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iv. no vacancy
"Looks like we can't get a flight out of here until tomorrow," Scully said, hanging up her cell phone.
"I certainly hope not." Mulder sunk into a plastic folding chair and leaned back, gesturing at the leaking ceiling of the Kroner High School gymnasium. He was absolutely exhausted by the day. And it had been a day.
He glanced around the assembled crowd of reunion-goers, which at this point had trickled down to about a dozen people. Most of the guests had departed, seeking shelter from the inclement weather, but Holman and Sheila still sat in the corner, chairs pulled close together, knees touching, talking softly.
Mulder smiled with the thought that of all the paranormal forces he and Scully had encountered during their tenure on the X-Files, love truly had to be the most mysterious.
You should try it sometime, Holman had said under his breath. Surely Scully had heard him. It was getting ridiculous how obvious it was to everyone else that he was in love with her, and yet he couldn't buck up the courage to take his own advice to Holman and simply tell her how he felt.
Soon , he thought. Something's got to give.
"Want to head back to the motel?" he asked her. The Cool View Motor Court was still booked solid because of the reunion, and it wasn't the first time they'd been forced to share a room while on assignment, but this particular case had obviously dredged up a lot of feelings. He was nervous tonight, torn between avoidance and action. He suspected Scully was choosing avoidance, from the way she seemed to be delaying their return. He wondered if and when he would decide upon action.
"Yeah, let's go," she said. For a moment, Mulder thought she didn't really want to; that perhaps going back to a cramped motel room where they'd be spending the night together wasn't her idea of a relaxing evening. But then to his great surprise, she looked around the room surreptitiously, grabbed an unopened champagne bottle out of an ice bucket on the table, and stuffed it underneath her coat. She widened her eyes at him as she jerked her head towards the exit, indicating go, go, go.
He stood up, following closely behind her, impressed. "You rebel," he muttered softly behind her with a grin.
When they arrived back at the room, Scully did what she'd done the previous night, which was to head straight to the bathroom, closing the door. He allowed her to change while he rooted through his own clothes,patiently waiting for her to exit in her robe with a shy smile, and then went into the bathroom himself. All of it was done expertly in sync; like a habit they'd never actually created. He continued to marvel at the occasions when utter silence seemed to be their best form of communication.
He'd just finished relieving himself when he heard a voice from the bedroom.
"Hey, Mulder."
He poked his head out to see her sitting in the center of the bed in her pajamas, holding up the bottle. Her robe had been discarded and the television was on, playing softly behind her. "Par-tay?" she asked with a smile.
He cocked his head to the side, her spontaneity and whimsy on this trip continuing to delight him. "Hell, yeah."
He walked over to the bed and sat down across from her as she poured some champagne into two clear plastic cups. She handed him one and held her own cup aloft.
"To our powerful matchmaking skills," she grinned.
"Hear, hear," he replied. They tapped their cups together and sipped. The subsequent silence was extensive and deafening.
He looked at her a bit awkwardly. He was inches from her in his T-shirt and sweatpants. It occurred to him that a distance of two feet and a couple layers of fabric were the only obstacles between Scully and the part of him that wanted her most. Not long ago, he'd have felt ashamed to think of her in such a way. Now, he could so rarely avoid thinking about it, he'd given up on the guilt.
"Do you really think we did anything at all?" he asked her. "I mean, would they have figured it out eventually?"
She looked pensive. "I think so." Her eyes landed on him, softening. "I hope so."
He nodded back. "I guess it was just their time."
"Probably."
They were experts at this, Mulder and Scully, at this kind of maneuvering; their ability to dodge and shift around any given heated moment. They'd done it for years, delicately navigating a dangerous path that constantly teetered on the edge of a precipice that would surely land them in a pit of flames if they weren't careful. He knew it, she knew it. He hardly understood what they were waiting for anymore.
They looked at each other and he felt his features soften. This seemed to happen whenever he looked at her lately: a tightening in his gut and a flood of emotions to his heart that he could now identify in precisely the way that the hapless-yet-surprisingly-perceptive Holman Hardt had earlier that morning.
I do not gaze at Scully.
Right now he was unequivocally, unabashedly, one hundred percent gazing at Scully.
"Well," he said, catching himself and swiftly breaking their gaze. "You tired?"
She shrugged. "Not really." She looked at him in a way that felt like a dare.
"Um…" Mulder looked around, searching for something, anything else they could possibly do besides deal with the obvious elephant in the room. Scully seemed far more at ease than he'd expected.
"You know, I have to hand it to you, Mulder," she said. "I know I teased you about it, but whatever you said to Holman seemed to work."
"Dana Scully," he said, in mock surprise. "As I live and breathe. Are you actually admitting you believe Holman Hardt was controlling the weather?"
"I never said that," she retorted. "Convincing him to confess his feelings is one thing; the weather is quite another."
"How do you explain the storm then?" Mulder asked, amused.
She shrugged. "How do you know it isn't just a coincidence?"
Mulder gave her his patented give me a break face. "Come on, Scully."
"I'll admit it's odd, but if your theory were correct, and letting out his true feelings would 'break the spell', so to speak, wouldn't it have stopped raining by now?" She gestured out the window where it was indeed raining cats and dogs.
Mulder paused, trying to remember the order of events. "I don't know how it works, exactly," he said defensively. "All I know is we came here because of a drought, and that case appears to be closed."
"I guess you're right about that, although I don't know how we're going to explain this one to Skinner," Scully groaned. Mulder knew that, as much as she'd indulged him while on this case, she really couldn't wait to go home.
"So you concede?" he pressed.
"That a man can control the weather? No!" Scully said with finality. "You're not going to convince me of this, Mulder. Correlation does not equal causation."
"Mark my words, Scully, the man has a superpower." The events Sheila described weren't random occurrences, of that Mulder was certain.
Scully shrugged. "I guess I just require more than you to believe," she said simply. "I always have."
"That we can agree on," Mulder conceded. Scully raised an eyebrow in that way he could never quite tell was flirting or not; the one that gave him permission to cross certain boundaries but left him unsure of how far he could go.
They sat quietly for a few moments and Scully sipped her champagne. When she brought the cup away from her lips he couldn't stop staring at her mouth. He couldn't help it; sometimes her tongue would slide out to catch a spare drop and it was distracting.
"So what did Holman say to you, anyway?" she asked curiously. "You should try... what sometime?"
Mulder knew exactly what Holman had meant, and he was pretty damn sure Scully knew it too. But his mouth turned dry, and he was unable to tell her the truth.
"I don't know," he lied. "Maybe try to… get a life?"
"Haven't I been trying to tell you that for years, Mulder?" she asked.
"Yes," he agreed, "and you've both been exactly the same amount of effective."
She chuckled. "Well, what do you call this?" she asked him, gesturing around the room. "We're cooped up in a motel room together in our jammies drinking champagne and hanging out together. That's… fun, isn't it?"
He nodded. "I like fun."
"Well, so do I." She looked slightly affronted that he might suspect she wasn't interested in having fun. Her tongue rolled across her bottom lip again and he couldn't tell if she'd done it on purpose or not.
He stood up and started wandering around the room, opening drawers. He wasn't really sure what he was looking for. "Wonder if there's anything fun to do around here."
...Besides each other, was the inappropriate conclusion to that phrase that made its way into his brain.
Mulder shooed away the thought and opened the drawer to the nightstand, finding a deck of cards. He pulled them out to triumphantly present them to Scully, and before he could stop himself, the words flew out in that way they usually did: that playful, never-gonna-get-there, just kidding around way.
"Strip poker?"
It was just a joke, a tease. He never in a million years thought she'd take his suggestion seriously. Which made it all the more surprising when she replied.
"Sure." She shifted her body to face him, legs crossed underneath her. "Why not?"
He felt a chill envelop him, pure nerves from head to toe, and had a flashback to eighth grade when he'd played strip poker in Graham Stewart's basement. It was the first time he'd seen a real pair of breasts and the image was permanently seared onto his brain, regardless of the hundreds he'd seen since, whether in real life or just on screen.
His anxiety manifested in an audible gulp. He felt his Adam's apple bob, and as Scully raised an eyebrow he thought how appropriate. It was as if her willingness to engage in such a forbidden activity was that very apple lodged in his throat. She was tempting him, and Scully rarely tempted him, at least on purpose. He could feel himself hardening at the mere suggestion, and prayed she wouldn't notice.
If he continued down this road of thought, they wouldn't get very far into a game without him visibly embarrassing himself, so after inwardly cursing the unfairness of being born a warm-blooded male, he did his best to mentally shake off his nerves and sat down next to her on the bed with a grin. He shuffled the deck a couple times.
"You're serious?"
"Dead serious," she shot back. "Unless you're worried you're going to lose."
He narrowed his eyes at her. He loved it when Scully was competitive.
As he dealt the cards, he couldn't help but take stock of what both of them were currently wearing: him, his sweatpants, a T-shirt, underwear and socks. Her: a very promising ensemble of merely a two-piece silk pajama set, whatever lay beneath it, and socks of her own.
Well. They already had quite the head start.
Scully held up her cards directly in front of her face and peered over them at Mulder. She glanced down at them, discarded and drew a new one. He saw a barely suppressed look of glee pass over her face and wondered if Scully was any good at bluffing, but immediately retracted that absurd notion. Of course she was.
He looked at his own cards and saw two pairs. Satisfied, he looked back up at her. "What've you got, G-woman?"
She laid down her hand with a smile, revealing a pair of aces. Grinning, he showed his. With a dramatic, heavy sigh, she stuck her leg out along the edge of the bed, leaned forward and grabbed the toe of her sock. She pulled straight up and it slid off, slowly. He could tell she wasn't trying to do it in a seductive manner, but Scully had a knack for unintentionally seducing Mulder in the most incidental moments.
She tossed the sock to the floor and pulled her leg back beneath her, obstructing his view of her naked foot. He found it adorable, given the fact that very soon, at least one of them would be baring much more to the other if they followed the rules.
And Dana Scully always followed the rules.
"Your deal," he said, handing her the cards. She grinned at him wordlessly, shuffled and dealt. He looked at his hand and was greeted with a most welcome sight of three queens. This is all too easy, he thought. Suddenly getting Scully naked wasn't the insurmountable feat he'd previously thought it might be.
They showed their hands, and Scully let out another heavy sigh of defeat. He watched her face this time as she removed her other sock and for the first time since they began this endeavor he saw a tiny glimpse of trepidation. If she lost one more time, things were going to get incredibly intimate.
"Hey," he said, because he felt like he had to. "This was a stupid idea. Maybe we should just watch TV."
She looked up, and any apprehension he'd noticed was instantly gone. He saw the same Scully that had shot him in the shoulder because she had no choice, the same Scully that had offered to fall on his sword as she lay dying. The same Scully that had saved his ass innumerable times.
"No," she said. "Not before I get those boxer shorts."
His heart stopped in his chest. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard her say. She grinned at him, and he wondered if maybe she was being affected by the champagne, but neither of them had even finished one cup.
"I don't see it happening, Scully," he said. "Not the way you've been playing."
She threw her cards on the bed. "I have a strong feeling my luck is about to change. Shuffle, Spooky."
He laughed, shrugged, and dealt. As if the universe had indeed suddenly swung in her favor, he looked at his cards and was greeted with absolutely nothing. Not long afterwards, they were tied: two socks each. Their four socks co-mingled on the ground, his draped over hers, and it felt oddly ilicit. They looked at each other, knowing what would come next. The inevitability hung in the air, like heavy moisture he knew couldn't possibly exist in Kansas.
Mulder tugged at the neck of his T-shirt. "Is it… getting hot in here?" he asked.
She shook her head slowly. "No, but I'll bet you'll be getting much cooler pretty soon," she said playfully.
She was right. Scully held a full house, and grinned with delight as Mulder stripped off his T-shirt. He tried not to notice the way she bit her lower lip when he did so. That line of thinking wouldn't do him any favors at the moment. But he'd been wondering for the past twenty minutes just what exactly she had on beneath those pajamas, and he finally got his answer: she wasn't wearing anything underneath her top. Either there had been a sudden inexplicable drop in temperature he couldn't detect, or perhaps it was something… else.
"What are you looking at, Mulder?" she asked curiously.
"Oh, nothing," he said guiltily, looking up quickly.
Luck was on her side the next hand as well, and Mulder was already down to just his pants. She downed the last of her champagne and refilled her cup as she watched him strip down to the last article of clothing between her and victory.
It occurred to Mulder the last time she'd seen him this stripped down was in a decontamination shower at Fort Marlene. Things had been strained between them at the time, and while they'd both certainly stolen a glance at one another, it had been no time to be thinking about her in the unpartnerly way he'd become accustomed to. Now it seemed she was reveling in the sight of him, and he couldn't be quite sure if it was his state of undress or the fact that she was winning that had her so excited, but he'd take it. Anything to see that smile.
The next hands were dealt, and when he saw Scully's face turn beet red he knew exactly what was about to happen.
Pants or top, he wondered. He couldn't make up his mind which he'd rather see go.
She folded her cards facedown on the bed and slid off until she was standing right next to him, so close. He took one last look at her fully clothed body, and when she slowly tucked her thumbs into the waistband of her bottoms and began to slide them down her legs, the impact of such a moment almost knocked the wind out of him. He kept his eyes glued to her hands as they moved, every excruciating inch revealing more creamy skin to him.
She stepped out of them, first one leg, then the other, and kicked them aside. His body was frozen to the spot. She stood in front of him and crossed her arms in front of her chest, and as she did so her pajama top bunched a little, revealing a tiny sliver of her underwear. It was simple: white cotton, hugging her in all the right places. It made him think of Oregon. It made him think of trust.
She scrunched her face up a bit, and for a second he worried she would back out of this somehow, that she'd never actually intended to get completely naked in a motel room with her partner while on a case. That she was going to put a stop to it here and now. But she clambered back onto the bed, sat on her calves, and looked him right in the eye.
"My deal."
He didn't want to change her mind. He wanted to see just how this would play out. So he didn't say a word and let her deal the hand that would undeniably change everything. He picked up his hand, looked down, and after discarding and drawing, arrived at his moment of truth.
Three kings.
It was good, but Scully had been granted some unbelievable luck tonight. He eyed her, searching her face for a sign, but she revealed nothing this time: as enigmatic as ever. She discarded two cards and drew, keeping her eyes plastered to the deck.
"Let's see what you've got," she said with a completely straight face.
He laid the kings down gently on the bed and watched her face, wanting his answer from her, not from the cards. And he got it: a slight flicker in her baby blue irises that gave her away. He looked down at what she'd laid on the bed and saw three queens.
She looked him in the eyes and this time it was something new, something dangerous. They'd reached a line and were about to cross it so easily, simply because if they didn't it would be breaking the rules.
He met her gaze with intensity, and for a moment it felt like a legitimate standoff; was she waiting for him to put a stop to this? Was he waiting for her to?
Did either of them even want to?
Her finger suddenly moved towards the button of her pajama top, and in an instant he knew this was going to happen. She started to unbutton it, her eyes never leaving his. He felt his erection twitching inside his underwear and suddenly, this wasn't a game anymore. Scully was about to reveal herself to him in a way he hadn't earned, at least not in the way he wanted to earn it.
He didn't want it to happen this way: because she'd lost a game. He wanted it to happen in a moment when they both felt like they'd won.
"Wait," he said, and his hand shot out to stop her own, covering it.
Her eyes lifted and met his, and he looked at her intently, the are you sure? implicit. He hoped she understood, hoped that he wouldn't have to ask. They'd denied so much of themselves to each other over the years, it wasn't uncommon for them to listen only when they weren't talking. Only when they spoke with their eyes.
She didn't speak. Instead, with her other hand, she reached out to touch his bare chest, the contact electric, and he inhaled quietly when she did it. She looked intently at his skin where her finger grazed him, from the top of his pectoral muscle to the bottom, carefully avoiding his nipple; just testing the waters.
Perhaps it was simply their current closeness, the heat traveling from his wanting body to hers; perhaps it was the proximity of his hand to her accessible breast. Maybe she just couldn't handle the pressure anymore. It had never been more clear to either of them that this entire thing, all seven years of their waiting and wondering and longing was about to erupt like a volcano.
Whatever the reason, she leaned forward ever so slightly until the tips of his fingers were grazing her breast through the silky fabric. Her own fingers squeezed his a bit, giving permission. Please, she seemed to be saying. Please touch me. Her eyes closed, as if she wanted to indulge in this tiny bit of release without the messy implications of locking eyes with him, without either of them acknowledging that it was even happening.
He dragged his fingertips along the curve of her breast, Scully's breast, and realized he'd been holding his breath this entire time. She gave up any plausible deniability that this was simply an accident by pulling his eager hand directly against the firm, round expanse, and he cupped her fully, squeezing gently.
Jesus fuck, he thought. Fuck.
They'd been traveling on this trajectory for so long, crossing tiny lines one by one, becoming so enmeshed with one another that suddenly being able to touch her like this, in however small a way, seemed like the most enormous thing that had ever happened to him.
His eyes couldn't make up his mind where they wanted to land: her beautiful face or her perfect tits, and her head lolled slowly from side to side as her mouth dropped open a bit. She let a tiny moan escape, and the idea that barely touching her could elicit such a reaction made him so hard he was worried he'd misfire. He was suddenly aware of the television playing in the background; some action hero defusing a bomb that counted down slowly and surely towards an explosive end.
Her eyes opened and she looked right at him. Getting up onto her knees a bit, still holding his hand firmly in place, she then glanced downward into his lap. He knew he would never escape this. He knew she would see how aroused this was all making him, as if she could fool herself into believing otherwise. And before he could even process the fact that Scully was looking at his massive hard-on, he didn't have to, because she was reaching for it.
Her fingertips lightly grazed his shaft through his boxers, the entire length of it, as if she were measuring it. As if she were taking notes. Every nerve ending in his body was aflame, and he wanted her to wrap her little hand around his cock so badly he involuntarily thrust his hips a bit towards her, the same way she had presented her chest, and to his great surprise and delight she responded. She gripped his length and he felt himself losing his mind: his eyes were rolling back into his head, his breathing was erratic.
"Scully…" he whispered, the first word either of them had uttered since this new world arrived.
"Mulder," she replied, just as softly.
His heart was pounding, and at first it was a low thrum in his chest but was gradually moving into his ears, a persistent rumble.
Suddenly they were back in his hallway, and she was leaning in closer, wanting to kiss him, wanting to take this further than "just friends." As if they'd ever been "just friends." As full as his mind generally was of monsters and aliens and Samantha and any number of non-Scully related topics, he couldn't think of a damn thing he wanted more in this moment than her lips against his, not a damn thing.
The rumble he was hearing was suddenly so loud he couldn't believe it was just his heart. Maybe it was Scully's too; maybe they both wanted this so badly that their bodies couldn't physically contain their excitement.
Maybe that was it, maybe it was both.
Maybe it was neither, he realized in an instant.
Suddenly he was aware the entire room was beginning to shake. Pictures slid down the walls, Mulder's neglected cot toppled away from the wall. An acrylic display full of brochures that proclaimed "Visit Kroner!" fell off their perch near the door.
What the hell was happening?
Scully's eyes widened, her hand letting go of him, and as he reluctantly released her as well he saw in her face a brief expression of utter exhaustion. Why was the universe so dead-set against them?
"Get in the doorframe!" Mulder commanded, assuming an earthquake was happening. Scully ran over to the bathroom and situated herself within the frame, and Mulder flung open the front door to do the same. Before he could feel too much regret at their missed opportunity, there was an enormous cracking sound beneath them.
His brain began working its usual overtime, and where it landed was surprising even to him.
Where was Holman Hardt at this very moment?
It was a Mulder hunch, for sure, but he'd learned to trust those over the years. What if Holman's love confession was merely a prelude to the extent of his powers?
Suddenly Mulder was no longer convinced this was a mere earthquake, as visions of flying cows danced through his memory. Thoughts of what he and Scully had very nearly begun moments ago flooded his brain, and the realization that it was highly likely Holman and Sheila were off somewhere at this very moment doing exactly the same thing hit him like a hurricane.
"We have to get out of here, now!" he yelled at Scully.
She didn't argue, and he was grateful for this convenient departure from her norm as she darted towards him across the room. He took her hand and they ran outside as a loud rrrriiiiipppping noise tore after them. He felt heat, he felt pressure. And after they'd run across the parking lot half-dressed in their bare feet for at least twenty yards, he spun around and saw what he could only describe as molten lava pouring out of their door.
"What the hell?" Scully asked, thoroughly confused. "Is that… what I think it is?!"
Mulder nodded, heaving a heavy sigh, as liquid magma spilled across the parking lot. Neither of them could quite speak aloud its absurdity but it seemed there was indeed a volcano erupting in the middle of the Cool View Motor Court.
"Do you believe me now, Scully?" he said, his voice triumphant, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Scully didn't reply, still in utter shock. Several other guests were now pouring out of the motel in a panic, screaming in confusion. The bedraggled manager in her bathrobe and curlers was among them.
After a couple of minutes, as the shock began to fade, the manager made her way over to Mulder and Scully. "You two all right?" she asked.
They nodded, and she eyed their lack of attire curiously. Mulder noticed Scully had gone as red as the molten magma seeping across the parking lot, and he shifted his body to attempt to grant her a modicum of privacy.
Lava spurted from the top of the motel as the Cool View Motor Court went up in flames with the quite plausible passion of a man who probably hadn't been laid in years.
Well, Mulder thought with bitter disappointment. At least someone got lucky tonight.