TITLE: Poconos (1/7) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com DISCLAIMER: If anyone is under the impression that these characters are mine, they are seriously stupid. DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know. SPOILER WARNING: Oh, hell, up through season 6? RATING: MA CONTENT WARNING: Well, there's sex at the end, but I like to think there's more content than that... but maybe not! CLASSIFICATION: X-File, UST, MSR SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully looking into a series of mysterious deaths (do they ever do anything ELSE?) in that honeymoon capital of the world, the Poconos. AUTHOR'S NOTES: No, I have never been there. No, I have no idea how those giant champagne glass things work, so don't berate me if I got it wrong. And no, I don't hate Baptists. My mom was one. The song Mulder hums is an old Appalachian folk song. I don't own it either. After the awful "skeptic/septic" debacle, I just want to stress that I love emails, but be gentle with me. I know not what I spell-check. Stepping out of the shower at six-fifteen on a cloudy Wednesday morning, Dana Scully was only mildly surprised to hear her doorbell ringing frantically. Give Mulder two more minutes, she thought, wrapping her towel around her body tightly, and he'll use his key. She pictured his face when he entered her apartment, gun drawn and trench coat flapping, to find her wandering around in her undies with the towel curled turban-like around her head. It was almost worth it. Sighing, she opened the door. Mulder paused mid-knock, his eyes widening slightly. "Nice suit, Scully. That new?" He sauntered past her, not waiting for a reply. She was half-tempted to drop the towel, just to get the reaction. "What are you doing here, Mulder?" "I came to fill you in on our latest case." "At six a.m.? This couldn't wait another hour till I arrived at the office?" He smirked, giving the towel an appreciative glance. "Clearly I ought to show up early more often." "I wouldn't make it a habit, if I were you." Leaving him standing at her living room window, she dressed in the bedroom. "What was so important that you had to come over, Mulder?" "When I tell you, you'll be glad for my foresight." "Right." She slipped her shirt over her shoulders and emerged buttoning it. Mulder grinned and stepped forward. "Let me do that." She batted his hand away and tucked the shirt in. "Cut to the chase, Mulder." "I came to help you pack appropriately, Scully." Moving past him to the kitchen, she poured them each a glass of orange juice. Mulder gulped his down in one long drink. For some reason she could not explain, it was extremely annoying. She snatched the glass back. "Appropriately for what?" He handed her a brochure. Glancing at it, she groaned. A bright red title screamed: "The Poconos! Honeymoon Capital of the World!" while a very Seventies couple toasted each other from seats in a candy-red heart-shaped hot tub, clearly naked. "Don't tell me, we're posing as a young married couple. You've already picked the names, Mike and Carol Brady." "Actually, Scully. We're posing as sex-mad swingers lookin' for a couple 'close friends'?" he began, leering. "Why would that not surprise me?" she answered and pushed him away. "So what was it so vital for me to pack, Mulder?" "Your bathing suit, of course. We've got a cabin with a hot tub." "Heart-shaped?" He shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't ask. But it does have a revolving bed." "God, you're kidding." When it was clear he wasn't, she sighed. "So you came all the way over here to tell me to pack my bikini?" "You have a bikini? Things are? eh hem? looking UP." "You could have just called, you know." "I know," he smiled. "But then I wouldn't have seen you half-naked and very wet." She sighed and whacked him with the brochure. Things were going well, Mulder thought. Very well. First there was the unexpected pleasure of catching Scully just out of the shower and now, in the plane, he had an entire row of seats to stretch out in with her lap as his pillow. She hadn't even mentioned the fact that he'd only booked one cabin. No lectures about Bureau regulations regarding agents of the opposite sex, nothing. He contemplated rolling over and burrowing into her like a ground squirrel, but decided it was much too early to risk death. It was a short flight, and he wanted to make the most of it. "Mulder," she said, stroking the hair back from his face. "Stop shifting around." He closed his eyes and relaxed. This was what he'd dreamed of when he first made the reservations for this trip. Ok, so maybe there was an x-file, maybe there wasn't. He didn't really care. All he wanted was a little time with his partner, a chance to make amends for the last year, for all his screw-ups with Diana and? well, with Diana. He turned his head slightly and nuzzled her jeans just above the button. She slapped at him. "Stop that," she hissed. "My nose itched." "Right." She had the tray down and was reading through the case file. "Mulder," she said. "Have you actually looked at this?" He opened his eyes, feeling her lean over slightly. He was looking directly at the curve of her breasts. "Not as much as I'd like to." The answer clearly puzzled her, and she glanced down. "Mulder, damn it?" She pushed him up and away. "You are completely impossible to work with sometimes," she said, but he could tell she wasn't really angry. "I'm talking about the case file." "I know," he said, stretching in the seat. "And yes, I have." "So what exactly is the case we're investigating here, Mulder? I expected slashing deaths of innocent young newlyweds or something exciting and instead I'm getting? what?" He leaned over the case file with her. "Gee Scully, you don't find it odd that in a town of three hundred and twenty-four people, over eighty have died in the last two years?" "Yes, that is odd. But Mulder, these people died of every conceivable thing? drowning, electrocution, heart attacks, even dog bites. How could that possibly be related?" He pointed to a note in the first page of the file. "Look there, that's your key." She read it and then rolled her eyes. "So they're all members of the same church, Mulder, so what? So is everyone in town, probably." "So what, Scully? Doesn't that mean something?" "Mulder, it's the First Baptist Church of Clement, Pennsylvania, not an Elks lodge for the devil." He smiled and leaned back in his seat. "A nice Baptist church set up right in the middle of one of the greatest zones of magnetic convergence known to humankind, Scully. Ripe with possibilities for the paranormal, for mass suicides and burnings and? things." "Oh come on, Mulder. No one believes that the Earth's magnetic lines have any real power over humans except whacked-out Los Angeles New Agers. Bet you didn't even consider this, great profiler? over sixty percent of this town is unemployed. Seems the tourism industry doesn't have the need for rotating waterbeds that it once had. With all that time on their hands, maybe the local townspeople have turned to religion as a means of filling the void in their lives. And without jobs, people are able to get into a lot more trouble." "Ok, Scully, maybe you're right. So we go out there and there's no connection. We hang out in a nice little cabin, do some hiking," he leaned close to her, pretending to look down her sweater, and nearly ruining the illusion when he actually got an eyeful, "skinny dip in the local lakes? and come back to Washington rested and happy. Or there is a connection, they're all rabid satanists, one of them captures you and tries to cut off your head, I rescue you, we hang out in the cabin, do some hiking, skinny dip and come back to Washington as heroes." She raised that eyebrow he was so fond of. "What's this about getting my head cut off, Mulder? I stopped listening after you said 'skinny dipping.'" The drive was pleasant in the early afternoon sunshine. Leaning back into her seat, Scully watched the gently rolling countryside with a sense of satisfaction. It was almost like being on vacation, she thought. Except that she couldn't imagine ever going on vacation with Mulder. He was humming in the seat next to her, tuneless and happy, sucking on an ever-present sunflower seed. Please God, she thought, if you love me even a little teeny bit, let this be nothing at all. Let me have this one week to be with him without weird liver-eating mutants or crazed cannibals. "Penny for your thoughts," Mulder said suddenly. Scully sighed. "I was just pondering the case. It's so? fascinating." "Right," he said and she knew he didn't believe her, but wasn't going to press. She wished briefly that he would. They passed a sign reading "Welcome to Clement, the Happiest Place on Earth" and Mulder crowed with delight. "Do you think Walt knows about that?" he asked. "Apparently not," she answered. The town was tiny, barely a town at all, with a short main street (appropriately named "Main Street", a fact Mulder took great happiness in) and a few scattered turn-of-the-century houses giving way to farms. They passed through, noted the Dairy Queen and The Country Bumpkin Buffet and Lounge, and kept going toward the only large civic building: The First Baptist Church of Clement. Cars filled the parking lot, with people in black streaming solemnly inside. "Looks like a funeral, doesn't it, Scully?" The entire town had to be there. She looked at Mulder and shrugged. Just past the church, they found their turn-off and followed it along a sweetly meandering brook to The Sleepy Hollow Inn. It looked safe enough as they parked in front of the main office. Stretching luxuriously, Mulder unfolded from the car and groaned with what Scully knew was actually pleasure. Birds sang in the trees and she could hear the gentle sound of the brook nearby. Maybe, she thought, this is paradise. Maybe we're still stuck in that giant mushroom and now we've actually died and this is my version of heaven. She turned to Mulder to find him grinning at her. Yes, she thought, I might just be that lucky. Inside, the hotel proprietor seemed happy enough to see them. Mulder leaned forward to read the man's name tag. "Hey, Bill, how's it going?" "It's all right," Bill drawled. "How're you 'n' the missus today?" Mulder draped an arm around her shoulder, much to her annoyance. She shrugged it off. "Oh Bill," he said. "We're not married." Bill's eyebrows rose a notch, then lowered again. Scully pulled out her badge and flashed it. "Agents Mulder and Scully with the FBI. Do you know what's going on today at the First Baptist Church?" "Y'all are FBI agents? That's not what I have down here. It says 'Mr. and Mrs. Richard Head.'" Scully turned to Mulder, glaring. Dick Head. How appropriate. "We're undercover," Mulder said, leaning forward conspiritally. "You understand." "Wish I did," Scully murmured. "Ah," Bill said, "sure y'are. But won't you be needing two cabins, then?" Mulder shook his head. "Bill, it's all part of a complex centralized cost-cutting scheme implemented by the Federal Bureau of Investigation in order to conserve resources. All male/female agent teams pose as husband and wife so they can share a room. Saves millions per annum." Bill nodded. "Damn Democrats, if you ask me." "Bill," Scully said. "The church?" "Oh yeah. Right. It's a funeral, for Bob Cratched. His little scotty dog fell into his septic tank. Bob followed him in, if you can picture it, and they both drowned." "My God," Mulder whispered. "The horror." Scully sighed. This was going to be a long week. "Smacks to me of satanic ritual sacrifice, don't you think so, Mulder?" She crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow. Both men stared. Mulder smiled slowly. "I think my partner and I are ready to check in, Bob, if you'll point the way?" The cabin was everything he could have hoped. Appropriately cozy and secluded, on the banks of the kind of little stream where the trout practically leapt into your arms and begged to be beaten over the head and grilled with lemon pepper. Scully seemed satisfied, dropping her bags on the circular - God help him, it was circular! - bed and stretching out on the velvet coverlet like a cat. He checked the condition of the fold-out sleeper couch and was pleasantly surprised to find it was already made up with crisp white sheets and a soft wool Indian-stripe blanket. Mulder was cautious. Things never went this well for him. Something awful must be just around the corner. He opened the bathroom door, half expecting to see cockroaches feasting on a dead rat or something equally repulsive. Instead, he practically knelt in supplication to what he beheld. From the bedroom, Scully called out lazily. "So Mulder, where's the hot tub?" He swallowed and poked his head around the door. "Scully, I think you better see this?" Her answer held the tone she always used when he alarmed her: half-worried, half-annoyed. "What is it? Is there too much mold or something?" She rounded the door and stopped, her jaw literally hanging open. "My God, Mulder?" she said in a whisper. "What the hell is that?" "That," he said, gesturing to the six foot tall acrylic champagne glass in front of him, "is the hot tub." "I've heard about them?" she said reverentially. "But I never thought I'd actually see one. How do you get up there?" "I don't know," he admitted, just before he tripped over the ladder. He climbed up. Molded acrylic seats ringed the "cup" of the tub. He could see jets for the bubbles and tubes and heating elements and a little baggie of "Pink Champagne Bubble Bath" resting on the side? he could hardly believe it. "We must try this out tonight." She was still looking up at it in awe. "People pay to do this?" "Sure Scully, this was the Pokonos' claim to fame for years." Shaking her head, she moved back into the bedroom. "I think you must have planned this, Mulder. Admit it, there is no x-file." If only that were the complete truth. "No really, Scully. I'm concerned for the good folks of Clement." He found her lounging on the bed, thrown out across it. She was stroking the velvet and practically purring. "Having a good time, Agent?" he said, pleased as punch. She looked up at him, her hair a little tousled and her eyeliner slightly smudged. "All it would take to complete this picture, Scully, is you in a leopard-skin catsuit and a bottle of Champale." For once, she actually giggled. "Sorry, Mulder, I left the catsuit at home." End part 1 of 7 TITLE: Poconos (2/7) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com RATING: NC-17 Summary in Part One. Email me, I spread them like peanut butter on apples and eat them all up. Scully would never have admitted it to him, but she was having a really, really good time. With Mulder, she was usually filled with some over-riding concern for his well-being because he was about to be eaten by a giant fungus or mad wolfman or beautiful detective. Today, however, they were strolling down the main street of Clement, Pennsylvania without a single crazed maniac in sight. The sun was shining, her shorts were on, and Mulder, God love him, was wearing those silly raybans that made him look exactly like one of his "grays". She couldn't stop grinning. They were stopping at The Country Bumpkin Buffet and Lounge for, as Mulder put it in the cabin, "some of that good ol' country pee-can pie." Sitting opposite him, watching his nervous energy, listening to him chatter about the "air ferns" in little planters on the table, Scully was overwhelmed by affection for him. It didn't particularly matter to her at that moment if he never got around to actually kissing her. It didn't matter if he still loved Diana or Pheobe or Detective White or anyone else she didn't know about. It didn't even matter if he one day abandoned her for some elusive version of the Truth with a capital T. As long as she could have a few memories of Mulder happy and chatty, unconcerned with aliens and black cancer and his sister, she would be eternally grateful to fate. "What's up, Scully? You look dreamy." She smiled and started to open up, but stopped as a young woman wearing a black polyester dress approached them. "Y'all the FBI agents?" They both stared at her as if she were a Reticulan. Scully recovered first. "Yes," she said. "How on earth did you know that?" "Oh," the girl said with a dismissive wave of her hand, "everybody knows everything about everyone here." Scully nodded. She was sure they did. If the girl had read her mind like little Gibson, she wouldn't have been terribly surprised. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Fox Mulder. How can we help you?" The girl looked at Mulder and then motioned with her head. He opened his mouth, shut it again and scooted over so she could sit next to him. "Y'all here investigating the deaths, huh?" Scully looked at Mulder meaningfully. Crazy locals were his specialty. He was watching this one with a peculiar mixture of interest and disdain. "What makes you say that??" "Sally." "?Sally." She nodded. "Oh, I figure there ain't nothin' else goin' on 'round here. I told my daddy, they ain't here to sit in some giant champagne glass." Scully swallowed convulsively. I must not laugh, she thought. I'm an FBI agent. I must not laugh. Mulder nodded thoughtfully. He never laughed at times like this. "So, Sally. Do you have anything you'd like to tell us or were you just curious?" She smiled and leaned over the table. "I know why people are dyin'." Mulder nodded, encouraging. "Everyone's so bored," the girl pronounced, triumphant. Scully sighed and raised the "I told you so" eyebrow at Mulder. "Really? Who's bored?" Mulder said just as the waitress brought over their pie. "Sally," the waitress scolded. "Leave the FBI in peace to eat their pie, will ya? They'll be here for a whole week. I'm sure you can talk to them later. Scoot." The girl pouted, but slid out of the seat to return to her family. "Thanks," Mulder said. "Oh that's nothin'," the waitress, whose nametag read "Sherri" with a little heart dotting the i, replied. "If y'all want to get any real information, you can talk to me. Doesn't nothin' happen in this town that don't come through The Country Bumpkin." That was it. Scully excused herself just in time to make it to the bathroom and burst with laughter. She knew Mulder would be angry, but it didn't matter. There was only so much of the absurd one small woman could take. If he didn't get her into her bikini by the end of the day, Mulder mused, he would no longer be able to call himself a man. Scully was unpacking carefully, hanging her clothes up in the cabin's only closet. He, of course, had only a couple t-shirts and some jeans packed. That and four different porno mags and one particularly choice video, just in case. He was watching for the bikini like a man waiting for evidence of the Rapture. "Mulder," she said. "I wish you wouldn't sit there and stare at me. It's completely unnerving." "I'm not staring," he told her, looking longingly at her neatly folded blue silk pajamas. No, I'm gazing, Scully. "If you're bored, you could check out the path to the lake. I was thinking we could go hang out on the dock, eat leftover pie and watch the sunset." Something in his throat constricted. It sounded so? nice. "Yes, Ma'am." He hadn't felt so relaxed and comfortable around her in a very long time. It was as if everything they had held between them was no more substantial than a membrane. One gentle push would send him tumbling through. The path to the lake was clear and broad, lined like a leafy tube. He felt he might be passing into another world. I must not, he thought sternly, screw this up by being an ass. The rich brown earth of the path gave way to narrow wooden boards of a small boat dock. Around him the lake spread out as if someone had opened up the earth and let the sky through. He had never seen water so perfectly blue. Standing on the very edge of the dock, toes practically tipping over, Fox Mulder gave one long throaty yell of triumph. A rustling sound startled him; something passing through the leaves. Turning quickly, he half expected to see a prehistoric beast, instead of a skinny man holding a fishing pole. "Well," the man said. "You must be Mr. Muldoon of the FBI." Mulder sighed. Why did everyone in this town have a sudden need for the Bureau? "Agent Mulder," he said, stepping politely forward. "And you are?" "Pissed the hell off, that's what I am." Mulder couldn't begin to imagine a response to that. "Look," the skinny man said. "I know you folks mean well. But we're happy here, all right? Things are lookin' up for us in a way they haven't been in a damn long time. We don't need the damned FBI poking their noses into things they don't understand." Mulder smiled. "Sir, I guarantee you that Agent Scully and I will keep our noses where they belong." The skinny man looked Mulder up and down for a moment and seemed to find him lacking in some respect. "You don't dress like a g-man." "I'm undercover." The skinny man snorted. "Like hell you are. You're takin' a vacation on the taxpayer's money, is what you're doing." Mulder stared, unable to find an appropriate response that wasn't completely insulting. He wished Scully were there for this one. "Well, I don't care what you two get up to, as long as you get the hell out at the end of your week and don't come back." "I certainly will keep that option in mind." "You do that," the skinny man said, expelling copious amounts of phlegm at Mulder's feet. "Look," Mulder said, getting truly annoyed for the first time that day. "If you folks aren't up to anything, there won't be anything to find. Now if you don't mind, I'm about to spend a lovely summer evening eating pie bought with the taxpayers' money on the taxpayers' dock at the taxpayers' lake in the taxpayers' national park, all right? And if I happen to get lucky tonight, I'll try and find a way to stick that to the taxpayers, too." The skinny man snorted. "Typical." "How's the lake?" Scully asked as Mulder pushed open the front door. She was stretched out on the couch, her feet dangling over the arm. A cool breeze snaked in through the screen door and tickled her toes pleasantly. Mulder, on the other hand, looked flustered. Already, she thought. "Crowded," Mulder said. "Really?" she asked. "Should we go somewhere else?" He sighed. "No. I just ran into another friendly local." He flopped down next to her on the couch. "Comfy, Scully?" "Mulder, don't you think it's odd that we're already the center of attention here?" "Very," he said and pulled her over so that her head rested on his lap. She allowed it, ignoring the violation of protocol. Hell, she thought, just being in the same room with him was breaking every fraternization rule in the book. He stroked her hair absently. "I mean," she told him, "if they're not doing anything suspicious, why are they going so far out of their way to talk to us?" "Exactly." He looked down at her and placed one hand gently on her stomach, barely touching her through the cloth of her shirt as if he were afraid she would bolt. For a long moment they lay still, then she gently pushed his hand away and sat up, re-erecting the barrier. "You know what, Mulder? The Bureau owes us. How many times have we driven for hours just to find out that the case was nothing, or worse than nothing - something really unpleasant and dangerous, with no meaning whatsoever? I just want one week. One week with nothing trying to slit my throat or cook me or insert itself under my skin or?" He was laughing. "I'm serious." He smiled at her, but it wasn't just mirth. Something else hovered there. She felt like blushing. "Get your pie, Mulder, and a fork. The sun should be setting soon." Mulder watched as Scully stepped gingerly into the cool water of the lake. Those little feet, he marveled. How could such a powerful woman have such tiny feet? It was as much a mystery to him as the fact that sensible, steady Scully had a tattoo. Or that she owned blue rubber thong sandals with big plastic daisies on them. Or, if he was really to ponder mysteries, that she was here at all. The sun sent shimmering flashes along the underside of Scully's chin and the bright edges of her hair. She brushed it back behind her ear and bent down to retrieve a rock from the water. When she stood back up, she seemed to emerge into a halo of light. He was reminded of something, watching her. "She walked through the corn leading down to the river, Her hair shown like gold in the hot morning sun. She took all the love that a poor boy could give her, And left me to die like a fox on the run?" Scully looked up and smiled, puzzled. "Mulder, was that you singing?" "It was." "You have a lovely voice. Sing it again." He obliged and she gazed at him as if he had suddenly revealed to her that he was also a billionaire. "Keep going," she said. He smiled. "Not unless you'll join me in a rousing chorus of 'Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog." "No way in hell. What were you singing?" "Just something my mother used to sing to me as a lullaby." She climbed up onto the dock and sat down next to him, hanging her feet over the edge. He could trail his toes in the water; she kicked in empty space, girlish. "Mulder, I maintain your mother was highly disturbed. That doesn't sound like a child's song at all." "It wasn't. She never cared, as long as it had the word 'fox' in it. She once sang me to sleep with several choruses of 'Foxy Lady.'" "So who is she, Mulder, this woman who left you die?" He grinned at her. "I don't know. Just some beautiful red-head." "I thought you said 'her hair shown like gold'." "I does, if you're red-green colorblind." She laughed and leaned back, closing her eyes in the warm light. "I've never left you to die," she said. "In fact, I believe I've saved your ass on more than one occasion." "Even when I didn't entirely deserve it," he said and she looked quickly at him, puzzled by the change in tone. She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of footsteps stopped her. "Excuse me, Agent Scully? Agent Mulder?" Scully looked over at him and he was sure he was reading her mind. Run, it said. "Yes?" he said slowly, turning to see who had spoken. A middle-aged woman stood shyly on the path behind them, wringing her hands together as if she didn't entirely like her errand. "I.. um? my name is Anne Hastings. I'm the Neighborhood Watch chairperson. I thought you two might like to know there's been another death." Mulder sighed. This was getting scary. "Who died?" he said, not bothering to be the polite agent in his cut-offs and bare feet. She smiled and twisted the edge of her shirt in her hands. "Mr. McGillicudy from across the lake. He climbed up on his roof last week to watch for meteors and had a heart attack. They didn't find him till this morning." Scully winced, half-smiling. "That doesn't exactly sound like you need the FBI," she said. "Well, you are here to investigate the deaths, right?" She sighed. "We haven't discussed our agenda here with anyone locally." The woman nodded and smiled. "Right. The funeral's tomorrow at eleven. You might want to be there, if you really want to know what this is all about." The woman nodded goodbye and slipped nervously back down the path. Scully watched her go and then turned to him. "Why on earth does everyone assume we care? We haven't asked a single question. We haven't interviewed anyone. And why was she so nervous? Mulder, if I didn't know better, I'd say these folks were up to some serious no good." Mulder kicked a little lake water onto Scully's legs. She squeaked. "You know what, Scully? Tonight, I just don't give a shit. Tomorrow, we'll go to the funeral, we'll interview the mourners, we'll build a profile and take down the villainous masterminds behind? whatever the hell they're behind, but tonight I intend to finish my pie and then go back to our cabin, watch a movie, maybe snuggle up with you on the couch and then fire up the champagne bubble bath." She raised one eyebrow. "You're being awfully presumptuous. I haven't said anything about snuggling or bubble baths. In fact, Special Agent Mulder, I do believe that if AD Skinner were to get even the slightest whiff of either of those activities, your ass would be grass indeed." He made an effort to look really disappointed. "Ah come on, Scully. I even brought a special video for the occasion. What do you think Skinner would think of that?" She turned bright pink. "Agent Scully, are you blushing? Or did you forget your sunscreen?" "One of those videos you don't own, Mulder?" "Yep." "What would you actually do if I said yes?" He thought about it for a moment and then looked up to find her smiling at him. "Agent Mulder, are you blushing?" "Never." She laughed and lay back along the dock, resting her head on her arm. "Mulder, did you really drag a porn video all the way out here?" "Of course not, Scully. I'm not that desperate." Now he really was blushing. Thank God for the setting sun. end Part 2 of 7 TITLE: Poconos (3/7) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com RATING: NC-17 Summary in Part One. Emails are saved and cuddled like teddy bears. Scully reached one arm lazily out and grabbed another handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. She had managed to talk Mulder into watching bad late-night TV, rather than the stuff he'd wanted to watch, namely: horrible sci-fi B movies involving bulbous-headed alien women. Or that mysterious video, whose possible existence tantalized her. She had nothing against a little porn, though she'd never have told him that. Let him think she was frigid. It made him try harder. "You're hogging the couch, agent." She wiggled closer and dug her elbow into his ribs. He jumped. "God, and I wanted to do this." "Stop grousing." She turned and settled with her back against the arm of the couch. Idly she wondered if there was a rule against pressing her feet up against the warm bare thigh of her partner and decided she hadn't read it anywhere, so there must not be. Mulder let one languid hand fall onto her ankle and squeezed. Somewhere buried beneath the day's accumulation of sunlight and warm pecan pie, she felt a little warning jab from her conscience. She extended one foot onto Mulder's lap, effectively crushing her conscience beneath her heal. Mulder eyed her foot for a moment and then turned to her, questioning. "Are you looking for something, Scully?" "A little foot-action, Mulder," she purred. She felt him shift slightly in surprise. You're pushing it, Dana, her conscience whispered. You're writin' checks your body can't cash, it said in a deep male voice. That thought set her to giggling, just as Mulder gave one experimental sweep of his thumb up the arch of her foot. "Ticklish, Scully?" She shook her head, still giggling. "Could've fooled me." She swallowed as he dug his fingers into her skin and began the massage in earnest. I will not groan, she told the conscience. "Feel good?" His voice was dark and a little smoky. She nodded and leaned back, closing her eyes. You're in way, way over your head, the conscience whispered. Shut up, she told it, I can't hear my heart pounding. Mulder moved to her other foot and ground his knuckles into the center of the arch. "You're going to owe me, you know." The tone was intimate, as if he were whispering in her ear. "Owe you what?" she answered, not opening her eyes. "I haven't decided yet," he said. "I'll let you know when I see it." And then he placed both hands on her calves and kneaded. That opened her eyes, wide, to find him staring at her with a lust so barely controlled she had to consciously shut her mouth to keep from gaping. "Mulder," she whispered, suddenly deeply nervous. "It was just a foot massage. I'm not letting you hold me to just anything." He leaned back into the couch, smiling to himself. "I didn't have 'just anything' in mind." She drew her feet up protectively. "Mulder?" she used her you're-crossing-that-line tone. He sighed and Scully could practically feel the disappointment set in. What she couldn't figure out, what hung between them whenever they got close to each other, was why exactly they weren't lovers. She had no reference point for it anymore. Once she could have placed it, saying: ah, we're partners and regulations forbid it. But they had broken every regulation known to exist in the Bureau handbook except that one, so that didn't work. Or: he's too damaged and crazy. But now, so was she. Perhaps at one time she would have said: He loves someone else. But she knew that wasn't true. He might still be attracted to other women, but if he was tempted, it was only because she wasn't available. The only thing she could come up with now was that neither one wanted to be the first to actually give in. It was an endless game of chicken, and she was ready to just lie down in the road and let him run right over her. But not tonight, she thought ruefully. And maybe that was it. It was never tonight. Mulder stretched and caught her eye. "So what now, Scully? You ready for a dip?" It took her a moment, but when she realized what he was saying, the thought of Mulder in a bathing suit sitting opposite her was just too much. "Not tonight," she said. "I'm too tired. Besides, we have to save some pleasures for day two." Mulder pulled out the hide-a-bed and lay down on top of the wool blanket. The cabin was dark, though he could still hear Scully puttering around in the bathroom and see the shaft of light from underneath the door. He was quietly miserable, as he often was when she was getting ready for bed. In some ways their lives had become as interconnected as a married couple. He knew her routines, her little patterns. But in the end, she would step out of the door wearing her furry bathrobe over her pajamas and slip quietly into the bedroom, wishing him goodnight from as far away as Antarctica had ever been. He sighed and rolled away from the bathroom door to watch the night's shadows in the trees outside. He heard the door open and her soft footfalls as she crossed the carpet. "Goodnight, Mulder." Her voice was a whisper, in case he was asleep. In case. As if he ever was. He didn't answer right away and heard her open the bedroom door and hesitate there. "Goodnight, Scully." She moved again, closing the door behind her. For a long moment he lay in the silence. He should be thinking about the case, about his work. But he was thinking about the way the wind moved the branches of the tree closest to him, about the soft sound of the clock ticking in the bedroom, of the way her small feet had felt tucked under his leg. Then there was a soft whirring sound, growing slowly louder until he was aware of a motor running in Scully's room. He sat up. What on earth was she doing? Just as he rose to find out, the door opened, flooding the room with light. Scully, looking slightly disheveled but still wrapped up in her robe, smiled weakly from the threshold. "Mulder," she said. "The bed's spinning and I can't get it to stop." He couldn't help himself and started laughing. "I'll come take a look." He passed close to her, feeling the warmth of her skin from a foot away. "I just laid down and started to go to sleep and it started up on it's own," she told him. "I think it must have a short in it." Must indeed, he thought, watching the bed whirl around at an amazing speed. "I'll crawl over there and turn it off," he said, and scrambled up. He made one movement before he felt the blankets begin to slide. The bed was spinning well beyond its designed speed now, and he grasped madly at the headboard as it swung by. Missing, he gave a little cry of surprise as he flew off, landing in a heap in one corner of the room. Looking up, he found Scully strangling her laughter without great success. "My God, Mulder," she gasped. "That was hysterical." He rubbed his knee and found himself smiling back at her, grinning even. "Come on, Scully, I've got a couch built for two." Her eyes widened and he could sense her discomfort. Irritation sunk in. "For God's sake, Scully?" he began. "It's all right, Mulder. I just hadn't thought about that." He ushered her out of the bedroom, shutting the door against the whirring motors. "I hope it doesn't spark and catch fire?" she said, glancing back. He pulled back the blanket and slid in. "Don't worry about it. Come to bed." Standing at the end of the mattress, she smiled. "I think you planned this. I think, somehow, you set this up." He sighed. "If I really wanted to get you into bed, Scully, I think I could come up with something better than that." She raised one eyebrow, her face pale in the light from the open window. Then she took off her robe. He was used to the blue silk pajamas. He was even accustomed to the white ones, which were nearly see-through. But nothing had prepared him for the fact that she might not wear actual pajamas tonight. That she might wear this little spaghetti-strapped slip of a silk thing in a shade of dark purple that was nearly blue. He couldn't take his eyes off her. "Mulder," she said, crawling up the bed toward him. "Stop that." He could see more cleavage in that moment than he had ever been privileged to in his life. He was instantly, unbearably turned-on. "Stop what," he whispered. "Staring." "I'm not staring," he told her, "I'm ogling. There's a difference." She peeled back the blanket and slid in a good two feet away from him. He could have wept when she pulled up the sheets and covered that? thing she was wearing. "Well, stop ogling and go to sleep. You'd think you'd never seen a nightie before." He lay back and stared at the ceiling, fighting every nerve to keep from rolling over and pinning her to the mattress with his entire body. Just as he heard her breathing slow, he whispered. "No, Scully, I've just never seen you in a nightie before." He felt her jerk awake and smiled to himself. All was fairly met, he thought, and closed his eyes. Mornings were not Mulder's forte. But somehow, waking to find his arms wound tightly around his sleeping partner, her warm body moving beneath his with each breath, he thought they were something he could come to like. Afraid to breathe too hard in case he should wake her, he lay perfectly still, absorbing every place their skin touched in his mind like a map to her. "Mmm," Scully groaned softly and moved closer, flopping one arm over his neck. Her small face was just inches from his own, and he could smell the awful yet delicious scent of her breath mingling with his own. Unable to resist, he gently stroked her soft hair away from her face. She smiled in her sleep and burrowed in, her nose resting just below his own, her lips against his chin. My God, Mulder thought, I will now die a happy man. With a restless answering snort, she rolled away and then pushed back against him, her body curled into his. Like baby cats, he thought, and tightened his grip around her, sliding his hand under the edge of the silk to rest it against the hot skin of her stomach. Her nightgown had ridden up, and only their underwear now stood between them. Almost unable to resist a thrust, he held his hips away so she wouldn't wake to feel his erection pressing against her ass. "Mulder?" she murmured. "Yeah, sleepy-head, it's the one and only." She sighed and for a moment, relaxed into his arms. Could it be, he thought? Would she let him hold her? But no, her body suddenly tensed and she practically bolted out of the bed. Looking gorgeously flustered, she stared at him, pulling down the nightie. "Mind if I shower first?" she said, back in possession. "Go ahead," he answered, smiling at her. "You're a little stinky this morning." Her mouth opened and then shut. She smirked. "Well at least I won't have to worry about leaving you any hot water," she said. "You'll definitely want this shower turned to 'cold'." Before he could recover from the shock of hearing her actually come-on to him, she was gone behind the bathroom door. Mulder leaned back in bed and watched the blankets rise conspicuously at his hips. Yeah, he thought, cold shower indeed. The small white bungalow was clearly not going to be white for long. Buzzing around it like so many workers in a hive, the good folks of Clement were painting the widow Cratched's house sky blue. Scully stepped out of the air-conditioned car and nearly stepped right back in as the wall of heat hit her body. It was going to be a very long day. As she and Mulder made their way up a short cement sidewalk, folks - and she couldn't think of them any other way - parted and let them through as if they bore the plague. The door opened and a large young woman smiled at them, her face blotchy with recent tears. "Mrs. Cratched?" Mulder asked, flashing his badge. "Yes, come on in. We've been expecting you." Scully glanced up at her partner, but found his face unreadable. After this morning, she thought ruefully, maybe that was good thing. Inside the little house, the air conditioning chugged merrily around at least twenty women, all dressed in dark cotton sundresses and all a bit overweight in the way that only too much delicious fried food can create. They looked at her as if she were an alien, creeping wasp-like into their cozy circle. "Well, hello, Mr. and Mrs. FBI," one woman said, eyeing them both. "Hello right back at you," Mulder said, his voice playful and yet strained at the same time. "I'm Agent Fox Mulder and this is my partner, Agent Dana Scully. We're here investigating?" "The deaths," six women said in unison. "That's right," Scully replied, accepting a proffered chair. "We just wanted to hear about what happened to Bob." "Oh," Mrs. Cratched sighed miserably. "He loved that little scotty dog so much?" Mulder had come to stand behind her and she could feel the warmth of him against her back. Just like this morning, she thought, a pleasant twinge tickling her stomach. "He followed it into the septic tank, isn't that correct?" "Yes," Mrs. Cratched nodded. "He had opened it up to unclog it, you know? We were having problems. Anyway, I guess Scottie must have wandered over to sniff at it, and she fell in. Bob, being the kinda guy he was, just went right in after her. But then of course, they couldn't get back out. We found him nearly five hours later, his arms still wrapped around the poor dog. I guess he just got too tired and couldn't stand up anymore." Mulder sighed. "Did Bob have any enemies, you can think of, Mrs. Cratched? Was there anyone who might have hurt him?" She smiled. "Well sure, practically the whole town." Scully started and crossed her legs the other way to hide it. "Are you saying your husband was unpopular, Mrs. Cratched?" "Oh sure. Bob wasn't exactly well-liked. He could be?" she hesitated and another woman finished for her. "Bob was an ass, if you must know. A wife-beating, dog-loving, stupid sonova bitch." Scully swallowed. "Then there is the possibility that this could have been murder?" "Oh no," Mrs. Cratched replied. "You see, at least three people, myself included, saw Bob jump into the tank." Mulder stirred behind her and she felt one hand brush the back of her neck. "And you just left him there?" "Well, not exactly. You see, I thought he'd gotten out. He usually stays out there all day, working. And I didn't hear anything. It wasn't until he didn't come in for dinner that I started to worry." For a long moment everyone was quiet. "Would either of you like something to eat?" Mrs. Cratched said suddenly. "I've got more food that I could ever eat in a lifetime." She motioned to the kitchen behind them. Scully turned to see the entire table, every counter, even the top of the refrigerator, covered in dishes of food. "Very neighborly display," Mulder said. "We take care of our own," a woman in the back said warmly. "Carmen won't lack for anything as long as we're here." "No," Mulder said softly, and Scully recognized the thoughtful tone, "I'm sure she won't." End part 3 of 7 TITLE: Poconos (4/7) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com RATING: NC-17 Summary in Part One. Feedback makes me all mushy inside. Sitting in the car at the town's lone stoplight, air blasting, Mulder chewed a sunflower seed and stared at the heat mirages in the road ahead. Scully had taken her jacket off, and was now smoothing her hair by licking her index and middle finger and then dragging them down a few strands at a time. It was driving him mad. "Scully?" he asked suddenly. "Do you believe that if you want something bad enough, it'll happen?" She glanced over at him, pausing with one hand still tangled in her hair. "You mean, for instance, if I'm Carmen Cratched and my husband beats me and maybe I wish he would just die? and then he does, is it partly because I wanted it so badly?" "Exactly." "Nope. Don't believe that." "Of course not," Mulder said with a grin. "Why would you? It just makes sense." She glared, but not too deeply. "What to hear what I think happened?" He nodded, fascinated by her busy fingers. "I think mean old Bob Cratched fell into his septic tank with three people watching, but because the man was, to coin a phrase 'a wife-beating, dog-loving, stupid sonova bitch', no one raised a hand to help him. Put it this way, Mulder. If you fell into a septic tank, I would at least wander over to see if you were ok." "Gee, Scully, I'm touched." She smiled, and then began finger-combing the hair. Suddenly he was picturing doing the same thing to her as she slid slowly down his body? he stepped on the accelerator and aimed for the motel. "So Mulder, if you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?" He felt his entire body go limp. "Anything?" Pondering it for a moment, she shook her head. "No, I guess? it has to be selfish. Something for you, you know? Not anything for Samantha or your dad or world peace. Something I would never be able to guess at." She leaned back and looked carefully at him. "Will you have to answer this too?" he asked. "Absolutely. I'll even answer it first, if you like." He nodded wildly. "I like." "Ok, Mulder. If I could have anything I wanted? let's see? I guess I'd just want to be happy." He felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his world. "You aren't now?" She smiled at him, not entirely seeing his suffering. If Scully wasn't happy? God, it didn't even bear thinking about how deeply that hurt. "Of course I am, in a way, Mulder. But I'm not totally fulfilled, if you see what I mean. I guess I'd like to settle down a bit, maybe not today but sometime, with the man I love? have kids? or adopt them, whatever. Have a dog. Maybe two dogs. You know? stop chasing mutants. Stop worrying about alien abductions and cancer man and just have a garden and maybe a chicken or two?" Scully had never, ever expressed a desire for a "chicken or two" to him. Of course, he thought miserably, he'd never actually asked her. "So you'd want to quit the x-files," he said, unable to mask the anguish in his voice. She laughed softly. "Oh, Mulder. I said someday. I'd just like to believe that my life isn't going to end one day in an alien ship or a tube of green goo or even lying on the pavement with a bullet in my heart. I'd like to think I could end up dying of old age in my bed." "You're never going to die, remember?" He said it fiercely, with passion. He meant it. "Mulder..." She grabbed his hand and kissed it; a chaste little kiss that made his head pound. "Now it's your turn. If you could have anything, what would it be? Honestly." God, to honestly answer that? he thought, why not? What harm could it do? "I would want you to never, ever have even the smallest chicken." She looked stunned. "I'm not sure whether to smack you or be flattered. What have you got against chickens?" "It's supposed to be a selfish wish, right? So there it is. I wouldn't want to lose you to a garden and some uber-husband and little kids and dogs and? God, I'm a complete fuck, aren't I?" "Mulder?" she stilled him by squeezing his hand. "It's just a little fantasy, ok? I'm not leaving for the country life anytime soon. Besides, you might like chickens, if you gave them half a chance." And just what, he thought, did she mean by that? The church was completely packed. Scully fanned her face sleepily with a program, the slight breeze barely enough to keep her from passing out. There were times when being an elegantly dressed g-woman really stank, in more ways than one. As long as she didn't have to take her jacket off, she reasoned, she'd be fine. Next to her, Mulder sat with his elbows on his knees, examining his hands as if they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen. She could feel the boredom coming off him in hot little waves. "Mulder," she whispered, "when do you think this thing is going to start?" "Never," he moaned softly. "This is hell. We're still in that fucking mushroom and this is hell." That would make waking up that morning to find him practically smothering her a hallucination, and she was pretty sure she didn't want it to be. It had been damn nice to be possessively snuggled, even if she was supposed to be asleep and completely unaware. "Wait," she said. "Someone's doing something." A thin woman in sweat-stained black wool, was being escorted down the aisle by two grim older men. She took her seat in the front row, sniffling and nodding to those around her. "That's gotta be Mrs. McGillicudy. Now maybe we can get this show on the road," Mulder murmured. "Shhh." Scully watched one of the grim men ascend to the podium and bow his head. "Ladies and Gentlemen?and?" he hesitated and looked right at her, "visitors? please join us in saying a prayer for the departed." The men and women around them stood and supported one another gently. "Lord, you have seen fit to take another fine man from the bosom of his family and friends. We do not pretend to know the reasons behind your actions? we are not worthy of explanation. We can only come together in this, your house, to offer comfort as best we know how to those who are bereaved. When, as is the case with every death in this community, we are all the bereaved, we must gather our strength, rely on each other for comfort, and move bravely on, knowing the good soul of the departed lives on with you in heaven. Hear our prayer, Lord, and grant us the ability to be the rock on which the good widow McGillicudy and her family depend in this time of sorrow." The church murmured their Amens and everyone sat back down. Scully looked around at the bereaved parishioners and was struck by how? well, pleased many of them looked. They didn't seem like a community united in sorrow, and yet here everyone was, dressed in black and sweltering in the standing-room only church. Another man, obviously a friend, stood up and walked to the podium. The reverend smiled and nodded to him. "Mr. Jim Barrons will give the Eulogy." Jim Barrons was a big man, and he labored up the steps in the heat. Mulder's eyes were glassy and unfocused. He was obviously one step away from simply sliding down under the pews like jelly. "I didn't know Albert McGillicudy all that well?" Mr. Barrons began, and Scully looked up in surprise, "? I don't think most of us did. But what we did know is that he was a kind and gentle man, with a good heart, who provided for his family. He liked to look to the stars, too, though I don't think we'll ever really know why. Maybe it was appropriate that he died stargazing, doing what he loved. Anyway, I know you will all do your best for his widow, Sarah. We, as a community, have a responsibility to those who lose someone, and I believe you will all do the utmost to see her stay here is as comfortable as possible. Thank you." Mulder was also watching the speaker, and he turned to her as the man stepped slowly down from the stage. "What did he mean, 'her stay here'? Doesn't his wife live with him?" Scully leaned over, conscious that others were watching. "That explains why it took so long to find the body." Mrs. McGillicudy was making her way up to the stage as someone behind them whispered "hush, the widow." "My name is Sarah McGillicudy. I know you don't know me, and since my husband recently moved here after the separation, I suppose you didn't know him well either. But I want you to know, Albert was a good man. Just because he and I? well, it's not important. He always tried to do his best for all his friends, and I'm sure he would be touched to see all of you here today. I know you have been an invaluable support to me now, and I thank you for it. I only hope your community is spared any more need to comfort the living." As she was gently escorted back to her pew, Mulder leaned carefully over and whispered in Scully's ear "this is damn weird, doncha think?" She nodded. Why would the entire town turn out for the funeral of a man they hardly knew? Why would they go out of their way to help a woman they'd never met? She knew people must be bored, but it simply didn't explain this level of "community". Shuddering slightly, she realized that the people of Clement, Pennsylvania gave her the creeps. They were just a little too helpful. "Ladies and Gentlemen, if no one has anything further to say regarding poor Albert, I would like to say a few words to the congregation as a whole and then we can convene to the wake." A contented hum rose from the pews as people prepared to leave. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please," the preacher called. "This is serious business." The noise stopped. "We are all familiar with God's edict to turn the other cheek. Heck, most of us live with it every day. When someone, perhaps someone who doesn't know us well, interferes in our life, causes us pain, we are told by God that we must not act in our own defense. The will of the Lord in this case is great, saving us from anger with our neighbors or friends over trivial arguments and mistakes." The congregation nodded in unison, looking to each other to affirm the preacher's words. "But what is the word of the Lord when the attackers turn to the House of God himself? What are we called upon to do when the threat is not upon ourselves, but to our beloved church? I ask you, parishioners of this holy community, what are we to do?" Mulder poked Scully in the ribs. "Think he's talking about us?" he whispered. She glared. "I tell you now, people of this House, God is not so forgiving of those who seek to destroy his places of worship, no no. He calls for vengeance, for strife upon them. I say this, not to incite you to violence?" "Oh no," Mulder murmured sarcastically. "?But to remind you to be vigilant, to protect what is ours from those who would harm it. To take into your own lives, into your own hands, the salvation of the Church on which we have all come to depend so greatly. This is a time for extra care in how we talk to strangers, to those who don't understand the importance of the church in our lives. I issue a warning to the men and women of this parish: protect this church, or lose what makes our lives complete in these dark times?." The minister clapped his hands, making Scully jump. "Now, let's go celebrate the life of Mr. Albert McGillicudy." If the funeral had been strange, the wake was even stranger. She and Mulder stood to one side, watching the festivities like wallflowers at a school dance. The entire town mingled, drank, danced and toasted Albert McGillicudy several times, generally making merry. The widow McGillicudy sat on a raised platform like the bride at a wedding, and in truth, that was closer to the tone of the occasion. Mulder glanced at Scully and found his partner sweaty and annoyed. She obviously disapproved. Truthfully, he didn't find the idea to be all that sinister. That folks would celebrate someone's life appealed to him. He could only hope if he were to die, his family and friends would gather and allow themselves to get very, very drunk. Especially Scully, he thought, watching his small partner's tense face. Especially her. But of course he knew that if he were to die, Scully would gather herself up like a snail into its shell, and he rather liked her the way she was now: one cautious antennae waving in the breeze. Ruefully he noted that he'd just have to live. Even if it meant living with chickens. The people of Clement, however, were not celebrating the life of a beloved friend or relative. They were, in fact, celebrating nothing he could quite put his finger on, except maybe the joy of celebration itself. That wasn't so terrible, he thought, unless the need for celebration created a need for something to celebrate, and that created? he sighed. Even his muddled head decided that it would just be too weird, and he knew Scully would never go for the theory that the people of this town, this church, were willing death to come to them. From across the room, he spotted Sally, weaving her way through drunken adults toward them. She planted herself in front of him and smiled. "Dance, Agent Muldurn?" The music was slow and sexy. He groaned inwardly. "Mulder," he said. "Um?" Scully was looking at him, amused and triumphant. He shrugged. "Sally, I think Agent Scully has usurped you." end part 4 of 7 TITLE: Poconos (5/7) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com RATING: NC-17 Summary in Part One. Email me, I'm so alone. "Huh?" both women said in unison. "Agent Scully here just asked me to dance, so I'll have to pass." Sally looked a bit crestfallen, but then smiled. "All right. Next one, then." As she left, Scully smiled shyly. "Next dance or next funeral, do you think?" He simply held out his arm and swept her up. Swinging her around to the dance floor felt wonderful. She laughed, caught in the motion of it, and he grinned down at her. After the Great Mutato, dancing with her, looking into her eyes, heart pounding? Remembering the reunion in Kansas, he thought how close he and Scully had come to dancing several times, but something about that night? it had been too dangerous, too showy. It was no different now, he knew, but he was rebelling against constraints, against danger. He wanted to pick Scully up, throw her over his shoulder and demand to see her in that mysterious bikini.. "You dance, you sing? Mulder, tell me your Star Search days aren't over." Pulling her up short so that she fell gently against him, he whispered in her ear. "I'm claiming my reward, right now." Her body stiffened for just a moment and then, like heavy liquid, she seemed to flow into his seams. "All right." Breathy and hushed against his chest. "Slow dance?" "The slowest," he sighed into her hair. For a moment they were still, barely rasping against one another. Then, suddenly, he felt her decision. She began to move, small arms snaking around his neck, soft hips and stomach rubbing just below his. He stifled a gasp at the intimate way her legs slipped between his own. "Scully," he murmured. "Mmm," was all she replied. Turning her head, she rested her nose on his collarbone, her lips warm through the thin fabric of his summer-weight button-down. He knew then that he was melting like hot butter, pouring over her, coating her. "Scully?" Desperately searching for some way to reach her, some way to appeal without destroying the tenuous thread. "? you smell good. Like cotton candy." It was the best he could do, but it felt like nothing. She sighed, a hot little puff by his tie. "Vanilla," she said softly. "It's vanilla perfume." He nodded and pulled her closer, seeking more of her, sliding his hands up under the stiff shell of her jacket to feel the sweat-soaked shirt on her back. The damp coolness of it nearly undid him and he felt himself growing hard against her. For a long moment he debated. Should he pull away? What would she think? She made the decision for him. "God, Mulder," she whispered, her voice warm and drowsy, "It's so hot." He knew she meant literally, but he was gone, pressing into her hip, grinding against her, into her. Her response was unexpected. She pulled his head close and whispered to him. "Let's go get wet." He froze. He knew what she meant, of course, but was she really proposing this, now? His mind spun and he felt almost sick with desire. "Scully," he croaked. "Where?" She laughed, gutteral and sexy. "At the lake, of course." He closed his eyes. "Skinny dipping?" "Not during the day," she whispered. "Maybe at night." It was too much. He actually groaned and felt her giggle rise through his chest straight to his brain like champagne. "Scully." He could only say her name, he was so in awe of her. She pulled back and looked slowly down his body to the strained material of his pants and back up to his eyes. "It looks," she said, licking her lips slightly, "like you could stand to cool off." If he could have pooled at her feet in a small puddle of spit, he would have. Twice in one day. "Mr. Mulder, Miss Scully?" The voice came from just behind him, and was clearly local. Mulder felt the sudden dowsing of his passions. "Yes?" He turned slowly, hoping to intimidate the hell out of whomever was standing there. A small white-haired man stood somber in the midst of the dancing and revelry, holding a battered black hat in his hands. "I was hoping I could talk to you both, privately." Mulder glanced at Scully. Her annoyance was obvious. Then, like the well-trained agent she was, he watched as she slicked down her desire and became? interested. "Certainly. Do you have somewhere we can go?" Her face was slightly pink. Scully brushed the wrinkled back of her suit jacket down and together they followed the old man into a small vestibule off the main room. He wondered if she could sense his desperation, reaching out to her like the tentacles of some strange sea creature; an octopus of need and insecurity. The old man closed the door and smiled. "You two sure don't seem like FBI. I grew up in the age of J. Edgar, and back then, G-men didn't dance. At least, not in public." Scully smiled and Mulder saw the tension in the set of her teeth. She was embarrassed, and possibly ashamed. He felt as if his body had just been kicked. "What can we help you with?" Mulder asked, hoping to get away from the subject. "Well, you can't help me, much. But I'll bet I can help you two." The old man patted Scully's shoulder and smiled at them both, as if he'd just given them a gift. "Shoot," Scully said, and Mulder could feel how much she wanted to leave, to get away from him. Her footing had slipped, for just a moment, and now she wanted to be back on familiar ground. "I don't know how much you folks know about ancient Indian myths, but I'm sure you've heard the legends about this area, about its power." Mulder nodded. Familiar ground indeed. "Zones of magnetic convergence?" Scully said, her voice like ice water. "Exactly. Now, you may or may not believe in that sort of thing. I don't know. I know I've lived here all my life and you'd better bet I do believe. I've seen things happen that are just unexplainable any other way. So here's the deal?" The little man leaned closer to them both and lowered his voice. Mulder found himself leaning over Scully's shoulder, breathing in that sugar scent of her. Somewhere underneath the sweetness of the perfume, he smelled a tang, like lemon. Scully herself. "These people, whether they are doing it consciously or not, are messing with forces they don't understand. They are calling forth an evil in order to have a little fun, and I for one, am tired of it. No one has a right to do that." "I don't understand," Scully said. "Are you saying that the people in this church are causing people to die just so they can attend a funeral?" The little man shook his head. "No no, they aren't quite that shallow. They're causing people to die so that they can help one another. They're giving each other something to do. A house to paint for a widow, kids to look after, people to fuss and fawn over. I don't think they know they're doing it. But they are, and it should be stopped." Mulder thought about this for a moment. "How does it happen?" he asked. "Is it a build-up of energy, what?" "How the hell should I know?" the little man snorted. "I'm no scientist. But I've seen this sort of thing from time to time over the years." "So how do we stop it?" The old man shrugged. "Bring down the church, of course." Mulder felt a bit a chill, as if a window had been opened somewhere. Then he heard Scully's voice beside him. "Are you all right?" The old man shook his head, his face rapidly turning a strange shade of purple. Mulder was able to reach out and catch him just in time to lower him gently to the ground. He gasped and pulled at his collar. Dropping beside him, Scully pushed Mulder aside and began to unbutton the old man's shirt. "Mulder, call 911," she said. "Tell them we've got someone in cardiac arrest. Sir, you're going to be fine, just try to stay calm." The old man looked briefly at Mulder, a strange mixture of regret and acceptance on his face. Mulder watched as his pale blue eyes rolled slowly back. Scully was silent, sitting with a strange stiffness on the edge of the now-still bed. Pulling at her sticky shirt, she let a wave of nausea pass through her. This feeling, the feelings of the morning? they all felt unlike her, strange and heavy, like swimming in molasses. She was sure she was going to pass out. The room was blistering. No cool breeze had ever blown here. Rising, she stripped off her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse a bit. Right now, if that old man had never appeared, they might be soaking in the blood-warm waters of the lake. Maybe Mulder would lose some of his respect for her, but at least she wouldn't be able to feel little rivers of sweat running down her sides to dampen her waistband. There was a gentle knock on the connecting door. She groaned inwardly. "Hey," Mulder said, poking his head around the door. He seemed as awkward as she felt. "Hey," she said back, barely managing a small smile. He slid into the room, his large size suddenly striking to her. He filled her vision. "So, what do you think of our dead informant? Quite a coincidence, eh?" So he was going to talk about the case. That was something at least. "No, Mulder. He was at least seventy-five years-old. He died of a heart attack. That's all." "So you don't think it's odd that he died right after telling us to destroy the church?" He sat down next to her on the bed, a good two feet away. It was unlike Mulder to respect her personal space. She felt suddenly dizzy. "Maybe," she said, feeling the bed sway beneath her. "Scully?" He looked concerned. "Are you ok?" "I'm really warm," she murmured. "I think I need to lie down." He nodded and then did something she would never have expected. Standing in front of her, he began to gently unbutton her shirt. "Mulder," she tried to swat his hand away, but another wave of dizziness overtook her. "What are you doing?" "Getting you ready for bed," he said, with no trace of a tease in his tone. "You're clearly suffering from heat exhaustion." His hands popped the final button and he eased the shirt back from her shoulders and off her arms. She had an irrational urge to cover her breasts, though she was still wearing her bra, and though heaven knew he had seen them before. "You should take a cool bath," he whispered. "Your skin is flushed." She looked up and met his gaze. He was looking at her with such affection she nearly began to cry. Confusion had exhausted her last resources. "Oh Mulder," she sighed. "It's been such a long day and I'm so tired?" "Rest then," he said softly, caressing her cheek. "I'll get your pajamas and you can crawl into bed." She nodded and waited while he opened her suitcase. He held up a pair of blue satin pajamas and she felt their sweltering fabric against her skin like the ghost of nights past. "No Mulder," she said. "Too hot. Do you have a plain cotton t-shirt I could borrow?" He smiled. "Scully, do you know what the suggestion of you in my t-shirt does to me?" He was only half-joking, she knew. Without the energy to banter, she simply shook her head. He seemed immediately guilty for teasing her. "I'll go get it right now, ok?" She smiled weakly as he left the room. Her abdomen gave a sickening twinge of pain, but she was too hot and tired to think about it. Outside, the hum of insects and the barely working air-conditioner grew suddenly softer. She turned to the window and felt the world go black around her. Mulder paced the room anxiously. The doctor was taking a very long time in there. When he had returned to find Scully passed-out on the bed, he was sure his heart had actually stopped beating. Lying there, her arms splayed out beside her, she looked so much like the time she had gone into anaphylactic shock that he rushed to her side expecting to hear each breath come out through a closing throat. Instead he'd found that she'd fainted, no doubt from her fever. The bedroom door opened and he could see her, propped up on pillows, her face still flushed, but awake and aware. He sighed with relief. The doctor smiled. "She's going to be fine." Mulder nodded. He knew it already, just by seeing her face. "What happened?" The doctor was scribbling something on a pad, a prescription. "She's got a nasty kidney infection. They can do that, creep up on you from nowhere. I'm writing out something for an antibiotic. They can fill it down town. Make sure she takes it for the full seven days. Doctors make the worst patients." Mulder nodded, accepting the little paper and attempting in vain to decipher the scrawl. "Oh and?" the doctor leaned forward, "?no sex for a couple days. It can make the situation worse." Swallowing a sudden need to laugh hysterically, Mulder smiled. "I don't think that'll be an issue. She's my partner." The doctor looked at him blankly. "We're FBI. She's my work partner." Nodding, the doctor smiled back. "Well, I would have warned you anyway? wait a minute, you said you two are the FBI? Jesus, why didn't you tell me?" Mulder stared, unsure of why this would be important. "You've got to get her out of here," the doctor said, urgent. From behind the door, Mulder could see Scully's head lift a bit, trying to hear what was going on. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "There are people in this town? look, they'll kill her if she stays." From the bedroom, Scully's voice called out, raspy and weak. "What are you implying, Doctor Rells? This is just a kidney infection. Forty-eight hours on antibiotics and I should feel great." "No, no?" the doctor paced, looking at each of them. "That's what I would have said had you just been some honeymooning couple, but this? there are people here who would stop at nothing to get you folks out of town. I know, I've talked to some of them." "Are you saying someone in town gave me a kidney infection? How is that possible?" Scully was sitting up now, her interest piqued. Mulder smothered the urge to push her back down. "The same way it's possible they gave old John Crowler a heart attack. The same way they killed Albert McGillicudy. Around here, you need only to want something bad enough, and you'll get it. Good or bad. At least, that's how I've always explained it to myself. Not that that's much of an explanation." "So?" Scully was pondering it, mulling it over, "? as a woman, I'm susceptible to kidney infections. And if they were in some way exacerbating existing medical conditions?" "Yes," the doctor said, excited, "exactly. The energy they produce acts on your body, I don't know how, but hell, I don't know how aspirin works either. Somehow they're raising the level of bacteria in your kidneys, causing them to multiply out of control." "This is crazy," Scully said and the doctor's face fell. "Kidney infections, heart attacks? these are all things that happen everywhere. There's nothing strange about them." "Look, I'm just trying to warn you. I can't be responsible for what happens if you stay here. This thing may not go away. It may get worse. And you saw how fast it came on?" "Kidney infections are notorious for that," Scully interrupted. "It doesn't prove anything." Mulder sat down next to her on the bed, watching her fever-bright eyes and seeing the determination there. "I tell you what," he said. "I'm going to go get this prescription filled. If you don't feel better in twenty-four hours, we're out of here. That fair?" The doctor and Scully nodded in unison, making Mulder smile. She would have made a hell of a practitioner. end part 5 of 7 TITLE: Poconos (6/7) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com RATING: NC-17 Summary in Part One. Email me, I'm in desperate need of friends. Mulder watched her as she swallowed her first pills, hovering like a mother. She smiled at him. Two aspirin and a couple hours after her initial fainting spell, she felt cooler. He perched beside her, one arm extending over her hips to support him close to her. "There, see?" she said, sticking out her tongue so he could see she'd swallowed the pills. He blushed slightly and she was suddenly warm again. "I see," he said. "I'm glad you're going to be cooperative. I'd hate to have to pin you down and ram them down your throat." "I'd like to see you try." For a moment they stared at one another, then he shifted away. "You ready for bed?" She had not thought about how late it was, how long the day had been, especially for him. Mulder suffered when she was ill, almost more than she did. Exhaustion colored his cheeks and ringed his eyes. "Yes," she said. And then she realized, with startling clarity, that she didn't want him to go. She shivered with the potential loss. Seeing it, Mulder leaned closer and pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. Gently, she pressed back, turning the simple gesture of concern into a caress. Hand cool against her head, he smiled at her. "Still feverish," he whispered. His face was so close, she could inhale his breath. "I know, but I'm freezing. I can't get warm." He was still there, inches from her face. "What would make you feel better, Dana?" The use of her first name made her heart pound. It was so intimate. She could remember the first time he had ever used it, when her father had died. Though at the time it had felt somewhat patronizing, she knew now that it was Mulder's way of expressing his feelings, of letting her know that he cared for her. "You, wrapped around me." It must have been the fever. Before the words were completed, she regretted actually voicing them. She felt her own eyes grow round with horror and shock, but Mulder seemed to be taking things in stride. He touched her forehead again and smiled. "Agent Scully, I do believe you're proposing a cuddle. Isn't that against bureau regulations?" She nodded, relief making her slump back against the pillows. "Of course," he said, lowering himself to lie next to her. "We've never been much for bureau regulations." Morning crept in around the curtains accompanied by birdsong and the sweet smell of mowed grass. Mulder couldn't believe he was actually lying in bed with her at her own invitation. As if it couldn't get any better, she was wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a pair of cotton panties. He had to keep adjusting himself so that she wouldn't feel his erection pressing firmly against her body. Though it hadn't worked the night before, he thought with a smile. She was no longer burning up. Asleep but restless, she wiggled against him, causing hot little shivers to slide up his body like fingers. It was all he could do not to groan. "Cold," she whispered and he forgot the erection and pressed in tighter. "Better?" he murmured somewhere in the vicinity of her ear. "Mmm," she sighed and pulled his arm around her, resting his palm on her breast. He almost moved away but then thought "damn the torpedoes" and let his hand curve around her. She was warm and full and soft and wonderful. Without thinking, he moved against her, enjoying the feeling of her bare skin against his leg. Knowing he was taking advantage of her didn't make him want to stop. He felt her waking fully, coming into the light lazily, easily. For a moment he lay perfectly still, knowing she would throw him off once she was aware of the location of his hand. Sure enough, her shoulder shrugged and he was gently evicted. "Mulder," she said, her voice loud in the quiet room. "What the hell were you doing?" She wasn't really angry, just going through the motions. He had been the recipient of her anger often enough to recognize it when he heard it. "You tell me. You moved my hand there." "I did not," she said, rolling over to face him. He smiled at her ruddy face and slightly sweaty chest. "Yes you did. Very distinctly, like that's exactly where you wanted it." She was bright red. He felt like pushing her a bit, now that she was with him again. "So, sunshine, you feeling better? 'Cause you sure felt good to me." Her jaw actually dropped and then she hit him, or rather slapped him, a little harder than just playing. But then, what he'd said had taken it beyond just playing. He grabbed her arm and held her there, feeling her legs wrapped around his, her tension building. "You seem to have regained your strength," he mused, watching her face go from annoyed to a bit frightened and then tremendously aroused. Mental note, he thought, Agent Scully likes to play a little rough. "And my good sense," she said, her voice throaty. "Mulder, get out of my bed." He toyed with answering "with this raging hard-on, are you kidding?" but resisted. "Why?" That ought to provoke an interesting reaction. "Because I said so. Because if you don't, I'm going to move my knee just a little further up?" She demonstrated, sliding her leg up his until her knee nudged his crotch. He couldn't help himself, he gave a low moan. "I don't know that I'd mind that, given the right amount of pressure?" She gaped again. "Jesus, Mulder," she said and sat up. "I'm getting up now," she whispered, and he could hear the effort in her voice. "I'm going to go take a shower and wash off all this sweat. From the fever." He was frozen, unable to get over the fact that he had just completely come on to her and she was walking away. She shut the bathroom door and he thought he heard her sniffle. Jesus, what the hell had he just done? Hadn't he made a vow to not behave like an ass? And what was that maneuver with her breast, if not the behavior of a first class jerk? The thought of having hurt Scully made him actually physically sick. Bile rushed up his throat, burning. His head began to pound, a distant rumble. He pressed his hands to his ears. Everything had been crazy since they'd arrived here. Their need for each other, usually close to the surface, had burst through and was threatening to devour them. He couldn't understand it. They had always been so easy with each other. Never like this. The rumbling grew louder, drowning out his thoughts. It was only then that he realized it wasn't in his head. It was coming from the bathroom. Without hesitation, he launched himself at the door, just in time to have Scully throw it open herself and stagger into him. "Mulder," she said sharply, "the hot tub!" In front of him, the giant Plexiglas form shivered and shook, experiencing its own private earthquake. Grabbing her arm, Mulder pulled Scully down behind the bed, covering her body with his. The champagne glass gave another agonized groan and he felt it begin to fall, the reverberation as it hit knocking him flat against Scully's back. Shards of Plexiglas rained down around them. "Christ!" Mulder swore, standing up slowly, trying not to step on anything sharp. "You could've been killed." Scully's face was pale, but she seemed to have collected herself. "I'm all right," she said, running her hands quickly through her hair to be sure. "What the hell happened?" "I don't know. I was standing there, getting ready to shower and that thing just started shaking." "I'm sorry, Scully." She stared at him. "For what?" He felt ridiculous, great chunks of hot tub littered around him. "For earlier. I don't know what's gotten into me. Something about this place? I was out of line and I'm sorry." Smiling, she stood up and brushed the fine filaments of the hot tub's destruction off her legs. "Mulder, we've both been affected by this case, I don't know why. Let's just call it a draw and forget about it, ok?" He had no idea if that was actually achievable, but he nodded. Forget the feel of her breast, forget the way she moved against him at the wake, forget the round heat of her small bottom pressed up against him. Only the knock on the door made him realize they were both standing in the middle of the destroyed bedroom in their underwear, staring at each other like horny teenagers. "Hey, FBI," a voice called. "You ok in there?" Scully swallowed another round of pills and then moved gingerly past the toilet. She didn't even want to think about peeing today. The burning was almost unbearable. Other than that, most of the effects of the infection seemed to have passed. Poor Mulder. This seemed to be harder for him than her, as always. She knew he was close to giving into his emotions, scuttling six years of well-worn stability. And she wanted it to happen, but she wanted it to happen when they were whole and prepared. And preferably when there were no strange shape-shifters or virus-carrying bees. One of these days, she thought with a sad smile, I'll make up my damn mind and just do it. Mulder was sitting sheepishly on the edge of the bed in their new cabin, the only bed in their new cabin. She sighed. "It's all I've got. The others are all out of commission, for one reason or another," Bill had said. "I don't know what the hell happened with that tub. Damndest thing I ever seen." "We've seen damndester things," Mulder had said, butchering the words without his trademark glee. Now he was pouting, feeling guilty and rejected at the same time, a potent combination. She sat beside him to slip on her shoes, allowing their shoulders to touch. There were times she felt like a shepherd, leading her wary and yet eager little sheep over to the safety of her grassy pasture. "Mulder, stop moping and put your shoes on. I've about had it with this church and I'm in the mood to do something about it." He nodded, still miserable. "Like what?" She stood and straightened her skirt. "I don't know. But I'm tired of all of this. Do you remember when we first got here, I said I just wanted one clear week?" "Yeah." Choked with unhappiness. She pondered just kissing him and getting it over with. The thought was tremendously tempting, but she held back. Not yet. "Well, we have four and a half days left and I intend to spend them swimming, eating and?" she hesitated, watching his weary face, "? cuddling." His head shot up, his eyes brightened and she thought she saw a mischievous gleam return. "Agent Scully, do you realize how inappropriate that remark just was? If I told Skinner?" "Mulder," she sighed. "If you told Skinner, I would have you committed. Immediately. Now let's go kick some Baptist butt." Pulling into the parking lot at the First Baptist Church of Clement, it was immediately apparent that things were brewing. Cars filled every space; double-parked along one side and spilled out onto the street. Mulder cursed and double-parked behind the Cadillac in the space marked "Reverend". "What the hell is it with these people? Did someone else suddenly die? Do they just get together to annoy me?" Scully sighed beside him. She was being unusually tender to him, stroking his hand lightly on the drive over, soothing his guilt-ridden feathers. And intriguing some other part of him, the part he was now readjusting his pants to cover. "I'm sure it's all part of a global conspiracy to keep us in Clement for the rest of our lives," she replied. "The Consortium has finally gotten clever," Mulder muttered under his breath. "I never would have seen this one coming." "Could be worse," she said, stepping out and crossing to meet him. "Could be Comity." Mulder groaned. So much for any arousal. Pausing at the double doors to the church, Mulder turned to stare at Scully for a moment. She was gazing up at him with that strange mixture of amusement and affection she'd had on her face all day. He slid one hand along her cheek and thought, just for a moment, that it didn't matter if they never had sex, as long as she'd continue to sometimes adore him. She grinned and squeezed the hand as it left her face. "Let's make like Walt Disney and annoy some Baptists, Mulder." "The Happiest Place on Earth, Scully." And together they opened the doors. End part 6 of 7 TITLE: Poconos (7/7) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com RATING: NC-17 Summary in Part One. Desperate plea for attention at end of story. The entire town was gathered inside, filling the pews and lining the walls in a solemn procession of crossed arms and bowed heads. The general buzz of grumbling rumbled beneath the hum of the air conditioner. At the pulpit, clearly enraged, stood Doctor Rells. "You have to listen to me," he was shouting. "This nonsense has got to stop! We have no right to take the lives of others, even if it isn't intentional." Spotting Mulder and Scully standing against the back wall, he gestured to them with a nod. "And sometimes even if it is. These people are not our enemies. If the people of this community were being murdered by a stranger's hand, we would welcome their investigation. No, we have become our own enemies and I for one refuse to continue. This is not God's work." The preacher stepped forward and smiled weakly at the congregation. "Brother Rells, you are mistaken. There is nothing to fear in this congregation." "How can you stand in the sight of God and blatantly lie, Reverend? We have been doing this to one another in some form for as long as any of us can remember. And it has to stop." Mulder leaned over and whispered to Scully. "I wonder how long it'll be before the good doctor suddenly develops a heart condition." Scully sighed and shook her head. "Don't even think it, Mulder. Not here." From the audience, a woman stood. Mulder recognized her as the woman from the path to the lake. "I agree with Brother Rells. We have a responsibility to one another. How long does this have to go on before we begin to kill each other?" There was a frantic murmuring from the congregation and the Reverend lifted his hands to shush them. "Sister Hastings," the preacher smiled. "You know I would never condone violence." "But you have," she replied. "By telling us to defend this church, you have asked us to hate, and that's the beginning of violence." Another man stood beside her. "Anne," he said, "I've known you since we were kids. But this isn't about hate. This is about people coming together in a tragedy." "The hell it is, John." For a moment the two just stared at one another, eye to eye. The whole church seemed to buzz with tension. "What exactly are we all being accused of here?" the Reverend asked loudly. "Are you saying that these people, these friends and neighbors you have known your entire lives, that these people are cold blooded killers? Capable of taking a life just to give themselves something to do?" Anne Hastings looked from the man in front of her to the faces of the people seated around the suddenly quiet church. Her face twisted into an expression so filled with remorse and anguish that it made Mulder's heart ache just to watch. "Yes," she said softly. "Yes. That's what I'm saying. And so is Brother Rells. And so are many other people, too afraid of retribution to step forward." From the pew behind her, another woman rose. "I'm not afraid. I agree with Sister Hastings." "So do I." It was the waitress from the Country Bumpkin. "You're crazy!" an old man yelled from across the room. Mulder stared in fascination as one by one, the citizens of Clement began to take sides. The energy in the room had taken on a thickness, a wild, animal feeling approaching riotous. He looked for a moment to Scully, her face impassive, a pale, calm spot in the center of the growing storm. From above them, a distant rumble, like thunder on a clear day. There was no need to discuss it. Over the pounding voices, the growing rumbling of an angry god or magnetic force or weather anomaly was like a sudden road sign. Scully took his hand and willingly followed him out of the church. "Don't look back," she said as they crossed the parking lot, both aware of the ominous thunderheads gathering over the center of town. "Why?" Mulder cracked, obeying her instinctively. "Think I'll turn into a pillar of salt?" "There but for the grace of God," Scully said as she fastened her seatbelt and they pulled screeching onto the road. From behind them, the first sounds of the church's collapse could be heard: the crash of a fallen beam, the wail of twisting metal. He glanced over when he heard her start to dial her cel phone. "Who're you calling?" "Local paramedics," Scully answered. "Bet this'll finally give them something to do." Bill was nowhere to be found when they pulled into the motel. In eerie silence, they packed the last few items back into their bags. Scully lifted her bikini and eyed it sadly. "I really would have liked to enjoy some of the countryside before we left," she said to no one in particular, as Mulder had disappeared into the bathroom. Outside the heat had broken a bit and the soft swell of the white curtain promised breezes like a child's kiss. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the gently swaying wall of green leaves and branches. It was in that moment that she realized she believed. Not in the power of this place to kill or sooth, but in the power to make a wish come clear into the bright light of day as if it were illuminated by the sun. She wanted something, wanted it so badly that for years she had cowered in fear before it, afraid it would overwhelm her if she dragged it out and examined it. The sun was setting outside; pink and orange tinted light settled across the floor at her feet like a carpet. Well, she thought, it'll be dark soon. And then I can examine it to my heart's content. The door to the bathroom opened and Mulder stepped out, carrying his little travel case of toothpaste and ear swabs. He looked befuddled and exhausted. Rising, she took his hand. "Mulder, what say we spend one more night here?" His eyes widened. "And risk death by hot tub, Scully?" "Actually," she said, turning back to the dancing tapestry of light shimmering on the pale wooden floor. "I was thinking of risking death by drowning, instead." She felt his mind working, stumbling around her words. "Swim?" he said. Facing him, she said softly "skinny dip." Mulder's face was an unbelieving combination of fear and delight. Behind him, she could almost make out the shadowy figure of her fears, but then Mulder stepped up to her and all that lingered in his place was the watery color of the sunset. "No bikini? I'm almost disappointed." "Don't push your luck, Mulder," she said firmly, not wanting him to think she had in some way lost her control. For a moment they were still, aware of the heat between them in the cool air of the approaching night. "Race you," she whispered, and scampered out the door toward the illumination of everything she'd ever wanted. Mulder watched as Scully pulled her tank top recklessly over her head. She had her back to him, and in the dying evening she shimmered like a star, white-gold and slowly burning. Without thinking, he mimicked her actions, stripping his own shirt off and pulling at his shoes. He had waited a lifetime for this moment, he was sure, and now here it was like a brilliantly clear summer day in the midst of the firefly-glazed darkness. She unfastened her shorts and let them puddle around her ankles, before stepping forward in nothing but her underwear to face him. Aware only distantly of his own hands jerking down his pants and underwear, he stared at her slow wiggle as she removed the last of her clothing. She was magnificent, fiery and pale at the same time, pulsing with life. "Scully," he admonished. "You aren't a natural redhead." She laughed then, arms wrapped around her stomach for some protection from his gaze. "My God, Mulder, did you think all those changes in my hair color were natural too?" He shrugged. Her ever-changing hair seemed to be as real as her soft skin and deep blue eyes. "C'mon," she whispered. "The water's probably warmer than the air." Together they dashed down the dock to sink into the weightless lake. He watched her disappear beneath the black surface like someone sinking beneath the sky. When she rose again, gasping and drenched, she was laughing. "It is warmer," she said and slid forward, seal-slick, twisting and gliding past him. "Dunk yourself and stop shivering, you wimp." He complied and found the shock somehow comforting. Under the surface, he felt her hands grabbing at his waist, sliding over him. Bursting up, he took in great gulps of the cool night air, filled with the glimmering stars whirling over his head. "My God, Scully," he shouted, feeling truly alive. "Look at the sky!" She paddled next to him, her movements creating little eddies and ripples around his skin. "This is what we miss, living in the city," she said. "This is what we miss by not living," he answered, turning to see her bright eyes smiling at him just above the water line. He moved toward her, expecting her to stay put, but she rolled up onto her back, breasts bobbing white and molten. With a push of her small feet on his belly, she was off, moving through the water like the sailor's daughter she was, swift and strong. She was so beautiful in that moment, he was sure he was being seduced by a sprite, by a silkie, by anything as unreal as her moon-cream skin. He couldn't help but follow. "Mulder," she called, just out of reach in the obsidian water, "we should have done this years ago." He was not sure what she meant by that. That they should have gone swimming together naked? "Done what?" he asked, feeling awkward and massive next to her dolphin movements. "Celebrated everything in the world," she said and he realized she was giddy with the pleasure of it. She stopped swimming and floated next to him on her back, her nipples tight in the cool air above the warm water. He floated next to her, staring at the dazzling shivering stars with her hand in his. They kicked gently, travelling around the lake with no particular destination. She squeezed his hand and then suddenly she was gone, beneath him. Before he could react, she rose beside him, her small hands supporting his lower back. "I'm holding you up," she whispered. "Isn't that the most amazing thing?" "Not to me," he answered tenderly. "I've been light as a feather ever since the first time you touched me, Scully." Letting his legs sink, he found they were in relatively shallow water. If he stood on tiptoe, he could rest there. She paddled in front of him, busily moving to keep her head up. "Let me support you," he murmured and pulled her wriggling body into his arms and up till her eyes were level with his. "You always do," she said and grinned, then looked again up to the stars. "It's like being in space," she said as he kissed her neck. The skin tasted like lake water and lemon, like Scully. He couldn't help himself, he was gone. The feel of her naked body against him, the taste of her skin? he was rubbing against her, lavishing her neck with his tongue. Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and he felt the core of her, hot against him. It was strange, even with their height difference, how well it worked to hold her. Then it occurred to him, as she ground against him, that it was only in their legs that they differed. Their bodies were essentially the same size. He moaned into her neck and she lowered her head to let him kiss her. For one long moment, he was aware of nothing more than the heat of Scully's mouth, her tongue, her lips. Then he slid his hand over her soft breasts, down the path of her hip and felt where their bodies touched. Sliding one finger into her, he noted that she was as liquid as the lake. He moved up and felt her moan into his mouth, felt her hips move. Slipping his fingers along her, he felt her shudder and then gasp. Without warning, she reached between them, grabbed his hand and shoved two fingers inside. She was pulsing around him, writhing. All he could think was that he had made her come, but he had barely touched her. How long had she been waiting? How much had she wanted him? He had wanted her for so long, longed for this, that it was emotionally overwhelming to finally have it. When she drew away for air, he crushed her to him, holding her behind her head, gasping with desire. "Mulder," she whispered into his ear, "it's ok. Now is the time." "I know," he answered, feeling like his lungs were deflating by the second. "I just? I just love you too much." She laughed. "Too much for what?" That brought him around, hearing her breathy voice, giggling. Too much for what indeed? "Not too much for this, I hope," she whispered and drawing herself up, she lowered slowly onto him, sliding around him like a sheath. It was totally unexpected. He hadn't thought, coming down here, that they would make love. Frankly, he had gone without for so long that it hadn't even occurred to him that the possibility existed. He was immediately groaning, clutching at her, unable to process the sensation of being in her. She kissed him passionately, her arms around his shoulders, her body as smooth as the water. She was humming with lust. "Scully," he sighed. "Scully, don't you want??" But he couldn't finish. She was rising and falling like a wave, pulling him along. "I want you," was all she said. And then they were silent, letting the gasping thickness of their motion catch and hold them. He could feel his orgasm starting in his stomach like a hunger. Lapping at him, tugging him, she let him thrust into her. Scully let him thrust into her. The thought was too much for him and he collided with it, turned it over in his screaming brain and fell into it like the softness of a bed. She was making love to him, in the warm water of the night. Hearing her voice in his head, "like space". How fitting. He came in a series of heavy movements, pushing up into her as deeply as the relative lack of gravity would allow. She rested in his arms, as light as oxygen. "Scully," he whispered warmly, feeling her tighten around him at the sound of his voice. "Do you realize this is the second time in only a few days I have seen you naked and very wet?" end part 7 of 7 Email away! I recite them aloud like the poetry they are....