Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 03/11
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language
Spoilers: Through Season Five
Keywords: M/S UST
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
"Not the Doctor"
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Chapter 3
"Mulder, next time you pick an out-of-the-way place for dinner--in the pouring
rain, I should add--you might want to mention the fact that we need
reservations," Scully grumbled as she sloshed across the hallway toward her
apartment. She was soaked to the bone and covered with mud--thanks to her
partner. It could be worse, she kept trying to tell herself .. . at least she
had not been cocooned by green bugs or inundated by the remains of an exploding
manure factory.
After learning that Tufano's was booked for the night--it seemed that even
torrential rain could not keep people from their pasta and garlic bread--they
opted for take-out. Mulder still insisted on Italian, so they stopped at a pizza
parlor. Fearing for her tastebuds if she were to allow Mulder to pick our
dinner, Scully offered to get the food while he waited out front with the car.
That was her first mistake.
She ordered a couple of meatball Parmesan heroes, and after receiving her order,
made a dash for the car. Second mistake. As soon as she stepped outside, she
realized the car was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the street, but there was
no sign of Mulder or his vehicle. Of course, it was at this moment that an
enormous gust of wind wreaked havoc with her umbrella, turning it inside out.
She struggled with it, trying not to drop their dinner, all the while the rain
pouring down on her.
Then she heard the beep of a car horn. She saw the car heading toward her from
down the block. She hastened to the curb, preparing to jump inside. Third, and
final mistake. As Mulder pulled up, he drove through the mother of all puddles,
which splashed on her, saturating Scully from head to toe. So much for her
favorite navy blue pants suit.
Scully stood there several moments in shock. It was not until Mulder reached
over and opened the door and shouted for her to get inside that she was finally
able to move again. She got into the car and slammed the door behind her.
"Where the hell were you?" she grumbled through clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry, Scully. It was a No Standing Zone and--"
"I don't want to hear it. Shut up and drive."
"Where to--your place or mine?"
Scully glared at him. She would have taken out her gun and shot him, but she was
too busy shivering.
"Yours is closer," he replied, shifting the car into drive and pulling away.
They drove in silence for several long minutes. Mulder stole a glance at her. He
tried to hide the grin, but before long he started laughing.
She tried to ignore him, but her patience grew short. "What's so damned funny?"
"You, Scully," he managed between chuckles. "You look like you'd be right at
home in my fish tank."
"Don't flatter me, Mulder," she replied tersely. "You hardly ever feed your
fish." Then a sneezing fit hit.
His brow furrowed, and she could hear the concern in his voice when he spoke
next. "You cold?"
"Wh-Wh-Whatever g-gave you th-that idea?" she snapped through chattering teeth.
"I'm sorry, Scully. I really didn't mean for you to get soaked." He reached over
to the temperature control and cranked up the heat. "We should be there in about
ten minutes."
Crossing her arms across her chest to try to keep warm, Scully just nodded her
head. The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Mulder miraculously found a
parking space right in front of her building. He told her to stay put for a
moment, and, after grabbing something from the back seat, rushed out of the car.
A moment later, her door opened, and he was standing there with an open umbrella
and an extended hand.
Grabbing their food and slinging the strap of her briefcase across her shoulder,
Scully placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her out of the car. He
wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him to ensure that she
was shielded from the rain as they made their way up the front steps and toward
her place.
Her fingers were now so frozen that she could not manage to get the key into the
lock. Mulder gently took them from Scully and unlocked the door, holding it open
for her. She walked into the foyer and started turning on lights. Placing the
food and her bag down on a table, she started to unbutton her coat, but stopped
as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.
It began as a low rumble in her throat, but before she knew it, she was
laughing.
"What?" Mulder asked, walking over to her.
Seeing his reflection beside hers, Scully's chuckles escalated to guffaws.
Mulder stared at her, a bewildered look on his face. This only made Scully laugh
harder. The tears were now running down her cheeks, smearing the mud that had
caked there. "I . . . I really do look like I took a swim in your tank!" she
gasped, the last word swallowed by a hiccup.
Mulder smiled. She turned to face him. "And how the hell did you manage to stay
as dry as you were before we left the office?" she asked him, looking at his
suit and coat, not a spot of mud on him.
He looked down at himself and shrugged. Soon they were both chuckling.
Scully was reminded of a night six years earlier, of two new partners laughing
over an empty grave in an Oregon cemetery as the rain beat down heavily. It had
been a long time since she had laughed with such careless abandon. She did not
know quite how it happened, but her head fell forward to rest on Mulder's chest.
She felt his arm come around her shoulders to rub her back. Slowly, their
laughter faded. Silence reigned again, and a shiver ran through her. It was not
from the cold or the wetness.
"You're trembling, Scully. You should get out of these wet clothes," he said,
helping her remove her coat. She unbuttoned her blazer, and was about to turn
away to head for her bedroom to change when he reached for her chin, cupping it
with his hand and tilting her face up toward his. Scully found herself holding
her breath as she stared into his eyes. His thumb moved across her cheek,
stroking it. "You had some mud there," he explained softly, though he did not
break contact.
"Thanks," she replied, still gazing at his face.
"Well, I suppose you want to shower and change," he said finally, dropping his
hand and turning to hang up her coat and his own.
Scully found herself standing there, feeling colder than ever. She wondered what
would be a better remedy--a hot bath or the warm embrace of her partner? She
forced herself to move. "I'm going to stick the sandwiches in the oven to heat
up while I shower," she told him, grabbing the bag and heading for the kitchen.
"Make yourself at home, Mulder. You know where everything is, right?"
"Yep. Go on, Scully. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
"Okay. I won't be long." Scully walked into the bathroom. Closing the door, she
began to undress. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She absently
placed her hand on the spot Mulder had only moments earlier, and closed her
eyes, remembering the feel of his gentle caress.
*****
Feeling refreshed after a hot shower and much warmer in a comfortable pair of
silk pajamas and a robe, Scully headed for the kitchen. She stopped suddenly as
she caught sight of the dining room table, her eyes widening in surprise. There
were two lit candles in the center. Place settings for two, complete with long-
stemmed glasses and a bottle of red wine. She heard the crackling of burning
wood and looked to see the small orange flames dancing in her fireplace. In the
background, she heard the soft melody of a saxophone coming from her CD player.
"Feeling better?" Mulder asked, emerging from the kitchen carrying two plates
with the steaming heroes, which he placed down on the table. He had shed his
suit coat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his tie loosened around
his neck. Scully's mouth began to water . . . at the sight of the food or her
partner, she could not say.
"Much better," she replied, walking hesitantly toward the table. "Mulder, what's
all this?"
"Well, I felt badly about Tufano's, and the rain, and the mud. Come on and sit
down," he told her, pulling out a chair.
"Thank you," she replied, sitting down. "Mulder, you really didn't have to do
this."
"I know, but I wanted to. Consider it my way of saying thank you for putting up
with me all week," he said, picking up the wine bottle to open. "I know it can
be hell to be around me when I get consumed by a case."
"My protests earlier tonight to the contrary, I was just as absorbed with this
investigation as you were, Mulder. I think it's all either of us has been
thinking about this past week."
"Well, I think we both need to take your advice, Scully, and step back from it
for a while. We've both been putting in a lot of extra hours this week. We
deserve the breather. We can even consider this a pre-celebratory dinner--for
bringing Andraven into custody. The real party to be held the day the jury finds
him guilty." His statement was punctuated with the pop of the cork.
As he poured, Scully read the label, and realized that the bottle was not from
her refrigerator. "Mulder, when'd you get this wine?"
He grinned sheepishly, avoiding her gaze like a small child who had been caught
with his hand in the cookie jar. "This is, uh, kind of the reason I, uhm, left
you standing out in the rain, Scully," he admitted as he sat down. "I spotted a
liquor store a block away from the pizza place. I intended to run in and be back
before you had gotten the food, but I didn't quite make it in time. . . ."
"So it wasn't a No Standing Zone?" she asked, feigning indignation.
"I don't think so. . . . But who the hell could read a parking sign in that
downpour anyway?"
She smiled. "It was a very thoughtful gesture, Mulder. Even if I got a
spontaneous mud bath in the process."
"I'm sorry about that, Scully. I'll pay the dry cleaning bill--"
"Don't worry about it," she told him, any residual anger she harbored suddenly
forgotten. "I'm hungry, let's eat."
"Cheers," he said, holding up his glass.
"Cheers," she echoed as their glasses clinked. They sipped the wine and began to
eat. Neither felt a need to speak. Instead, they listened to the sounds around
them: the rain beating down on the windows outside, the fire popping and
crackling, and the gentle melody of the music.
Mulder was right--Scully *had* felt a change between them these past few days as
they had been busy with the Andraven case. They had interacted with the usual
ease of partners who have worked together for so long that they know what the
other is thinking and can even predict how he or she will react to almost any
given situation. She could only describe it as the feeling of slipping into a
comfortable pair of old jeans that you have broken in just the way you like
them. They fit like a glove, and you hardly notice they're there. That was the
feeling she usually had when she and Mulder worked together. But now, there was
something else. She had sensed something more. And if his words and actions
tonight was any indication, Mulder perceived it, too.
There was a storm brewing, and not just outside her door. Things were coming to
a head. Scully had a feeling that their partnership was about to evolve--to
progress to a new level--and that things would never quite be the same for
Mulder and her ever again. That thought both frightened and excited her. But if
there was anything these past six years had taught her, it was that if she must
face the unknown, there was no one she would rather have at her side than Fox
Mulder.
*****
After dinner, Mulder told Scully to go relax while he cleaned up. Deciding that
she might as well make the most of his sudden consideration, she walked into the
living room. Still a bit chilly, she sat down on the floor in front of the fire.
She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top. She gazed into the
fireplace, watching the yellow-orange flames lap at the wood. Several sparks
flung off from the main blaze, and she watched, entranced, as the embers slowly
faded to darkness.
A while later, she heard Mulder approach, and looked up at him. He silently
proffered one of the two steaming mugs he held. Smiling, Scully took it, and the
sweet aroma of mint tea filled her nose. She cradled the mug in her hands, her
eyes returning to the fire, as Mulder settled down beside her. He said nothing,
but followed her gaze, and stared into the flames.
She took a cautious sip of her tea, and was pleasantly surprised when her tongue
was greeted by the sweet taste of added honey. As she swallowed, the smooth warm
liquid soothed the ache that was beginning to form in her throat. She smiled.
Mulder never ceased to amaze her. There had been times when he had behaved so
foolishly, so selfishly, that she was sure that there would be no changing him.
But then, just when she was ready to give up on him, he did something incredibly
generous and thoughtful. Tonight, he was pulling out all the stops. She wondered
if now might not be such a bad time to test those waters into which she was
thinking of swimming.
Mulder moved to readjust his position, and she saw him wince in pain.
"Your shoulder still bothering you?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.
He shrugged. "Just a little stiff."
"You up for another back rub?"
"Be warned, Scully, I now know better than to refuse a touch from those magic
fingers of yours."
"I ought to start charging by the minute," she joked as she put down her mug and
scooted over behind him. Sitting up on her knees, she placed her hands on either
side of his neck and slowly began to knead the muscles of his shoulders and
back. "Feel good?"
"Mmm . . ."
"I take it that's a yes?"
"Mmm hmm."
As she continued the massage, her thoughts drifted, her mood becoming
reflective. In the six years they had known one another, she wondered why it was
they had never done this before. Just sitting together quietly, enjoying one
another's company. No work to bother them, no case to investigate. Just Mulder,
her, and a fire to keep them warm on a rainy night. It was something so new, but
it felt so right. Scully sighed contentedly.
Scully turned her head to glimpse at the man beside her. The light of the fire
illuminated a portion of his face, casting the other part in shadow. She looked
at his silhouette, taking in the sight of him--all of the features that made up
his handsome face: his dark brown hair that fell haphazardly onto his forehead,
his broad nose, the strong line of his jaw now shadowed with stubble, his full
lips. Her gaze lingered at his eyes, reflecting the bright flames. Mulder always
had such a haunted look in his eyes. He had been through so much in his thirty-
seven years, this dark, brooding partner of hers. He had survived so much
tragedy. She wished she could take that pain away from him, even if only for a
night.
"Mulder?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you happy with your life?"
"Define happy."
"Are you satisfied with how things have turned out? With where you are in the
world at this stage in your life?"
"Jesus, Scully, how much wine did you have?"
"Same as you, Mulder--which is not even enough to get a buzz. Just answer the
question."
"I don't know." He was quiet for a long while before he continued. "Part of me
is, I guess. I mean, I love my job. I love the challenge the X-Files presents,
the way the work forces me to keep my mind sharp. I enjoy the having to solve
each new mystery by fitting together the pieces of a puzzle. Especially since I
even managed to find a partner who puts up with me and my spooky ideas."
"Really? Must be a very patient person."
"Oh, she is. Very patient. Very compassionate. Very smart. She a tough one,
though. She never lets me get away with just spouting possible theories. No, we
have to have proof. We have to produce evidence. Everything has an explanation--
and usually one that can be accounted for by science."
"Imagine that."
"I'm not complaining, mind you. She's been a positive influence on me. She's
helped justify the work, to make it more legitimate. But more than that--she's
become a good friend. You know, I don't think I ever knew the real meaning of
that word until I met her. She accepts me for who I am. She tolerates my crazy
stunts, and patches me up when things don't go exactly as planned. There's no
one I trust more than her. She's everything I could have hoped for in a partner.
Well, except for maybe one thing."
He stopped, and she waited anxiously for him to continue. "What's that?" she
asked, prompting him.
"Well . . . she could laugh more at my jokes. It's like talking to a brick wall
sometimes."
"I'll be sure to tell her to take that under advisement," Scully whispered, her
tone soft, as the weight of Mulder's words began to set in. "So, you were saying
you're happy about work. . . ."
"Mostly, yes. But I wouldn't say I was completely satisfied, either. Because for
as much as I've learned, there's still so much more I'd like to know." Mulder
sighed with the weariness of one who had borne the weight of the world on his
shoulders. He bowed his head, staring at his hands clasped between his bent
knees.
Scully knew what was coming next, and she wondered if it was a mistake to have
led him down this course of thought with her initial query.
"I'd forsake it all for the answer to just one question. One piece of knowledge.
I don't think I will ever feel fully satisfied until I find out what really
happened to her."
Her heart ached for him. For the twelve-year-old boy that still lived in Mulder,
blaming himself for not being able to save his sister, to stop her from being
taken. For the big brother who had spent over twenty-five years trying to
assuage the guilt by searching for Samantha, and the explanation of what
happened to her. As important as his quest for the Truth was--as much as the
work meant to him--this was the real reason that Mulder had devoted his life to
the X-Files.
Scully had the sudden urge to hold him close and to try to shield him from all
of the hurt. A year ago, she would never have dared. Tonight, she did not even
hesitate.
"One day, Mulder," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and
resting her head on his. "One day, we'll find out what happened to her. I know
we will. Have faith."
Leaning back in her arms, he reached up to place his hands on her arm. "I do,
Scully. Thanks to you, I do."
She closed her eyes, savoring this moment. The feel of his body against hers,
the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. Mulder had
opened himself up to her tonight, allowing her a glimpse into his heart. The
last time he placed such trust in her was probably the night he told her about
Samantha a half-dozen years ago. Scully now considered tonight to be a time of
renewing a vow between them--a pledge of hope in the work, and in each other.
She had never felt closer to Mulder--intellectually, physically, emotionally,
spiritually--than she did at this very moment. She wished they could remain like
this forever.
They sat this way for a long while. The fire had long since dwindled down to a
few fading embers when Mulder gently let go of her arms, and she reluctantly
released her hold on him. "It's getting late, Scully," he whispered. "It's been
a long, hard day, and you're probably exhausted. I should go, and let you get to
sleep." He started to get to his feet, but she reached up and grasped his arm.
"Mulder, the storm's worse than ever. It's not worth it to try to drive in this
weather--especially after all that wine. Why don't you spend the night?"
"That's okay, Scully. I'll be fine. I don't want to impose on you any more than
I already have."
"Don't be silly, Mulder. You're just as tired as I am. Get a good night's sleep.
It should clear up by the morning, and you can head home then."
Mulder hesitated. When a yawn escaped, she knew she had him. "All right," he
conceded.
"Good. Let me go get a sheet and a blanket. . . ."
"A pillow will be fine, Scully. Don't go to any trouble on my account."
"No trouble," she replied, heading for the linen closet.
She returned shortly with a pillow, sheet, and a spare down comforter. Together,
they spread the sheet over the couch, followed by the blanket. Scully gathered
the mugs and brought them into the kitchen to wash. By the time she returned,
Mulder was just getting settled. His back to her, she quietly watched as he
removed his dress shirt, revealing a white undershirt that clung to his lean
frame. He tossed the dress shirt onto a nearby chair to join his already-
discarded tie. He was in the process of removing his belt when she finally
spoke, revealing her presence.
"You sure you'll be comfortable?" she asked. "I can get another blanket--"
"Scully, couches and I are old friends. I'll be fine. Go on to bed."
"Okay. Good night, Mulder," she said, heading for her room.
"G'night, Scully. Pleasant dreams."
She stopped a moment and smiled. *Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem,
Mulder. No problem at all.*
*****
Scully woke the next morning feeling well-rested, though a little congested.
Despite the tea and honey, she guessed there was no avoiding a cold after being
caught in that storm. A little past eight, it was still relatively early. After
washing up, she decided to head to the kitchen and make some breakfast for them
to eat after Mulder woke up.
She was trying to decide whether to prepare French toast or pancakes when she
spied Mulder at the dining room table. Not only was he awake, but he appeared to
have been so for quite some time. He had her lap-top plugged in, and was
intently staring at the screen, piles of papers strewn all around him, along
with a half-filled mug of coffee.
"'Mornin', Scully," he said, not even looking up.
"Good morning. Didn't expect to see you awake yet."
"There's fresh coffee in the kitchen," he said, eyes still fixed to the computer
screen.
"Thanks. Did you sleep okay?" Walking closer, she picked up one of the bundles
of paper, and saw that it was the toxicology report from Elizabeth Blair's
autopsy.
"Just fine, thanks. You?"
"Like a baby. You been at this long?"
"A while, yeah."
Glancing at the screen, Scully saw that he was on the internet, at the CDC's
site. "Anything interesting?"
"Just getting some background info on anthrax and biological warfare. Did you
know that in the early seventies, one hundred eighteen countries--including Iraq
and the USSR--signed up to abide by the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention,
agreeing to `never in any circumstances develop, produce, stockpile, or
otherwise acquire or retain any biological weapons'?"
Scully sighed, realizing that the old self-absorbed workaholic Mulder was back
with a vengeance. Oh well, she supposed she should be grateful he managed to
take a break for an entire night. "Want some breakfast?" she asked, heading into
the kitchen. "I can make some eggs, or some pancakes--"
The phone rang. Wondering if it was her mom, Scully picked it up. "Hello?"
"Agent Scully, this is Walter Skinner. I apologize for disturbing you so early
on the weekend."
"No, sir, that's fine. I was already up. What can I do for you?"
"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Agent Scully. . . ."
Mulder looked over at her. He could immediately tell that something was wrong.
He hastened to her side and watched her expectantly as the Assistant Director
filled her in on what had happened.
". . . I already tried contacting Agent Mulder at home, but there was no answer.
And his cell was out of service."
"I know how to reach him, sir."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. We'll meet you down there shortly."
"Very well. I'll see you soon."
As soon as she hung up the phone, Mulder began to question her. "Skinner?"
She nodded.
"Scully, you've gone white as a sheet. What's wrong?"
She looked at her partner and sadly shook her head. "I think we celebrated
nabbing Andraven too soon."
"Why? What's happened?"
"It's Tim Liles. They . . . They found him dead in his hotel room this morning.
It looks like suicide."
End Chapter 3
*****
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language
Spoilers: Through Season Five
Keywords: M/S UST
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
"Not the Doctor"
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Chapter 3
"Mulder, next time you pick an out-of-the-way place for dinner--in the pouring
rain, I should add--you might want to mention the fact that we need
reservations," Scully grumbled as she sloshed across the hallway toward her
apartment. She was soaked to the bone and covered with mud--thanks to her
partner. It could be worse, she kept trying to tell herself .. . at least she
had not been cocooned by green bugs or inundated by the remains of an exploding
manure factory.
After learning that Tufano's was booked for the night--it seemed that even
torrential rain could not keep people from their pasta and garlic bread--they
opted for take-out. Mulder still insisted on Italian, so they stopped at a pizza
parlor. Fearing for her tastebuds if she were to allow Mulder to pick our
dinner, Scully offered to get the food while he waited out front with the car.
That was her first mistake.
She ordered a couple of meatball Parmesan heroes, and after receiving her order,
made a dash for the car. Second mistake. As soon as she stepped outside, she
realized the car was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the street, but there was
no sign of Mulder or his vehicle. Of course, it was at this moment that an
enormous gust of wind wreaked havoc with her umbrella, turning it inside out.
She struggled with it, trying not to drop their dinner, all the while the rain
pouring down on her.
Then she heard the beep of a car horn. She saw the car heading toward her from
down the block. She hastened to the curb, preparing to jump inside. Third, and
final mistake. As Mulder pulled up, he drove through the mother of all puddles,
which splashed on her, saturating Scully from head to toe. So much for her
favorite navy blue pants suit.
Scully stood there several moments in shock. It was not until Mulder reached
over and opened the door and shouted for her to get inside that she was finally
able to move again. She got into the car and slammed the door behind her.
"Where the hell were you?" she grumbled through clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry, Scully. It was a No Standing Zone and--"
"I don't want to hear it. Shut up and drive."
"Where to--your place or mine?"
Scully glared at him. She would have taken out her gun and shot him, but she was
too busy shivering.
"Yours is closer," he replied, shifting the car into drive and pulling away.
They drove in silence for several long minutes. Mulder stole a glance at her. He
tried to hide the grin, but before long he started laughing.
She tried to ignore him, but her patience grew short. "What's so damned funny?"
"You, Scully," he managed between chuckles. "You look like you'd be right at
home in my fish tank."
"Don't flatter me, Mulder," she replied tersely. "You hardly ever feed your
fish." Then a sneezing fit hit.
His brow furrowed, and she could hear the concern in his voice when he spoke
next. "You cold?"
"Wh-Wh-Whatever g-gave you th-that idea?" she snapped through chattering teeth.
"I'm sorry, Scully. I really didn't mean for you to get soaked." He reached over
to the temperature control and cranked up the heat. "We should be there in about
ten minutes."
Crossing her arms across her chest to try to keep warm, Scully just nodded her
head. The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Mulder miraculously found a
parking space right in front of her building. He told her to stay put for a
moment, and, after grabbing something from the back seat, rushed out of the car.
A moment later, her door opened, and he was standing there with an open umbrella
and an extended hand.
Grabbing their food and slinging the strap of her briefcase across her shoulder,
Scully placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her out of the car. He
wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him to ensure that she
was shielded from the rain as they made their way up the front steps and toward
her place.
Her fingers were now so frozen that she could not manage to get the key into the
lock. Mulder gently took them from Scully and unlocked the door, holding it open
for her. She walked into the foyer and started turning on lights. Placing the
food and her bag down on a table, she started to unbutton her coat, but stopped
as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.
It began as a low rumble in her throat, but before she knew it, she was
laughing.
"What?" Mulder asked, walking over to her.
Seeing his reflection beside hers, Scully's chuckles escalated to guffaws.
Mulder stared at her, a bewildered look on his face. This only made Scully laugh
harder. The tears were now running down her cheeks, smearing the mud that had
caked there. "I . . . I really do look like I took a swim in your tank!" she
gasped, the last word swallowed by a hiccup.
Mulder smiled. She turned to face him. "And how the hell did you manage to stay
as dry as you were before we left the office?" she asked him, looking at his
suit and coat, not a spot of mud on him.
He looked down at himself and shrugged. Soon they were both chuckling.
Scully was reminded of a night six years earlier, of two new partners laughing
over an empty grave in an Oregon cemetery as the rain beat down heavily. It had
been a long time since she had laughed with such careless abandon. She did not
know quite how it happened, but her head fell forward to rest on Mulder's chest.
She felt his arm come around her shoulders to rub her back. Slowly, their
laughter faded. Silence reigned again, and a shiver ran through her. It was not
from the cold or the wetness.
"You're trembling, Scully. You should get out of these wet clothes," he said,
helping her remove her coat. She unbuttoned her blazer, and was about to turn
away to head for her bedroom to change when he reached for her chin, cupping it
with his hand and tilting her face up toward his. Scully found herself holding
her breath as she stared into his eyes. His thumb moved across her cheek,
stroking it. "You had some mud there," he explained softly, though he did not
break contact.
"Thanks," she replied, still gazing at his face.
"Well, I suppose you want to shower and change," he said finally, dropping his
hand and turning to hang up her coat and his own.
Scully found herself standing there, feeling colder than ever. She wondered what
would be a better remedy--a hot bath or the warm embrace of her partner? She
forced herself to move. "I'm going to stick the sandwiches in the oven to heat
up while I shower," she told him, grabbing the bag and heading for the kitchen.
"Make yourself at home, Mulder. You know where everything is, right?"
"Yep. Go on, Scully. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
"Okay. I won't be long." Scully walked into the bathroom. Closing the door, she
began to undress. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She absently
placed her hand on the spot Mulder had only moments earlier, and closed her
eyes, remembering the feel of his gentle caress.
*****
Feeling refreshed after a hot shower and much warmer in a comfortable pair of
silk pajamas and a robe, Scully headed for the kitchen. She stopped suddenly as
she caught sight of the dining room table, her eyes widening in surprise. There
were two lit candles in the center. Place settings for two, complete with long-
stemmed glasses and a bottle of red wine. She heard the crackling of burning
wood and looked to see the small orange flames dancing in her fireplace. In the
background, she heard the soft melody of a saxophone coming from her CD player.
"Feeling better?" Mulder asked, emerging from the kitchen carrying two plates
with the steaming heroes, which he placed down on the table. He had shed his
suit coat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his tie loosened around
his neck. Scully's mouth began to water . . . at the sight of the food or her
partner, she could not say.
"Much better," she replied, walking hesitantly toward the table. "Mulder, what's
all this?"
"Well, I felt badly about Tufano's, and the rain, and the mud. Come on and sit
down," he told her, pulling out a chair.
"Thank you," she replied, sitting down. "Mulder, you really didn't have to do
this."
"I know, but I wanted to. Consider it my way of saying thank you for putting up
with me all week," he said, picking up the wine bottle to open. "I know it can
be hell to be around me when I get consumed by a case."
"My protests earlier tonight to the contrary, I was just as absorbed with this
investigation as you were, Mulder. I think it's all either of us has been
thinking about this past week."
"Well, I think we both need to take your advice, Scully, and step back from it
for a while. We've both been putting in a lot of extra hours this week. We
deserve the breather. We can even consider this a pre-celebratory dinner--for
bringing Andraven into custody. The real party to be held the day the jury finds
him guilty." His statement was punctuated with the pop of the cork.
As he poured, Scully read the label, and realized that the bottle was not from
her refrigerator. "Mulder, when'd you get this wine?"
He grinned sheepishly, avoiding her gaze like a small child who had been caught
with his hand in the cookie jar. "This is, uh, kind of the reason I, uhm, left
you standing out in the rain, Scully," he admitted as he sat down. "I spotted a
liquor store a block away from the pizza place. I intended to run in and be back
before you had gotten the food, but I didn't quite make it in time. . . ."
"So it wasn't a No Standing Zone?" she asked, feigning indignation.
"I don't think so. . . . But who the hell could read a parking sign in that
downpour anyway?"
She smiled. "It was a very thoughtful gesture, Mulder. Even if I got a
spontaneous mud bath in the process."
"I'm sorry about that, Scully. I'll pay the dry cleaning bill--"
"Don't worry about it," she told him, any residual anger she harbored suddenly
forgotten. "I'm hungry, let's eat."
"Cheers," he said, holding up his glass.
"Cheers," she echoed as their glasses clinked. They sipped the wine and began to
eat. Neither felt a need to speak. Instead, they listened to the sounds around
them: the rain beating down on the windows outside, the fire popping and
crackling, and the gentle melody of the music.
Mulder was right--Scully *had* felt a change between them these past few days as
they had been busy with the Andraven case. They had interacted with the usual
ease of partners who have worked together for so long that they know what the
other is thinking and can even predict how he or she will react to almost any
given situation. She could only describe it as the feeling of slipping into a
comfortable pair of old jeans that you have broken in just the way you like
them. They fit like a glove, and you hardly notice they're there. That was the
feeling she usually had when she and Mulder worked together. But now, there was
something else. She had sensed something more. And if his words and actions
tonight was any indication, Mulder perceived it, too.
There was a storm brewing, and not just outside her door. Things were coming to
a head. Scully had a feeling that their partnership was about to evolve--to
progress to a new level--and that things would never quite be the same for
Mulder and her ever again. That thought both frightened and excited her. But if
there was anything these past six years had taught her, it was that if she must
face the unknown, there was no one she would rather have at her side than Fox
Mulder.
*****
After dinner, Mulder told Scully to go relax while he cleaned up. Deciding that
she might as well make the most of his sudden consideration, she walked into the
living room. Still a bit chilly, she sat down on the floor in front of the fire.
She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top. She gazed into the
fireplace, watching the yellow-orange flames lap at the wood. Several sparks
flung off from the main blaze, and she watched, entranced, as the embers slowly
faded to darkness.
A while later, she heard Mulder approach, and looked up at him. He silently
proffered one of the two steaming mugs he held. Smiling, Scully took it, and the
sweet aroma of mint tea filled her nose. She cradled the mug in her hands, her
eyes returning to the fire, as Mulder settled down beside her. He said nothing,
but followed her gaze, and stared into the flames.
She took a cautious sip of her tea, and was pleasantly surprised when her tongue
was greeted by the sweet taste of added honey. As she swallowed, the smooth warm
liquid soothed the ache that was beginning to form in her throat. She smiled.
Mulder never ceased to amaze her. There had been times when he had behaved so
foolishly, so selfishly, that she was sure that there would be no changing him.
But then, just when she was ready to give up on him, he did something incredibly
generous and thoughtful. Tonight, he was pulling out all the stops. She wondered
if now might not be such a bad time to test those waters into which she was
thinking of swimming.
Mulder moved to readjust his position, and she saw him wince in pain.
"Your shoulder still bothering you?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.
He shrugged. "Just a little stiff."
"You up for another back rub?"
"Be warned, Scully, I now know better than to refuse a touch from those magic
fingers of yours."
"I ought to start charging by the minute," she joked as she put down her mug and
scooted over behind him. Sitting up on her knees, she placed her hands on either
side of his neck and slowly began to knead the muscles of his shoulders and
back. "Feel good?"
"Mmm . . ."
"I take it that's a yes?"
"Mmm hmm."
As she continued the massage, her thoughts drifted, her mood becoming
reflective. In the six years they had known one another, she wondered why it was
they had never done this before. Just sitting together quietly, enjoying one
another's company. No work to bother them, no case to investigate. Just Mulder,
her, and a fire to keep them warm on a rainy night. It was something so new, but
it felt so right. Scully sighed contentedly.
Scully turned her head to glimpse at the man beside her. The light of the fire
illuminated a portion of his face, casting the other part in shadow. She looked
at his silhouette, taking in the sight of him--all of the features that made up
his handsome face: his dark brown hair that fell haphazardly onto his forehead,
his broad nose, the strong line of his jaw now shadowed with stubble, his full
lips. Her gaze lingered at his eyes, reflecting the bright flames. Mulder always
had such a haunted look in his eyes. He had been through so much in his thirty-
seven years, this dark, brooding partner of hers. He had survived so much
tragedy. She wished she could take that pain away from him, even if only for a
night.
"Mulder?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you happy with your life?"
"Define happy."
"Are you satisfied with how things have turned out? With where you are in the
world at this stage in your life?"
"Jesus, Scully, how much wine did you have?"
"Same as you, Mulder--which is not even enough to get a buzz. Just answer the
question."
"I don't know." He was quiet for a long while before he continued. "Part of me
is, I guess. I mean, I love my job. I love the challenge the X-Files presents,
the way the work forces me to keep my mind sharp. I enjoy the having to solve
each new mystery by fitting together the pieces of a puzzle. Especially since I
even managed to find a partner who puts up with me and my spooky ideas."
"Really? Must be a very patient person."
"Oh, she is. Very patient. Very compassionate. Very smart. She a tough one,
though. She never lets me get away with just spouting possible theories. No, we
have to have proof. We have to produce evidence. Everything has an explanation--
and usually one that can be accounted for by science."
"Imagine that."
"I'm not complaining, mind you. She's been a positive influence on me. She's
helped justify the work, to make it more legitimate. But more than that--she's
become a good friend. You know, I don't think I ever knew the real meaning of
that word until I met her. She accepts me for who I am. She tolerates my crazy
stunts, and patches me up when things don't go exactly as planned. There's no
one I trust more than her. She's everything I could have hoped for in a partner.
Well, except for maybe one thing."
He stopped, and she waited anxiously for him to continue. "What's that?" she
asked, prompting him.
"Well . . . she could laugh more at my jokes. It's like talking to a brick wall
sometimes."
"I'll be sure to tell her to take that under advisement," Scully whispered, her
tone soft, as the weight of Mulder's words began to set in. "So, you were saying
you're happy about work. . . ."
"Mostly, yes. But I wouldn't say I was completely satisfied, either. Because for
as much as I've learned, there's still so much more I'd like to know." Mulder
sighed with the weariness of one who had borne the weight of the world on his
shoulders. He bowed his head, staring at his hands clasped between his bent
knees.
Scully knew what was coming next, and she wondered if it was a mistake to have
led him down this course of thought with her initial query.
"I'd forsake it all for the answer to just one question. One piece of knowledge.
I don't think I will ever feel fully satisfied until I find out what really
happened to her."
Her heart ached for him. For the twelve-year-old boy that still lived in Mulder,
blaming himself for not being able to save his sister, to stop her from being
taken. For the big brother who had spent over twenty-five years trying to
assuage the guilt by searching for Samantha, and the explanation of what
happened to her. As important as his quest for the Truth was--as much as the
work meant to him--this was the real reason that Mulder had devoted his life to
the X-Files.
Scully had the sudden urge to hold him close and to try to shield him from all
of the hurt. A year ago, she would never have dared. Tonight, she did not even
hesitate.
"One day, Mulder," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and
resting her head on his. "One day, we'll find out what happened to her. I know
we will. Have faith."
Leaning back in her arms, he reached up to place his hands on her arm. "I do,
Scully. Thanks to you, I do."
She closed her eyes, savoring this moment. The feel of his body against hers,
the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. Mulder had
opened himself up to her tonight, allowing her a glimpse into his heart. The
last time he placed such trust in her was probably the night he told her about
Samantha a half-dozen years ago. Scully now considered tonight to be a time of
renewing a vow between them--a pledge of hope in the work, and in each other.
She had never felt closer to Mulder--intellectually, physically, emotionally,
spiritually--than she did at this very moment. She wished they could remain like
this forever.
They sat this way for a long while. The fire had long since dwindled down to a
few fading embers when Mulder gently let go of her arms, and she reluctantly
released her hold on him. "It's getting late, Scully," he whispered. "It's been
a long, hard day, and you're probably exhausted. I should go, and let you get to
sleep." He started to get to his feet, but she reached up and grasped his arm.
"Mulder, the storm's worse than ever. It's not worth it to try to drive in this
weather--especially after all that wine. Why don't you spend the night?"
"That's okay, Scully. I'll be fine. I don't want to impose on you any more than
I already have."
"Don't be silly, Mulder. You're just as tired as I am. Get a good night's sleep.
It should clear up by the morning, and you can head home then."
Mulder hesitated. When a yawn escaped, she knew she had him. "All right," he
conceded.
"Good. Let me go get a sheet and a blanket. . . ."
"A pillow will be fine, Scully. Don't go to any trouble on my account."
"No trouble," she replied, heading for the linen closet.
She returned shortly with a pillow, sheet, and a spare down comforter. Together,
they spread the sheet over the couch, followed by the blanket. Scully gathered
the mugs and brought them into the kitchen to wash. By the time she returned,
Mulder was just getting settled. His back to her, she quietly watched as he
removed his dress shirt, revealing a white undershirt that clung to his lean
frame. He tossed the dress shirt onto a nearby chair to join his already-
discarded tie. He was in the process of removing his belt when she finally
spoke, revealing her presence.
"You sure you'll be comfortable?" she asked. "I can get another blanket--"
"Scully, couches and I are old friends. I'll be fine. Go on to bed."
"Okay. Good night, Mulder," she said, heading for her room.
"G'night, Scully. Pleasant dreams."
She stopped a moment and smiled. *Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem,
Mulder. No problem at all.*
*****
Scully woke the next morning feeling well-rested, though a little congested.
Despite the tea and honey, she guessed there was no avoiding a cold after being
caught in that storm. A little past eight, it was still relatively early. After
washing up, she decided to head to the kitchen and make some breakfast for them
to eat after Mulder woke up.
She was trying to decide whether to prepare French toast or pancakes when she
spied Mulder at the dining room table. Not only was he awake, but he appeared to
have been so for quite some time. He had her lap-top plugged in, and was
intently staring at the screen, piles of papers strewn all around him, along
with a half-filled mug of coffee.
"'Mornin', Scully," he said, not even looking up.
"Good morning. Didn't expect to see you awake yet."
"There's fresh coffee in the kitchen," he said, eyes still fixed to the computer
screen.
"Thanks. Did you sleep okay?" Walking closer, she picked up one of the bundles
of paper, and saw that it was the toxicology report from Elizabeth Blair's
autopsy.
"Just fine, thanks. You?"
"Like a baby. You been at this long?"
"A while, yeah."
Glancing at the screen, Scully saw that he was on the internet, at the CDC's
site. "Anything interesting?"
"Just getting some background info on anthrax and biological warfare. Did you
know that in the early seventies, one hundred eighteen countries--including Iraq
and the USSR--signed up to abide by the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention,
agreeing to `never in any circumstances develop, produce, stockpile, or
otherwise acquire or retain any biological weapons'?"
Scully sighed, realizing that the old self-absorbed workaholic Mulder was back
with a vengeance. Oh well, she supposed she should be grateful he managed to
take a break for an entire night. "Want some breakfast?" she asked, heading into
the kitchen. "I can make some eggs, or some pancakes--"
The phone rang. Wondering if it was her mom, Scully picked it up. "Hello?"
"Agent Scully, this is Walter Skinner. I apologize for disturbing you so early
on the weekend."
"No, sir, that's fine. I was already up. What can I do for you?"
"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Agent Scully. . . ."
Mulder looked over at her. He could immediately tell that something was wrong.
He hastened to her side and watched her expectantly as the Assistant Director
filled her in on what had happened.
". . . I already tried contacting Agent Mulder at home, but there was no answer.
And his cell was out of service."
"I know how to reach him, sir."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. We'll meet you down there shortly."
"Very well. I'll see you soon."
As soon as she hung up the phone, Mulder began to question her. "Skinner?"
She nodded.
"Scully, you've gone white as a sheet. What's wrong?"
She looked at her partner and sadly shook her head. "I think we celebrated
nabbing Andraven too soon."
"Why? What's happened?"
"It's Tim Liles. They . . . They found him dead in his hotel room this morning.
It looks like suicide."
End Chapter 3
*****