Disclaimer: Chris Carter and the gang have redeemed themselves with the new season, I am happy to say that these two are in the possession of Ten Thirteen. But don't we all like getting off on "borrowing" them for a while? :-)
Rating: This chapter is...PG. Will be NC-17 later.
Spoilers: Post-all things.
Author's Notes: Back to writing Mulder POV. Flows so much easier!
Feedback: If you're a writer, you understand how important it is. If you are not, I hope you realize how important it is. I never understood until I started writing. On a story I published not even a week ago, There's been 2200 views, with 21 reviews. Ijs. But, anyway, Thanks for reading. Here you go. :)
I want to give a shout out to 3 friends I've made here recently. Thank you to Jennifer, Stephanie, and Jaime for reviews, encouragement, input and just plain geeking out with me. *air hearts*
We are in the car, finally. The fog didn't lift enough for planes to take off until almost 11 this morning, and we didn't take off for another hour after that. After a 5 hour connecting flight, with another delay in Atlanta, and a DMV sized line at the rental car counter, it is almost 6. It is actually almost 7 back home, but we are in Houston.
"Mulder, I'm hungry." Oh, no.
"Let's do a drive thru. Scully. Please."
"You know I hate eating in the car."
"We need to get to Uvalde. We have a four and a half hour drive ahead." We had to land in Houston, because the earliest flights to San Antonio and Austin were not early enough for Skinner. He couldn't have known the delays we would encounter, but I was cursing him for them regardless.
"Mulder…" Her tone matches the irritation in my own voice. "We aren't meeting local law enforcement until 8AM. And they've discovered that the killings happened on full moons. We have time to stop for dinner."
It would almost be worth it if she would actually eat when we stopped, rather than eating like a bird. I sigh, very audibly. "Fine. Where would you like to eat?"
xxxxx
After eating at the first restaurant we came across, and stopping for something to drink and a bag of seeds, we are on the road. I am tense and, for lack of a better word, cranky for the first few hours. Not even the sight of the beautiful Texas wildflowers, Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrushes, which I had just learned about from a diagram next to our table, helped. Scully was impressed though, pointing out big patches of blue and red along the interstate until the sun went down. All I could think about was screwing her until she came, hearing those new sounds coming out of her mouth, seeing faces I'd never seen her make.
I turn up the radio, searching for something, anything to listen to. I put it on scan, then hit the button hard to turn it off when the only thing getting any reception is Spanish stations. There are a lot of Spanish stations in Texas. I couldn't even get any Country right now.
"You ok, Mulder?" She has the smallest hint of a smile in her voice, but looks at me innocently. I see her in the glow of lights from the dash. I look back at the road.
"Yeah." I say around the seed I'm working on in my mouth. "I'm having the best day of my life. Whored out by the Bureau to look at a case that's not even an X-File, my actual job. Delayed at every turn. And you..." I glance at her again when I've separated that seed from its shell, and am removing it from between my teeth with my fingers. The small squint of her eyes, the tightness of her mouth, tells me to watch myself. "Sorry, Scully." I sigh as I toss it out the window, put another one in my mouth.
She gives me one nod, leaning back in her seat a little. "Need me to drive?"
"No," I say, sticking my fingers out the window, letting the wind take another shell from them.
She opens the case file and turns on the small light above her, studying the pictures again.
When I feel my eyes start to get heavy, I scan the radio again. I am hoping to pick up a station as we get nearer to San Antonio. Luckily, I pick up something with at least an English speaking commercial. I settle on that, will settle on whatever it is.
The DJ comes back on a few minutes later, announcing 101.3, San Antonio's only Oldies station. I nod and flick another shell out the window. I'm getting another seed out the bag and glance at the radio when the DJ announces that this is a Surfin' Safari weekend, they'll be playing blocks of The Beach Boys all weekend. I'm smiling a little against my fingers as I work on a seed, waiting for him to play the first song as he gives some "little known facts" about the band.
Finally, "I Get Around." I glance at Scully. When I'm sure she's engrossed in the case file, I turn up the radio a bit. I am smiling a bit more, silently singing along. This song, The Beach Boys in general are some of the only happy moments I possess of my childhood. My mother would put them on while she did housekeeping, Samantha and I using mops and brooms as microphone stands and guitars. I'm drumming my fingers against the wheel along with the clapping in the song, stroking an air guitar at my right side. By the time my favorite Beach Boys song is over, I'm in a much better mood. **I see my sister, begging Mom to put on her song now. Mom removes her dish gloves, going to the record player and changing the album. She pats Samantha on the head as she returns to what she was doing. Samantha is dancing as the music begins, twirling around.**
I am surprised, but then again not at all as I hear "California Girls" begin to play. **I see Samantha's toothy smile, her hair flying all directions as she starts to jump around when the music picks up. Her singing is terrible.** It's always been a little easier to think of her when I hear The Beach Boys, but this is the first time I've really thought of such memories since I learned of her fate. The tests after she was taken, but then saved by the Walk-Ins. **Samantha runs up to me towards the end of the song and grabs both of my hands, hopping side to side, wanting me to do the same. She sings, "I wish they all could be California Girls!"**
I am smiling against the backs of my first two fingers as the music fades and the DJ introduces the last song of the block. Kokomo was released well after Samantha was taken. In my late 20s, actually. I have no special memories about the song, I just like it. I'm tapping my fingers against my lip, silently starting to mouth 'Aruba...' when I feel Scully's eyes on me. She's holding her lips together, trying not to smile or give herself away. As soon as I catch her watching me, though, her face breaks into her toothy grin, as wide as I've ever seen it. "Do you LIKE The Beach Boys, Mulder?" Her tone raises as she speaks a couple of times, as if she's holding in peals of laughter.
I give her my best attempt at deadpan, but her smile is contagious. I never realized how imperfectly beautiful her teeth were up there. "I think they're ok."
One goofy laugh escapes her lungs and she covers her mouth with her hand, trying to hold it in. "'Ok?' Mulder? You were really in to that music. I mean, there's Elvis, and I can give you that. But, The Beach Boys? Wow, Mulder." She manages to contain another giggle.
"FINE, Scully." Dramatic, but exaggerated tone. "I LIKE The Beach Boys." She lets out another high pitched, yet stifled giggle, looking straight ahead. "It's a guilty pleasure, I admit." She has turned her face away from me, her hand blocking me from seeing her mouth, eyes closed. She holds in one more giggle. "I'm glad you find that so amusing. So tell me, Agent Dana Scully, what is your musical guilty pleasure."
She straightens up her back, fixing her hair a bit. She manages to lose most of the smile on her face, shaking her head subtly. "I don't have one." She's reopened the case file on her lap. I reach over and close it before grabbing it and tossing it on the back seat. "Mulder!"
"You had your laugh, now tell me yours."
"Ahem...oh, I don't know." She reaches up and clicks off the light above her head.
"Fine," I say, digging another seed out of the bag and pushing it between my lips, sounding disinterested.
She runs her hands down her thighs, straightening her skirt a bit. She pushes the fuller side of her hair back from her face before smoothing her skirt once more and crossing her arms and legs. "Wham!, Mulder. I like Wham!"
On the first inhale of laughter, I breathe the seed into my throat and the shell goes flying out of my mouth onto the steering wheel when I cough. I am covering my mouth and coughing through my laughter. Scully hands me a bottle of water, clearing her throat. I manage to get a few gulps and wash the seed down. I wipe my lip and look at her. "George Michael, Scully, really?"
She's tapping her fingers, resting her arm up on the edge of the window next to her, looking straight ahead. "I like his solo work too, yeah."
I hand her the water again before I pick that shell off of the steering wheel and flick it out the window. "Wow, Scully." I laugh once more, quietly.
We sit in silence for a while, she is pretty motionless and I'm smiling to myself and eating my seeds. I see a good place to stop, fill up the car and use the restroom so I pull over.
When we are waking back out to the car, I stop her before she's about to open her door and get in. Her back is almost against the back passenger door, I lean in to talk to her. "Hey, Scully, I'm pretty tired tonight. I worry that I might sleep in tomorrow morning for our meeting with the local cops. Will you make sure and 'wake me up before you go-go?'" I snap my fingers a few times and barely make it through my sentence without laughing.
She glares at me a moment, her face blank before reaching in front of her, under my jacket to dig in her nails and pinch the skin above my ribs. I laugh and yell "ow!" all at once, reaching out and grabbing her by the wrist as I pull away.
She's gleaming, a little proud of herself. "Uh huh?"
I smirk at her and open the passenger door for her to climb in. "I thought there would be 'absolutely no physical contact,' Scully?" She glares at me with the smallest hint of a smirk on her lips as she gets in the car. I'm just grinning like an idiot as I remove the gas nozzle from the car and replacing the gas cap.
To Be Continued...