Title: Impulse

Author: Suzanne Schramm

E-Mail: [email protected]

Distribution: Gossamer. I'd be honored if someone else wants it

too, please let me know and keep my name and address with it.

Rating: This section PG, entire story R (for adult situations)

Classification: MSR

Spoilers: US5, the movie (this is a Season 6 scenario)

 

Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate some stange doings in a

little town where people seem to have no control over their actions.

 

Disclaimer: I have long believed that if I ever started my own web

page it would showcase the disclaimers at the beginning of these

stories. Some of them are true literary works of art employing the

full range of humor and/or drama. So you can imagine my

disappointment when I sat down to finally write a disclaimer of my

own and absolutely nothing came to mind. (Sighing heavily) These

characters aren't mine. I use them without permission but with

great reverence. I won't get a cent for writing this. If anyone

sends me money I hereby promise to forward it to CC c/o Ten-Thirteen

Productions with a full apology.

 

DEDICATION: This is for Tiffany, who suffered through every draft

of the story with good humor and requests for more. Love ya, babe!

 

********

 

IMPULSE

 

FBI Headquarters

Washington, D.C.

 

"Scully, have you ever wanted to kill me?"

 

Startled, Scully looked up to see Mulder leaning over the top of the

cubicle that was one-half of the temporary home of the X-Files.

Mulder's cubby was directly across from hers and it had been empty

the entire morning.

 

"Are you speaking hypothetically or is there something you're trying

to tell me?"

 

Mulder grinned and moved around to her cubicle's entry.

"Hypothetically".

 

"I suppose I've been frustrated and even angry with you on occasion,

but I . . ." Scully paused, nonplussed.

 

"But the thought never crossed your mind?" Mulder prompted.

 

"What are you getting at, Mulder?"

 

"Just, have you ever thought, even for a millisecond, 'I could kill

him'?"

 

Scully considered this for a moment and then slowly nodded.

"Probably. Doesn't everyone?"

 

"Want to kill me? And here I thought that to know me was to love

me." Mulder smirked and sat on her desktop counter, leaning in to

invade her personal space. "So you admit you've thought about it?"

 

Scully arched her eyebrow, silently asking him where he was going

with this.

 

"Two weeks ago Agent Alan Pehrson killed Agent Fred Whitman, his

partner of 17 years. Bludgeoned him with a laptop computer."

 

"And what, he admits to having homicidal thoughts about his partner

beforehand?"

 

"No, he claims it was temporary insanity. A direct result of the

case they were working on. A bank robbery. One which they had

solved actually, the suspect was in custody. Pehrson claims that

Whitman wouldn't close the case out. That he wanted to look into an

'unusual angle'. Next thing you know they have a major disagreement

in a local bar. All the witnesses agree that Whitman started the

fight and then left. Pehrson followed him back to their motel and,

boy, did he finish it."

 

Scully sighed. She could sense Mulder was still winding up for the

pitch.

 

Sensing her impatience, Mulder plunged ahead. "Pehrson has

requested that the case they were investigating be turned over to

the X-Files. He claims that he never meant to kill his partner,

that something came over him and he was powerless to fight it. He

claims he wants an explanation, not exoneration."

 

"And Skinner approved this?"

 

"We leave in three hours."

 

"For where?"

 

"Ah, Scully, that's the best part." Mulder could barely contain his

mirth. "Salt Lake City."

 

********

 

Wallace F. Bennett Federal Building

Salt Lake City, UT

 

Agent Alan Pehrson stared helplessly at the handcuffs around his

wrists. When standing he was nearly 6'5", an imposing man in his

early 50's with prematurely gray hair. Seated behind the table he

looked like a broken man. He had difficulty lifting his bloodshot

eyes to meet either Mulder or Scully's.

 

"We'd been partners for nearly 18 years. I was his son's godfather.

He was my best man. He was like a brother to me, my best friend."

He lifted his eyes finally to meet Mulder's. "You two been together

long?"

 

"Six years." Mulder replied softly.

 

"Then you know. After a few years it's like you can read each

other's minds."

 

Mulder nodded.

 

Scully found she had to look away. Pehrson's anguish was barely

contained and it brought to mind too clearly the horror she had felt

crouching over Mulder after she had shot him. She could still hear

Krycek running away into the night and a neighbor yelling for

someone to call the police. Her only conscious thoughts had been

<Oh my god, what have I done? What do I do now?>.

 

Pehrson cleared his throat. "We'd been sent to investigate a bank

robbery in Cooper, Wyoming. We drove up to Cooper, nice little

town, about three hours drive from here. It's one of those places

where everyone knows everyone. Which made apprehending the suspect

easy because four out of the five people in the bank had known Hank

Jenkins all their lives."

 

Mulder shook his head, "He didn't try to disguise himself?"

 

"Not really. He pulled a bandana over his nose and mouth but they

all recognized his voice and the truck he drove away in. You know,

they waited for a couple of hours after it happened before they

called the police in. The bank manager, Mr. Dawson, was sure he'd

bring the money back. That it was some kind of prank. He called

Jenkins' home, which upset his wife, who hadn't seen him since that

morning. In the end, she was the one who drove him down to the

sheriff's office."

 

Mulder glanced over at Scully. She met his eyes and shook her head,

unbelievable.

 

"So when Whitman and I got to Cooper all we had to do was confirm

the witnesses statements and officially arrest Mr. Jenkins."

 

"The sheriff didn't arrest him when his wife brought him in?" Scully

asked.

 

"Nope. He said he didn't have the heart to do it. In fact, not one

person in all of Cooper thought he deserved to be charged. The

money had been returned by Mrs. Jenkins so they figured no harm, no

foul. We wouldn't have been called in if it weren't for the fifth

witness in the bank, a tourist, who couldn't believe that the whole

thing was going to be swept under the rug. He was completely aghast

the next day when he checked with the sheriff and found that Mr.

Jenkins had been let go. He's the one who called us in."

 

Mulder shuffled his chair closer, "So what was the 'unusual angle'

that warrants our investigation?"

 

"You can't imagine a town full of more reluctant witnesses. Some of

them downright hostile. They were sure that Jenkins wasn't in his

right mind when he committed the robbery. Whitman was intrigued.

He started interviewing people around town and came up with some

rather surprising statistics." Pehrson paused.

 

"Go on", Mulder said. Beneath the table Scully could feel his leg

begin bouncing in anticipation.

 

"Cooper is a small town, with a population just over 500. It sits

in a mountain valley with two other towns, Aspen Springs and

Wallace, and they're even smaller than Cooper. The total population

of this little valley is just under 1,000. Over the past few months

there's been what you might call a crime wave in Aspen Valley.

Besides the bank robbery there have been five burglaries, two car

thefts, twenty assaults, a rape and scores of property damage and

vandalism. After the first couple of incidents not one of the

people accused of these acts has been charged."

 

Scully could feel her jaw dropping in amazement. "Why?"

 

"No one wants to press charges. Every one of the perpetrators

claims that they weren't able to control themselves. That a thought

popped into their head and that they acted on it. And all of the

victims claim that they believe them, forgive them, and just want to

get on with their lives."

 

"And you believed them?" Scully asked.

 

"No." Pehrson corrected. "It was Whitman who got caught up in

this. He's the one who started talking to the victims and suspects.

He was convinced that there was something going on in Aspen Valley.

It was strange, the sudden onset of crime in a normally peaceful

place. It just seemed too science fiction to me, I chalked it up to

dysfunctional Christianity."

 

"But now you think Whitman was right?", pressed Mulder.

 

"Now," Pehrson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Now I

realize just why those people are so protective. I've been angry

with Whitman before. He and I have fought, from time to time, but I

never seriously wanted to harm him nor do I think he ever had it in

for me. But, that night, when he took a swing at me, something in

me snapped. I remember following him back to the motel but it was

like a dream, or rather, a nightmare. I remember thinking 'I'm

gonna kill that bastard', I was so enraged. It was like I got this

one idea in my head and I couldn't rest until I'd accomplished it.

The next thing I knew the sheriff and the motel manager were pulling

me off of Whitman."

 

Pehrson took another deep breath and then released a shuddering

sigh. "I never meant to hurt him, really, I don't know what came

over me." He rested his head on his shackled hands and fought not

to cry. When he spoke again his voice was muffled.

 

"You know, part of what we argued over was the fact that Whitman

wanted to bring in someone else to help us. He was going to ask

that the case be made an X-File. He was always talking about you

two, how you 'solve the unsolvable'. I told him he was as insane as

everyone else in Cooper." Pehrson lifted his head and grimaced.

"And now here I am, asking the same thing."

 

He dropped his head back down and shook it slowly, sadly. Mulder

reached forward and touched his shoulder. "We'll look into it."

 

Scully stood and started closing the case file and notebook on the

table in front of her. Mulder squeezed Pehrson's shoulder before

turning and placing his hand at the small of her back to guide her

out.

 

Once they were in the hall with the door safely shut Scully turned

to Mulder. "It says in the file that Pehrson had been having

troubles at home, he's separated from his wife. Maybe the pressure

he's been under was just too much."

 

Scully reopened the file and flipped through the papers inside.

"Despite his claims of being best buddies with Whitman, it appears

that Whitman requested a transfer a few months back, claiming it was

becoming impossible to work with Pehrson."

 

"The transfer was denied?"

 

"No, it looks like it was approved." Scully turned a page and read

further. "This was to be their last case together. His transfer

would have been effective last Monday."

 

Mulder's head was bowed as he considered this new twist. Then he

looked at Scully and asked, "So, before we head out, have you ever

seriously thought about killing me?"

 

********

Impulse 2/7

*******

Valley View Motel

Cooper, Wyoming

 

Scully lifted her head from its resting place against the window as

Mulder pulled into the parking lot of the motel. The clock on the

dashboard put the time at just past 11 o'clock, which meant that it

was past 1 o'clock in the morning Eastern time. She felt weary from

traveling. When she had first started on the X-files the travel had

seemed almost glamorous to her, now it was just exhausting.

 

Mulder turned off the car and they both got out without speaking.

Taking a deep breath as she shuffled towards the office, Scully

caught the unmistakable odor of cows nearby.

 

A small bell tinkled as they stepped into the office but there was

no one else to greet them.

 

"Just a minute!" A man's voice called out.

 

Mulder sighed and leaned heavily against the counter. <I guess I'm

not the only one feeling the effects of a long day> Scully thought.

His eyes stared blankly in the direction the voice had come from.

His fore lock of hair had slipped down, almost into his eyes.

Scully felt a surge of affection run through her and she willed

herself not to brush the hair back for him.

 

A man appeared from around the corner. He was on the short side,

not much taller than Scully, with weatherbeaten skin and a large

paunch hanging over his belt. His blue eyes assessed them both

intently.

 

Under his gaze Mulder stood up self-consciously, reaching for his

ID. Scully already had hers out. The man waved them off.

 

"No, don't bother. I can tell by the way you're dressed what you're

here for." He sighed and shook his head. "We've had more FBI

agents up here in the last couple of weeks . . . it's starting to

look like a convention. Course' it's been a couple of days since

the last ones left. The room's still sealed, you know, but I did

take the police tape off the door. Bad for business. I can assure

you no one's been in there. Hope that's all right?"

 

He hesitated, unsure if this was going to cause problems. Neither

agent seemed too upset so he continued.

 

"Name's Jerry, Jerry Wiley. I'm the owner here. I'm the one who

uh, well, tried to break up the fight between those two agents."

 

<That must have been a sight,> thought Scully as she took in Jerry's

size, especially when compared to the looming height of Agent Pehrson.

 

"Right." Mulder said softly. "Look, Mr. Wiley . . ."

 

"Jerry, please."

 

"Jerry, we'll want to have a look at the room and talk to you

tomorrow. Right now it's kinda late, we'd just like a couple of

rooms."

 

Jerry gave a little cough as he looked at the two of them. "I'm

sorry, I've only got one room left. We get a lot of folks coming

through here on the way to Jackson and Yellowstone. I'm already one

room short with the crime scene."

 

<Great, just great,> thought Scully sarcastically. It wasn't as if

they had never shared a room. In six years it had happened twice

before. But those other two times hadn't been after she'd stood in

Mulder's hallway and damn near let him kiss her.

 

<You would have, the only thing that stopped you was that bee.>

 

Although they had yet to speak of that night, the awareness of it

seemed to hang heavy in the air between them.

 

"Any other hotels nearby?" Mulder asked.

 

"Nearest one would be in Aspen, but that's a good twenty miles away.

I'll be losing a couple of guests tomorrow so I'll have more rooms

then, it would just be for tonight."

 

Mulder didn't even glance at Scully. "Fine. Give us the room and

reserve one tomorrow for us."

 

Jerry slid the registrar and a pen across the counter to Mulder.

"Just sign at the bottom." He handed the key to Scully. "It's

number 20, all the way down to the end."

 

Scully silently took the key. <It's no big deal,> she told herself.

 

Mulder finished signing and handed the pen back to Jerry. "What

time tomorrow could we come by and talk to you?"

 

"Any time after eight is fine."

 

Outside the office Mulder took a deep breath. "Love that country

air, Scully."

 

He started walking to the car but turned when he sensed she wasn't

following him. Scully tilted her head towards the end of the motel,

indicating that she was going to walk.

 

<Can't get in the car with him, can you?> She mentally chided

herself as she started down the sidewalk. <Honestly! We're both

adults here, but then, that's the problem, isn't it?>

 

Upon reaching Room 20 Mulder had already pulled both their suitcases

from the trunk and was waiting for her to open the door. Scully was

glad for the cover of darkness, it hid the sudden flush that had

come to her face as she unlocked the door. She turned to pick up

her suitcase but Mulder already had it firmly in hand. "I've got

them. Go on in."

 

Inside Mulder bumped the door closed with his suitcase and set hers

on the bed. <Bed!> Scully thought. <Bed. Singular. One bed. We've

never shared the same bed, just the same room.> And it was true,

both times before there had been two sets of beds. Not just a

single queen size bed that seemed to shrink in size the longer she

looked at it.

 

At the sound of his suitcase hitting the floor Scully felt the

tension ratchet up a notch. Mulder's shoulder were slumped, his

body language telegraphed how tired he was but his eyes were just as

wary as she imagined her own looked.

 

"Do you want the shower first?" he asked.

 

"Sure. Thanks. I'll hurry." Scully opened up her suitcase and

took out her toiletries bag, robe and pajamas.

 

"Take your time."

 

Scully hurried into the bathroom, grateful for the respite.

Twenty-five minutes later she emerged, freshly scrubbed and

immensely tired. It didn't matter to her now who she slept with, as

long as she got to lay down and close her eyes.

 

Mulder had taken off his suit coat and his shoes and was laying on

the bed. The tv was on but his eyes were closed.

 

"Your turn." Scully said softly. He didn't move.

 

She walked over and touched his shoulder lightly. His eyes popped

open and he sat upright.

 

"Your turn." Scully said again. She walked to the other side of

the bed. Her suitcase still sat on the foot of it so she picked it

up and placed it on the table by the door, near the tv. She laid

the clothes she had just been wearing over the top of the suitcase.

Behind her she heard the bathroom door close.

 

Scully pulled back the covers on her side of the bed, took off her

robe and slipped in. The nightstand and lamp were on Mulder's side

of the bed, she decided to leave the light on for him but she

reached for the remote and turned the tv off. In the bathroom she

heard the shower start up. She laid there for a couple of minutes

listening to the water and then realized that the room was too

quiet. She could actually hear the water hitting his body. It

seemed too intimate so she turned the tv back on.

 

She lay and blearily watched the tv for a few minutes, thinking how

strange it was to be so tired you were unable to fall asleep.

Deciding to give it a try, she turned onto her side and closed her

eyes.

 

The sound of the bathroom door opening set her senses to full alert.

She could hear Mulder moving around, shifting something in his

suitcase and then the mattress tipped as he sat down.

 

Scully swallowed convulsively but kept her eyes shut.

 

Mulder picked up the remote and switched off the tv. She felt the

mattress shift again as Mulder lay down and then the room was

immersed in darkness when he switched off the lamp.

 

For a couple of minutes silence reigned as they both barely

breathed, laying with their backs to each other, their ears working

overtime listening for tell-tale signs from the other.

 

Finally, Mulder spoke. "Good night, Scully."

 

Scully considered - should she return the good night and let him

know that she was still awake or should she lie still and fake it?

But then, if he was saying it he knew she was awake.

 

"Good night, Mulder. Sleep well."

 

"Mmmm. If I start hogging the covers just hit me."

 

"Just as long as you stay on your side of the bed."

 

"You know, Scully, it wouldn't kill you to share. My legs are a lot

longer, I can't stretch out flat like you." Even as he spoke

Mulder's foot wandered over to rub against her leg. Scully smiled

into the dark and kicked it back where it belonged.

 

"Don't make me hurt you, Mulder."

 

"Ooooh, Scully, is that a promise?" She could hear the leer in his

voice. But it was the same gentle teasing he always dished out to

her and it dispelled some of the the tension between them.

 

"Good night, Mulder." she said firmly.

 

"Night."

 

For several minutes Scully lay and listened to the comforting sound

of his deep, even breathing. Her awareness of him was acute. She

could feel the heat coming from him. The smell of his shampoo and

soap was especially strong since he had just showered. Her mind

wandered, replaying that night in his hallway, the intensity of his

gaze.

 

The way his lips had parted as he leaned down.

 

She had felt the whisper of his breath and the slightest pressure

from his lips when the bee had shocked her from her Mulder-induced

stupor.

 

<Crazy. It's crazy to think of him this way. When we nearly kissed

it was an impulse of the moment. We were upset, clinging to straws.

I'd resigned. I wasn't his partner. It was legal. And now,>

Scully mentally sighed, <Now it's not. Now we're partners again and

things have to go back to the way they were.>

 

It was a long time before her mind stopped racing and allowed her to

sleep. Even so, from time to time she woke up suddenly in the

night. It had been so long since she had slept next to another

person that her internal radar went off almost every time she or

Mulder shifted positions.

 

Around five in the morning Mulder rolled and tossed one leg

possessively over hers. Scully woke up confused anew to find him

next to her. She shifted her legs to move his but his leg was slack

and heavy across them. Not wanting to risk waking him up by kicking

his leg she willed herself to relax into her pillow and ignore the

rapid beating of her heart.

 

She turned her head to look at him. A streetlight filtered through

the curtains and she could clearly make him out. Mulder lay nearly

diagonal across the bed, his left leg trapping hers. He was on his

right side with his left arm with pulled close to his chest and his

right arm was tucked under his pillow. Despite the proximity of his

lower body, his upper body was still on his side of the bed. His

face was relaxed, looking younger, more boyish. His covers had been

kicked off and he lay in just a t-shirt and his boxers.

 

His lips . . . <Stop it, Dana!> His lips were slightly parted.

<Just like that night in the hall.> She could see the darker shadow

of stubble on his cheeks and chin. As she watched, fascinated, his

lips moved, forming a single word.

 

"Scully."

 

He hadn't spoken it aloud but she still shivered. Two syllables

that made the weight of his leg the most arousing sensation she'd

experienced to date. Her mind raced as she considered how it might

feel to be held beneath all of him. How those lips would kiss her.

 

<So close. We were so close.>

 

Beneath his eyelids she could see his eyes flickering back and

forth. Was he dreaming about her? If so, was it a Good Dream? Or

was he dreaming about a case and she just happened to be in it?

Irritated at the bent her thoughts were taking Scully turned her

face away from him.

 

"Oh God, Scully." He practically moaned it.

 

Suddenly it was unbearable.

 

Scully sat straight up, pulling her legs from beneath his and made

for her suitcase.

 

Mulder pushed himself up so he was nearly sitting.

 

"Wha . . . Scully?" He seemed dazed.

 

Confused.

 

But not nearly as confused as she was.

 

"It's all right, Mulder," she sounded calm at least. "Just go back

to sleep."

 

"What time is it?" Mulder asked as he flopped back down onto the bed.

 

Scully picked up her watch from next to the suitcase. "Just after

five."

Scully found the sweats she was looking for and headed into the

bathroom. She quickly changed and tried to ignore the way her hands

trembled as she tied her shoes.

 

She shut off the light as she came out of the bathroom and the room

was plunged into darkness. Scully started for the door, but

temporarily blinded, she walked right into the edge of the tv table.

 

"Damn it!" She swore out of frustration and embarrassment.

 

"Where are you going?" Mulder asked, his voice still husky from

sleep.

 

"I was going to run."

 

"Hold up a minute and I'll come with you."

 

<Ah, but Mulder, I was running _from_ you.>

 

"I'll be outside."

 

She stood outside the door, stretching and feeling foolish. This

was a case, this was work. This was not a good time to try and

resolve what had occurred <nearly occurred> between them.

 

In the few times before when Scully had actually consented to run

with him, Mulder had always held back on account of her shorter

legs. This morning he found himself wondering what had gotten into

her. He could barely keep up.

 

*********

Impulse 3/7

******

Aspen Diner

Cooper, WY

 

Mulder slumped in the corner of the diner's booth. It had been a

long and frustrating day. Agent Pehrson had been right about the

town's close mouthed tendencies. Not even the sheriff had been

helpful, but then, according to Whitman's notes he'd been caught

sneaking out of his deputy's house at three a.m. with the man's

prize shotgun. Out of nearly fifty people they had approached, only

three had been forthcoming.

 

True to his word Jerry had let them into Room 9 of the Valley View

Motel that morning. He'd been obviously uncomfortable but had

answered their questions. No, he didn't know what the agents were

fighting about. He had witnessed Agent Whitman running up the

street with Pehrson in hot pursuit.

 

The two had gone into Whitman's room, he'd heard them arguing. The

other guests were coming out of their rooms so he'd gone to ask them

to keep it down. As he got to the door he'd heard a loud crashing

sound. He had knocked on the door. No one answered but he heard a

thudding noise start inside.

 

Hesitantly he had opened the door to see Pehrson looming over

Whitman, repeatedly hitting him on the head with what turned out

later to be Whitman's laptop computer.

 

Blood had been everywhere. He'd tried in vain to get Pehrson to

stop. At that point the sheriff had shown up. He'd been driving by

and noticed all the people milling about in front of the motel. The

two of them together had been able to drag Pehrson off Whitman.

 

What was left of Whitman, anyway. The damage to his head had been

extensive. Whitman had been dead at the scene, no first aid was

rendered.

 

Standing in that airless motel room Mulder had felt sick to his

stomach. Typically crime scenes didn't effect him much but this one

bothered him. After 17 years of working side-by-side with someone,

to have taken their life . . . what could have moved Pehrson to

murder? He could admit to himself that there were times when he

had been angry with Scully, enough that if she had been a man he

might have taken a swing at her. So many times her refusal to see

the truth that was so plainly in front of her face had frustrated

him to no end.

 

But Pehrson himself couldn't understand what had happened. And, if

Jerry's wife Lisa was to be believed, most of the people in Aspen

Valley were having the same problem.

 

It was Lisa who had tipped Whitman off to the unusual goings-ons in

the first place. She was a gossip, she admitted it freely. She

attributed the troubles to beginning shortly after a small

earthquake earlier that summer.

 

It had been a small one, 2.1 on the Richter scale, enough to excite

the locals but attracting little media attention. About a week

after the quake people had begun acting strangely.

 

Mulder's personal favorite was the story of the teenaged boy who had

steadfastly refused to cut his hair, much to his parents chagrin.

One night after he'd come home from hanging out with his friends his

father had jumped him in the yard, hog-tied him like an errant calf

and shaved his head.

 

But there were other stories. People breaking into each other's

homes and stealing furniture, pets, a sweater. One rancher had

rustled his neighbor's herd of cattle. A farmer had deliberately

driven his tractor through another man's barn after they'd had a

fistfight at the local bar.

 

It seemed to Lisa there was hardly a family in town that hadn't been

effected one way or another. When Mulder and Scully had gone to

interview these people they all maintained that it had nothing to do

with the bank robbery and was really none of their business.

 

Mrs. Jenkins had seemed exasperated to have more agents show up on

her doorstep asking about her husband's would-be career in bank

heists but she agreed to speak with them. From her they had gleaned

that Hank Jenkins was a quiet hardworking man whose cattle ranch had

supported him and his family for the past fifty years. Hank was

nearly 75 now and had been slowing down in the past couple of years.

 

Working the cows had never made them rich but they were

"comfortable" as Mrs. Jenkins put it. But Hank had begun speaking

of how they should have had more.

 

"I suppose he just took it into his head that the money was his

reward for working so hard for so many years." Mrs. Jenkins had

looked thoughtfully through the front window for a few moments

before continuing.

 

"I got the phone call from the bank and I just couldn't believe it.

A couple of hours later Hank came home and I confronted him. He

broke down and started crying just like our boys did when they were

children and got caught doing something they oughtn't. Driving him

back into town he stared at those sacks of money like he'd never

seen them before. It was like he woke up in the middle of a

nightmare and found out it was real."

 

So now Mulder sat in air-conditioned comfort trying to piece

everything together. His first thought was that the earthquake had

set people's nerves jangling and they had acted irrationally in

response to it. But the incidents had continued over nearly three

months.

 

It had to be environmental, no one outside of Aspen Valley

(excepting Agent Pehrson) seemed to be effected. There were a few

instances of aberrant behavior in the other two towns but most of

them were centered around Cooper. Strangely, children didn't seem

to be effected, only adults. Mulder mentally scratched off crop

dusting, tv signals and something in the water.

 

But what?

 

He looked up to ask Scully a question and then paused. She seemed

to have been distancing herself from him all day. Usually she

didn't seem to mind his little intrusions into her personal space

but today she had taken care to walk farther away from him, sit

further over.

 

She'd seemed annoyed last night when they'd had to share a room.

But then, she often seemed annoyed with him. After six years,

Scully sometimes still seemed more of a mystery than the first day

she'd walked into his office. Other times it was almost as if they

could read each other's minds. She understood him, that was

certain. She understood his motivations and his fears.

 

<So much for unspoken communication> he thought wryly. All these

years he'd thought she understood just how much she meant to him.

But she hadn't. She'd thought he was still merely tolerating her

presence in his office and his life. That she'd been holding him

back. That he didn't need her.

 

He thought about that night. That horrible, wonderful, awful night

when she had come to tell him she was leaving him. And she had

meant it. So he'd broken down and confessed that he did need her.

She had taken up residence in all the empty places inside him that

he'd once thought only Samantha would fill. She'd made him whole.

He owed her everything and she owed him nothing.

 

Neither of them had talked about what had occurred in his hallway

but he could sense it just beneath the surface. Outwardly they had

acted the same. Inside Mulder felt the emotions roiling so close to

the surface that he was afraid one of these days he'd reach out to

touch her and be unable to pull away.

 

It had felt so right to hold her in his arms, not for comfort, but

just because he had wanted her close.

 

The sensation of her lips against his forehead.

 

Mulder closed his eyes so he could better visualize her face as he

had held it in his hands. Eyes bright with unshed tears, she had

calmly looked into his eyes.

 

Into his soul.

 

Past all the bullshit he used as a defense mechanism. At that

moment he had known that she truly saw him for who he was and loved

him for it, regardless. But was it the same kind of love he felt

for her or did she see him as just a friend, a co-worker? Sometimes

he sensed that Scully cared for him far more deeply that she could

admit. The rest of the time she seemed to be merely putting up with

him out of a sense of duty.

 

"Mulder?"

 

His eyes flew open and met hers across the table.

 

She looked tired. He knew she had awakened erratically during the

night. He had barely been able to sleep himself, finally falling

into dreams in the wee hours of the morning. And then he had been

dreaming of her. Dreaming of what they could have been doing in a

shared bed when she had woken him up by leaving abruptly.

 

He'd wondered all day if he had said or done something to clue her

in to what he was dreaming about but there was no right way to ask.

 

<Duh, Mulder, clue. She's avoided you all day. She doesn't feel

like that about you. She never has.>

 

"You look tired, Scully."

 

"I'm fine." She dropped her gaze. Why wouldn't she meet his eyes?

 

The waitress came over to take their order. Her name tag identified

her as "Sheila". Sheila's red hair was nearly the same shade as

Scully's but it had been permed and teased until it stuck out from

her head a good six inches in all directions. Sheila leaned over

the table to unnecessarily straighten the salt and pepper shakers,

treating Mulder to a glimpse of her ample cleavage. Mulder's jaw

went slack as he took in the view.

 

"What can I do for you?" she asked, looking with undisguised

admiration at Mulder.

 

Mulder raised his eyes to her face and smiled, turning on the charm.

"Cheeseburger and fries."

 

Sheila nodded and began writing as if Mulder had told her the

meaning of life. She looked over at Scully with barely disguised

disdain. "And for you?"

 

"Could I please get the grilled chicken with rice?"

 

Sheila took one last lingering look at Mulder and then turned to the

kitchen without writing Scully's order down. Mulder leaned towards

her over the table, his smirk and dancing eyes telegraphing his

amusement at this turn of events.

 

Scully stood up and excused herself before he could come up with a

smart remark. "I'm going to wash my hands. I'll be back in a

minute."

 

Inside the bathroom Scully locked the door and began washing her

hands mechanically. The low self-esteem she'd suffered as a

teenager seemed to reassert itself at the strangest times. She was

light years away from the awkward 14 year old who'd watched with

envy as Melissa had bloomed and attracted the boys' attention.

 

<Jealous,> she realized in amazement. <I'm jealous. It's a sad day

for womens' lib when an educated woman becomes jealous of a busty

waitress in a podunk town. And why? Because her colleague flirts

with said waitress!>

 

Scully silently took stock of herself in the mirror and smiled

ruefully. <Colleague? Mulder means more to you than just a

colleague and you know it.> She began to dry her hands and then

paused.

 

<"She was Mulder's chickadee . . ."> Frohicke's voice echoed loud

in her ears. <"Good lookin'"> he'd added hopefully, as if it

helped. Scully had felt sick, literally physically ill, standing

there trying to retain her composure in front of the Lone Gunmen.

 

And then to find Mulder and Diana staring into each other's eyes,

holding hands.

 

She'd fled.

 

There was no other word for it. She _fled_ outside where she'd

numbly got into the car and sat, trying to will herself into going

back inside. She hadn't been able to do it. She'd faced down

killers, mutants and United States Senators but she'd been unable to

handle Mulder and his former lover reunited. She'd chickened out

and called Mulder on the phone, successfully luring him back to the

office.

 

And yet, since then, hadn't Mulder told her that she was more than

just a Girl Friday to him? Hadn't he literally gone to the ends of

the earth to save her life? But where did his feelings of loyalty

end?

 

That night, in his hall, she had hoped they were moving on to a new

level in their relationship. But Mulder had made no move to pick up

where they left off. Not even last night when they'd been forced

into cramped circumstances.

 

And for that she was grateful, if only a little disappointed.

Mulder had already insinuated himself into nearly every facet of her

life. A relationship with Mulder outside of the office would be too

much.

 

Too intense.

 

Against the rules.

 

And, apparently, not something he wanted to pursue.

 

She'd come up with a dozen explanations for his calling out her name

this morning and not one of them had anything to do with deeper

feelings than friendship. Perhaps that night in the hall he had

just been caught up in the emotions of the moment. Perhaps he'd

never meant to take it as far as it had gone. Now that they were

partners again it was best to forget about it. Maybe, for once,

Mulder was using common sense.

 

Maybe he just wasn't attracted to her in that way. The way she was

attracted to him. She was his best friend, that was all. Not his

type. Not tall, leggy, well endowed - like Sheila out there. Or

Phoebe. Or Bambi. Or Detective White. Or Diana Fowley.

 

That was fine. She had him in a way those women never would. She

had his respect, his trust, his friendship. And it was enough. It

had been enough for six long years now. It was time to stop

torturing herself with thought of what could be and just accept what

was.

 

She took a deep breath and left to rejoin Mulder.

 

********

Impulse 4/7

******

Silver Horseshoe Bar

Cooper, WY

 

Mulder felt like he had "OUTSIDER" tattooed on his forehead when he

stepped inside the bar. All heads turned and looked at him and then

turned back away, as if he had been found wanting. True, his suit

stuck out among the Western dressed crowd. He walked to an open

seat at the edge of the bar and sat down. He nodded a greeting to

the aged cowboy on his right. The man nodded back and leaned in to

whisper conspiratorially.

 

"You're one of them FBI agents, aren't ya?"

 

"Yes. Agent Mulder." Mulder nodded. "And you are?"

 

"Bob."

 

"Can I buy you a drink, Bob?"

 

"Suppose that wouldn't hurt." Bob gestured at the bartender who was

down at the other end of the bar, engrossed in a conversation with

two other men. The bartender pushed himself back from the counter

and ambled slowly towards Mulder and Bob.

 

"Yeah?" The bartender looked at Mulder without interest.

 

"Hey, Paul, this here's another one of those G-men, looking into

Hank's robbery."

 

"Actually I'm here investigating the two agents who came to

investigate Hank's robbery." Mulder interjected.

 

"Humph." Paul wasn't impressed.

 

Bob seemed to be more helpful. "Oh, yeah. I was real sorry to hear

what happened there. I was here the night they fought, you know."

 

"You're here every night." Paul deadpanned.

 

"True enough. So it follows I was here that night. At first it was

the older fella, Whitley, Whitmore . . ."

 

"Whitman." Mulder helped.

 

"Yeah, him. He was sitting right here next to me, like you are.

His partner . . ."

 

"Pehrson." Mulder put in before Bob could slaughter his name, too.

 

"Yeah, the big guy. He was over at one of the tables. Both of them

were at first but then Whitman came over here and started talkin' to

me. He was askin' me 'bout whether I'd done anything strange or

knowed someone who did."

 

"And had you?"

 

"I'm gettin' to it!"

 

Chastened Mulder sat back and decided to let Bob's diatribe run it's

course. Paul set a glass of beer down in front of each of them.

Bob hurriedly finished the beer he'd been drinking and reached for

his new glass.

 

"You gonna drink that, Agent Mulder? Or can't you drink on duty?"

Bob eyed Mulder's glass hopefully.

 

"I'm taking myself off duty." Mulder took a drink. It was slightly

bitter, but good. He took another drink.

 

"Where was I?" Bob queried.

 

"You were telling Agent Whitman whether you'd done anything strange

lately."

 

"Strange being a relative term, eh?" Bob cackled. "Actually there

was one time, about a month ago. My wife'd been after me to fix up

this gazebo out in the back yard. Nag, nag, nag. One night I was

coming home from here and I knew what she was going to say to me as

soon as I came through the door. I thought about it all the way

home. She never sat out in the stupid thing. It was a genuine pain

to have to paint it every couple of years. I'd never liked the

gazebo in the first place. So when I got home I marched out there

with a can of gasoline and doused it. Thing went up like a roman

candle. BOOM!" He smacked the top of the bar for emphasis.

 

Bob laughed some more and then pulled the brim of his cowboy hat up

to offer his forehead for Mulder's inspection. "Burnt my eyebrows

clean off, I was standing too close."

 

Sure enough, Bob's eyebrows were missing.

 

"Difference between me and some of them other stories is I don't

feel the least bit sorry for setting that thing off."

 

Bob drained his glass and turned to Mulder. "You still buying?"

Mulder waved at Paul to bring Bob another.

 

"Sure. Do you remember why Pehrson and Whitman were fighting?"

 

"Yep. Whitman sat where you're sitting and I told him the same

story I just told you. Then the tall one, Pehrson, he came over and

started in telling Whitman that it didn't matter one way or the

other why Jenkins had robbed the bank, only that he had done it.

Whitman told him he knew he was trying to pick a fight and that it

wasn't going to work. They started in arguing over other grievances

between them, namely that Pehrson thought Whitman and his wife were

sneaking around together."

 

<Holy shit!> Mulder thought but kept his expression neutral.

 

"Then Whitman took a glass and hit Pehrson upside the head with it.

He tore out of here in a hurry soon as he'd done it but the big guy

got right up and chased him down. Next thing I heard Whitman had

his head smashed in."

 

Bob shook his head in disbelief at the antics of city folk and

sucked at his dentures thoughtfully.

 

"You want my theory?" Bob asked hopefully.

 

"Absolutely." Mulder said and finished his beer, gesturing at Paul

to come back over and take care of both their empty glasses.

 

"My theory is that people aren't really doing anything that they

hadn't thought of before. I know I'd thought of burning that gazebo

a million times before I actually went and did it. Hank used to sit

here and talk about how someday he was going to get him a boatload

of money, one way or another. I think he thought about knocking off

that bank for years. And I'd bet that those two agents had fought

before."

 

Mulder nodded, he'd been thinking along the same lines. "Any ideas

on why they'd suddenly go ahead and do it?"

 

"Nope. Maybe they were drunk. I think just about everyone who's

pulled a stunt lately has spent time in this bar."

 

An alarm went off at the back of Mulder's mind. But just being

drunk couldn't explain it, there had to be something else.

 

"Were they doing weird things before the earthquake?"

 

"Earthquake? You think the earthquake has anything to do with it?"

 

"It's a thought." Mulder offered.

 

"It's a peculiar one."

 

"True, but I specialize in the peculiar."

 

For a while Mulder sat at the bar with Bob, sipping at a beer and

listening to the other customers grouse about their wives, cars and

politicians. Around 10 o'clock, feeling restless, he decided to

leave. He paid for their drinks and slid a five dollar bill over to

Bob.

 

"This my informant pay?" Bob quipped.

 

"Something like that. You be careful driving home."

 

"Shoot, sonny, I've been drinking this stuff so long it's like water

to my system."

 

"Good night. Thanks for helping."

 

"Don't know if it was much help, but you're welcome. You watch your

thoughts now."

 

Mulder half saluted and went outside. He began walking the two

blocks back to the motel, thinking of Agents Whitman and Pehrson and

how they, too, had passed this way.

 

And he thought of Scully. She had been silent through dinner

tonight. Silent all the way back to the motel. He'd asked her if

she wanted to come down to the bar with him and she'd quickly shook

her head and gone to her room.

 

Their room.

 

Last night it had been their room. Tonight he was two doors down

from her in room 18.

 

Mulder paused outside his room and considered. Should he go tell

Scully what he had just learned at the bar? He looked at his watch,

nearly 10:30. She'd be ready for bed by now, wearing those silky

pajamas she favored. He remembered how the fabric had whispered

against the sheets all night, driving him slowly insane.

 

But then, considering her attitude today, he was better off sleeping

alone. Mulder opened his door and walked into the room, a carbon

copy of the one he'd been in last night.

 

A carbon copy of the room Agent Whitman had been killed in.

 

No. No more Whitman tonight. He was trying to figure out why

Scully had turned cold.

 

Scully wasn't really cold. That was the secret she tried to hide

from him, from the world at large. She acted aloof but Mulder

suspected that growing up moving from base to base had made her

wary. She didn't make friends easily because she hated to lose

people. Mulder knew that her attachments to people, once made, were

deeply felt.

 

She had insulated herself from others in the hopes that she'd never

be hurt. "I Am A Rock" could be her theme song.

 

If she didn't care for him she would have left him long ago. He

knew she cared. Hell, she had stayed even when she thought he

didn't need her. Why, then, was she pushing him away now? Why

couldn't she just drop her defenses again and let him in?

 

She was always so calm, cool, collected. Just once he'd like to see

her lose control. Preferably while both of them were naked.

 

<Whoa, boy! Don't go there.> His mind warned.

 

<Too late, I'm there.>

 

Mulder began to pace. Images tumbled through his mind. Scully on

their first case, taking off her robe and revealing herself to him.

Reaching out to touch the small of her back. Did she know that

every time he had touched her there since he remembered in stunning

detail what it looked like bare before him?

 

Well, not now. He could only imagine what the tattoo looked like.

He could never get up the courage to ask her to see it. He'd had

his chance in the Antarctic but there were a lot more important

things going on at the time. He'd been too panicked to look.

 

Scully.

 

Scully in her unguarded moments, when he made her laugh before she

had a chance to think about it and stop herself. Scully when she

would offer a witty rejoinder to one of his innuendos. It always

caught him off-guard when she did it. He'd keep a straight face but

inside he'd be reeling with delight and anticipation.

 

He remembered with perfect clarity all the times he'd thought she

was gone forever. After Duane Barry, going to her apartment to find

all that blood. A car trunk that held only her cross. The long

corridor at a medical examiners office when they'd called him in to

identify a woman they thought was Scully. A smoldering bridge in

Pennsylvania. A trashed hotel room in Germantown.

 

"Mulder, it's me." Her voice full of stark fear the night the alien

bounty hunter had kidnapped her.

 

Twice now he had come to the hospital to find her unconscious,

hooked to life support. Both times it felt like someone had sucked

the air from his lungs and then kicked his legs out from under him.

 

Running up an alley in desperate pursuit of Gerald Schnauz. Racing

across town when he realized that Tooms had decided to go after her.

Bursting through the door of Donnie Pfaster's house.

 

He got to hold her that time. Hold her for the few minutes it took

to regain her composure and pull away. She hadn't wanted to look

weak in front of Agent Bocks and the other officers.

 

Weak was one adjective that Mulder would never use to describe Scully.

 

Intelligent. Beautiful. Loyal. Trustworthy. All good words. But

words that could have described a cocker spaniel. They didn't even

come close to capturing Scully. The word he really wanted to use

was . . .

 

<Mine. I want her to be mine. In every sense of the word.>

 

Again he saw Scully in that motel room in Oregon clad in nothing but

her underwear. He saw Scully as she appeared only in his fantasies.

No longer prim and proper but unbound, unleashed. He could almost

feel her breath hot in his ear as she urgently whispered his name.

 

He pictured the two of them in bed. Not in the throes of passion

but making love nonetheless. She'd be in pajamas, sleepy in his

arms. He ached just thinking of how close they'd be, every breath

shared between them. The weight of her on his chest a talisman

against bad dreams.

 

<Stop. This is bad, very bad.>

 

Mulder always felt guilty for thinking of her that way, he doubted

she would approve of his ruminations. Most of the time he could

train himself to think of Scully only on a professional level.

 

But then she'd give him a rare smile. She'd brush past him in the

office. She'd argue vehemently against one of his theories. She'd

simply say his name and his mind would start wandering.

 

All these years he had kept himself practically as a monk. He had

tried to have relationships outside of Scully but it never worked

out. Their work was too demanding, required too much time on the

road, it was too complex and sometimes just too strange to explain

to others.

 

It wasn't that he didn't find other women attractive, he did. But

they always seemed pale shadows to Scully. Not as smart. Not as

self-assured. Even, heaven help him, not as argumentative. Most

were too coy. He didn't want to play games and he knew Scully

despised them. And yet, here they were, playing the biggest mind

game of all.

 

Who would flinch first?

 

<Mine. Scully, don't you realize that you're mine? Haven't I

earned the right yet to hold you?>

 

Distantly Mulder realized that he had been standing in front of

Scully's door, knocking. She opened the door and looked up at him

quizzically.

 

"Mulder, what is it?"

 

Although she was wearing a robe he could see she had on silky

pajamas in a shade of midnight blue. The urge to hold her was

overwhelming.

 

Mulder pushed into her room, propelling Scully backwards so fast she

nearly stumbled, and slammed the door shut.

 

"Mulder, what the hell?"

 

"Mine", he said.

 

*******

Impulse 5/7

******

Valley View Motel

Cooper, WY

 

Scully's mind was racing. <What the hell was going on?>

 

Mulder stood blocking her door and breathing heavily. He was

staring at her. Blatantly staring at her. Scully had heard the

phrase "undressed her with his eyes" but she had never thought it

had a basis in reality until just now.

 

Unbidden, her stomach fluttered at the thought.

 

<Stop it! Think! What's going on? Talk to him.>

 

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

 

Mulder continued to look at her for a few more seconds then he

turned to the door -

 

<Oh, good.> Scully thought.

 

- and locked it.

 

<Oh. God.>

 

He turned back to her, his eyes dark and unreadable.

 

"Mulder, what are you doing?" Scully fought to keep her voice firm.

This was going to turn out to be one of _those_ dreams, she was

sure of it.

 

"Mine." Mulder said again and took a step toward her.

 

Scully backed up. What did he mean "mine"? Her stomach flopped

over again as the possible implications sank in.

 

"Don't you see, Scully? All these years and I've never, I've

waited, I've . . ." His voice trailed off as his hands reached for

her.

 

Scully took another step back. If she could just get him to come

forward a little more she was sure she could get around him to the

door. The bathroom. Her weapon.

 

Mulder gave her a predatory grin. He'd been watching her eyes dart

around the room, assessing the situation.

 

"Scully." he said and took another step forward. She stepped back.

 

<Stalking me. Mulder is stalking me. Oh, god, I don't believe this.>

 

Scully went to move around him but his hands gripped her shoulders

and he stepped forward, pushing her back against the wall. She

raised her hands to try and to push him away but her arms felt heavy

and weak. Horrified, she realized she was shaking.

 

"Nervous, Scully?" Mulder asked in a husky voice as he bent to

nuzzle her ear. "It's just me."

 

"What's going on, Mulder? Have you been drinking?"

 

She could smell cigarettes on his suit coat. She knew he'd gone to

the bar but he didn't seem drunk. It wasn't like the night he'd

shown up on her doorstep reeking of alcohol and tobacco. There

wasn't a morgue around for miles tonight. He moved closer, pinning

her to the wall with the weight of his body as he placed small

kisses along her ear.

 

"Mulder." Good. At least her voice hadn't betrayed her. "Mulder.

You need to let me go. Tell me what's going on."

 

"Need? Do you know what I need?" he whispered in a voice that

promised to show her exactly what he needed. Mulder cupped her face

in his hands and gently kissed her forehead.

 

Scully trembled harder. This was all wrong. She should be kicking

his ass. She should be angry. But Mulder was slowly kissing his

way down her face, lightly brushing her eyebrows, her cheeks and the

tip of her nose with his lips. She let out a soft moan.

 

"Scuhlee." He drew her name out on a sigh as he began kissing along

her jawline.

 

"Mulder, please, we can't do this." She'd meant to say it firmly

but it came out as a whisper.

 

"Why not?" He whispered it into her ear and then sucked her earlobe

into his mouth and tongued it gently.

 

"I, oh, we can't work together like this."

 

<Conviction, Dana. Say it like you mean it.>

 

"I know. We can't work like this anymore." He was kissing her neck

and the stubble on his chin scraped lightly across her sensitized

flesh. Scully felt her knees buckle but Mulder was still pressing

her firmly against the wall, holding her up.

 

"Don't. I mean it. Don't do this. We can't." Now her voice was

shaking too. She felt the thin thread tying her to sanity pull

taut. If he didn't stop this right now they'd both regret it.

 

<In the morning. You'll regret this in the morning, when you wake

up in his arms. Won't you?>

 

Mulder's hands had traveled down her arms to pull on the sash of her

robe.

 

"Mulder, please." She was whimpering now.

 

<Stop him. What's wrong with you?>

 

She couldn't resist him. Didn't really want to, but her mind was

doggedly trying to grapple with why this was happening.

 

"Please what?" He pulled his head up to look her in the eyes. His

eyes were dark and wide, with a burning intensity that sent her

heart into overdrive. The blood was pounding in her ears, blocking

out rational thought. Her robe slipped to the floor.

 

<Yeah, Dana. Please what? Don't? Or don't stop?>

 

"Tell me what you want, Scully."

 

His right hand had come back up to her cheek and his thumb was

lightly tracing her bottom lip. Her mouth went dry.

 

<What I want? You. Oh god, Mulder. I shouldn't want this but I do .

. .>

 

Scully's eyes closed of their own volition. She couldn't look at

him, she was drowning. This was so unfair. Six years. Six years

of denying her attraction to him. Six years of building walls

between them and now he had her against a wall. It was a fantasy

made real. He was her knight in shining armor rescuing her from six

years of rigid, proper conduct.

 

When she spoke her voice was low and broken. "Just once . . . I

want to kiss you, Mulder."

 

She didn't dare reopen her eyes to gauge his reaction. One kiss,

that was all she needed. One kiss and she could say they had

crossed that line and be content. One kiss would end all the

speculation. And then they could go back to the way things were

before.

 

Mulder's lips brushed hers experimentally. Her hands, which had

been flat against his chest to try to push him away, gripped the

lapels of his suit coat.

 

"Mine." Mulder whispered and then sealed her mouth with his own.

 

<Please don't let me wake up.>

 

Even as she thought it Scully knew this was no dream. Those few

times she had given in and fantasized about Mulder had never come

close to this. The solid feel of him. The heat of him. The smell

of him. A thousand little details her imagination couldn't evoke.

His lips moved slowly but thoroughly across hers, drinking her in,

savoring the contact.

 

She moved to take his lower lip between her teeth and Mulder groaned

into her mouth. He moved his hands to her hips and thrust against

her. The evidence of his arousal pulsed hard and insistent against

her stomach.

 

<One kiss. It was just supposed to be one kiss.>

 

"Mulder!" she gasped and lowered her chin, pulling away from their

kiss.

 

Mulder continued to rock against her slowly, his hands skimming up,

across her belly to her ribs. She rested her head against his

chest, feeling his heart beating wildly against her cheek.

 

His thumbs brushed against the sides of her breasts. Scully arched

into his hands instinctively. Mulder leaned down to kiss her where

her pajama top formed a vee, his breath hot against her skin.

Scully dropped her head back to allow him access.

 

Mulder continued kissing her lightly on her shoulders and neck. He

moved one of his legs between hers, bending his knee so that his

thigh came into contact with her center. The friction sent a little

jolt of electricity through her. Her hands moved to his shoulders

and she thrilled at their width and strength.

 

<Stop. Stop this now before it goes too far.>

 

His mouth moved up her neck and back to her lips. Now his lips were

tugging at hers more insistently. His tongue darted out and teased

her mouth into opening. The heat of his tongue stroking along hers

sent molten honey sliding through her veins. His arms slid around

her, pulling her away from the wall and closer to him.

 

Scully returned the kiss, slipping her tongue into his mouth. Her

arms twined around his neck and she went up on tip-toe, trying to

mold herself to him. She laced her fingers through his hair as

their mouths moved deeply on each other.

 

For several minutes they slowly explored each other's mouths,

learning taste and texture. The world narrowed to only this moment.

All thoughts of job, of regulations withered in the heat generated

between them. Scully had become a creature of sensation. She was

drowning in the nearness of Mulder and the sheer bliss of having him

hold her like this. His mouth was gentle on hers, nipping and

biting softly as one hand slowly caressed her back and the other

supported her suddenly heavy head.

 

Breathless they parted and she looked up at him. His eyes were full

of wonder and tenderness.

 

"Scully, can I kiss you again?" His gaze turned hungry and his hands

were already tightening on her in anticipation.

 

<No! Stop now. Stop while you can.>

 

"I, oh . . ." Scully trailed off as he once again began rocking her

against his leg. She trembled. It had been so long since anyone

had held her like this. That it was happening now, that it was

Mulder, filled her with a drunken languor. She was hypnotized by

the gentle rhythm he set. By his wet swollen lips. By his darkened

eyes watching her intently. The soft aching sound of her name as he

whispered it.

 

<I can't. I can't stop this. This is what I want.>

 

He broke the rhythm and pulled her roughly against him. The world

exploded in an unexpected white hot flash. Scully let out a muffled

cry and clutched his arms.

 

<Oh my god. I never knew. I can't believe this. Oh, Mulder.>

 

With a passion she had never before felt she pulled his head down to

meet her own and kissed him hard. Her hands pushed his suit coat

off and pulled at his tie even as she pushed him towards the bed.

 

Mulder met her urgency with his own. Her pajama top lay open and

his fingers were tugging at her waist, pulling the bottoms down.

Scully stepped out of them as she frantically undid his pants.

 

Mulder's hands raced to help her as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

His pants dropped to around his ankles and he stepped backwards out

of them, tossing his shirt to the floor. He toed off his shoes and

stripped off his t-shirt. Bending down he hurriedly tore off his

socks. As he stood up he boldly ran his hands up her legs and

cupped her buttocks. Scully shrugged her shoulders to shed her top

and then reached for him.

 

Skin on skin. The contact was dizzying. Their mouths sought each

other's lips, eyelids, throats, ears in a frenzy of kissing,

licking, nuzzling and inhaling. Scully felt as if she were falling

and then realized that Mulder had pulled her down to the bed with him.

 

"Oh yes. Mulder."

 

Mulder rolled so that he was atop her, his mouth trailing fire as he

slowly worked his way towards her breasts. Scully arched up beneath

him to encourage him. His erection prodded her hip and she shifted

so that he fell between her legs, pressing long and heavy against

her, making her dizzy with lust.

 

"Mulder." she groaned as he nuzzled her left breast. A light sweat

broke out across her whole body. She pulled his mouth against her

and he obliged her, swirling his tongue over her nipple before

pulling it into his mouth and suckling gently. He moved to her

other breast and laved the turgid peak with his tongue before biting

it softly.

 

<Mulder. This is real. This is Mulder.>

 

Her hands surveyed the wide expanse of his shoulders and back,

mapping out the dips and ridges she encountered. She could feel his

muscles flexing and quivering beneath her hands and she knew that

his tension matched her own. Why then, was he still going so

slowly? She felt greedy, she wanted more.

 

Scully found the waistband of his boxers and tried to pull at them

but Mulder's torso was long and her arms short. She moaned in

frustration.

 

Mulder lifted his body from hers and hurriedly pulled his boxers

off. He knelt to the side of her and traced the top of her panties

with his finger. He bent to kiss her stomach and a wave of heat

rolled through her. Scully shuddered and reached to pull him back

down onto her but he resisted.

 

"I need you, Scully." His voice was hoarse, thick with desire.

 

"Yes. Yes, Mulder, please." She was panting, scarcely able to draw

breath.

 

He slipped her panties off and allowed himself a moment to take in

the sight of her. His eyes rose to meet her own. Deep inside a

surge of love, of tenderness and utter acceptance welled up, closing

off her throat. She could see the same emotions mirrored in

Mulder's eyes.

 

<Love you. Mulder, I love you.>

 

He carefully settled himself between her legs supporting his weight

on one arm while the other hand reached between them to stroke her

lightly.

 

Scully bit her lip to supress the gasp as Mulder slid one finger

deep inside her.

 

"Scuhleeee." Mulder whispered as he slowly eased another finger

into her, stretching her gently, preparing her.

 

"I, oh, please, now. Please, Mulder." Scully was nearly beyond

coherent thought.

 

<Too much, this is too much. Oh, Mulder. Please. Oh god, Mulder,

I need . . .>

 

Mulder removed his fingers and shifted. His erection brushed

against her entrance and then he began to push into her. Scully

could feel herself stretching further to receive him and she tensed

as the pain threatened to overwhelm the pleasure.

 

Mulder stroked back until only the tip of him was still in her.

"Relax, Scully." he said softly. He smiled down at her and slid in

another inch. "Relax."

 

Scully took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her hands found

his butt and urged him forward. He slid a couple inches deeper.

 

<Mulder. This is Mulder. Let go. Stop thinking.>

 

Mulder pressed a little deeper and then withdrew. He smoothed the

hair back from her forehead and kissed it.

 

"My Scully." he whispered and pushed into her again, nearly all the

way.

 

<I am. I am yours.> Scully moved her legs further apart and he

slid all the way in.

 

"Yesssss." His voice was muffled in her hair but she could feel his

breath hot against her scalp. For a moment he lay still inside her

and she could feel his heartbeat against her chest and pulsing deep

within her.

 

Then he pulled back and thrust again. A single bold stroke, quick

and pure.

 

"Ohhhhh." They both groaned at the same time. Mulder flashed her

another smile. Scully returned the smile and wrapped her legs

around him tightly, trapping him inside.

 

"Mine." she said.

 

Mulder kissed her softly. "Yours." he confirmed.

 

Slow and deep, Mulder would thrust into her, dropping kisses along

her brow murmuring words of love and praise. Scully matched his

rhythm easily. The weight of him above her and within her was

perfect. Her hands stroked across his back and she closed her eyes

so she could memorize this moment.

 

<This is real. This is happening. Oh god, Mulder, I love you.>

 

Mulder dropped his head to her shoulder and thrust harder, picking

up the pace and grunting softly at the effort. Pleasure sparkled

across Scully's nerve endings. She kissed his shoulder, his ear,

everywhere she could reach. He tasted of salt and something richer,

the essence of Mulder. Her hands cupped his shoulder blades,

delighting in the play of muscles beneath his skin.

 

"Mine. My Scully." he rasped out and she shuddered at both the low

intimate sound of his voice and the sudden tightening in her belly.

A small chill of fear ran through her. No one had ever possessed

her so completely, so effortlessly.

 

<You never let them.>

 

"Oh. Oh, no." Scully tried to hold back the sensations welling up

inside her. She trembled and moved her hands to Mulder's chest as

if to push him away.

 

"Oh, yeah." Mulder groaned in response and rose to his knees taking

Scully's hips up with him. He thrust harder and deeper. Scully

felt as if the air was being knocked from her lungs as he pushed

further into her.

 

"Mulder, I, oh . . ." She could barely form the words.

 

<This is really going to happen. Oh, god, Mulder. I don't think I

can . . .>

Scully began to whimper. She tried to twist away, panicking as her

body threatened to spin out of control but she couldn't get any

leverage in this position.

 

Mulder felt her thrashing and misunderstood. "C'mon, c'mon. Oh,

Scully. Scully, come for me."

 

<Let it happen. This is Mulder. It's okay. Let it happen.>

 

"Mulder!" Her entire body tensed, straining.

 

<Don't fight it. This is Mulder.>

 

Her eyes slid shut as tiny explosions rocked through her. Her back

arched instinctively just as Mulder pushed into her. The friction

against her sensitive bud blocked out all reason and she splintered

under the intensity. Scully sobbed Mulder's name as the waves

continued to wash over her.

 

Above her Mulder's movements became shorter and less precise. His

hands gripped her hips as she clenched like a silken fist around

him. Letting out a long, low groan he exploded inside her and then

collapsed, partially on top of her.

 

As Scully came back to herself she was aware of Mulder's weight

pressing her into the mattress. His ragged breathing was matched by

her own. The smell of skin, of sex, of her complete surrender

blanketed them. She felt weak, as if her muscles had suddenly

atrophied. She couldn't stop herself from shaking. Tears ran down

her face but she couldn't lift her arms to wipe them.

 

<Don't let him see you cry.>

 

She gulped in air, cursing herself for crying, hoping that Mulder

would remain with his head buried in her hair. Mulder turned onto

his side and raised his head to look at her. Instantly his face

went from sated to stricken.

 

"Scully?" Mulder's voice nearly cracked. He tenderly brushed the

tears from her cheeks, his fingers trembling.

 

"I never . . ." Scully flushed and shifted away from him, suddenly

embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Mulder, it's not you. It's me." Her

breath hitched as she drew in air. She pulled the sheets up around

her and willed herself to breathe evenly.

 

<Don't cry. You're ruining this. He doesn't understand.>

 

Mulder sat back to give her space. His eyes were worried, searching

her face for clues.

 

Scully ducked her head so that her hair covered her face. All her

senses were still jangling and she felt overwhelmed, unable to think

clearly. Mulder was still watching her closely making her feel

claustrophobic.

 

Quickly she got out of the bed and scooped up her robe, putting it

on as she hurried towards the bathroom. Mulder sat motionless on

the bed and watched. His heart contracted painfully, he was sure it

had stopped beating.

 

<Please don't shut me out, Scully.>

 

At the sound of the bathroom door locking behind her he flinched and

closed his eyes.

 

"Fuck." he whispered.

 

*******

Impulse 6/7

******

Valley View Motel

Cooper, WY

 

Scully sat on the edge of the tub with her hands pressed against her

mouth. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

 

<Stop crying. Go back out there.>

 

Unchecked the tears ran down her face and then she angrily swiped at

them.

 

<Grow up, Dana. You can do this. You're ruining everything falling

apart in here. Get control.>

 

And that was exactly the problem. What had sent her running into

the bathroom in the first place. She had no control. She'd had no

control from the moment he had walked in with desire in his eyes.

She had acquiesced with only token resistance, and that only to

appease her conscience. All rational thought had deserted her. She

had wanted this, wanted him, badly. She had acted impulsively. But

then, so had he. What the hell had just happened here?

 

Was this a violation of the trust between them? An imposition on

the friendship that had sustained them both through bitter times?

Or was it Mulder sensing the need in her so secret she could

scarcely acknowledge it?

 

She heard Mulder knock lightly on the door.

 

"Scully?" He called out cautiously.

 

<You're hurting him. This is Mulder, talk to him.>

 

She stood up and turned on the sink, splashing cool water on her

flushed face.

 

"Scully? Are you . . . are you ok?"

 

"I'm fine, Mulder. Give me a minute."

 

She tightened the robe around her and steeled herself to open the

door.

 

***

 

On the other side of the door Mulder had been undergoing

self-castigation of epic proportions.

 

After the door had shut firmly between them he had sat on the bed,

stunned and horribly certain he had just destroyed everything.

 

<You jerk. You asshole. What the hell were you thinking? You

burst into her room and force yourself on her and you expect her to

snuggle up to you afterwards?>

 

Mulder was sure he was going to throw up. His head was pounding.

He got off the bed and pulled his boxers back on. He held his

breath, every nerve alert for a sound, a sign from the bathroom.

 

He went to the door to listen more closely.

 

Nothing. No sounds at all.

 

Mulder swallowed hard.

 

<Talk to her. Explain this. Explain what? Sorry, Scully, your

partner of six years just snapped and decided he couldn't wait one

more second to have you?>

 

He knocked tentatively on the door.

 

"Scully?" He could barely get the word out. His throat was closing

off, he was going to cry.

 

He heard water running. He swallowed again trying to work his voice

loose.

 

"Scully? Are you. . ." <What? Still speaking to me? I'll bet you

want to kill me now.> "Are you ok?"

 

"I'm fine, Mulder. Give me a minute." Her voice was muffled but he

could hear the quaver in it.

 

The water turned off and he backed up as he saw the door handle

start to turn. He felt dizzy and his stomach had clenched into a

small hard knot.

 

Scully opened the door and looked up at him calmly. He could see

she had been crying and he had to fight the urge to run out of the

room and never be heard from again.

 

"Mulder. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bolted like that. God knows

what you must have thought." She offered him a tiny smile.

"Forgive me?"

 

<She doesn't hate you!> Hope flooded through him. Then guilt.

This was all his fault and she was actually asking him for

forgiveness.

 

Mulder cleared his throat. "Scully, you have nothing to apologize

for."

 

Scully stepped forward closing the distance between them to less

than a foot. She dropped her eyes and bit her lip and then lifted

her face with the determined expression he had seen hundreds of

times before.

 

Her hand reached forward and took his, squeezing lightly.

Heartened, Mulder returned the light pressure. His arms felt empty

but the crushing pressure in his chest eased considerably.

 

<Hold her. Pull her closer and hold her.>

 

She was still looking up at him, her gaze unwavering even though she

shivered lightly, as if she were cold.

 

Mulder tugged lightly on her hand, pulling her closer and wrapping

his arms loosely around her. Scully immediately burrowed against

him, her arms reaching around him tightly. He gently rubbed her

back and swayed slightly as if to comfort her.

 

Standing there at that moment, holding her close, Mulder felt a wave

of affection and love wash over him that nearly dropped him to his

knees. It was his fantasy - Scully in his arms. He wondered how

there could be shadow conspiracies and dark hearted men when there

were such experiences to be had. So simple, so profound. The soft

rise and fall of her breasts brushing against him. Her cool hands

on his back. The teasing flutter of her eyelashes against his chest.

 

<Tell her. Say the words "Scully, I love you.">

 

But Mulder was absolutely certain that she knew. That she had read

it in his eyes. He was just as certain that he had seen the love in

her eyes. Had heard it in every gasp and moan. He would never

forget the word "mine" in her throaty voice as she held him inside

her. "Yours" he had told her, completing the vow.

 

"You picked a hell of a time to ditch me, Scully." He whispered

into her hair and tightened his arms around her.

 

She chuffed lightly against him, teasing the hair on his chest and

shook her head.

 

"I didn't ditch you. I left the room to compose myself."

 

"I liked you without composure."

 

She tilted her head back to look at him, searching his eyes

intently. After nearly a minute of silent regard she dropped her

head back to his chest. Her hands stroked slowly up and down along

his spine. When she spoke her voice was so low he almost didn't

catch the words.

 

"This was a first for me."

 

<First?> Mulder's mind raced. <First what? No, that's impossible.

Scully's had other relationships before me.> He waited, knowing

she'd explain when she was ready.

 

She spoke again, her voice a little stronger but still hushed.

"It's not that I didn't enjoy sex. I liked the intimacy but the act

itself seemed rather crude. I don't know, maybe it was my

upbringing, the whole nice-girls-don't thing, but I've never had . .

." She trailed off and cleared her throat. "It's never been like

that for me before. I told myself that I was just one of those

women who never have an orgasm. But I think the truth is I've never

been willing to give up that much control to someone else. It's

frightening to me."

 

She raised her eyes shyly to meet his.

 

Mulder felt the lump return to his throat. "But with me?" he

croaked out.

 

"You surprised me. _It_ surprised me. Everything happened so fast,

I guess it kind of scared me."

 

Mulder kissed the top of her head.

 

"I'm sorry if I scared you."

 

"It was a good scare." She moved her hands to his chest and combed

her fingers through his chest hair.

 

"Scully, didn't you ever ask yourself how I got the nickname

'Spooky'?"

 

To his delight she blushed and lightly slapped his shoulder. She

bit her lip, trying not to laugh and then gave in and chuckled.

 

She turned her attention to brushing the hair back from his face.

Her hands were exquisitely gentle. Mulder thought of all the times

she had saved him with those hands. All the times she had risked

her career, her reputation and even her life for him. How easily

she accepted him for the man he was, regardless of his megalomanical

view of the world.

 

She had trusted him tonight as she had never trusted another. The

thought inflamed him and made him feel protective at the same time.

He knew she would never concede to letting him protect her. But

maybe they could do something about the aroused part . . .

 

"Come back to bed, Scully."

 

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and amused. Then she pushed him

gently towards the bed. He sat down and smiled at her.

 

"Did you ever think last night that we might be sharing this bed

again tonight?" She asked him as she slowly circled the bed to the

other side. Mulder sat back against the headboard to track her

progress.

 

"Only in my dreams." He answered honestly.

 

"Maybe we could get the money back on your room."

 

"You want to explain it to Skinner?"

 

Scully shook her head and stood nervously playing with the ties on

her robe. Mulder pulled the covers back on her side and patted it.

 

"Come to bed, Scully. I won't bite - hard."

 

She held back and smile and then her face became earnest. "Just

remember, Mulder, the same rules apply. You stay on your side of

the bed and no one will get hurt." She knealt on the bed facing him.

 

"Scully didn't your mother ever teach you to share?"

 

"Of course." She smiled widely. "She also taught me that

pre-marital sex was a sin."

 

"Scully, you're on a roll tonight. Aren't there any other

commandments you could be breaking?"

 

"Don't forget Bureau policy. We broke a couple of those, too."

 

"I always liked bad girls. Do you think I could see the tattoo now?"

 

"Turn off the light, Mulder. Let's save something for later."

 

Heart singing at the promise of "later" Mulder reached over and

turned off the light. Scully's hand found his shoulder in the dark

and she slid over until she was laying against him, her head tucked

under his chin. Their hands wandered soothingly over each other.

 

"Why did you Mulder? I mean, why tonight? Like this?"

 

Why had he entered Scully's room like a man possessed? He ran the

past couple of hours backwards through his mind. Sitting at the bar

with Bob. Walking back to the motel. Scully's aroused face looking

up at him when he had trapped her against the wall. The way she had

responded to him, calling his name and practically tearing his pants

off. His groin tightened.

 

<Down boy. We're thinking seriously here.>

 

He started over. Sitting at the bar with Bob . . .

 

<"Just about everyone who's pulled a stunt lately has spent time in

this bar.">

 

"I think it's the bar, Scully."

 

"Bar?" She echoed dreamily.

 

"The 'Silver Horseshoe'. I think there's something there that's

causing all these people to act on impulse."

 

"What?" Her head lifted from his chest.

 

"I don't know. The air, the beer, subliminals on the jukebox?"

 

"And that's what happened with you? How? Why come back and make

love to me? Why not kill me?" Her head came to rest on his shoulder.

 

<Make love to me. Make love to me. Make love to me.> The words

chased each other around in his mind. Mulder shook his head to

clear it.

 

"I was talking to a local down there tonight. His theory is that

people aren't doing anything that haven't thought of thousands of

times before. Something they alway wanted to do but didn't dare"

 

"Did you?" She was absolutely still, awaiting his reply.

 

"Always." He answered softly. He felt her smile against him.

 

"It makes sense, Scully. All these people are doing things that

normally they only think about. Look at Hank Jenkins. And Agent

Pehrson. He thought his wife and Whitman were having an affair."

 

"What!?" Even in the dark he knew the eyebrow raised.

 

"Yes. According to Bob that was what they were arguing about at the

bar that night. Supposing that Pehrson had been thinking, whether

he meant to act on it or not, of killing Whitman. All it took was a

push from something at that bar and he did it."

 

"But what? And how?"

 

Mulder turned the light back on and looked at his watch. 12:30 a.m.

 

"Let's get dressed. The bar doesn't close until 2:00. We can get

back down there and look around."

 

Scully gave him an enigmatic smile. "What if it happens to me?

What if I do something rash?"

 

Unable to resist he played along. "And what secret fantasy are you

harboring, Scully?"

 

She got out of bed and tossed him his pants. "Get dressed, Mulder."

 

He caught them neatly. "That's your fantasy? To watch me get

dressed?"

 

Scully shook her head in exasperation and turned to her suitcase.

Mulder walked over to where his clothes were lying on the floor. He

pulled his t-shirt on and was bending over to get his dress shirt

when he heard her robe hit the floor. He turned his head and took

in the sight of Scully's finely toned back and buttocks. The tattoo

beckoned him like a siren's song.

 

Stepping quietly behind her he placed his hands on her hips. She

stiffened and then relaxed against him as he slid his arms

completely around her.

 

"Hey, Scully," He murmured in her ear. "When we get back, how

about if I sneak up behind you and scare you again?"

 

****

Impulse 7/7

******

Silver Horseshoe Bar

Cooper, WY

 

It was just after 1:00 when Mulder and Scully walked into the bar.

Paul was wiping off tables. All but a few of the customers had

left. Bob was at the bar, staring absently at the glass in front of

him.

 

Mulder touched Scully's elbow lightly to guide her inside. Was it

his imagination or did she shiver at the slight contact? Mulder

knew he felt hypersensitive to her presence. They had walked over

in a comfortable silence, occasionally brushing against one another.

Mulder had quickly learned to crave the electric sensations dancing

across his nerve endings.

 

Paul looked up. He may have been indifferent on meeting Mulder but

he was giving Scully an appreciative once-over. Mulder felt proud

and wanted to punch him at the same time.

 

"Can I help you two?" Paul asked Scully.

 

"Scully, this is Paul . . ."

 

"Tucker. Paul Tucker." He nearly smiled at Scully.

 

"Mr. Tucker, this is my partner, Agent Scully."

 

"Ma'am." Paul nodded.

 

Scully was wasting no time. "Mr. Tucker, we have reason to believe

that the incident involving Agents Pehrson and Whitman may be

related to this bar."

 

"Humpf." Paul was impassive once more.

 

"We also believe that much of the inexplicable behavior these past

few months can be traced back to this bar." Mulder added.

 

"That right?" Paul still wasn't impressed. He went back to wiping

the table.

 

Bob siddled up to them. He, too, gave Scully a warm look but his

was much more paternal in nature.

 

"Agent Mulder, what brings you back so soon?" Bob asked, a twinkle

in his eye. Mulder was sure for a heartstopping moment that he knew.

 

"I was discussing your theory with my partner about how people

spending time here were acting on impulse." Mulder said smoothly.

 

"This late at night? Thought you took yourself off duty." Bob

regarded him keenly. Mulder felt the flush creeping up his neck.

 

<He knows! How could he? You tenacious old bastard!>

 

"Not everyone who's been to this bar has been howling at the moon."

Paul was becoming indignant.

 

"Nope." Bob said. "Not everyone. Just the ones drinking the cheap

stuff."

 

In the dim light of the bar it was hard to tell but it looked like

Paul colored.

 

"The cheap stuff?" Scully had that face, the incredulous one that

always left Mulder scrambling mentally when it was directed at him.

 

Bob didn't seem fazed. "Yeah. Paul here started making his own

beer about five years ago."

 

"It's a micro brewery." Paul was definitely becoming offended.

 

"I said it was cheap, not that it was bad. Haven't I been drinking

it all these years?" Bob hurried to assure Paul.

 

"Was that what I drank tonight?" Mulder wanted to know.

 

Bob's eyes sparkled mischieviously. "It sure was."

 

"You're running a microbrewery here?" Scully looked around the bar,

taking in its small size and grizzled patrons. "Isn't that more of

a high end kind of venture?"

 

"Sure. It was my wife's idea. She was always into

making-it-yourself. She made her own soap, clothes, that kind of

stuff."

 

"Could we speak with her?" Scully asked.

 

"If you find her let me know. She up and left me a couple months

back."

 

"After the earthquake?" Mulder wanted to know.

 

Paul mutely nodded.

 

"There you go with your earthquake again." Bob chuckled and shook

his head.

 

"Have you changed anything regarding how you make the beer since the

earthquake?" Mulder asked.

 

"Nope. Recipe's the same."

 

Mulder slowly looked around the bar, at a loss.

 

"We had to change vats, though, after the earthquake. We got a

bigger one a few years back when the beer really caught on. The

quake cracked the new one so we had to change back to the old one."

 

"Could you show it to us?" Mulder felt hopeful.

 

Paul gestured towards the back of the bar. "Come on then."

 

The back room was roughly half the size of the bar. The far end was

dominated by two large vats. The wall were lined with shelves.

Glass containers were stacked on the shelves, most of them full of

dried plants and powders which were meticulously labeled.

 

"This is all my wife's stuff. She was into that homeopathic

medicine, remedies with herbs and such." Paul thumped on one of the

vats. "This is the old one. We usually brew a new batch every few

months. We'd just finished a batch when the quake hit. I'm down to

the bottom of this one now."

 

"Could we get a sample?" Scully inquired.

 

Paul poked around on a shelf before coming up with a Mason jar. He

filled the jar with beer and handed it wordlessly to Scully before

turning to search the shelves for a lid. Procuring one at last he

gave it to Scully who sealed the jar.

 

"We'll take this down to Salt Lake City tomorrow morning. In the

meantime it would probably be best if you stopped serving this

beer." Scully told him.

 

"Not a problem, ma'am. I'm closing up for the night here anyway."

 

****

 

Aspen Diner

Cooper, WY

 

Mulder was once more slumped in the corner of a booth. He absently

stirred the iced tea in front of him, his thoughts far away.

 

Scully had left early that morning to take the beer sample to Salt

Lake City. He had stayed behind and gone over Whitman's case notes

with Bob. To the best of Bob's recollection, nearly every single

person involved in the rash of impulsive acts was known to frequent

the bar. Bob had tried, not so subtly, to pry into how Mulder had

figured out the bar was the common factor. Mulder had mumbled that

it was only a hunch. Finally Bob had given up and wandered over to

the counter to flirt with Sheila.

 

So now Mulder sat thinking back on last night. Coming back from the

bar he had felt like a teenager on a date, wondering if she would

let him kiss her good-night or if she had come to her senses and

would coolly inform him to go back to his own room.

 

Scully had dropped her key before she could even get it to the door

and then stood frozen. Mulder had realized that she was even more

nervous than he.

 

"I'll get that." He had said and bent down to retrieve the key. He

had unlocked the door and placed his hand on the small of her back

to show her in.

 

Scully had turned to face him as he shut the door, her face as

composed as ever, her eyes seemed distant and unsure.

 

"Well, good night." He had mumbled, feeling awkward.

 

"Mulder." Her hand on his arm stopped him.

 

She had kissed him then, tentatively at first and then with growing

certainty.

 

They had made love slowly, laughing and whispering to each other.

Taking their time and learning one another's secrets. They had

fallen asleep spooned together, his hand on her breast, hers

clasping his arm against her tightly.

 

His throat tightened and hot tears sprang unexpectedly to his eyes

as he remembered her last sleepy words, murmured so softly he'd

barely heard them.

 

"Love you."

 

<I don't deserve her.>

 

He blinked his eyes to clear them.

 

<Get a grip. You're positively maudlin.>

 

At the ringing of his cell phone his heart skipped a beat. It had

to be her.

 

"Scully?"

 

"Yes. Good news. I think you're right, Mulder. It's the beer."

 

"How? I looked at Paul's recipe and there's nothing out of the

ordinary."

 

"I don't think Paul knows it's there. He told me this morning when

I called him to ask on the ingredients that his wife had used the

old vat to concoct herbal medicines. We found a large concentrate

of an alkaloid substance in the beer."

 

"It did taste bitter."

 

"Further testing showed it to be a member of the Ephedra family.

Ephedra trifuca is a plant that grows in the southwest United

States. The dried stems are used to make a tea which is purported

to work as a decongestant for asthma and hay fever sufferers."

 

Mulder sniffed experimentally. "What if you don't have allergies?"

 

"Well, ephidrine and pseudoephidrine, which are derived from

Ephedra, are used to treat the central nervous system. They elevate

blood pressure and increase the heart rate. They've also been shown

to decrease a person's appetite and stimulate their energy. Until

recently it was being used as a diet drug but it's been regulated

the past few years after having been linked to a possible heart

attack."

 

"No one's ever reported symptoms regarding impulse control?"

 

"No, but it's never been studied in conjunction with alcohol.

Apparently the Ephedra was brewed right into the beer which changed

its chemical nature. I'd speculate that the effect on the central

nervous system was like a neural inhibitor."

 

"Or uninhibitor." Mulder amended.

 

He heard a puff of breath in the phone indicating Scully was at

least mildly amused with his remark.

 

"Ok. I'll get over to the Silver Horseshoe and have Paul dispose of

the rest of that batch. Are you coming back up tonight?"

 

"Yes. I'll get all the lab data compiled and then I'll drive back."

 

Mulder's heart rate doubled. "So . . . I'll see you later then."

 

"Yes." Her reply was soft and then the connection was broken.

 

Mulder sighed and pushed "end". From the side of him Bob spoke,

"She's lovely."

 

"Pardon?"

 

"Your partner. She's really quite lovely."

 

Mulder stared at him, uncertain how to respond.

 

"You two be careful, you hear." Bob's eyes were twinkling as he

patted Mulder's arm.

 

"Is it that obvious?" Mulder asked as Bob turned to leave.

 

"Only last night. You two practically glowed walking into that bar.

I was a detective for over 30 years in New York. I retired here

about 15 years ago. Never had much of a gift for remembering names

but I can still read people pretty good."

 

"Oh." Mulder was speechless.

 

"Keep in touch, Agent Mulder." Bob tipped his hat and was gone.

 

*****

 

Valley View Motel

Cooper, WY

 

Mulder paced back and forth, stopping to check the window every time

lights flashed by outside.

 

<Where is she? She left nearly five hours ago. She should be here

by now.>

 

He had tried her cell phone but it was turned off.

 

Mulder flopped back onto the bed and flipped through the channels

again. No cable, nothing on. He gnawed on his lower lip and

considered whether he should call the highway patrol.

 

The door opened and Scully stepped inside. He moved to get up from

the bed but she held her hand up, stopping him. He remained seated

and watched as Scully set an empty Mason jar on the table by the door.

 

She looked at him and smiled.

 

"I have a confession to make, Mulder."

 

"Yeah?"

 

She nodded and removed her suit coat, tossing it onto the floor.

 

<And I always thought you so fastidious, Scully.>

 

"I've been sitting out in the parking lot for about 20 minutes now,

down by the office. I saw you checking out the window."

 

Mulder remained silent, fascinated since Scully had continued to

undress as she spoke. Her pants and blouse had joined the coat

leaving her in simple white cotton underwear.

 

His blood surged southward as Scully turned to lock the door.

 

"We didn't use much of the sample for testing, there was still at

least half a quart left." She said to the door before turning to

face him again.

 

Mulder swallowed hard.

 

"My confession is that I've been drinking." Her eyes looked

sidewise to the jar.

 

Mulder's pants were quickly becoming uncomfortable.

 

Scully began to walk slowly towards him, her hips undulating. She

stopped at the edge of the bed and grasped his already loosened tie.

 

"Mulder, help me. I'm very much afraid I'm about to do something

reckless."

 

******

 

End

 

 

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

There really isn't an Aspen Valley in Wyoming but it is based on a

real place south of Jackson. I haven't the faintest clue how a

microbrewery works so don't flame me on it. This story is my first

so be kind but constructive, ah heck, just write me anyway. I'm

doing this for the feedback.

 

And many thanks to Aileen for help with editing. When she didn't

laugh I figured the story stood a chance.

 

 

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