By Vivian
wakwekobi64@hotmail.com
 

RATING: PG
ARCHIVE: Yes, I'd be flattered, just let me know, please.
SPOILERS: Lots. Are we still doing this?
TIMELINE: Season 6(ish)
CLASSIFICATION: Vignette, M/S  UST
SUMMARY: Still waters and all that stuff.
DISCLAIMER: All these characters belong to Fox, 1013 &
Chris Carter. No infringement intended on them, or
anything else that's been trademarked, licensed,
copyrighted, patented or whatever.
FEEDBACK: Enormously appreciated & gratefully received at
wakwekobi64@hotmail.com

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 

Unbidden, and definitely unwanted, the words to
"Afternoon Delight" are looping themselves over and over
in Mulder's mind.

It couldn't be more inappropriate. There is absolutely
nothing delightful about their situation.

He has no idea why that particular song is stuck in his
head. If one's last moments on earth have to be spent
hearing one-hit-wonders of the seventies, Mulder thinks,
it could at least be "Play that Funky Music."

It must be the clinging thing, he eventually decides.
Scully doesn't do clingy, and he's always been glad of
that. There is, however, something a bit pleasant in
having his partner hug him so tightly. Even if
they are up to their chests in water.

"Mulder, are you humming?" Scully's sharp query
interrupts his musings.

Oops. Now she's going to start wondering about head
trauma. Especially if she recognizes the tune.

"No, uh, I was ... thinking. Y'know, formulating an
escape plan," he responds, trying to infuse the fib with
veracity.

"Well, did you come up with anything?" There's a
sarcastic edge to her voice and he can't really blame her
for it. They'd gone over every possible option an hour
ago, when they first found themselves trapped in a
defunct channel of the storm drain. And that was before
the water had even covered their feet.

They'd tailed their suspect underground into a complex of
drains and tunnels this afternoon, happy to be out of
the driving rain, only to discover every possible hiding
place empty. Their very last attempt turned out to be a
dead end - an unused and blocked off portion of the
entire labyrinthine structure.

Who knew that storm drains had cul-de-sacs?

When they'd turned to leave their only warning was a
roar before they were abruptly cut off by a massive wall
of water, slamming shut and effectively sealing a hatch
to the small unused portion of the tunnel.
Unfortunately, the seal wasn't exactly watertight. An
emergency light had provided a dim enough outlook to
observe their predicament, and at first they'd merely
lamented the thought of another mammoth dry-cleaning
bill. It had rapidly become apparent that was the least
of their problems.

When the water reached Scully's chin, he'd had to offer
himself as a human life preserver to his shorter partner.
She'd wasted no time in scaling him like the rock wall at
the gym.

Mulder has already decided if by some miracle they
make it out of this, he's going to start paying a lot
more attention to the weather forecast.

He diverts her question with one of his own. "So, still
don't believe this guy can teletransport?"

Scully snorts. He is inwardly amused and, despite
himself, pleased that not even their imminent demise can
shake her skepticism.

"Just because he knows his way around and we don't,
doesn't mean he's developed powers that don't actually
exist. There are universal laws of physics that just
can't be broken, Mulder, all circumstantial evidence
aside. My only regret is I let you talk me into coming
down here in the first place." She sighs. "I've only had
these shoes two weeks..."

He laughs, looking down at her, and she acknowledges his
amusement with a small smile of her own.

"That's your *only* regret, Scully?" he asks, his tone
deliberately teasing in an attempt to retain the
lightness of the moment.

Though it's barely perceptible, she stiffens slightly in
his arms and Mulder realizes she's seen right through
him. Eye-rolling, head-shakes, and deep sighs aside, no
one gets him the way Scully does. She knows he's
half-serious.

"Do you think the water's stopped rising?" she asks,
tilting her head to look past his shoulder at the
entrance to their watery tomb. Clearly he's not the only
one into diversionary tactics.

"Um, maybe..." Mulder responds, his curiosity piqued by
her evasion. "Seriously, Scully, do you have regrets?"

A resigned sigh escapes her lips before she responds.
"Mulder, who on earth doesn't have regrets? Everybody has
regrets of some magnitude or another. Why should I be any
different?"

He bites off some half-formed and inappropriately
romantic comment about her being different. This kind of
peril may or may not be the right time for some innocuous
flirting, but he is too interested in her regrets. How
many of them might involve him?

Mulder has far too much respect for her to feel
inordinately guilty for everything she's been through.
Scully would kick his rear from here to tomorrow if she
suspected for one instant that he was demeaning her by
assuming responsibility for her own decisions and
actions. That doesn't stop him, however, from
occasionally wishing certain circumstances had been
easier on her.

"Anything you want to share with the class?" he asks.
"Unless, of course, it's something that'll damage my
super-fragile ego..."

She looks up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Well, I
regret not finding a regular dog-sitter for Queequeg."
She pauses. "I regret not taking matches with us when we
went into the Florida woods. I regret missing that
'Skins-Vikings game in Minnesota.  I regret not
Scotchguarding all my work clothes."

Mulder laughs and waits a minute for her to continue
before he realizes she's done speaking. "Aw c'mon,
Scully... you expect me to believe those are your only
regrets?"

"You didn't ask for all of them. I'm just giving you what
comes to mind first. I guess I'd have to think about it a
little longer to come up with a complete list."

"*Those* are the ones that come to mind first?"  Mulder
asks incredulously. "I find that hard to believe, Scully.
After everything we've been through-"

"God, Mulder, I'm freezing," she interrupts hurriedly.

He frowns at the avoidance, but notices she is indeed
shivering and her lips are starting to take on a faint
blue tinge. He tightens his arms around her to offer a
little more warmth, but gives her a slight shake as well
to remind her he hasn't dropped the subject.

Another sigh from her. "Mulder, I may not be too
optimistic about our chances here, but my life isn't
flashing before my eyes quite yet. And besides, maybe
those are my only regrets." Scully's chin lifts slightly
in what Mulder interprets as a subconsciously defiant
gesture. She is daring him to contradict her.

He is silent, considering his next move. He doesn't
really want to antagonize her, but Mulder suddenly finds
he is burning with curiosity about this topic. It might
be a morbid thing, he concedes to himself; indulging in a
chance for a little self-castigation rather than dwell on
their potentially mortal predicament. Or maybe he just
wants what might be a last opportunity to take a dive
into Dana Scully's psyche - a place both familiar as his
own heartbeat and as foreign as the make-up aisle at the
drugstore.

While he is silent, Scully apparently decides to fight
fire with fire. "So what exactly are your regrets,
Mulder?" she asks, adopting an 'I-showed-you-mine' tone.
He wants to argue that she showed him nothing, but
decides instead to play along. He opens his mouth to
respond, but shuts it abruptly when he realizes he can't
think of anything to say.

"C'mon, Mulder...." she coaxes.

He is stumped. The things that come easily to mind are
quickly nullified by the realization his whole life would
be different were he to change certain events. He
is not even allowed to  regret Samantha's abduction since
it had nothing to do with choices he made. He thinks a
bit longer, then wonders if Scully will let him get away
with what he finally comes up with.

He looks into her eyes before he begins. "I regret-" but
he is cut off.

"No, Mulder!" she stops him. "This has to be all your own
stuff, none of mine."

"Then I regret you've suddenly developed the ability to
read minds," he says, barely avoiding petulance.

Actually Mulder's fairly sure if she were telepathic he
wouldn't be sporting all his original equipment today.
His mind wanders, recalling some of his better daydreams
over the years. A sharp little elbow in his ribs reminds
him she is waiting for his answer. He sighs into the
silence.

"You're right, Scully," he says. "It's harder than it
seems to come up with one's final regrets."

She tightens her grip. "Did I just hear you say I'm
right?  Has the end come already?" Her eyes roll
dramatically heavenward.

Mulder laughs. He loves Scully's playful side, and is
sorry he's never gotten to see enough of it. He opts not
to voice the thought, though. They've obviously reached a
stalemate in this game.

"How 'bout a little round of 'Truth or Dare'?" he asks
her.

Scully purses her lips. "I don't see a lot of options for
the 'dare' part, Mulder," she says, looking around the
small chamber.

He can think of a few, but tamps down an inner leer when
he decides a Scully ass-kicking isn't what he wants for
their potentially final interaction. The water has
stopped rising, but he's not at all certain they are out
of the proverbial woods just yet.

"All right, just the 'truth' part then." Mulder waggles
his eyebrows, goading her to join him in this new game.

"We can't, Mulder. The truth is out there, and we're
stuck in here." She looks smugly pleased at her wordplay.

He ignores her comment completely. "Chicken?" he inquires
instead.

Scully frowns. "You're not kidding? Whatever happened to a
nice round of 'Twenty Questions'? Playing with the truth
can be dangerous, Mulder. You of all people should know
that."

"What do you mean 'playing with the truth?'" he asks.

"What I mean is sometimes we're better off not knowing
things. I realize that very thought is an anathema to
you, but it's a fact. I don't believe people can handle
the absolute truth on every matter they might ponder."

"Why not?" he queries, "The brain is a highly
advanced computer, capable of processing vast amounts of
information. The human race hasn't even tapped a fraction
of its potential."

"I'm not talking about the brain, Mulder, I'm talking
about our emotions. Dip below the surface, and you might
not always like what you find underneath. Even when you
know, are absolutely sure,that something's there, being
confronted by it directly is a whole different matter."

"Give me an example," he demands. Mulder feels stung by
her words, as if she has just taken potshots at his
raison d'etre. He thinks he might cry if she mentions a
case. Intellectually he knows she is not referring to
their work; she has, after all, kept her skeptical little
self right by his side for years now. He wants
reassurance though, so he waits patiently while she
muses.

"Dust mites," Scully finally responds.

"Dust mites?" Mulder asks, doubtfully.

"Yes." She nods, apparently convinced she has come up
with the perfect example.

He hunches his shoulders, signaling for her to explain.

"Thousands of tiny little arachnids, Mulder, they're
everywhere in our houses, and they leave their waste all
over the place. *That's* something I'd prefer not to
think about!"

"Well thanks for sharing with me," he says dryly.

"Oh, there are other kinds of mites I could tell you
about, but you're gonna have to trust me on this one -
you definitely don't want to know about them."

Mulder shifts her slightly before he concedes. He
convinces himself it's his sopping clothes that have made
him uncomfortable, not her words and the images she has
evoked. "Okay, so you have a small point. But as a
scientist, don't *you* want to know about these mites?"

"Sure, Mulder," she replies, "but that's what I meant
about 'playing' with truth. It has to be processed in the
proper context, or it can do more harm than good." Scully
tightens her hands on his shoulders in response to his
sudden twitchiness. He thinks she wants to laugh, and is
thankful she chooses to continue with her explanation
instead. "Second year med students often battle
hypochondria of epic proportions because they're
bombarded with too much scary information. They find
themselves coming down with every disease they study.
Yes, to be good doctors they need to learn about all
of those illnesses, but mentally we can't always
handle the rapid influx of these truths."

"Fine," he responds, "but we're talking apples and
oranges here, Scully. I don't see how a little revelation
between the two of us would do any harm."

He plays devil's advocate knowing the argument is
fallible. He can't help himself; sometimes he loves
nothing better than a good verbal joust with her. She is
his best friend and favorite conversational adversary.
Frustrating on occasion, he still prefers the challenges
she presents to the typical dismissals he encounters
around the agency. It's just way too much fun to push the
envelope with Scully.

He sneaks a peek at her just as she looks up.  Her eyes
narrow a bit as if she knows exactly what he's up to.
"You're serious?" she asks.

Mulder shrugs to answer, but she turns her head at the
same time, and the movement jostles his shoulder into her
chin. She exclaims softly in surprise.

"Oops! Sorry, Scully! Are you okay?" He leans away from
her, trying to get a look at her face. She pulls one hand
from his shoulder to cup her chin. The movement sends her
sliding sideways a little and Mulder hauls her even
closer in reaction.

"I think I bit my tongue," she says, a little lisp
decorating her words.

'Oh, I'll bite your tongue,' Mulder thinks, and is
immediately taken aback.

Where the hell did that come from?

He peers closely at her, but she appears too focused on
her little hurt to notice his sudden lascivious bent. He
is relieved. The thought had come out of nowhere, taking
him completely by surprise. His innuendo is usually
better prepared and more thoughtfully launched in her
direction. It's also usually received, or more likely
ignored, in an equally deliberate manner. He's immensely
thankful he didn't blurt the words out loud.

Finally she puts her hand down and looks up at him. She
throws him a speculative look before she says, "Okay
Mulder, let's play. Truth - what are you thinking right
now?"

For a panicked moment he wonders if she has developed the
power to read his mind after all. He's stymied. It's one
thing to fling the occasional pickup line at her; he
knows - as does she, he suspects - there are kernels of
truth there, but saying the words allows them both to
take it as a joke and nothing more. Teasing Scully is a
guilty pleasure he has no intention of giving up.

"Well?" she questions after his prolonged silence.

"Um, I don't know Scully, I guess I was just wondering if
you were okay." It's a bald-faced lie, and he thinks she
knows it. He started this little game in the first place,
but there's no way he can answer the question truthfully.

"Uh huh..." she drawls.

"My turn," he demands, quickly changing the subject.

"Fine," she replies, "but make sure you really want to
know the answer."

There are a thousand things he wants to know about her.
Or doesn't. He's suddenly not sure, and finds himself
teetering on the edge of something big. Her point has
become crystal clear.

He considers asking about any habits of which he might be
unaware, what she keeps on her bedside table, what kind
of lingerie she favors, facts about her childhood, or her
favorite movie. One by one he rejects the questions as
either too boring, too personal, or already known by him.

"What number am I on your speed dial?" he finally asks in
desperation.

Scully smiles at what is obviously an easy out. Their
cell phones are bureau equipment after all. She starts to
answer when impulse overcomes Mulder.

"At home," he adds abruptly. She stops to draw a breath,
and he knows he's thrown her for a loop.

She opens her mouth and shuts it again before she finally
ventures a response. "Number one," she says softly. She
does not look at him.

Mulder feels both guilty and exhilarated by her uneasy
response. He dips his head in an attempt to read her
expression, and she finally looks at him. What he sees in
her eyes is unfathomable. He should say something to
recognize what she just gave to him he thinks,
but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a weak
"Your turn."

Scully is silent for several minutes, and Mulder doesn't
know if it's because she's upset, or just trying to come
up with an appropriate question. At last she looks up at
him.

"Why did you keep calling me when I was in Maine that
time?"

He stares at her for a moment. He know she knows why.
Does she need to hear him say the words, or is this just
payback for his question?

"Because I missed you," he answers and allows a certain
amount of challenge to color his words.

Scully nods, either in acknowledgment of his honesty or
the fact that she already knew the answer. Again, she
turns her face away from him. Mulder would be at a loss
if he wasn't fluent in Scully body language. To the
casual observer things might appear fine, but Mulder
knows she is unnerved. If he is being perfectly honest
with himself, he'd admit he is as well.

How did this happen?

They'd barely scratched the surface and somehow revealed
too much. Or maybe not enough. Mulder's not clear which
it is, all he knows is that with two small questions,
something has shifted, and right now neither of them is
completely comfortable. He'd like to tell her she was one
hundred percent correct earlier, but he's afraid it will
throw off the balance of their universe even further.

He's always liked to live a little dangerously though,
and before he even gives it conscious thought he asks
"Why did you call me back?"

"I wanted your expertise," she says, but questioningly,
and he just looks at her expectantly. "Because I missed
you too," she adds after a moment. There's challenge in
her tone as well.

"Scully-" he begins, but the bulb over their heads
abruptly flickers and goes out completely.

They both jump a little, and when the bulb starts to
produce a dim glow again, their positions have shifted.
Their faces are mere inches from each other.

Mulder has never been more aware of her in his life. He
can feel every bit of her body that's pressed up against
his, and he's vaguely conscious of a dim roar just
outside his perception. He bemusedly thinks it might be
the floodgates to his soul letting loose.

There's enough light for him to see into Scully's eyes,
and there's a recklessness there he feels certain is a
precise reflection of what he's feeling. He tips his head
closer to hers.

The light begins to fade again, but he sees her move
infinitesimally closer to him before it becomes
completely dark. He feels a softness on his lips, and it
is so faint he's unsure if it's her own lips, or merely
her breath caressing him. Mulder gulps convulsively, and
throws all caution to the wind, preparing to finish what
they've just started. His rapid heartbeat matches the
tempo of hers as he closes the last fraction of space
between them.

Suddenly a loud metal clanging startles them. They both
jump, and as if in response, the light springs to life.

For the first time Scully feels heavy in his arms and,
startled, he looks down to notice they are no longer
standing in five feet of water. It is, in fact, now
lapping gently around his ankles. In unison they turn
their heads toward the door to find it hanging slightly
open.

Mulder can't think of a thing to say, or even do, until
Scully wriggles a bit in his grasp. He is still holding
her and her feet are dangling a half a foot off the
ground. Gently he sets her down. Something tugs at him
with the sudden loss of contact, and he turns and strides
quickly to the door as tears inexplicably spring to his
eyes.

He peers outside the door, but has to clear his throat
before he can report "It's all clear, Scully." He avoids
her gaze.

"Let's get out of here then," she responds, her tone as
tentative as his.

As they slosh their way through the tunnels they are
completely silent, merely pointing when they need to
decide on a direction. As they near the exit, Mulder
finally risks a glance at her. She is as studiously
intent as he at not exchanging looks.

At last they reach their means of egress. It has stopped
raining, and the daylight has grown dusky. They step
outside, and Mulder shivers in his dripping clothes as
they slowly make their way toward where they left the
car.

He feels alone in a way he never has with Scully before,
and wonders if they have ruined something it took them
years to build. Mulder is certain they are standing at a
crossroads, and whatever happens next will be crucial. He
racks his brains to find just the right thing to say or
do. He rejects a hundred different options before he
notices Scully has stopped walking beside him.

Mulder turns back to look for her and finds her standing
still, a few paces away. She has turned in a different
direction, and is bathed in light. He walks back slowly
and taps her on the shoulder.

Scully glances up at him, and he meets her eyes for the
first time since the chamber. He can't decipher her look,
but whatever it conveys, it begins to ease the knot of
tension that has been building inside of him.

"Look," she says softly, pointing up in the direction
she's been facing.

He tears his gaze away from her to look. It is sunset,
and the entire California sky is alight with it. He is
mesmerized, and isn't sure how long he stares before he
feels something tickle his fingers.

Scully's cold little hand slides into his, and he clasps
it tightly. Between the warmth of her grasp and the light
of the sunset he no longer feels any chill from his wet
clothes. They stand for a few minutes longer, until the
sun begins to dip below the horizon. Gently, he pulls her
along with him, and they start making their way toward
the car.

Mulder glances back at the sunset one last time. The last
rays have thrown up brilliant streaks of purple, gold,
and fuchsia. He is suddenly struck by the picture it
presents.

It looks, he thinks, exactly like skyrockets in flight.

END