By OKayVal
okayval@yahoo.com
 

Website: http://donnilee.tripod.com/okayval
Rating:  NC-17
Archive: Honored; just tell me where
Category: RST, Post-Ep
Pairings: Mulder/Scully
Spoilers: E.B.E.
Disclaimer: Not mine, you know the drill.
Summary:  Something lost, something found.
Scenes and post-ep for E.B.E.

Written for Fandomonium's "Virtual Season of Smut"
Challenge. Thanks to Fando for a fun challenge
and hugs to Tali for the as-always, life-saving beta.
 

"And what if there were two
Side by side in orbit
Around the fairest sun?"

--R.E.M., "Nightswimming"--

***

10:30 AM
SOMEWHERE OVER UTAH

She never expected to be playing cloak and dagger.
She works for the FBI, not the CIA; but right now she
feels like she's in the middle of a spy novel. She's
been bugged. She's been followed. Mulder's paranoia is
justified this time.

So justified, in fact, that she has a decoy airline
ticket to Chicago in her purse, when she's really on a flight
to Las Vegas, using an airphone to track a truck across
the country.  A truck that may contain an extraterrestrial
biological entity.  Mulder is convinced that this truck holds
the living proof he's been searching for. They had come so
close; the truck had been within their reach, sitting
just outside the Tennessee police station where they were
questioning its driver, until their interview with Mr. Ranheim
was abruptly terminated by the police chief.  That rankled Mulder
and kicked him into overdrive--they HAD to find that truck
and its otherworldly cargo.  She'd been skeptical until
they found that first bugging device--in *her* pen. Now
Mulder's theory makes some sort of crazy sense.

She shifts in her seat again; the hard plastic phone hurts her
ear and she's tired of being put on hold, only to repeat her
story to the next person who comes on the line.  But the airphone
is untraceable, and it's the only way she and Mulder can stay out
of the reach of those prying ears.

She stares out of the plane window at the expanse of blue sky
and wonders what strange force has brought her here. Mulder
is exasperating yet brilliant, and somehow he is able to persuade
her past the point where she normally would resist.  If he was Fox
Mulder, Accountant, she wonders, would he be as complicated?
Some of the things he says make her head spin. She's still
pondering a remark he made the other day. It keeps escaping
from a corner of her mind, playing over and over again like
the chorus of a song.

***

They had gone to visit Mulder's friends, to pick their collective
brains for information about the events in Tennessee. The
Lone Gunmen were an odd bunch; mismatched men with strange
theories, and the little man, Frohike, kept declaring that
she was 'hot.' Mulder had grinned and told his pal to
calm down. She had done her best to ignore the leers and Mulder
said nothing more.

They returned to the office and she started working on
expense reports. Mulder sat studying some photographs,
his back to her.

"Those were the most paranoid people I have ever met,"
she had told him. "I don't know how you could think
that what they say is even remotely plausible."

"I think it's remotely plausible that someone might think
you're hot."

Mulder's reply hit her like a brick. She stopped writing and
looked up. He had not moved, and his back offered no clue
as to whether he might be teasing her. She smiled to herself
and continued her dialog on the Lone Gunmen, until she
discovered the listening device and tripped over her
own words.

But Mulder's words remain and she can't stop thinking
about them. Was Mulder referring to Frohike, or does
he really think she's hot? She likes the idea, but she's
also afraid of it. She remembers the last time a colleague
found her attractive. She does not want to repeat what
turned into a messy mistake, and Mulder has the potential
to be very messy, indeed.

"Ma'am? Are you still there?"

The voice in her ear brings her back to the present. It
also brings her the information she has been looking
for.  She hangs up the phone and rubs her ear,
pleased with herself. Mulder will be surprised.
She checks her watch; the plane should be landing
soon. She leans against the window and tries
to relax.

***
11:30 AM PACIFIC TIME
McCARRAN AIRPORT, LAS VEGAS

She fidgets while waiting her turn to exit the plane. She
has to find the gift shop, has to find Mulder, has to give
him the good news. She walks briskly through
the terminal until she locates the gift shop, exactly as he
described it. She wonders how many times Mulder has been
to Las Vegas. Her eyes scan the small shop, but Mulder is
not here.  She browses around the store until she catches
a glimpse of him, walking tall with that black overcoat
billowing behind him. She turns to study a rack of
road maps in front of her. Mulder approaches her but
keeps going, his arm brushing up against hers as he
passes by. She feels his touch and glances up to see
him standing by the magazines, reading. She follows his path,
takes a magazine, and moves a short distance away
from him. More cloak and dagger stuff. Do spies really
act like this?

Without looking up, Mulder finally breaks the silence
with a joke. She smiles, imagining how annoying it
would be for a stranger to endure three hours of
a wound-up Mulder talking on the phone.

"I couldn't find the truck. Did you have any luck?"
Mulder asks, finally risking a peek at her.

"Yep. It's heading northwest on I-90," she replies,
keeping her eyes on her magazine, a note of triumph
in her voice. "We have to get a couple of tickets
to Seattle."

"Really?" His tone tells her that he is impressed. She
glances sideways at him. He is looking at her now, the
pleasure evident in his face. She feels like she has
passed an important test. A+ for Dana.

"Let's go," Mulder says. He abandons the charade
and grabs her hand, leading her out of
the gift shop. She's feeling incredibly satisfied
at his reaction. It feels good. So does her hand, enclosed
within Mulder's larger one. He has laced his fingers with hers,
and it's comfortable. She's surprised that this does not bother
her, even though she knows it's unprofessional.  There are
a lot of things about Mulder that are unprofessional,
she's learning.

***
6:30 PM PACIFIC TIME
JUNCTION OF HIGHWAYS 90 and 283
WASHINGTON STATE

Her eyes strain to focus after an hour of peering through
binoculars, and her arm muscles are beginning to
ache, too, from the effort of holding them steady.
The trucks and cars sailing past are starting
to blend together; what if the truck they are looking for has
already gone by, and she's missed it? No. She couldn't
possibly have missed it.

Their car is parked on the shoulder of the road, giving them
a good view of the approaching traffic. Mulder sits behind the
wheel, chewing on sunflower seeds and waxing philosophical about
everything that crosses his mind, but always circling back
to aliens. She's glad for the need to keep her eyes on the
highway. It keeps her from staring at Mulder's mouth. There's
something compelling about the way his lips and teeth slide
together around the tiny seeds. Once, during a stakeout,
she realized she was staring at him outright. When he turned
to speak to her, she looked away in terror, feeling
the color rush to her cheeks and hoping he hadn't noticed. But
wondering whether he had. *I think it's remotely plausible
that someone might think you're hot.*

Now she tries not to think about Mulder eating his sunflower
seeds next to her, and tries instead to concentrate on the vehicles
speeding toward them. Finally, she spots a familiar truck cab
in the distance.

"Here we go."

***
POWER PLANT
MATTAWA, WASHINGTON STATE
SEVERAL HOURS LATER

The security guard leads her outside, and she sees Mulder and
another man standing several yards away. Mulder appears
unharmed but subdued. As she approaches them, the second man
walks away, into the mist.

"Are you ok, Mulder?"

"Yeah." He stares out into the swirling fog where the man
has vanished. His tone is flat.

"Who was that?"

"My contact."

"He was here? What happened?"

"This is where they brought the EBE. It's dead, Scully. They
killed it. But it -was- alive. It was alive in that truck while
we were questioning Ranheim." He sets his jaw and walks off, his
heavy strides scattering the gravel beneath his feet. She
has to hurry to catch up with him, and he's behind the wheel
of their car with the motor running by the time she reaches
it.  She slides in without a word and he takes off, the tires
making an angry sound against the pavement.

She waits until she is sure he is driving them back to their
motel before she speaks.

"I guess we'll catch a flight back tomorrow morning."

Mulder says nothing, his expression steely. She senses defeat,
and she's not used to that from him.  His passion does not
burn out easily. She remembers something Mulder told her,
something his deep background contact said to him yesterday.

"He told me that when sharks stop swimming, they die. He told
me not to stop swimming. Not to give up."

She can't imagine Mulder without his passion, his blinding
dedication.  She sighs and stares out the window.

They do not talk at all during the ride back to the motel.
She's not used to a silent Mulder and it makes her
uncomfortable. She fears that he's brooding and when they
arrive at the motel, she follows him into his room, wary about
leaving him alone.

He tosses his keys on the table, followed by his coat, then his
jacket and tie, removing each item with rapid fingers that betray
his frustration. Finally, he turns to her.

"We almost had it, Scully. Proof. A living EBE. He's never
tried to divert me before. I trusted him. But now I'm back where
I started.  With nothing." He paces back and forth, his feet making
indentations in the cheap carpet.

"Your contact was right about one thing, Mulder."

"What's that?"

"Don't stop swimming.  Don't give up. You can't. You must be close
to the truth, otherwise they wouldn't go to so much trouble to
keep us from finding it."

He stops pacing and stands in front of her. His eyes lock onto
hers--dark, electric, and she feels the charge travel down the length
of her spine. He grabs her shoulders, almost as if he's going to
shake her. Her heart begins to pound, but not from fear.

"Mulder," she begins, feeling his fingers dig tighter into her
shoulders. He leans close, his breath hot, and before she can
say any more, his mouth is on hers. She has no time to think,
only to feel.  His lips are tantalizing and insistent, and
hers part in response to the pressure.

As his tongue seeks hers, her body tingles and her mind blurs.
What's left of her logic tells her that she should stop this now.
But she can't. Not with Mulder's unbridled intensity now focused
on her. She likes it. She wants it.

Mulder's mouth moves to claim new territory, and she shivers as he
nips and nibbles along her jaw-line. "Oh Scully--want you," he
whispers against her neck. He thrusts his hips at her, pressing
his erection into her belly. He is all hands and hot, wet mouth,
and he's driving her mad. Her own hands are not idle; she runs them
over every part of him that she can reach. *It is plausible that
someone might find you hot, too, Mulder.*

Mulder begins clawing at her clothes and manages to get her
blouse open. He pulls at her bra, trying to release her
breasts, and she helps him because she wants to feel his
hands on her bare skin. She frees her breast for him and
he seizes it; her nipple burns from his touch and she gasps
at the arousal coursing through her.

Her cry inflames Mulder further, and he yanks at her trousers.
He tussles with the zipper and she wriggles out of them
while he tugs at the fabric. He reaches for her panties but she
sidesteps him and grasps at his shirt. He gets the message
and together they pull it open, buttons be damned. She slides
the shirt off his shoulders and presses her hand flat against his
chest. His heart beats rapidly under her palm, as if urging
her to hurry. She runs her hand down to his firm abdomen,
past his belt buckle, along the thick bulge of his erection.
He groans and fumbles with his belt buckle. She grasps at his
zipper, frantic now to free his cock, and he takes her hand in
his and helps her pull the zipper down.

Mulder strips off his pants and boxers at the same
time, then moves to lift her up and place her
on the bed. He hooks his fingers into the waistband
of her panties and peels them from her. He realizes
they are damp and his eyes darken; she has been wet
since he began kissing her.

She lies back against the pillows and parts her legs for him.
Mulder moves between them carefully, unsure about putting all
of his weight onto her. He plants his arms on either side
of her and lowers his hips. His cock throbs and prods at her
as he tries to get inside. She reaches out and grabs hold
so she can guide him. He shudders as her fingers close around
his thick length.

"Oh--god--Scully." She lets go when his cock nudges against
her entrance and he slips into her. He begins to move, begins
to fill her.

"You feel--good," he says, almost a moan, a voice she's never
heard from him before.

"Yes, yes," she pants in reply. She has lost the ability to
utter more than a single word. She wraps her legs around his waist,
tipping her hips up so he can go deeper. He feels the shift and
pumps faster, his breath coming in loud grunts as his thrusts
slide her back against the mattress. She is surprised to see him
watching her. Other men have made love to her with closed eyes, but
Mulder's eyes are green lasers trained on her.

Mulder fucks her furiously, and she meets his rhythm with one of
her own, fiery pulses that beat faster and faster until she can't
stand it anymore, and then she is coming, coming hard and it doesn't
stop, her whole body shakes with the wonderful force of it.
Mulder pauses, mesmerized by her tremors, then begins again, slamming
into her wildly. She feels his cock swell against her inflamed walls,
and then suddenly his hips stop rocking and he empties into her
with a warm rush, murmuring her name over and over again
like a mantra.

She grips his arms as he shudders and collapses
on top of her. His full weight crushes her for a brief
second, but he rolls over and ends up beside her,
lying on his back. His chest glistens
with sweat, heaving as he gulps in air. She lies
on her side and studies him. This is wrong in so many ways,
but it feels oddly right. She can't work it into a neat
and orderly solution. There is nothing neat and orderly
about Mulder.

Finally, he turns to her, his breathing normal again.

"Scully--I--that was...."

"Shh. Not now." She stops him with a finger to his
lips. He kisses it lightly and takes her wrist, pulling
her hand from his face down to his chest. He wraps
both of his hands around hers, gentle now, the frenzy gone.
She curls up and closes her eyes. They have to talk about this.
But she doesn't want to talk right now. Talking will spoil the
hazy liquidness she feels, and she doesn't want to think,
to analyze, to decide.

***

She wakes up to morning light streaming through the window blinds
and the call of her bladder. Mulder is no longer in bed. She
stretches her hand out to the space where he had been. It
is still warm. He has not been gone long. On her way to the
bathroom, she fights a twinge of disappointment until she
notices Mulder's clothes still lying in a rumpled
heap on the floor.  This is *his* room, she reminds herself,
eyeing his open suitcase on the dresser. He has to come
back.

She emerges from the bathroom and starts to gather up her
clothing. She is sitting on the bed, trying to untangle
her blouse, when the door opens and Mulder steps in. He
looks tousled despite his change of clothes. He holds two
styrofoam cups and is pleased to find her awake.
 
"Hey, Scully. Breakfast in bed." He waves the cups at her
and kicks the door closed behind him with his foot. She
slips into her blouse and waits for him to join her.
Mulder sits on the edge of the bed and hands her a cup.
She removes the lid, inhaling the strong aroma of fresh coffee.
She sips it gratefully, knowing he is studying her every move.

"Don't say that I never spoil you," he says, offering her
a tiny grin. She says nothing, but the corners of her
mouth curl as she takes another sip of coffee.

"Are you ok?" he asks.

"I'm fine," she replies.

"Really fine?"

"Yes, Mulder. Really." Now she smiles at him, and he blinks and
then smiles back, getting it. *It's remotely plausible that we
find each other hot.*

"Me too."

They grin stupidly at each other for a moment until she
drops her eyes back to her coffee. She notices that he is being
careful not to touch her.

"What do we do now?" he asks.

"We go home, Mulder."

"That's not what I mean.  What do we do about, about this, Scully?"
He circles his coffee cup in front of her in a sweeping gesture.

She takes a quick breath. She knows they are heading into
deeper waters here, and not just because of the sex. She
knows that if Mulder stops searching for the truth, if he drowns,
she will drown with him.

"I think we take it one day at a time, Mulder."

He ponders this, nodding slowly.

"But I don't want this,"--he gestures with the coffee cup again--
"to change anything. I respect you. I still need you as my partner,
Scully. I have nobody else to trust."

He leans closer, still without touching her. She knows he wants to.

"Mulder, I happen to be a very good swimmer."

***
Finis
***

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