Title - Undercover Author - croyant E-Mail address - x-phile@mindless.com Rating - PG-13 Category - Story, Romance Spoilers - Never Again Keywords - Scully/other romance. Scully/Mulder UST Summary - Scully goes on an undercover assignment without Mulder. But does she know what she's getting into? Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. They belong to our beloved Chris Carter and 1013 productions, and I am just borrowing them on a less than legal basis. I hope they don't mind. But Michael is mine, body and soul, but if CC & Co. want to use him, that's fine. Whatever. Archive: anywhere, but please try to let me know first Feedback welcome! Please send me your comments! *****Undercover***** "Are you sure about this, Scully?" Mulder asked. "Of course," she replied, glancing up from the mirror. She looked surreal. Dressed for an undercover assignment, she wore a flowing, gauzy dress patterned after 17th century gothic style. It was a dark shade of gray with black lace trimming that made her hair and lips flame in the twilight. Her dark makeup seemed to heighten her fair complexion so that she looked strangely pale. She had the looks of a witch, of an enchantress. "Well," Mulder said, coming to stand behind her in front of the full-length mirror, "you sure do look the part." "Thank you," she said, eyeing her reflection critically. She had spent hours poring over pictures of modern occult raves, studying the clothing and makeup techniques. She felt she had done well. She looked like a vampire. It turned her on. Ignoring the man standing just behind her, she turned and walked to the bed where her gun lay. Running her fingers over the cold metal of the barrel, she considered leaving it at the hotel. She almost wanted to forget that she was an FBI agent for tonight, forget about the X-Files, forget about Dana Scully and become something darker, more transcendental. But her rational brain took control, and, momentarily forgetting about her partner, she lifted her skirt nearly to her waist and placed the gun in the holster strapped around her thigh. He watched her as she moved, drinking in the sight. He had never seen her like this, so ethereal, so dark. Her crimson lips stirred feelings in him he had almost forgotten, and when she raised her skirts to astonishing heights, he suddenly became aware of potentially embarrassing parts of his anatomy. Her creamy legs, swathed in black fishnet, made his hands ache to touch them, to run his fingers across their smooth surface. She heard a sharp intake of breath, and remembered that he was still in the room. And here she was with her skirt well above her knees. A wicked smile crept across her lips. There was something terribly satisfying in the fact that she knew he was turned on by her. Slowly, she lowered her skirt and turned around. "Don't wait up, Mulder. You never know how long I might be." Before he could reply, she turned, grabbed her keys, and left the room in a whirl of gray, black, and red. He called to her from the doorway of the hotel room. "Scully, your cell phone!" "I'm not taking it!" she called back. "I don't want anything to give me away!" He stared at the taillights as she sped into the night. The door closed on the black night. ***** The music was loud and grating, with no certain rhythm and no end. It was penetrating, though. It was more than music, it was a feeling, something tangible deep within her. It was hypnotic. People filled the room, she couldn't move without touching someone. All the skin that touched hers was hot, electric even. She felt like everyone in the place was made of lightning, they seemed to generate sparks at every contact. She found her way to the far end of the bar, the farthest she could get from the reach of the strobe lights. She ordered a glass of water from the bartender, who gave her a suspicious look, but turned away unconcerned. She studied the room while he poured her drink. The lack of color at the rave was remarkable. Everywhere she looked people were clad in gray or black or occasionally brown. A thin cloud of gray smoke filled the room; she couldn't trace its source. The only real color to speak of was the flaming red, the color of her lips, the color of everyone's lips. Men, women, everyone had donned bright crimson lipstick for this party. It drew attention to lips, to mouths, to teeth.. The bartender set her glass in front of her, and she realized she hadn't seen him pour it. Against her better judgment, she drank it in long gulps. She knew of the hazards of drinking at places like these, of the multitudes of date-rape drugs that were unnoticeable in water. But tonight she felt an odd desire to abandon her practical identity, to take on the role of someone else, someone to whom the FBI and the X-Files and Fox Mulder meant nothing.... As she swallowed the last drop, a man approached her. He was tall and well-built, with raven black hair and black painted fingernails. He wore a white peasant shirt under a black leather vest and black velvet pants. His black boots laced up nearly to his knees. Like everyone else, he had flaming red lips. She smiled. "Hello," the man said. "My name is Michael. I don't think I've ever seen you here before." "No," she replied. "This is my first time here." He stepped close to her. "Perhaps I could show you around?" He offered his arm to her, and she laid her fingers on the warm material of his sleeve. It was slightly damp with his sweat, and soft against her fingers. "I'd like that," she said, smiling. He led her into the thick of the crowd, where bodies pressed together, moving with the music. Finally, when they could walk no farther, he turned her towards him and pressed her against his body. He began to move, his hands at the small of her back, his body touching hers from the torso down. She placed her hands on his shoulders and caught his rhythm, letting the music take over. The sounds of the song, the energy of this place, stirred emotions in her that had been pushed down for years. Anger, fear, hatred, and pain pooled in her belly and threatened to explode out of her at any moment. Michael sensed what she was feeling, and their dance became violent, the movements sharp and forceful. She clung to him, eyes closed, as the evil that had been building in her for so long flowed through her limbs. She became consumed by it, controlled by it, and she gritted her teeth at the images that flashed through her brain. So many things she had seen, so many things she had done, all came rushing into her consciousness at once, and she screamed, the sound lost in the roar of the party. But as the sound left her throat, she felt the evil leave her body, and as she closed her mouth over the last of the scream, she opened her eyes. Michael's deep brown eyes held hers, his gaze intent. He knew what had happened, he had seen it before. People who lived with demons and came here to escape them, people who stifled the overwhelming emotions they faced daily, people who had built up evil for years, came here and found a release, a spiritual cleansing they could get nowhere else. He tightened his hold around her waist and searched her face for some sign that she was now free. She felt different, although she couldn't exactly explain it. She felt whole again, like she had broken away from something that had been eating her from the inside. She felt empowered. She felt like laughing. So she did. He smiled when she laughed, and he laughed too. He ran his hands up and down her back as they danced, a motion that sent chills coursing down her spine. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, and somehow she heard his whisper above all the noise. "You still haven't told me your name." "Dana," she replied, looking into his dark eyes. "My name is Dana." He smiled and repeated her name. "Dana." It was like liquid on his lips, and suddenly, her mouth longed to taste his, to have him whisper her name against her tongue. She realized that she wished they were alone. "Come with me," he said, reading her thoughts. "I want to show you something." One hand still on the small of her back, he led her out of the multitude of people, into a black corner of the room, where he opened a door she hadn't realized was there. Suddenly timid, she hesitated, but he smiled. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Dana. I'll protect you from all harm." For some elusive reason, she believed him. As soon as he spoke the words, all fears she had felt vanished, and she stepped into the room. He followed and closed the door behind them. If the other room had been gray and dark, this one was gold and glowing. The walls were made of polished white pine, illuminated by candlelight. A thousand burning candles glowed all over the room, releasing the warm, rich sent of fire into the air. The floor was carpeted in gold thread that caught the flames of the candles and shone beneath their feet. In the center of the room was a burgundy rug, woven with an intricate pattern that seemed to speak to her. Michael walked to the rug and sat at one end, an obvious invitation for her to occupy the other. She stepped onto the rug and was overcome by the sensation that things were about to be done that could never be undone. It exhilarated her, and she sat facing this dark stranger. "Tell me why you are here," his rich voice coaxed her. "Why did you come to this place tonight?" She thought only a moment. "I wanted to leave the life I know every day. I wanted to be irrational, illogical, spontaneous." "Is that what you are now? Irrational?" "I don't know." She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the flames. "I feel things here I never felt before. I have never been so angry as I was on the dance floor, so fearful. And yet I have never been so excited." Michael smiled. "That's what this place does to people. It makes them aware of feelings they don't realize they have. It searches out the evil that has been residing in you for too long and helps you find a way to expel it from your body and mind." Startled, she realized his words were true. "That's exactly it. Out there, dancing with you, I felt so... relieved. I didn't realize what it was. I didn't realize I had been holding on to so many demons." "There are no demons inside you now, Dana. Only goodness and light. I can see it." He leaned forward. His body was immeasurably close, it radiated heat. She felt an electricity between them, some sort of chemistry she had never learned in all of her science classes. She could feel his breath on her cheek, could almost taste his closeness. "You are a very passionate person, Dana. Very spiritual. I know you are." He leaned closer, and their lips brushed. She was sure she felt a spark at the first contact, something supernatural. His kiss was light, breathy, and she longed for more. She caught his lower lip between hers and bit. Her violence surprised her, but he didn't seem to mind. His kiss became wet, hot, liquid. He ran his tongue across her lip and then into her mouth. She let him explore the inside of her mouth, devour her kiss with his own. Suddenly, she was overcome with a need to dominate him, and she pushed her tongue into his mouth, running it across his lips, his tongue, his teeth. His teeth seemed strange, and she pulled away, startled. He looked at her, his eyes locked on her own. "So now you know," he said. "Are you surprised." "Yes," she replied automatically, then "No. I mean, I just didn't expect to find you had teeth like that. Are they real?" His gaze darkened. "You must never ask a vampire if his teeth are real. It is an insult. It questions his honor." "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize." "Don't worry, Dana," he said softly. "I'm not offended." He reached up and stroked her hair. His large hands were warm and gentle. "Are you afraid?" he asked. "No," she replied, leaning into his touch. "Not at all." "Good," he smiled, and kissed her deeply. The kiss lasted for endless seconds, warm, giving, inviting. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Then he drew back. "Have you ever tasted blood? Have you ever drunk the blood of another?" he asked her. She shook her head. "No." He reached into his pocket and drew out a small knife. It was made of gold with a shining gold blade and a figure stenciled on the handle. She drew in a breath. He held the knife before her. "This knife is a symbol of me. Of everything that I am. A vampire's knife must speak a definition of his soul." She took the knife from him and studied it. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, it was a beautiful piece. But her eye was caught by the figure on the handle. It was a picture of a snake eating its own tail. Her hand flew to her back where she had once received "the tattoo she deserved." "Is something wrong?" Michael inquired. "No, nothing's wrong," she said quickly. She handed the knife back to him. He took it from her hand and caught her wrist. Holding her hand steady, he made a quick, straight slash across her palm. Dark blood began to ooze before she had time to flinch. Michael laid the knife aside and bent his head to her hand. His lips touched her wound, and she pulled back defensively, but he still held her wrist. "Don't be afraid, Dana. I won't hurt you. You will feel things unlike anything this world has to offer you." He pulled her palm to his lips again and began to suck at the gash. As he drank her blood, she felt a warmth spread from her palm up her arm and into her body, a radiating heat that consumed her and pooled between her legs. Surprised and delighted by the sensation, she pressed her palm deeper into his mouth, smiling at the sinful desire in her belly. He looked up from her hand, a drop of blood at the corner of his mouth, his cheeks flushed red. He smiled dangerously and handed her the knife, then offered his palm. She took his wrist and slashed his palm as he had done hers, then began to drink his blood greedily. She heard him moan in pleasure as she felt a new warmth, different from the first, enter her body and make a beeline for the desire between her legs. When the two heats met, she was nearly knocked to the floor with the sensations that racked her body. Gasping with pleasure, she writhed under the most intense orgasm she had ever known, oblivious to the fact that she had released Michael's hand. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw him above her, his eyes dark pools of need. She pulled him to her and closed her mouth over his, thanking him for this thing he had given her, begging for more. He whispered her name against her kiss, and she felt a new desire start to grow between her legs. His mouth left hers and trailed kisses along her jaw. Suddenly, his mouth was at her throat, and panic seized her as she realized what was about to happen. His teeth brushed the soft skin of her throat, and she jumped up and away from him, all desire she had felt now forgotten. He glared at her, his once brown eyes now an unnatural black. His fangs were prominent, and an inhuman growl rumbled from deep within his throat. He lunged at her, but she rolled away and stumbled to her feet. She ran for the door, and had one hand on the knob when she felt his fist close around her ankle, and she was knocked to the floor once again. He crouched over her, about to strike, but she thought quickly and grabbed a candle that lay next to her. As his head bent towards her, she thrust the flame into his eye as hard as she could, her stomach lurching at the smell that filled the room. Michael screamed in pain and jumped off of her, tearing at his injured eye. Scully grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open, running wildly out of the room and into the rave still going on outside. The people around looked up as she passed them, evil, hateful stares following her and she realized. She wished her gun were not so far up her skirt, so terribly out of reach. There was no time now to try to get it; she pushed people out of her way frantically, surprised she met with such little resistance. She ran as fast as she could, she was almost to the door, when Michael's voice, louder than she thought possible, brought the room to a standstill. "STOP!" She froze in her tracks and whirled to face the thing that had spoken. He stood in the middle of the room, all others far away from him. For the first time since her arrival, the dance floor was empty. Everyone else in the room seemed to have crowded into the corners. His eye was still smoldering where she had burned him. His gaze was pure evil. He spoke to her. "Why did you run? I gave you everything you ever wanted, everything you needed. I was going to make you immortal, one of us. You could have had everything. But you let your fear rule you. You acted rashly, and now you must die." As if on cue, the hundreds of other vampires in the room came to life, running towards her, hunger written on all their faces. Horrified, she turned and bolted out the door and across the parking lot to her car, claws and fangs of the vampires tearing at her dress all the way. She reached her car door only moments before they caught up to her, and as she jammed her key into the lock she felt their icy hands on her dress. She felt the lock click open and looked up into the face of one of her attackers, his white fangs glowing in the moonlight. He lunged at her just as she yanked the door open, and the metal of the frame hit him square in the jaw. He was knocked off balance and tumbled from her car onto the ground. She jumped into her car and slammed the door, jamming the keys into the ignition. Before the shift was in drive she had the accelerator against the floor, and she felt bumps as the tires ran over her attackers. The government-issue sedan sped off into the darkness, away from the evil, away from the assignment she hadn't completed. ****** The clock beside the bed read 3:17 a.m. Mulder had heard her drive up, although he didn't know how he knew it was her. He listened for her key in the lock and heard her enter the room adjoining his. He got up and opened the door that separated their rooms. "Scully?" he said. "How'd it go?" The haggard figure before him was wild-eyed and breathless. Her dress was torn and her hand was bleeding, but she barely seemed to notice. She looked up at him and seemed to calm down almost imperceptibly. "God, Scully. What happened?" He rushed to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist. The calming effect his touch had on her was noticeable. Her breathing slowed, her eyes lost their frantic look, her limbs stopped shaking. With his arm still protectively around her, they walked to the bed. "Mulder," she said, "I'm afraid I didn't complete the assignment. But I can report to you that there are definitely vampires at that warehouse." He stared at her. "Vampires, Scully? You sure?" She looked at him, meeting his questioning gaze with her certain one. "Yes Mulder, I'm sure." He tried to comprehend that. Scully, his always scientific, always "plausible explanation" partner, telling him that vampires inhabited an abandoned warehouse? He turned to ask another question, but it died on his lips. She had fallen asleep, her head pillowed on his chest. Even in her haggard state, she was beautiful in sleep, so he laid her back on the bed, removed her shoes, and covered her with a blanket. Placing a delicate kiss on her forehead, he whispered, "Good night, Scully." He turned off the light and went back to his room, shutting the door between them. *****Fin***** Well, that's it. No allusions to "3" intended. Please send any comments you might have to x-phile@mindless.com. All feedback welcome! S:"The answers are there. You just have to know where to look."