulse shot through her, originating at the small of her back in response to the large, warm hand of one Fox W. Mulder. Scully tried to turn in his direction only to be halted by his other hand encircling her shoulder. He bent down, brushing his cheek along her hair and murmured, "Can I have this dance?"
Scully wanted to know where Mulder had gone and why he had decided to return. He promised answers if she followed him. A part of her brain observed that the rumor mill would spin out of control if she danced with Mulder. She looked helplessly at the door and inadvertently made eye contact with Mike, back from his sabbatical no doubt. Mulder leaned to her ear again, "Come on, Cinderella." In the end, she was spared any decision trauma as she had instantaneously been stricken with a complete loss of higher brain function. Every molecule of her being focused on the sound of his voice and the energy being transduced through her cool skin and into her body via his strong steady hands on her bare skin. Mulder had touched her back and shoulders thousands of times, but never like this. She drifted along the path to the dance floor, a weightless extension of Mulder's arms.
The band wound down a jazzy number then went silent. The pianist was joined by a young man with a saxophone. All of the other musicians stilled in preparation for the duet. The pianist played four solitary chords, filling the room with haunting vibrations that called to the hearts of every unrequited lover within its reach. Rich, deep tones from the saxophone melted into the tune, providing a melody that had surely been composed for the lost, the love lorn, and the hopelessly hopeful of the world.
Mulder enfolded Scully into his embrace and waltzed her around the floor. The dim light accentuated the fire in her hair, and Mulder couldn't get enough of the sight of her. His thumb stroked her back. Mulder had lost what he had intended to tell her. Lost.
Scully felt nervous as her body waged war with her mind. Mulder's arms felt so good around her. They conjured up the memory of the time when he held her to his chest and bent to kiss her. She could still feel it, the anticipation, the inability to stop it, the disappointment as she twisted her head to the side abruptly because of that damn bee that had almost taken her life. More importantly, it had cost her the one time opportunity to experience Mulder's kiss. It had probably been for the best, she lied to herself. Her partnership depended upon maintaining a professional association with Mulder. Yeah, like things have been going so smoothly since then, her mind pointed out. Regardless, Scully struggled inwardly against the need to be held by him. His heartbeat called to her like a siren's song. It would be so incredibly easy to close the gap between them and to lean into his frame. So, so easy.
A collective sigh emanated from most of the women watching the floorshow from the "Pro-Mulder" table.
Scully's sense of self-preservation alerted her to the potential disaster presented by their current situation. Her mind was becoming acutely aware of the fact that they were most likely being watched. As a woman in a man's field, protecting her reputation and career had always been priorities. If she were to slip up here and now...
Still, the look in his eyes made her knees weaken and hushed the opposing views from within. Game over. The impulse to rest in his arms could no longer be resisted. Mulder hugged her close to his chest. Both of his hands caressed her bare back as he abandoned the waltz in favor of smaller steps taken near in the center of the floor. Somehow, ballroom- style dancing and the intimacy of the moment seemed incongruent.
Mulder's eyes fell upon her upturned mouth, the ruby softness of her lips tempting him. To prevent himself from stealing a kiss and possibly embarrassing Scully, he squeezed her closer still, resting his forehead gently upon her temple. Scully didn't resist, her small, soft body melding into the hard planes of Mulder's chest as he clasped her to him. She adjusted her head slightly against his, and he took the movement as an unspoken invitation to kiss her.
Mulder pulled away the merest fraction, looking for confirmation. And, as much as she wanted to protect her heart and her pride, she was powerless to keep her need for him out of her eyes. Mulder began his descent. Scully's heart beat wildly. His mouth closed from a mere three inches away. He had never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life. Her arms slid around his neck and "WHAM!" McKinze fell backwards out of his chair.
Mulder and Scully jumped guiltily apart. A roar of laughter mixed with muffled exclamations of reproach rose up from the general vicinity of Jacob's table. At least the attention wasn't on us, Scully thought thankfully. Disappointed but pragmatic as always, she took the distraction as a chance to compose herself then redirected Mulder, "So, what did you want to tell me?"
For Mulder, the urge to kill had never been stronger. He quelled his anger by rationalizing that McKinze had most likely saved Scully's and his working relationship given that fraternization between partners was definitely an official no-no. Mulder refocused on the mission at hand. "So, when *did* you meet this Mike character?" He was unable to keep his voice free of disdain.
"Excuse me?" Surely Mulder wasn't going to do this here? Now?
Mulder didn't attempt to clarify his words, opting instead to get straight to the point. "I did some checking on your Dr. Adams. There is no record of him at the Bureau as an agent, a contractor, a janitor, nothing. I took his glass, checked the prints, and..."
Scully interrupted, "You did what?" Scully felt as if the world had suddenly tilted 180 degrees as she had gone from absolute bliss to defensive rage in the matter of a few moments. A haze of red began to blur her vision. The pounding in her ears made it challenging to hear his response.
Oblivious to the fury building in front of him, Mulder continued, "Checked his prints. Nothing. This guy doesn't exist anywhere in the system." He spoke quickly, eager to tell her of his valiant detective work. "Oh, when I came back in, he was smoking Morleys and speaking about you cryptically into his cell phone." Mulder draped a protective arm around her shoulders as if to bring her into his confidence. "I think that you should stay away from him, Scully. He's trouble, maybe even a plant from the consortium or someone trying to exact revenge on us from a previous conviction. Anyway, I just wanted you to be on the up and up. Meanwhile, I'll keep digging to see what I can find." Thoroughly pleased with himself for preventing Scully from making a dangerous mistake, Mulder completely missed her thinning lips and cold glare.
"Come with me, please." Scully put her hand up to block him from responding. "Honest to God Mulder, one sexual wise-crack out of you, and I'll deck you so hard that your great grand children will feel it."
By now, Mulder had concluded that she was a little upset. Probably just relieved to avoid another close call, he reflected as he was led out into the hallway and then into an adjacent empty lounge. Nothing had prepared him for the daggers in her eyes when she turned.
Scully paced in front of him, muttering to herself briefly before turning directly on him. She began to speak with a low and quiet force that scared him to death. "Tell me Mulder, at which point during the evening did you decide to treat my date like a suspect?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "Let me guess, two seconds after you met him, right?"
"Oh, that's gratitude for you. I keep you from making another mistake, and you chew me out." Mulder rapidly exchanged confusion for indignation.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Afraid that I might decide to have a life, or is it my judgment in general that is in question?" Scully saw the lock slide open to the place where she had packed away all of her pain and frustration over the past five years. It was too late to shove them back inside. Her voice wanted to crack and crumble into pieces only to be swept away by her angry tears, but she refused to fall apart now.
"Hey, your track record with men isn't exactly stellar, you know? I mean, for all you know, this guy could be a serial killer." Mulder stood his ground.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Scully spat sarcastically. "I wasn't aware that I had to submit any potential dates for your approval. God knows Mulder, no one could ever measure up to your standards when it comes to scoring dates. I mean, you waited all of what, thirty seconds before going down on a suspect, a police chief, a self admitted vampire, that English bitch, the bug doctor...shall I continue?" Scully dropped her gaze to the floor as white-hot pain tore through her body at the memory of Mulder's conquests.
"So what? This is about jealousy? Did you pick up Mike--if that really is his name--just to get me back for not asking you to this friggin' dance?"
Hurt pride propelled Scully to say what she had been thinking on many occasions since they had begun to work together. "Of course Mulder, isn't everything about you? I mean, my entire purpose for being is to clean up your messes, take your phone messages, go with you whenever and wherever simply out of my undying allegiance to you. And if that wasn't enough, apparently I'm supposed to remain chaste and available, as monument to my loyalty, while you parade your whores in front of me without a second thought. On the few occasions that I slipped up and decided to have a moment of my life that didn't revolve solely around you, you wait and watch for the perfect opportunity to come charging in to say, 'I told you so'."
"Well, I never had to wait and watch for long, did I?" Mulder lashed. "Let's see now, there was Eddie the shape shifting serial rapist who had you practically falling over with your legs in the air. And my favorite, Ed Jerse the tattooed, psychopathic barfly that you *literally* picked up on a street corner. You came back with a tattoo and several contusions as souvenirs from that little trek as I remember. So don't stand there with that holier-than-thou attitude and lecture me about whoring!" Mulder recoiled, horrified by what he had just said, the stricken look on her face more than he could bear. If she cried, he would go down upon his knees and beg for forgiveness for what he had just called her.
Her mouth clamped shut to stifle the sob brought forth by one of the most painful moments in her life. With unshed tears standing in her eyes, and a heart full of scorn, she wanted to hurt him back. "You think I'm stupid? I came in my own car. I haven't been drinking. And yes, I figured out on my own that Mike should be avoided, and all of that, without your self-deluded assistance, thank you very much." Scully turned to leave then looked back, a tear streaking down her face. "And another thing Mulder," she rasped, "I only got that stupid snake chasing its tail tattoo because I was drunk, lonely, and pissed off about the repetitive futility that has reigned supreme in my life since the day I first met YOU!" The world dissolved around Scully into blurred streams of bleeding color as she all but ran away.
Mulder stood in stunned silence, the process of numbing disassociation already in progress. It was as if all of his strength had been siphoned away, and his mind intentionally blocked any coherent thought or plan of action that could be summoned. He fell backwards onto the rounded lounge sofa and hung his head.
McKinze stepped back so as not to be caught spying. He had been sent out into the hallway to verify that Mulder had won. It seemed an unnecessary formality given what he had seen in the ballroom before he tumped over onto the floor.
McKinze couldn't really say that he knew either Agent Mulder or Agent Scully personally. Everyone knew of them. Despite the lack of respect given to them by virtue of the nature of their work, most agreed-- whether they wanted to or not--that the pair was unbeatable in terms of profiling and resolving cases. McKinze had always felt that the resentment and teasing of the agents was most likely a product of bruised male egos on the behalf of Agent Scully and envy regarding the loyalty they had towards each other and towards their work. Even though he'd never been an actual friend to either of them, McKinze felt as though he had just witnessed the final act in a tragedy of gigantic proportions. The dissolution of a close friendship and, he suspected, the breaking of two hearts was never an easy thing to watch.
McKinze returned to the table and delivered the solitary statement that Mulder did not leave with Agent Scully. He felt as though he somehow owed it to them not to report on what had befallen the couple. Reactions were varied. Payments were exchanged. Janet Reno's personal assistant, Kevin, commented that the mood of the festivities now seemed about as upbeat as a homecoming dance after the home team had gotten its ass kicked. With the party winding down anyway, the crowd began to disband and leave for home.
Some time later, Mulder tugged his bow tie loose and ambled back into the main hall, heading for the door. Someone thumped him hard on the shoulder, and he spun around to see who was bothering him now. Attorney General Reno scowled at him and, with a disapproving shake of her head, informed him that he owed her twenty dollars. Ms. Reno left a befuddled Mulder in her wake, and Kevin chuckling after her.
"What the???" Whatever, he thought. Mulder couldn't get back to his apartment fast enough.
*****
Fiery liquid seared its way down Mulder's throat and chest, the burning sensation replacing the aching in his heart for a few seconds only. Light from the fish tank provided the only illumination in his apartment, casting its long, rippling shadows over the living room; the stretching light like fingers in search of something elusive.
It was over. It was over.
Every word, every vision from that evening replayed relentlessly in his mind; her words still ringing in his ears. He had been right. She *had* regretted ever meeting him, working with him, everything that had happened. She had lied to him. The only truth that he had ever been sure of, and she had lied to him.
I don't need her. She saved me the trouble, he thought, feeling as though he had been wronged. If that was the way she felt, then he was glad to be rid of her. For all he knew, she could have been a spy after all. She had me convinced of her loyalty and friendship. Hell, I was stupid enough to have believed that maybe she felt...that she was in...Shit. Screw her! Anger flooded through him. Mulder rubbed his bleary eyes while nurturing the hostility growing in his breast. I was right. She couldn't wait to walk out on me, stuck around all of this time just to mess with my head, the bitch. I wonder why she waited this long. Mulder slammed another shot and pitched the glass against the wall sending shards scattering across the hardwood floor.
Mulder buried his face in his hands and waited for the tequila to go to his head. It was then that he detected something peculiar. Scully's scent, the one he had secretly enjoyed over the duration of their partnership, clung to his hand from their dance earlier. But instead of the excitement and the peace typically derived from catching a trace of her scent on the wind, Mulder thought that there was something disturbing about the sweetness of the aroma. A foreign fragrance exacted its influence by attempting to conceal Scully's own heavenly redolence. In comparison to Scully, the perfume seemed stale and acrid, yet there was something familiar about it. Mulder inhaled deeply and opened his mind in a sort of free-floating association in an attempt to unlock memories and form connections. Mulder's mind did not disappoint, although a part of him wished that it had.
The memory of a small town under the tyranny of two teenage witches slid into focus. They had been called in by a local police detective to assist with an investigation. Mulder was still unclear as to why he and Scully had behaved as badly to one another as they had. The universe itself had seemed on edge that week.
Basically, Mulder had behaved like a perfect ass. He had demonstrated the audacity to announce to all present at a suspect's interrogation that *someone* in the room was wearing his favorite perfume. He had unceremoniously sniffed Scully's neck before deciding that the leggy, blonde detective in the room was the lucky winner. Later that day, Scully had walked in on him and saw that same detective straddling his thighs. Even though he had truly been trying to get away from the overly aggressive blonde's grasp--out of loyalty to Scully--it had to have looked as if he had been "going down" on Detective White from Scully's perspective.
However, Scully's unfavorable assessment of his indiscretions hadn't been totally unfounded. During his association with an entomologist named Dr. Bambi--the kind of name one would expect to see in the title of one of Mulder's *special* movies--he had been unthoughtful and crass towards Scully. Even so, if his brief liaisons with Dr. Bambi, Detective White, Phoebe Green and a few others over the years had proven anything, it was that no woman in his arms could ever compare to Scully in his heart, and he had unjustly resented her for it. The knowledge that his feelings could never come to fruition frustrated him to the point of anger. After all, it was surely easier to agitate and to vex Scully than to have remained foolishly optimistic about a relationship with her that most probably existed solely in his head.
That argument may have alleviated some of his feelings of guilt at one time, but now he experienced that guilt returning to him ten fold. He wished that he possessed the ability to blot the betrayals, perceived or otherwise, from existence. The trouble was, apparently Scully hadn't forgotten, and he had never felt as low as he did now.
Scully had come to the banquet earlier that night wearing the very same perfume previously in question. Even after he had rejected her, she had come to him wearing what she thought he would like best. The act humbled him. As they had danced, he discovered that he had been unable to discourage his draw towards her. Holding her close amidst the crackling current surrounding them, he found that he had wanted and wanted and wanted her with every fiber of his being. He could have cared less about the scrutiny that they had most likely been receiving. She was the only thing in his universe. They were gravitational bodies. He stood no greater chance of escaping her pull than the Earth stood in breaking away from the blazing sun. And he found that he had simply wanted and wanted and wanted her.
The cocktail of endorphins pumping through his body had loosened his inhibitions. Thought had fled, the all-encompassing attraction irresistible. Unfortunately, thanks to the loud clatter of McKinze's chair hitting the parquet, they had thought it necessary to relinquish each other's grasp in retreat.
For the first time in a long while, Mulder stepped outside of himself and began to see things from a new perspective. Scully must be thinking that the only reason that he had condescended to dance with her in the first place, was merely to discuss his latest "case" regarding her date. From her vantage point, he had as much as said that he wasn't interested in her socially despite their apparent closeness, that she wasn't even close to being his type, that she had perpetually lousy judgment when it came to the few men she had gone out with in almost six years; and that although she was the first person he would almost always run to when he needed something, he chose to look elsewhere when what he needed was a woman.
Mulder had been so busy trying to stay away from her lately that he had ceased to consider his reasons for doing so. Now, faced with a future that didn't include Scully, his heart suffered the burden that he had forced her out of his life hurting her deeply in the process.
Mulder stared at the phone for a good five minutes as he tried to compose his thoughts into spoken language and, for the second time that night, found that he couldn't. He slumped against the worn leather of his couch wanting nothing more than to undo what he had done that night.
There was a knock on the door. Mulder stood and looked quizzically at the clock that read 2:31 am. He opened the door to find the only woman he would ever love standing in the hallway. Her hair was damp and she looked pensive, reluctant to intrude into Mulder's domicile. He offered to take her trench coat, but she refused. Mulder moved to the back of his living room and into his comfort zone, willing the words that he needed to say into existence, but they adamantly refused to cooperate.
Scully experienced the same aphasia, her voice trapped beneath a deluge of tears waiting only for her first syllable to begin their downpour. His image swam before her as he turned to face her with his own tears standing in his eyes. He opened his arms to her, and she rushed into his embrace. "I'm sorry," tumbled from his lips.
"I'm sorry, too," she managed to choke out.
No other words were needed as they fell into one another. Mulder kissed away each tear and held her as closely as he could. He traced the shell of her perfect ear and down the column of her neck. She shivered in response to his hands on her body and also because the coat around her had become cold and wet on her way to Mulder, she supposed, unable to recall the details. His hands dropped to her chest as he unfastened her coat. There was nothing accidental about his touch this time as he pushed the jacket from her shoulders and kissed a patch of pale skin where her shoulder met her neck. Scully felt Mulder stepping back slightly as he took in her dress or lack there of. She was clad in a forest green slip of a nightgown that hugged her body in all of the right places. It's shimmering satin begged to be touched. Mulder smiled his gratitude, and then, with his index finger, he lightly tilted her face up to meet his as he descended upon her waiting lips.
There was nothing sweeter in the world than that kiss.
The rush he felt gave him the courage to finally say aloud the words that he had never said to anyone, even to himself. "I love you."
Scully broke away from his kiss to look him in the eye. She wanted desperately to tell him of her feelings for him, "Mulder, I love you too." Her heart soared. She Soared. Higher and higher she flew, the weight of her secret no longer holding her down. She opened her eyes when she heard Mulder calling after her. She could no longer see him. "Mulder!" she cried. "Mulder!" She lost her bearings as she felt herself being carried across some invisible land. "Mulder! I'm here. Mulder! Don't leave me. Mulder!?"
The sound of her voice evaporated as Mulder watched his worst nightmare coming true. Their admissions of love had caused a rift, breaking them apart with an unearthly power and taking her away from him. He could do nothing but watch her drift further and further away.
Mulder woke-up with a start, his brow glistening with perspiration. His mouth still feeling and tasting hers as he recalled the dream that had felt so real. "If only it were that simple," he said to himself. Maybe she felt that way now, maybe she didn't. Either way, the tatters of their joint careers and relationship had already received irreconcilable damage from earlier that evening. Either way, he wasn't about to go over to Scully's apartment and confess his love for her. No good could ever come of it. Unwilling and unable to sleep, Mulder sat at his computer and began to type.
*****
Dana Scully sat bolt upright in bed. Her bedside clock lit the time as 2:36 a.m. Her hand pressed against her lips savoring the sensation of Mulder's kiss that had felt so incredibly real. In the fantasy, Mulder loved her as much as she loved him. She loved him. She *loved* him. The thought spun in her mind. Her heart had known that she had loved him almost from the beginning. But now, the intense revelation refused to be hidden any longer. And although it was a fact that had been evident for a long time, attaching the words and the scope of the commitment inherent in them shook the foundation on which she had so carefully constructed her life. Thrilled by the clarity of the moment, she hopped off of the bed, shoved her cold feet into her fuzzy slippers and began to pick out clothes from her closet in preparation to go running to Mulder in the middle of the night.
Scully ran a hand through her hair which was still damp from her shower over an hour ago then stopped short of her dresser. She had shaken off the last traces of sleep and began to think more clearly. Mulder hadn't said that he loved her. Mulder hadn't apologized and neither had she. In truth, he would probably never speak to her again after the spiteful things that she had said. She'd lost her opportunity to love him, and even more importantly, she had just lost the closest friend she'd ever had.
After setting the blue jeans on the bed, she walked over to her dresser and unlocked her drawer of secret treasures. In it, she found the same green shift that she had been wearing in her dream. Melissa had given it to her for her birthday, shortly after her recovery from her abduction and coma. Scully smiled a sad smile when she recalled her sister's words. "I definitely think that you'll be needing this in the future." Scully discounted Melissa's prediction stating that was not the kind of relationship she wanted to have with Mulder. Melissa got that far away look on her face and said in an almost a trance like voice, "When two souls are joined so completely, there will come a time when they are no longer able to stand the hardship of separation. When that moment comes, give into it, Dana. Fate will take care of the rest."
Scully looked heavenward for her sister, "Well Melissa, at least I got to wear it once, even if it had been only a dream." Scully smiled inwardly thinking that Melissa would have liked that.
Scully neatly folded the nightgown and placed it back into its cubbyhole. She retrieved a picture frame, and started to tear up. There she sat at a picnic table, her mock disapproval clashing with enjoyment on her face in a half smirk as Mulder took their picture with a Polaroid camera. On the table in front of her, sat the most lop-sided cake that she's ever seen. It sported drooping icing and two birthday candles, an emergency candle, a half used up votive candle and two lit matches sticking up on the cake blazing brightly. He had baked, or tried to bake, a cake for the six-month anniversary of her cancer's remission. He admittedly hadn't had all of the necessary supplies, but it was a rare and touching gesture all the same. He had remembered her, not their work, not his own interest, but her. It had felt good, and she held that day snugly to her, keeping the picture for when she needed a good reason not to kill him.
Her friend.
Her love.
Her loss.
For that evening, she had cut him to the core, feeding upon his insecurities and natural distrust. She had done such a good job of it, that he would most likely never willingly be in her company in the future. Oh God, what have I done? she petitioned God in the solitude of her bedroom as she fell to her knees and wept.
Scully awoke to the shrill ringing of her telephone. Her sleep- addled brain was momentarily disoriented as she had apparently cried her self to sleep, spending the entire night and a good deal of the morning on the floor by the foot of her bed. She rose to her bed side--now more fully awake, and her heart leapt with joy at the mere prospect of talking to Mulder. As she answered, she tried hard to hide the disappointment from her mother on the other end of the phone. "Hi Mom." Scully pulled the phone into her lap as she scooted to the headboard for support. "No, I'm just a little tired, that's all." Scully listened to her mother's plan to come into the city for other errands and that she wanted to stop by and check-up on her. Normally, Scully would have refused to admit that she needed someone to comfort her. Today however, she really, really needed her mother. Therefore, after a surprising lack of resistance, Maggie stated that she'd be by around one o'clock p.m. and that she would bring over some lunch.
Three hours later, her mother arrived. Scully picked at her sandwich. Maggie sighed in distress at her baby girl's anguish. Grudgingly, Scully had recounted the events of last night's party including the argument. After she had finished the tale--excluding the dream, of course, she sat back nibbling at a now rubbery french fry.
"Was he wrong?" Maggie asked.
"About what?" Scully puzzled.
"Was he wrong about Mike?"
Scully hedged and tried to avoid comment, but one look at her mom told her that Maggie had no intentions of backing down. "No, not really," came the meek reply.
"And those other men, was he wrong to want to protect you?" Margaret waited for Dana to run through every evasive strategy in her pretty head. She could honestly see the wheels turning. Under maternal duress, Scully folded, nodding in silent agreement.
Scully rallied back, "So he potentially could have saved me from them, big deal. What gives him the right to assume that I couldn't have fended for myself . Especially since I hadn't slept with any of them or anyone else for longer than I care to admit. Meanwhile, his picks for female companionship have demonstrated worse judgment than I've ever shown."
"Are you sure about that?" Scully looked confused. "Let me ask you this way, had your situations been reversed, what would you have believed and done? Would you have wanted to keep him from making another mistake, even a life threatening one?" Maggie took her daughter's hand and smiled compassionately. "Honey, I'm not justifying those things that he said to you. I just want you to try to see two sides to this. You two have to talk this thing out. When you love someone, that's what you have to do."
Scully swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and gave a curt shake of her head. Then with scarcely enough volume to reach her mother, "I'm afraid that I've already lost him forever. Assuming that I could make him listen to me, what would I say?"
"That's for you to know and for Fox to find out. Believe me, it's not as impossible as you both think. He loves you, Dana. I've seen it. It scares him just like it scares you. He's probably never put that amount of faith in another living soul. And I'm certain that you love him deeply also. If you both believe in that truth, then that truth can save you both." Maggie rose from her chair and cradled Dana's head against her waist, dipping to kiss the top of her head.
Scully's lip began to quiver as her mother eloquently spoke what had been written in Dana's heart for so long. That she had done so with words that were echoes of Mulder's past reassurances to her, only strengthened their impact and validity. "But how do I tell him? How do I get him to open up to me?"
Maggie smiled wistfully and paused as if she were listening to a sound carried on the wind, then said, "Trust your heart and bare your soul. Fate will take care of the rest."
As promised, fate did make an appearance that afternoon. A few minutes after her mother left, Dana answered the door to a skinny, acne riddled, teen-aged messenger. He was thanked, tipped, and practically pushed out of the doorway in her haste to open the letter.
Scully,
I really need to talk to you. I will wait for you at Goodwill
Harbor at four o'clock today. Directions are enclosed. Please
come and everything will be made clear.
-M
Two hours later, Dana found herself tempted to strangle Mulder for his directions. Leave it to him to come up with the most convoluted route to the Marina. Still, she would make it by four p.m., a fact that reassured her and terrified her simultaneously.
The weather had not improved. Perpetual drizzle saturated the air, and the temperature hovered around forty degrees. Her car ground to a halt in the parking lot overlooking rows of sailboats and commercial fishing boats. Most obviously had better sense than to traverse the elements. Scully hopped from one patch of exposed blacktop to the next, in a game of puddle hopscotch. She looked all around for Mulder who was nowhere in sight. A man in a yellow rain slicker waved from the deck of a nearby schooner. Scully cautiously made her way to him.
"Are you Scully?" he shouted through the increasing rain.
"Who wants to know?" Scully ventured with an instantaneous paranoia that surprised her.
"Look, Miss, I was hired by this guy named Fox Mulder to give you a ride out to the old lighthouse on the edge of the harbor." He looked like he would much rather be at home watching sporting events than out in this slush doling out taxi rides.
Still wary, "How do I know you're telling me the truth?"
The man laughed. "He knew you were going to ask me that." The round, jovial man almost put her at ease, but she still stayed at the ready to pull her revolver from her holster if necessary. He stepped closer to her and motioned for her to open her hand. He proceeded to fill her palm with sunflower seeds. She smiled in relief and climbed aboard.
Together, they made their way across choppy seas through the veil of increasing fog. "Are you sure that it's safe to be out in this?" Scully asked.
"Oh yeah, we go out in much worse conditions than these" he answered and gave his boat a pat in camaraderie and respect. In an effort to distract his passenger, Mitch--as he preferred to be called--asked, "Did you hear the one about the naked blonde, the poodle, and the large salami?" Scully smirked and informed him that he was the third person to tell her that joke in as many days. Mitch shrugged apologetically and told her that it was the only joke he could come up with at the time.
A few minutes later the engine slowed then cut off completely. Scully went on alert then walked out onto the deck once she realized that they had reached their destination. Through the blanket of fog, she saw the revolving beacon of light from the turret above. Mitch told her that the lighthouse itself was something of a dinosaur. Computers now maintained the lighthouse, and the cottage attached was often rented out for weekends. Scully placed her foot over the bow and onto a pile of slippery rocks, hoping that she could manage the landing without breaking her leg or falling into the water. She successfully made it up the embankment. Mitch waved from the boat, "Go on in. I'll wait."
Scully opened the unlocked door and entered into the cozy room lit entirely by fire light from the big stone hearth on the opposite wall. "Mulder?" she called. "Mulder?" No answer. Again, "Mulder, this isn't funny. Come out." Nothing. Mulder wasn't there. Scully ran to the entrance, "Mitch, there's nobody...." Scully stopped yelling when she rushed out in time to see Mitch's boat pulling away into the thick fog and mist. "Damn-it." Was this Mulder's idea of revenge? Scarier still, was this part of the same plot from those who perpetrated the hoax and possibly employed Mike as well. Scully pulled her gun and began to surveil the house.
The cottage itself was charming. The nautical inspired decor reminded her of her father and some of the bases she'd lived on while growing up. Scully fingered a brass bell and barometer mounted on the wall near the door. Further into the house, there was an overstuffed chair near the fireplace huddled against a navy and white striped loveseat in the small living room. She turned to advance into presumably the bedroom area when she detected something on the brass and glass-topped coffee table. There, a large manila envelope waited. Written in sloppy, red ink, the outer envelope read, "Stolen from the encoded journal of Fox Mulder". Goose bumps broke out on her skin as she lifted the envelope wondering if she should read it. It could be an essential clue to deciphering the conundrum in which she now found herself mired. What if Mulder's in trouble? she rationalized. You owe it to him to read what is in the envelope. Before she could change her mind again, she ripped the tab, wincing slightly at the paper cut incurred as a result of her impatience, and withdrew a single typed sheet of paper.
November 7, 1998
How did everything become so complicated?
Dana Scully came into my life, presumably to tear it apart. In a way, I suppose that she has, although not as intended. The intensity of my feelings for her defies reason. Their magnitude leaves me small and insignificant by comparison. The emotions that I feel for her have become the most powerful force in my life. Put simply, she is the most infuriatingly wonderful pain in the ass that I've ever known.
Somewhere along our twisting journey through prevarication and unprofitable enlightenment, I allowed myself to trust in her, sharing my darkness, relying upon her to lead me through the mazes of life and into the safety and comfort of her presence.
Scully stepped blindly to the sofa, feeling her way down as she leaned upon an armrest for support, never daring for a second to pull her eyes away from the paper held in her trembling hand. She felt the prickle of future tears from behind her eyes as she resumed reading.
Were it completely impossible to believe that my feelings might be returned, I think that I would accept the situation with more ease. There would be no "what-ifs" to fill my days and plague my deepest slumber with visions of her fastened to my side, sated in my arms. Unfortunately, my cursed photographic recollection presses the fleeting moments of clarity to the forefront of my consciousness in which I possess the knowledge that our connection goes beyond partnership, far beyond friendship. I live with the temptation that, were I to curry her favor, romance her, it is possible that she would indeed surrender to me.
However, I must ask myself, if I were to hold her not only as a friend, but also as a lover, would it bring redemption for all that has befallen us, or would it create a pain more intense than either one of us has ever known?
I have delivered precious little to her other than sorrow. She has lost so many parts of her life as a direct result of knowing me. No matter how I have longed to protect her from the evil that draws us as we attempt to understand and to classify it before it destroys us, I have failed. I have absolutely no right to take any more from her than I already have.
Those convictions are not new to me. They bite at my heels until I acknowledge their presence and feed them by unpacking my heart with promises I find impossible to keep. I have never been able to let her go. I'm a selfish bastard-- always have been, but the burden of voluntary sacrifice has apparently been lifted from me now, for I have surely said and done things this evening that will no doubt cause her to revile me. Dana Scully is out of my life. I can no longer hurt her. It is for the best as I might never have mustered the strength to remove myself from her world of my own volition, coward that I am.
The printed words blurred as Scully dashed the tears from her cheeks with a swipe of the back of her hand.
I will keep the memory of my Scully with me forever, this love for her with me forever--perfect and untarnished by time. Better that, than to watch her slip away from my grasp a little at a time as she discovers how much I've taken and how little I have to give. I will take refuge in my solitude for I could never bare to watch as she leaves me, another chapter in her book of regrets entitled, "Fox Mulder".
Oh God, please make it all right. I can't lose him. Scully dropped the page, and it flitted down to the rug beneath her feet. She began to pace within the confines of the room. Her distress practically caused the stone walls to bulge with tension. She had to get to him. She had to talk to him. Now. After a few seconds, she managed one coherent thought. Phone. She dug her cell phone out of her blue jean's pocket and dialed his number with practiced precision and speed. It rang. "Come on, Mulder" And rang. "Come on, come on..." And rang. Then answered: "The cellular customer you have called, is either out of the service area, or unable to take your call at this moment. Please push the # key if you wish to leave a voice mail message." Scully smacked the phone against her thigh, silently cursing Mulder for deactivating his line.
Scully felt rather than heard the rumbling vibrations from a boat outside. With her ear pressed to the door, she listened as someone ran up the steep stairs towards her. She flattened her back against the wall, drew her weapon, and waited. The door knob twisted slowly. Scully pulled the hammer back. Just as the door began to creak open, a violent gust of wind and horizontal rain sent it slamming open on its hinges, followed quickly by a darkly clad, hooded figure whose hand still clutched the knob. Scully touched the barrel to the back of his head and issued a forceful warning, "Federal Agent! Put your hands where I can see them!" He complied with the command, and waited until she circled to face him before speaking.
"Jeez, Scully, you scared the shit out of me."
"Mulder?" Scully squinted into the rain at Mulder's face. He turned and closed the door, securing it with the dead bolt.
"Yeah, who did you think it was, the Gorden's Fisherman?" He was happy to see that she hadn't been harmed but simultaneously dismayed by the scene in which he had entered. "What's going on? Are you all right?" Mulder shrugged off his rain coat and went to warm himself by the fire.
Scully was confused, "What do you mean, what's going on?" She joined him by the fire.
Perplexed, Mulder posed, "I mean, I get a call from your mother an hour ago saying that you needed me and that I should come to the harbor to find you. I damn near wrecked my car in the rain trying to get here as fast as possible, and when I do, the 'Skipper' takes me on an abbreviated three hour tour in the driving rain out to this lighthouse at your request." Mulder shook the water from his hair and face, his clothes were beyond soaked. After visually inspecting the room and finding no perilous circumstances, Mulder grew impatient. He deserved to know what kind of little game she was playing. "So allow me to repeat, what the hell is going on here?" Scully ran to the door, pried it open just in time to see the last traces of Mitch's boat disappearing in the fog and heavy rain. Mulder glanced past her, "Hey, where's he going? He said he'd wait!"
Scully's patience had just about run out. "Mulder, what kind of a game are you playing?"
"Me? I was going to ask the same of you." Mulder felt that spider tingling sense on the back of his neck. He began to surmise that neither he nor Scully bore the responsibility for the situation at hand.
"My mother called you?!" Mulder's statement finally penetrated her thoughts.
Mulder massaged the knotted muscles at the base of his skull and squinted his eyes closed tightly against the pain residing somewhere beneath his tired lids. "Like I said, I received her call a little more than an hour ago. I was having lunch with Byers about halfway between here and downtown. She said that someone told her that you desperately needed my help. She told me that you might be in danger. I almost hydroplaned my car into a ditch to get here quickly." Mulder, having decided that there was no immediate threat, sat on the floor and began to pry his sopping shoes from his cold feet. "So, I show up... uph!" one final tug sent the dress boot skittering toward the fireplace, "and Mitch tells me that you hired him to bring me out here regarding indispensable information that I needed to see for myself. So what do I need to see for myself?" Mulder made no attempt to mask the ire in his voice. "Have you got a Fiji Mermaid stuffed behind the couch, or is this some kind of payback for last night?"
Scully pursed her lips and shook her head once in disbelief. She pulled a piece of paper from her coat pocket and extended it to Mulder who accepted it with questioning eyes. He read the invitation that someone had sent in his stead. "I didn't send this, Scully."
"No kidding," came the deflated reply. After years of never knowing which versions of the truth to accept as valid and which versions were presented for the express purpose of misleading one or both of them, Scully's skepticism mingled with a healthy sense of paranoia and began shaping the evidence into plausible scenarios which might explain why the two of them were now basically stranded in the middle of nowhere. Mulder's mood had smoothed a bit since his arrival going from hostile to the down- graded state of aggravation. Mulder pitched the crumpled invitation into the fire. He kept his back to her.
Scully wondered if he had written the journal entry that she had viewed earlier, or if it too had been drafted merely to perpetrate this fraud. That line of thought forced her to deal with the unsettling possibility that someone had coerced her mother into participating in this Byzantine exercise. The notion seemed too far-fetched for serious contemplation. "Mulder, if you are bullshitting me, so help me..."
"Hey!" he snapped. "I'm as curious as you are to find who orchestrated this little holiday and why; so back off!!!" Mulder's voice reverberated around the room, filling the small space with its painful cacophony.
Scully shrunk away from the sound in defense. The color drained from her face.
Childhood memories of argumentative snippets of conversations punctuated by an echoing slap across his mothers face temporarily blinded him, as though he himself had been on the receiving end of the blow. In his own voice, Mulder detected the remnants of his father's temper, leaving him nauseated with self loathing. Had he any doubts about his decision to leave the bureau and Scully, they had just been obliterated by the pungent remembrance of his ability to injure Scully and himself were he to continue their affiliation.
Scully didn't move from the corner she had tucked herself into. He couldn't look her in the eye as he spoke. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage.
Scully had to make this right somehow. She understood better than anyone, how Mulder thought. He possessed a talent for internalizing blame. Suddenly, nothing else mattered to her other than quieting his distress. He had to be as emotionally raw as she at this point. "I'm sorry too, Mulder." Her words were a whisper, a deafening whisper that curled around Mulder and pulled his body to hers, his steps involuntarily guided by his soul.
Scully couldn't read the expression on his silhouetted face. The guilt she carried within her breast over the spitefully cruel things that she had said to him the previous night saturated her words as she repeated herself. She had been unable to keep the hitch out of her voice, her tears too close to the surface.
Mulder's heart broke at the sound of her choked sob in the midst of her heartfelt apology. She's sorry that she hurt *you*. He moved to better see her face in the amber light. A trail of salty tears broke free and slipped down her face. He raised his hand to smooth her temple. His fingers tangled in her hair, and his thumb gently stroked the peripheral recess of her cheek. Mulder couldn't find his voice. He looked into Scully's eyes with every transgression etched on his face then cleared his throat in an effort to summon the words. "I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean any of the things that I said." His voice began to disintegrate. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a litany of his laments as he hugged her tightly to his chest. "I didn't mean it. You were right to hate me for the way I treated you."
Scully's fingertips reached up to his mouth, pressing softly against his lips to quiet his admission of sole responsibility. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you. It's o-kay. It's o-kay." She gently rocked him as they stood in their embrace. She tilted her face up to meet his. "Those terrible things that I said last night, Mulder, I didn't mean them. I was angry. I didn't mean what I said." In his eyes, she saw the turbulence of doubt. "Believe me, Mulder. Believe me."
Mulder nodded and wrapped her completely in his arms. He wanted to believe her words with startling vehemence. He wanted to believe more than he had ever wanted to believe anything in his entire life, but a lifetime of vacillation and mistrust prevented him from fully accepting her forgiveness. Still, it felt too good to have his friend back, even if it only lasted a little while. He savored the moment.
Scully sensed the conflict within him. Somehow, she had to let him know how she felt. The fear that she would say the wrong thing, fear that he didn't share her feelings, even the fear that the journal entry hadn't really been his, prevented her from speaking. Her hand traveled from his lips to caress his cheek. Her cool knuckles skimmed the sides of his face before her hands circled around the back of his head, fingers burrowing into his hair as she exerted an almost imperceptible pull in her direction. It was all automatic. Scully lifted to her toes, bringing herself nearer to the mouth she so desperately needed to kiss. If she kissed him, this spell of darkness would end. She knew it.
This would make it right.
Mulder read her eyes and stiffened, breaking away from her and the uncomfortable moment. He couldn't allow her any closer to him than she already was. Impossible, Mulder thought as he flashed forward to the prediction of emotional fall-out in one possible future, one in which he wanted no part. Instead he chose to drop into professional mode for protection. "So," he clapped his hands together, "why don't you try to get some help on the phone, and I'll go outside and look for a boat or something."
A chill raced through Scully when she realized what was happening. It was the same thing that always happened whenever they were brazen enough to slide a cautious foot across the intimacy barrier between friendship and love. She nodded to Mulder in mute agreement. Her brow knitted together as she removed herself mentally from her surroundings. Her mind's eye projected a vision of being on that tight rope again. She had no more strength to balance on the quivering line any longer. The net stretched reassuringly below her, waiting for her fall, but apprehension kept her riveted in place. Then, from somewhere outside of her own person, she heard a whisper. "Tell him, Dana. Tell him before it's too late."
Scully listened to the familiar voice in disbelief and argued, I can't do it, I can't.
"Yes you can, Scardy-cat. Jump."
Scully held onto her insecurities, What would I say? I still don't know what to say.
To Scully's amazement, the journal entry, forgotten on the floor, rustled slightly against her foot. "You know what to say. Jump, Dana. Jump."
Catch me Mulder. Scully spoke softly as if the lack of volume provided some protection. "I'd never leave." She mumbled and looked at the floor.
Mulder had finished donning his shoes and raincoat in preparation for his reconnaissance mission and walked to the door. He'd heard what she said, he simply didn't believe what she had spoken. He turned to her, "What?" he asked in quiet bewilderment.
This was Scully's out, her one chance to remain on the wire. "Jump!" she heard again and physically felt a push from behind, causing her to stumble forward and jarring the truth out of her. "I said that I won't leave you." She was free falling as she waited expectantly for his response.
Mulder still didn't allow himself to believe and asked again. "Scully, what are you saying?
Still plummeting, Scully found that her courage was returning. Why not? She was already speeding towards the ground with nothing to lose. She took his hand in hers, her unguarded emotions displayed plainly for him to see. "I'd never leave you." To Scully's relief, recognition passed over his features; caught, but still unwilling to admit it.
"Scully, I don't know what you are getting at, but..."
"Yes you do." She tentatively slid her other hand up his arm. Her eyes never left his. "Mulder, I know that you are afraid that if you let yourself care for me too much, that I'll leave you someday, and that fear is what's been making you push me away recently. But I'm not going anywhere, I don't want to leave you. I want to stay with you if you'll let me." Scully held her breath while Mulder pieced it together. "Let me."
I'm dreaming again, he reasoned and waited for an alien or some hideous mutant to drag him away from his dream of Scully.
She watched and waited for some acknowledgment of what she had said to appear. One hundred years worth of a few seconds passed, and she was still waiting. "Mulder? Will you let me?" The cold ground loomed closer. Falling. Falling.
"I still don't understand what you're talking about." Mulder disentangled himself from her grasp. His eyes darted around the room for an escape route. Finding no avenue of flight, he settled for verbal confrontation to see him through this crisis. "I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression, but I don't feel that way about you. You and I are just friends and colleagues, right?"
That's it, thought Scully. No more games. She stalked over to the sofa and retrieved the journal entry from the rug. After returning to him, she exclaimed, "You want irrefutable proof, then here you go." She slapped the paper into his palm. "And before you ask, no, I don't have a clue about who stole it or how it got here."
This was it. She would wind up splattered against the cement if he failed to catch her now. The urgency of the moment brought about a clarity of purpose like no other. If this was to be her final act, then so be it. Scully drew in a breath, fortifying her courage and confessed. "Mulder, you *do* know what I'm talking about." He started to interrupt, but she halted his words with her fingers again. "I don't regret our past." He snorted in disbelief. "O-kay, let me rephrase that. Yes, there are things that have happened that I regret, but everyone has things about their pasts that they wish hadn't happened. Our regrets are just stranger than average." The sight of a tiny smile on his lips made her heart leap. "The point is, I want to work with you regardless of those risks. And yes, I have suffered losses since I met you Mulder, but you are not to blame for any of them." He shook his head. "You have saved me, Mulder, so many times; my best friend, the only one that I trust. Don't you know that's more valuable to me than almost anything?"
"I *can't* believe that, Scully." He labored with angst. "There isn't one good reason for you to continue to subject yourself to me. Not one!"
"Yes there is, Mulder. Yes there is. If you don't know by now how much I love you, then you're not half the behavioral psychologist that you claim to be." He looked surprised. She smiled as a feeling of freedom swept through her. Truth had a way of doing that sometimes. "I love you. I have for a long time. There is nothing that you could do that would ever make me want to leave you, *so stop trying*. There is no way in the world that I could ever leave the only man I've ever loved. Trust me and take that leap of faith. I'll catch you. Believe in it, and be happy." Scully had followed her heart and bared her soul. Now she was just waiting around to see if fate was going to make another cameo appearance and help her out a little.
Fate did.
Scully was lifted into the air and swung around in a fierce, almost bruising, yet incredible hug.
"I love you too." Mulder settled her feet back down to Earth again. Her spirit continued to spin with glee. To Scully's joy, he was laughing and crying at the same time. Come to think of it, she was too. "I don't deserve you, Scully, but I love you. I don't want you to leave either. Ever." Both of his hands wound their way to her face. Just as he had done in his dream, he kissed away her tears with the feather soft caresses of his lips brushing across her cheeks. He then pulled back to search her eyes for permission to finish what they had started ages ago.
Scully gazed up at him with sparkling eyes that told him exactly what she wanted at this glorious moment in time. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Her bottom lip caught on her teeth in nervous expectation; an unconscious gesture that Mulder considered to be sexy as hell. Slowly, he descended. His eyes never left hers while he bridged the gap between them. Scully had to force herself not to yank his head down and capture his lips with her own. Slowly, slowly they came together, each aware of the finality of the act. She could feel his breath upon her face. His jaw slanted. Their lips encountered each other's electrical boundaries. Just one more millimeter and they would be home at last. Just one more sec... "DING!"
Scully jerked her head towards the noise as Mulder's mouth went off target and grazed her chin, his frustration complete as he exhaled, "Sonofabitch!"
"Did you hear a bell?" Scully perked an ear in the direction of the kitchen area.
"Scully, you're not supposed to hear bells until *after* we kiss." Scully twisted her lips into a wry grin in response.
Mulder now knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that some powerful force in the universe had a really wierd sense of humor *and* his zip code. Disappointed, he sighed and kissed the top of her head before unholstering his gun and flanking the swinging door. Better be an entire bell choir in there, I'm in the mood for some target practice, he thought gruffly. They silently counted down to three and kicked the door open.
The door swung open with a bang, and the agents advanced with weapons brandished, ready to take on any threat. However, the threat in this instance consisted of an immaculate kitchen; a small table, two chairs, and two place settings; and a kitchen timer. Scully was the first to stand down. "It's o-kay Mulder, I don't think that the toaster is packing heat." Mulder gave her his ha-ha-very-funny look and holstered his gun as well. "Hmm, something smells good." Scully went to investigate. She peeked into the oven astonished by what she saw. Only then did she notice the note taped to the oven timer. "Hey, come here and look at this." She read the message first and surprised Mulder by throwing her head back with laughter; deep, snorting, full-toothed, honest-to-God laughter.
Mulder couldn't have loved her more than he did when he saw her free and unbidden attack of the giggles. Whatever was on the note, he wanted in on the joke. "What does it say?" he smiled, enjoying the rare sight of a giddy Scully. Scully tried repeatedly to tell him but continued to fail to get out more than a syllable or two before another siege of hysterics stole her breath. She was absolutely precious to him like this. He made a mental note to be sure to tickle her later. Scully, still shaking with laughter, clutched her stomach while trying to breath. After a few more seconds, she managed to control herself long enough to hand him the note as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
Mulder read aloud:
Dear Mulder and Scully,
Don't kill us. We sincerely want you two to be happy, and we came to the conclusion that the only thing that would make you happy would be to open your eyes and to get the two of you to admit your feelings for each other. After all, "If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps." (-W.S.)
-LGM and Mom
PS Enjoy dinner on us.
Mulder twisted his mouth in a half smile thinking to himself that he never would have suspected that Frohike, Byers, and Langly included Shakespeare in there repertoire. He pulled his journal entry and another note from his pocket and offered them to Scully.
Scully had no trouble recognizing the handwriting on the second sheet. Of course not, it had apparently been photocopied from her own journal. She began to read the highlighted portion only to be interrupted by Mulder who recited it from memory. "We stood on the verge of expressing everything that we feel towards each other on that fateful day before Antarctica. Now however, I find myself questioning the reality of that moment with each passing day. I'm afraid that any chance we had of being together remains buried on that frozen continent, abandoned in the ice.
Although you and I have searched tirelessly for some elusive truth, some understanding about the unseen forces that push and pull at our world, we have continued to blind ourselves to the one truth that has been there all along. Is it easier to hide behind the veil of denial, or is it easier to believe that one day, we will be forced to look head long into the brilliance of our feelings for one another, to embrace them, and to never again be forced to return alone to the dark, frigid places within our hearts? For me, for now, it's easier to believe. Whether or not we will ever allow ourselves the opportunity to experience the truth that we deserve so much more than the narrow, self-imposed boundaries governing our lives, remains uncertain. I pray that we will uncover all that we've hidden before it vanishes completely, plunging us both into an existence without the life-giving, warmth of the only truth that ever really mattered."
"When did you...how did you..." Scully stammered. "That wasn't for anyone to see."
"Yeah well, they had no qualms about stealing my private journal either." Mulder touched her shoulder reassuringly.
Scully continued to process, "But if you knew...?"
"Like you said, blinding ourselves to honest emotion has become second nature to us." Mulder kissed her forehead, tapped the two journal entrees in her hands, and pronounced, "'A miracle, here's our own hands against our hearts.'" Scully may not have been schooled at Oxford, but she had seen the video version of "Much Ado About Nothing" and returned his grin.
"Clever, but what was so funny?" Scully pointed to the oven. Mulder arched a suspicious brow and opened the oven door as if he were defusing a bomb. Inside sat a roasting pan. He looked up at Scully, "Sooo?" still not getting the joke.
She lifted the lid to the pan, "Turkey?" he guessed.
"No." Scully's mouth twitched. "It's one of my mother's dishes. It's the breast of a goose on top of a bed of wild rice and cornbread dressing." Scully mentally counted down the seconds that it would take for the ramifications to set in. As predicted, Mulder started to grin knowingly.
"So, what your saying is that," he started to laugh, "your mother and the Lone Gunmen sent us on a wild goose chase?!?" The oven door slammed shut as the pair tried and tried to bring their laughter under control. Scully squeezed his side in solidarity. Boy it felt good to stand atop the ruins of the walls so well maintained previously and laugh until their sides hurt.
Scully placed another bite of dressing into her mouth and smiled. She couldn't remember when she had enjoyed a dinner this much. They exchanged information about the conspiracy aimed at them and came to the conclusions that the Lone Gunmen had obviously bugged their apartments and tapped their phones. Scully said that if she found any cameras hidden in her bedroom or bathroom, that Frohike was going to require that they be surgically removed from his ass. Mulder never doubted for a second that she would make good on her threat. Still, they agreed that overall, the bumbling attempts to bring them together were well intended and somewhat comical in retrospect. Neither one of them wanted to admit how close they'd come to losing each other forever after last night's argument.
Apparently, Margaret Scully's job had been to point Scully in the right direction and to misinform Mulder. Langly, had most likely rerouted their cell phones so that they were unable to contact each other prior to being marooned on this island. The warehouse set-up and trap had to have been constructed to ensure that they were within close proximity to one another, letting nature take it's course. The only question that remained was about how they had come to receive the ghost assignment and how "Mike"-- decidedly another player in the scheme--had breached the banquet's security so easily, yet not appear anywhere in the database. Possibly, an insider at the FBI had been involved, but who? They had so few allies. Skinner's name joined the extremely short list of possible suspects but was immediately eliminated. Skinner had been involved in some strange plots within the Bureau, but help the Lone Gunmen and Scully's mom play matchmaker? Ridiculous. The gunmen most likely forged any of the identification required and the ghost assignment documents.
Mulder finished eating, pushed his plate away a few inches and patted his stomach appreciatively. "Good eats. Hey Scully, is your mom seeing anyone?"
Scully arched one eyebrow, "You're not going to get all Dustin Hoffman on me, are you?"
Mulder gave his empty plate a longing glance and sighed, "That depends, Scully. What have *you* done for me lately?" He winked and flashed a come-hither smile.
Suddenly, it occured to Scully that they weren't playing anymore. She and Mulder were about to, to...She hadn't thought that far ahead until now. She had no idea of how to make good on almost six years of sexual double talk. All right, she had some idea, but not with *him*. It's Mulder. Mulder. Your buddy, remember? she considered as panic seized her by the throat. She returned a tight, nervous smile as she hopped up and began to clear the supper dishes.
Mulder looked on with great interest. She heaped dirty dishes and silverware on her wrist. The cups and plates teetered. An IHOP waitress wouldn't even attempt to carry a stack of dishes piled that high. Unable to help himself, he held up a butter knife, "You missed one." She leaned down to retrieve the utensil and almost lost the load. How she managed to transfer the stack to the sink defied logic and gravity.
Scully lifted the tap and waited until the cold water rushing over her fingertips turned warm. Dish soap bubbled up from the basin, sliding over dishes and over her hands. Her mind kept on repeating the same telegraph: Mulder. Sex. Sex with Mulder. Help? Get a hold of yourself, Dana. It's not like you've never... That argument worsened the situation at hand. By modern standards she was practically virginal. She had been considered by most men to be a challenge; a conquest, and that alone attributed greatly to her need to keep men at arms length. She had slept with two other men in her lifetime, and neither were relationships that she cared to recall. Two. And that had been a long, long time ago.
Did Mulder know that she hadn't slept with anyone since she had met him? Should he know? Given the reputations and appearance of Mulder's prior lovers, and the fact that his taste in videos was "exotic" to say the least, it was logical to assume that he expected experience and a decided lack of inhibition. Would Mulder be disappointed in her? What if things go badly and we are unable to just go back to being friends? she worried. The more she thought about it, the less having a physical relationship with Mulder sounded like a good idea. Maybe she could still bow out gracefully. The last time that we had almost kissed, nothing had changed, right? Liar, she censured herself. Everything changed, we were both just too chicken to admit it until now.
Mulder watched as his impeccably confident and capable partner grew ever distracted by the battle within until he finally decided that it was time for an intervention. He moved undetected to the sink and settled himself behind her. She stiffened after detecting his presence and made unsuccessful, repeated attempts to convince her brain that Mulder wasn't psychic. He moved forward until the entire length of his body pressed against her back. Mulder's arm slid along her side as he shut the water off.
"Want any help with those?" Mulder offered sincerely. Scully realized that, had he not shut the tap off, soapy water would be all over the floor by now. Mulder moved to take a cup from her sudsy hand only to have her reel nervously away from his touch causing her to drop the piece of china against the tiled counter top. The crash not only shattered the cup, it went a long way towards breaking apart any semblance of control she had somehow managed to preserve over her body. Mulder could hardly believe what he was seeing. If she was this freaked out on his behalf, then it was up to him to rectify the situation as soon as possible. Maybe she isn't as interested in you in that way as you thought. The idea immediately went to work on his less than terrific self image. Rather than subject himself to a protracted internal analysis, he decided to test the theory as soon as possible. A lab experiment of sorts was in order.
Scully continued to pick broken pieces of china from the sink, placing them carefully on a paper towel. Warm fingers gathered at the back of her neck and swept her hair aside. "Don't worry," he murmured. "I'll protect you from the fog." Goosebumps raced down her arms and she shivered. Mulder halted her attempt to turn in his direction. Instead, he held her by the shoulder and leaned in to kiss the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. She could feel his hot breath blowing across her skin followed directly by the warmth and softness of his lips. The involuntary tremor and the quiet moan that escaped from somewhere deep within her throat told Mulder all that he needed to know for now. "I think that these can soak for now, don't you?"
Scully nodded mutely and allowed herself to be led by the hand into the living room. She hated the feminine passivity that tempered the behavior of such a previously strong-willed person. She supposed that even a cavewoman would have put up more of a fight. She couldn't even fall back on the old, "I had to go with him. He knocked me out cold with a wooden club," excuse. As a matter of pride for women everywhere, she smiled and boasted resistance. "Well, who says first dates are awkward?" She glanced around the living room and commended, "Great restaurant choice. Now if you'll just have the valet pull my yacht around, I'll be on my way."
Mulder shrugged and shook his head. "I would, but the brochure specifically said dinner AND dancing."
Scully raised her eyebrow and smirked, "Love to, but the band didn't make it in tonight. Will you take a rain check?"
Mulder, not about to be out maneuvered, opened a curtain to a small window cut into the stone. Water pelted the heavy glass. "It's raining, Scully. How about it?" He offered his hand and added a dramatic bow for effect.
"Ah, but Mulder, there's still no music, and we both know how badly I sing. So, I'm afraid you're out of luck." Scully concluded, sarcastic remorse punctuating her less than serious decline.
She should have known better. When she saw the triumphant glint in his eyes, she *knew* she should have known better. "Not that I wouldn't love a rebroadcast of your concert in the pines--unplugged, but in this case, it won't be necessary. Nope, our conspirators apparently thought of everything." Mulder ducked into the bedroom and returned with a small tape deck complete with a note attached that read, "Play Me." "Curiouser and curiouser, don't you think, Alice?"
"I suppose, Tweedle-Dumb. What's on it?" Scully interjected, genuinely intrigued at this point.
"No idea. Hopefully you can dance to it though." Mulder pressed the play button and snagged Scully by the waist, yanking her into his arms as the music began.
Four solitary chords spilled from the speaker, filling the room with their familiar angst. The melody drifted into the mix carried by the lilting voice of Sarah McLachlan. Scully identified the song as the same tune that they had been caught up together in at the banquet. "Hey, isn't this the same..."
Mulder nodded and tenderly shushed further inquiry by pulling Scully firmly against his chest as they swayed to the music. The lyrics washed over the couple, and they listened reverently to the words that defined what their lives apart had been and what could belong to each of them were they to banish their fear and learn to trust in the connection between them that struggled so valiantly for recognition and surrender.
And Sarah sang:
Spend all your time waiting for that second chance, for a break that will make it o-kay.
There's always some reason to feel not good enough, and it's hard at the end of the day.
I need some distraction, oh some beautiful release, as memories seep from my veins.
Let me be empty, oh and weightless and maybe, we'll find some peace tonight.
In the arms of the angel.
Far away from here.
From this dark, cold hotel room,
And the endlessness that you feel.
You are pulled from the wreckage,
of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel.
May you find some comfort here.
Scully felt a single tear drop rolling down her face. The fact that it wasn't one of her own prompted her to cling more tightly to Mulder, smoothing her hands along his back as the song continued.
So tired of the straight line, and everywhere you turn, there's vultures and thieves at your back.
The storm keeps on twisting, you keep on building the lies that you make up for all that you lack.
It don't make no difference. Escape one last time. It's easier to believe,
In this sweet madness, oh in this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees.
In the arms of the angel.
Far away from here.
From this dark, cold hotel room,
And the endlessness that you feel.
You are pulled from the wreckage,
of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel.
May you find some comfort here.
You're in the arms of the angel.
May you find some comfort here.
The song played out and another selection began. Mulder needed distance. He needed to objectify the encounter. It wasn't good to feel so exposed. How could a perfect stranger write his secrets. Had the song not impacted him so profoundly, he might have noticed that his partner had also experienced an epiphany of her own. So instead of taking comfort in their shared state, Mulder retreated into his verbose comfort zone. "Gotta give them credit for finding the same song that we danced to at the dinner last night. Probably a pretty new tune also. I've never heard it before, have you? If I was a fatalist, I'd probably be fairly spooked-if you'll pardon the expression-by now..."
Scully could actually see Mulder picking up the bricks and cementing them into place. Given this display, it became clear to her that Mulder had as many fears, if not more so, as she about crossing the intimacy barrier. She now saw that it made no difference whether those fears were about the emotional or physical aspects of a relationship. Scary stuff was scary stuff. Discovering that Mulder had his own case of the nerves regarding the next logical step in their relationship released her from her own anxiety and gave her the courage to help Mulder conquer his demons. "Mulder?" she interrupted.
He continued to spew useless statistics undeterred. "For example, there is a tribe in the Malaysian Mountains that believe that music transcends time, that it calls to us not only from the past, but also from the future. To ignore its presence..."
"Mullllll-Derrrrr" She sang. He continued. "Oh Mulllll-Derrrrr."
He scowled, "I'm making a point here, Scully. Anyway, as I was saying..."
"Mulder." She took his face in her hands. "Any idea about when you plan to shut up and kiss me?"
That did it. "Huh?"
Scully wound both arms around his neck, dragging his face closer to hers. "I said, shut up and kiss m..."
This wasn't a dream. There were no bells, bees, or clumsy agents falling over backwards to spoil this kiss. No, this wasn't even a practice drill from the emergency kiss broadcast channel. After long, frustrating years in the making, this moment was worth it.
Definitely worth it, they thought in tandem--the last coherent thought that either was likely to conjure once reality set in, and the dream of all that had been too long denied came to life in the most exquisite of ways.
Mulder captured her lips with his fully, pulling her body into his with their insistent tug. His hungry mouth consumed hers as he deepened the kiss. Scully welcomed the onslaught, responding to his fervor with her own demand. Her lips parted hesitantly beneath his, giving him access to the soft recesses of her mouth. His tongue tasted her lips, and she sighed. No longer satisfied with his superficial exploration, Mulder plunged his way into her mouth, coaxing her tongue to join his in an ancient mating dance carried instinctively within us all.
Limbs beginning to weaken, Scully relied heavily on Mulder's strong arms to hold her up. She broke contact long enough to trail moist, tiny kisses across his jaw and down his throat, inhaling the heady musk scent of his skin as she went. A deep growl emanated from his chest as he tilted his head to one side giving her free reign in her assault on his senses before turning her momentary advantage. Scully felt the earth roll beneath her faltering knees when he planted his lips on the back of her neck. He varied the attack by alternately nipping at her flesh with his teeth then running his tongue across the nape. Scully clung to him tightly as the thin ribbon of strength holding her upright came undone, falling slack, lapsing into loose folds of fabric helplessly heaped upon the floor. Her body sagged against his until the rapid percussion of his heart pounding in her ear infused her with the energy to resume her voyage of discovery.
More. He needed more. Mulder's skin cried out to be rid of the constricting clothing that separated them. He had often thought of what it would be like to slowly undress his partner. In his fantasies, he had lightly pulled the hem of her shirt up, his hands lingering on her warm skin as he drank in the sight of her, all the while driving her mad with his practiced patience. Like a splendid present he would slowly unwrap, he would cherish her body with his hands and lips as he peeled away each layer of her clothing. His dream Scully would look up at him, eyes glassy with burgeoning passion, almost pleading for him to hurry, which of course, he wouldn't. In his mind, his seduction was smooth, controlled, and excruciatingly wonderful. Now that the blessed moment had arrived, controlled was the last thing he was.
Unwilling to break their kiss, their hands fumbled blindly for buttons, hooks, buckles and any other obstacles separating their greedy bodies. Mulder jerked Scully's sweater up swiftly, shrouding her head as he tried to pull it free, then stopped. He gave a frustrated grunt having realized that his wristwatch had snagged the knitted material. He heard a muffled, "What's wrong?" from Scully while he attempted to wrest the tangled watch loose. Giving up, he snapped the band from his arm and threw it on the floor along with its cable-knit captor. Having been freed from her woolen prison, Scully continued to pry apart the buttons of his dress shirt at a frenzied pace, pushing it aside before pressing her bare flesh against his. Mulder used the opportunity to nuzzle her ear as he tried repeatedly to unhook her bra. His fingers pinched at the back strap, doubling the elastic over onto itself in order to slide the hooks from the ayes. Scully, preoccupied with his belt buckle and the feel of his chest hair against her cheek, didn't notice his unsuccessful efforts for awhile. Once she figured out what he was trying to do, she took his head in her hands, smiled into his mouth and murmured, "front."
"I knew that," he teased. "I was just seeing if you were paying attention." His head bent to look at his hands followed shortly thereafter by the snap of the clasp.
Still grinning from his retort, Scully hadn't prepared herself for the intense electrical sensation brought on by the closing of his fingers upon her uncovered breast. She sucked in a cool breath as her head pitched backwards involuntarily. Much better without the coat, she decided. "You definitely have my attention, Mulder." came her ragged reply.
Pleased with himself, Mulder focused his energy on her blue jeans. Luckily, he had no trouble with the fasteners and tugged the snug denim down her legs with all due haste. Now he would be able to fulfill his fantasies unencumbered. The last thing that he expected to see when he returned his gaze to her face was her trademarked raised brow and lips pursed in amusement. What now? He wondered apprehensively.
Reading his expression, she offered a wry grin and pointed down at her legs. Mulder followed her gaze then hung his head in defeat. "It works best if you take the shoes off *first*."
So much for smooth, he thought tersely. Weighing his options, he decided that his best bet was to herd her into the bedroom, hoping that his technique would benefit from a horizontal, gravity-lessened environment. Turning her towards the darkened bedroom door, he gave her a little shove and barked, "Move." Scully shuffled forward in penguin-like fashion. Mulder passed her by in search of a light switch.
Scully heard a loud crash followed by a string of muttered expletives and flipped on the light. Having forgotten the two overnight bags in the middle of the room, Mulder had tripped and now lay sprawled on the floor. Refusing to give in to the rediculousness of the moment, Mulder glowered at the luggage as he stood, then tossed the bags into a nearby closet. When he turned around, he saw his smart-ass partner with her hands clasped to her chest, smiling up at him sweetly. "Gee Mulder, this is exactly how I've always pictured it!"
He smiled dangerously and crooked his index finger in her direction. The mirth in his eyes sparkled as he started towards her. "Come here, you."
Uh-oh, thought Scully ruefully, recognizing his mischievous expression, she started to back away, hands up in surrender. "Now Mulder," she inched further away, "don't do anything that you might regre...Ahh!" She shrieked as he bounded across the room, cornering her. Mulder loomed ever closer. Scully jigged left then right only to be caught in his lightning fast arms. She squirmed in a half-hearted effort to break free.
"That's it!" Mulder proclaimed. "No more Mr. nice guy." He knelt briefly before hoisting her onto his shoulder. The effort brought forth a chain of giggles from his cargo. "That's enough out of you," he commanded in jest and smacked her playfully on the butt for good measure, causing another outburst of laughter. Mulder dumped her like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the big brass bed. "All right, now where was I?"
Scully quickly pried her sneakers from her feet, still smiling as Mulder yanked her jeans the rest of the way off. Her laughter died abruptly when she looked up into Mulder's eyes. He was staring at her intensely. Scully suddenly felt too exposed, wishing for a sheet or the cover of darkness to relieve her embarrassment. She averted her eyes, praying that he would say or do something to reassure her of his attraction. She was fit, not a bad little body really, just not the luscious type she was certain were to his liking. How long is he just going to stare at me like that? inquired the most unsure portion of her psyche. Beginning to feel humiliation, she snapped him out of his trance. "Mulder?" she called in a voice far too tentative to have come from her mouth. He blinked twice as if waking from a dream, and a beautiful smile began to curl on his lips. Scully could hardly believe the love and desire on his handsome face was for her.
"Scully." Her name sounded like a soft caress carried from his heart to hers by the hoarse whisper of his voice. She reached for him to join her, noting with astonishment that his hand was shaking when she clasped his fingers. The knowledge that she could make him actually tremble with need made her feel drunk with power, and every doubt she'd ever had about their relationship simply melted away.
The world itself melted away.
The storm outside continued to rage against the turbulent sea, while inside, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully rose and fell, rolled and pitched, flowed and crashed together in a tempest of their own making. The only calm came in the eye of the storm.
Mulder stilled, pulling away from her slightly. He reverently stroked her cheek, and with awe in his eyes and love in his heart, he offered a silent vow of his devotion to her. Scully felt overwhelmed with emotion and answered him with her own forever look. The warmth of pure joy showered over them as they acknowledged the commitment that they were making to one another, and then they began to swirl again, caught up in the ever increasing squalls of passion. Once spent, the storm subsided, its furious waves gave way to a peaceful tide filling their souls with contentment under the luminescence of a moon lit sky.
Scully's head fell back against Mulder's arm in sated exhaustion. He pushed a damp tendril of hair from her forehead and twisted his head to drop a kiss upon her brow. As soon as her oxygen deprived lungs could manage, she sighed in accolade, "Oh. My."
"God." Mulder finished for her. He kissed her temple again and hauled her closer to his side. With eyes closed dreamily, Mulder grinned and said, "Scully?"
"Hmm?"
"I think I just saw lights in the sky."
"Really?" She added. "Me too."
"Now there's a first." He replied dryly. "If I'd known that this was the only way to ever get you to agree with me, I would have seduced you sooner. Come to think of it, Scully, why didn't we do this years ago?"
Scully rolled over onto his chest and propped her head upon her forearms. Looking down at him happily, she answered honestly, "Because you and I are very, very stupid people. That's why."
"Good point." Mulder concluded. Having pulled the covers around them, he kissed her sweetly, and the couple drifted off to sleep.
Scully, the first to awaken, opened her eyes reluctantly to the iridescent pink and orange light streaming in from the arched window behind the bed. Cold, she thought and then looked over at her sleeping partner understanding why. At some point during the night, he had flipped over onto his stomach taking the covers with him. Scully rolled her eyes and thought, and so it begins. She knew that she could now look forward to razor stubble and toothpaste globs in her bathroom sink, sunflower seed husks sprinkled across her coffee table, and smelly, abandoned jogging shoes on her living room floor. Still, it was a small price to pay for the spine-shattering experience that was last night and for the companionship and love yet to come.
She pushed herself silently up from the mattress, and was caught off guard by the splendor of the sunrise across the bay. Dawn stretched its blazing fingers across the sky as it shook the last vestiges of sleep from the horizon with the promise of another day and all of the possibilities that it possessed. Scully felt as though she had begun anew as well. The dark shroud of loneliness brought on by too much self-reliance and doubt had been cast off. The shimmer of hope blinded her, but after a moment, her eyes adjusted to its intensity, and she began to view the world through its rosy hue of bliss.
She would have liked nothing better than to stand at the window and watch the rising sun, but the chill in her hands and feet protested. Having stoked the fire in the living room, turned up the radiator, and donned Mulder's discarded dress shirt, she turned her search to the procurement of a pair of socks.
She remembered the overnight bags in the closet and headed in that direction. Damn, she groused, top shelf. Scully raised up on her toes and swiped for the handle. Not even close. Another swipe. Jump. Swipe. Grumble. Not about to give up, Scully continued her struggle unaware that Mulder had rolled to the foot of the bed and was enjoying the show immensely. Each time she reared up, she exposed a little more thigh from under the tail of his white shirt. He licked his lips appreciatively and made a mental note that, from now on, he would gladly let her borrow anything in his wardrobe. As she started to pull herself up to the shelf with her arms, the shirt tale rose higher and higher until satisfying his curiosity about what she didn't have on underneath. He must have given himself away, because she was now pinning him with her eyes. "You know, Mulder, I'm beginning to believe that you keep putting things where you know I can't reach them on purpose."
Mulder, opting not to play dumb, shrugged and flashed her a devilish grin as evidence of his remorseless guilt. Stacking her hands on her hips, Scully pretended to be upset only to falter at the sight of her bare- chested partner and his sexy smile. It ought to be illegal to look that good first thing in the morning, she contemplated half dazed. His only concession to modesty was the white sheet gathered low across his hips. Mesmerized, she had to force herself to tear her fixated gaze from his broad shoulders and the well-defined muscles of his trunk. Feeling a rush of physical awareness, she channeled her adrenal-heightened energy back to the closet, and was rewarded for her efforts by the thump of canvass on her head.
A note pinned to the strap, written in her mother's handwriting informed her that the boat would pick them up at two o'clock. On top of her clothing, sat a string of colored condoms, causing her to turn three shades of red. She held them up for Mulder to see, shaking her head, eyes wide in disbelief, "My catholic mother."
"Remind me to send your mom some flowers when we get back."
"I'll do that." she dead-panned. Tucking them back into the bag, Scully smiled the smallest of smiles to herself as she remembered the previous night. Mulder had seemed distracted in his kiss, and she had wondered why until his arm had come up from the bedside with a wallet in his hand. A well-worn foil packet had tumbled onto the bed, and she had grabbed it before he could recover the fumble. Looking down at her sheepishly, he'd inquired what she wanted to do regarding protection. Some women would have probably found the question embarrassing and extremely unromantic. For Scully however, it spoke of care and respect. Squinting in the lamplight, she'd made out that the package was a little over a year past its expiration date which secretly thrilled her. Conceding internally that sadly, pregnancy was not an issue and that she had personally signed off on his two most recent physicals, she'd looked at the condom in her hand and back to Mulder. "Anything I need to be aware of?" she'd asked gently in a non-accusatory tone.
"Only that you ruined my attraction for other women a long time ago." He had whispered, basking in the delight beaming from her face as she had pitched the packet over her shoulder then kissed him soundly.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor with her bag in her lap, she found a thick pair of socks at the bottom. Her withdrawing fingers brushed slippery, cool folds of satin. She hoisted the garment to the top of the stack. Recognition turned her skin to goose flesh and the color drained from her face as she thought back to her dream, her mother's words, the sound of Melissa's voice admonishing her for her cowardice, and the unseen but truly felt push in Mulder's direction yesterday. Her voice shook a little, "Mulder, do you believe in ghosts?"
"Oooh baby, you know the paranormal gets me all hot and bothered."
"I'm serious."
Although she kept her back to him, he heard a beat of vulnerability in her tone and straightened. "Sure. Why do you ask?"
"Promise not to laugh?"
He shrugged in agreement, "Promise."
"I know this sounds nuts, but I've felt a presence during the past couple days." She hesitated before saying, "Missy's presence." She paused. No laughter. "Mom sounded just like her at lunch yesterday, and last night, I could have sworn she was here, talking to me, trying to shame me out of backing down when you started to head for the door. Mulder," she called over her shoulder, "I, uh, she pushed me towards you just like she used to shove me in Sister Mary's class when she wanted to get me into trouble." Scully stroked something in her lap. "I'm certifiable, right? I mean, I think that a part of me almost believes that she was involved in this little melodrama of ours."
Mulder was tempted to start looking under the bed for the empty pod. Her words were disconcerting, not because he doubted the possibility of such an entity, but because she seldom accepted concepts like the one she had just volunteered without a heaping serving of skepticism. Scientific Scully needed proof, hard data before considering the extreme. Intrigued, he prompted, "Have you had that feeling about her before yesterday?"
She nodded mutely, uncertain whether or not to continue. She studied the green satin in her lap and spoke softly, "Yes." She cleared her throat nervously. "After that terrible fight, I felt so drained and just fell into bed. Then, I uh, started to dream, um, about you."
The hairs on the back of Mulder's head stood on end. "Go on."
"I went over to your apartment and told you how sorry I was, and then you told me that you loved me. I felt so light, like I was flying. When I woke up, I could still feel your lips on mine. Absolutely convinced that the dream had really happened, I jumped up and started to put my clothes on. Then I realized that it had only been a dream." Scully waited for reassurance that she wasn't cracking up.
"What were you wearing?"
Thinking that her entire admission had just been reduced to a trivial running gag between them, she nodded impatiently at his apparent insincerity. "You'll love this part," she began sarcastically. "After I had been released from the hospital following my abduction, Missy had given me a nightgown, a sexy one. She said that I'd be needing it. I dismissed her inference, but then she got the look. You know which one I mean. Anyway, she told me that we were soul mates and to accept it. Silly, I know." She added for his benefit, embarrassed having recounted something so preposterous. Better to turn it into a joke and be done with it.
Mulder sat up on the edge of the bed, acutely aware of his own throbbing heartbeat. "Scully. Your hair was damp. The gown was short, dark green satin. It had a row of embroidery across the bodice. You woke up at 2:35 a.m. Am I right?" She didn't answer. "I'm right, aren't I?"
Scully stood on unsteady legs and turned around slowly. She held the gown against her torso for Mulder to see. They just stood there speechless for several minutes. Scully finally broke the charged silence. "My mother found this in the bottom of a locked drawer in my dresser. I've never worn it."
"Yes you have, Scully. I was there."
The conspiracy of light had indeed been played out on a much larger scale then anyone had ever suspected.
*****
"He knows." Scully breathed as she pushed the elevator button.
"How could he know?" Mulder chided.
"I don't know how, Mulder, but he does. Why else would he have requested this meeting on a Tuesday at 5:30 p.m.
Mulder looked down at her affectionately and whispered. "Honestly Scully, we've been together for less than a week, and so far you've already confessed to seeing lights in the sky, ghosts, and now you're becoming almost as paranoid as I am." He eyed her speculatively, "What's next? Elvis mania?"
"Bite me, Mulder," she said under her breath.
He bent to her ear, "Where do ya want me to bite you this time?"
The elevator doors parted and McKinze stepped into the car. He gave the cursory, "How's it going?" Mulder nodded his hello. From the back of the elevator, McKinze witnessed the sidelong glance between the other two agents and the faint bloom of a blush on Agent Scully's pretty face. He smiled knowingly. Working in the violent crimes division, he seldom had the opportunity to appreciate any of the good in the world. Rather than divulge this revelation to his crude partner, Jacobs--who would feel compelled to scandalize the information for his own gain, McKinze decided instead to keep their secret. He looked up at the stupid grin on Fox Mulder's face and decided to offer his discretion as a gift to the lucky bastard in front of him.
*****
Assistant Director Walter Skinner exhaled heavily and tilted his chair back a fraction before rubbing the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to release the tension that dogged him constantly. He thought back on the meeting he had just had with Mulder and Dana and shook his head in bewilderment. Glad they were still talking to one another after last week's manipulations and even more glad that he hadn't been caught interfering, he had felt at first as though he had dodged a bullet. He was more than willing to look the other way regarding the no fraternization between partners rule, but he'd be a lot more comfortable if the fact that they were in love or whatever wasn't so blatantly obvious.
Agent Scully at least presented the semblance of propriety, a good poker face and all that, but Mulder gave the game away without ever saying a word. Smiling. Agent Mulder couldn't stop smiling to save his life. A happy Mulder was, well, spooky.
Skinner prayed that Mulder would get his act together and soon. In the meantime, he had just sent them on mandatory vacation leave for three weeks. Neither had taken time off in well over a year with the exception of the occasional hospital stay. Bureau policy encouraged employees to take their allotted paid time off each year as it had been shown to decrease burn-out and increase productivity. It provided a good excuse to get them out of the Hoover building anyway. The hope that they would return a little less cow-eyed and a lot more sober motivated Skinner to act in their best interests. Shaking his head, he thought with trepidation, This is the kind of aggravation I get for not refusing to go along with this cockamamie plan in the first place. He opened the top drawer of his desk and retrieved another antacid tablet before thinking derisively, Oh well, at least I know which way to place my bet if I ever decide to take up gambling.
*****
He should have been mad as hell.
Mulder had returned home Sunday night to discover that he'd been robbed. He drew his gun and made his way cautiously around the apartment. In the middle of talking to the emergency operator, he'd started to realize that whoever had infringed upon his property had done so in a meticulously selective manner. He apologized then hung up on the overworked and grouchy dispatcher. Shelves had been dusted, books straightened, and he could actually see his bed. That had been the biggest shocker. Boxes and boxes of videos and magazines were missing along with his mangled bicycle frame. New sheets and a comforter replaced his dingy bedding. In addition to those oddities, the floor had been cleaned and the bathroom was no longer a refuge for stray hairs, towel lint, and microbes of all varieties. You didn't have to be a FBI profiler to name the most likely suspects. A brief call to Frohike had assured him that his treasures were safe and sound at the Gunmen's headquarters, and that the guys had boxed up and cleared away all of the incriminating porn prior to Maggie's extraordinary cleaning efforts.
That night, he had flipped and flopped while trying to get comfortable in his new sheets for an hour or more. What good is a bed without a Scully? He'd asked himself on the way to his battered and beloved leather sofa. Still, something niggled at his brain, preventing him from nodding off to dreamland. And then it hit him. How had the Lone Gunmen and Scully's mom paid for the charters, the remote cottage, the new stuff in his apartment, and all of the other sundries required to carry out their plans? He had sat up and started to punch numbers in rapid succession into his cell phone in the dark, pausing to listen to the next menu item. Grimly, he had deducted the worst. His credit card; they had used his credit card numbers for everything.
Yep, he should have been mad as hell, but he wasn't.
Mulder hovered above the alabaster shoulder of the pretty red-head asleep on his new sheets, and busied himself with a new game. So far, he had identified two constellations as he mentally played connect the dots with Scully's freckles. She stirred for an instant then snuggled down deeper into slumber.
Despite the fortitude of his relationship with Scully, he found himself feeling a little paranoid. He didn't feel as though he truly deserved her. There had to be some catch. However, after four days of speculation, he hadn't come up with anything; no catch, no strings, no fine print, just the best gift he had ever received. He promised to strive to become worthy of this special lady cuddled against him. I'm one lucky bastard, thought Fox Mulder for the first time in his life.
He decided that the comforter tucked beneath Scully's nose had been money well spent. Besides, he had inherited his father's estate. Mulder had previously convinced himself that it was most likely comprised of hush money and vowed to only spend the festering fortune on expenses directly related to his crusade. Until now, that multiplying horde of cash had never bought one single moment of happiness. He rationalized that, with all of the shit he'd been through, he had earned the right to blow a little of that money. Mulder resolved to take Scully on a real vacation. She'd more than earned the right to a little pampering as well.
That settled, he resumed his game, spotting the little dipper just above her ear. He wished that he could see underneath the stray lock of copper upon her cheek. Maybe he could move it carefully as not to wake her. He tweezed and lifted the strand, repositioning it behind her ear. Ah-ha! It is the little dipper! Now, if I can just find Ursa Minor, he puzzled.
Scully opened one eye to look at Mulder. "What are you doing?" she mumbled into the mattress.
"Admiring."
"Oh brother," she huffed as she pulled the digital numbers of the alarm clock into focus. It read 4:32 p.m. She lurched up into sitting holding the sheet to her chest. "Four-thirty?! How did I oversleep so much? I was sure I set the clock."
They had come over to Mulder's apartment at eleven o'clock that morning on the pretense of packing. She'd made the crucial mistake of following him into the bedroom and taking a test bounce on the soft, ivory covered bed. She had commented on his fancy new digs then stilled having seen the lust in his eyes. Brace for impact, she'd thought with chagrin. As he tackled her onto the bed, she had told him that he was going to put her in the hospital. He had returned that it wouldn't have been for the first time.
"You looked tired." Mulder admitted. When Mulder replayed the past five days in his head, he thought that it was no wonder that she was exhausted. A triathlete would have collapsed by now if confronted by the grueling pace they'd been setting. There was the lighthouse. Then there was Scully's bedroom, hallway, tub, kitchen counter, and almost once in a parking garage--damn security guard. After all, they had six years of catching up to do. "You're on vacation, remember?"
"How could I forget?" She started to recline once more and then froze half way, concern entrenched across her forehead. "We are going to have to start being more careful, you know." She settled back into his arms before resuming her lecture. "I can't believe that you told Skinner you were planning to spend your holiday fly fishing amidst the naked wilderness!"
"I can't believe you kicked me under the table," he retorted with mock irritation.
Changing the subject completely, she posed, "So what am I supposed to call you now?"
Confused, Mulder countered, "Huh?"
Scully dipped her head shyly, "Do I call you Fox now like your other..." She trailed off having not intended to say what she had begun to say.
Mulder caught her chin and kissed the tip of her nose, "Never like the others," he stated emphatically, and she smiled. "I guess you can call me Fox if you really want to, but I think I'd miss the way you say 'Mulder'"
"Well then, Mulder," she ran her index finger down the length of his trunk and back again before asking coyly, "Do you think that you could call me Dana sometimes when we're alone?"
So that's what this is about, he mused. He found her coquettish presentation unsettling. Scully had always been too direct a person to resort to feminine tactics such as these. "But I like 'Scully'," he pouted.
"Dana, Mulder. Dana," she argued.
"I'm sorry, Scully. Did you say something?" he teased with a hand cupped around his ear.
"Dan-na. D.A.N.A. Dan-na. Repeat after me."
"I'm afraid I can't hear a word you're saying, *Scully*."
Fine, she could play too. "Never mind Fox William. It wasn't important. Do you want to go get something to eat, Fox William? What would you like on your pizza, Fox William?"
She scooted to the side of the bed and started to rise before being caught by the waist and trapped beneath her partner who glared menacingly at her. "I'd lay off the 'Fox William' thing if I were you."
Dana Katherine Scully hadn't made it through medical school and the FBI academy by kowtowing to threats. "Foxwilliamfoxwilliamfoxwilliam," she sang childishly.
The tickle fight that followed was of epic proportions. Shrieks, giggles, and cries for mercy reverberated around the room. In the aftermath, lay two heaving lovers atop a bundle of pillows and tangled blankets.
Still a little breathless, Mulder asked, "You know what?"
"What?"
"I love you."
She steamrollered across him until she met his eyes, "I love you too." ("foxwilliam") she muttered into his chest. "I bet we're driving your neighbor nuts." Scully advanced the rest of the way to his neck where she went back to work on the tastefully small hickey just above Mulder's collarbone. He really liked that spot and moaned his appreciation. She raised a measuring gaze and added, "I sure hope that no one can hear us."
As they began to kiss once again at a delectable and leisurely pace, neither one of them had the slightest clue that a tiny, button-shaped listening device had slipped from somewhere behind the head board, becoming lodged between the bed frame and the mattress.
*****
"Who was on the phone?" inquired Langly from his position on the floor as he rifled through the stack of cardboard boxes.
Byers called out from the kitchen, "That was Maggie. She wanted to invite us over for Thanksgiving this year."
Frohike sounded back, "That's nice of her. You can really tell where Scully gets her class."
Langly selected the two most worn-looking tape boxes, hoping that their abused appearance denoted Mulder's choicest picks. He stood studying the two video tapes in his hands thoughtfully. He scratched his chin in consideration before deciding to submit his dilemma to a vote. "Hey guys, what do you think; 'Hot Babes in Toy Land' or 'An Officer and a Genital'?"
Byers and Frohike answered in unison, "Babes."
Having set the videos on the crumb-covered coffee table constructed of four cinder blocks and a piece of sheet metal, Langly called, "Hey Byers, your cousin Mike is a major creep. Did you listen to his answering machine message yesterday?"
"Yeah, I know. I sent him a check to cover his fee, dry cleaning expenses, and the bonus he insisted upon. Two years of community theater and the guy thinks that he's some kind of super star." Byers grimaced as he recalled Mike's sleazy voice on the recorder referring to Scully as a nice piece of ass and asking to let him know when she dumped that looser, Mulder.
Frohike started towards the VCR when a blinking light caught his eye, "Why is this light still blinking?" Not waiting for a reply, Frohike touched the audio output button on the receiver, turned up the volume and heard the voices of Scully and Mulder laughing, shouting and squealing, and laughing in addition to the syncopated squeaking of springs and the periodic thud of a pillow hitting a wall. "Come over here." Byers popped his head out of the kitchen and Langly approached. "You guys told me that you got rid of all of the surveillance equipment in their apartments.
"I did," Byers answered defensively on his way to the console.
Langly stammered and pushed up his glasses. "Um, I got all but one."
Frohike and Byers exchanged a disappointed look. "Which one?" asked Frohike.
"Well, I couldn't really get into Mulder's bedroom before we cleared it, so I just sort-of tossed it in like a grenade and couldn't find it when I went back." Langly's apologetic body language perked up however when the seed of an idea began to take root in his mind. Reaching for the panel, he turned the volume up just in time to hear the leavings of a conversation dissipating into the sounds of carnal rapture.
Frohike sighed heavily and turned off the unit. Byers, the most sensitive of the trio, sympathized for his friend's grief over his dream girlfriend. He clapped the shorter man on the shoulder and consoled, "You did a beautiful thing, man." Frohike nodded in resignation-still not entirely certain why he and Maggie Scully had decided to start to play matchmaker two weeks ago. The idea had just come to him in a dream or something, and he had felt compelled to act on it-go figure. Frohike sighed again, forcing Byers to defuse the tension. "So, you think Mulder is ever going to want his stuff back?"
Frohike gave the receiver one parting glance and answered, "Would you?"
No way, thought Byers visually asking Langly for help in distracting their sorrowful comrade.
"Hey Frohike, you cue the tape, and I'll grab the beer." Langly gave Frohike a tap in the direction of the television set. "Popcorn?" he requested of Byers.
"I'm on it," answered Byers before ducking back into the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, the Gunmen parked themselves in front of the first of their lifetime supply of smut. Frohike took a long swig from his brew and propped his feet on the coffee table. A short time later, he found himself snorting a sardonic chuckle when the business-attired, red-headed, hotel manager in the film entered a hotel room, commenting that it was *so* hot before stripping off her blazer and leaning over the faulty air conditioner just as Luke, the tall, dark and brooding maintenance supervisor known for being good with his hands entered the room and stepped up behind the perspiring woman.
*****
Yep, it was pretty much a happy ending for everyone.
**************************************************************************** ****************
Acknowledgments:
This story is dedicated to my terrific husband who had actually been forced to wear the matching "disco peach" tie and cummerbund in 1988 and is still around today. Thank you for the unconditional support, the editorial talents, and the romantic inspiration.
These are the wonderful people who helped me to whip this little ditty into shape:
Carl (Carl-o-saurus)
Frances/Mom (the Grammarian-Librarian)
Joanie (England's finest)
Heather (I wish *I* was sleeping with Mulder!)
Deborah-Dawn (Patron saint of all lost pennies)
***You guys are the best!!!!!!!
I would also like to recognize William Shakespeare who is still packing in the crowds centuries later, Sarah McLachlan whose song, "Angel" got me through the many times that I was ready to chuck this project in favor of something more productive, those who have created a show appealing enough to compel us to write these things in the first place, and the many extremely talented fan-fic writers who have provided me with hours of splendid entertainment. (I'm not worthy! bow, bow, kiss the ring, bow...)
Content Disclaimers: If you have been wondering why Mulder and Scully are so much more open, friendly, and silly in my version? Well, my only defense is that it couldn't be helped. I believe that romantic fiction is in part a function of how the author perceives the ideal relationship. In sharing this tiny bit of philosophy with my husband, I joked that , no matter how hard I tried to stay true to the characters, I found that I kept writing casual romantic moments sandwiched between one liners. My husband smiled and commented that that pretty much sums up our love life. "For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion."(-W.S.) I'll try harder next time to be more morose. : )
Also, I tried to avoid reading fan fiction that was similar to my premise as not to prejudice myself while writing this story. However, this being a romance piece, and a formula one at that, I inadvertently hit on several of the same plot points and like details that I have since read in other fan-fic selections. The major difference being, the other selections are much, much better written. No plagiarism was intended. I guess that maybe fan-fic writers possess a collective unconsciousness of fantasy.
Recommended Reading: An elaborate plots unfolds when a morally upright, intelligent, honest, and independent woman who has been strengthened by the personal tragedies that she has stoically endured is forced to work beside a dark and brooding hero who has been deceived and manipulated into a tortuous existence from which he has no escape other than to contemplate a forbidden union with the partner who has come to embody the sweet relief and companionship for which he has secretly longed throughout his life. Conspiracies of silence abound. Secrete chambers, gruesome sights, mysterious and unsavory figures attending to hidden agendas, temptations, and distorted truths are expertly woven into the tale. Sound familiar? This story even has a Diana Fowley character, although she goes by the name of Blanche Ingram. Don't worry Mr. Carter and 10-13 Productions, I sincerely doubt that the estate of Charlotte Bronte is likely sue you for infringement. After all, regardless of whether the story is set in England's past, or science-fiction's future, it is a universal tale that has captured our hearts and minds for centuries no matter how often it has been told. If antiquated English or time constraints prevent you from enjoying "Jane Eyre", but you are still interested, try renting the four hour video. I strongly recommend the version staring Timothy Dalton. I think that it's the way that Charlotte would have wanted it.
Public Service Announcement Disclaimer: For those of you who were wondering why I felt it necessary to include a condom reference in a story that, for the most part, stuck to dirty innuendoes and metaphorical sex, I basically wrote it in because I'm tired of movies, television, and mainstream romance novels not dealing with it honestly. As a society, I hope that we are not sending out the message that pregnancy and disease control issues kill any pretense of romance or that the subject itself isn't something one should bring up before having sex because of perceived lack of trust in one's partner and/or because of fear about the image one might present. If an actual person or even a fictional character is planning to have sex, but feels too uncomfortable or embarrassed to bring up the subjects of protection and sexual history prior to the deed, call me old fashion, but that ain't love, baby. (Um, any body got a ladder I can borrow? This soap box is a lot taller than I thought. : ) )
***THANKS FOR READING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! : )
Again, All Comments to: Rachiraptor@yahoo.com
