Testosterone Subject II
By Shoshana

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September 1999, a Tuesday morning
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Cotton-mouthed, with white globs of sleep tucked into the corners of my eyes, I woke to bright New Hampshire sunlight peeking through the blinds. I raised one hand to my face and rubbed gently at those eyes, sublimely aware that I wasn't alone and didn't wish to be for at least a few precious minutes more.

Whatever Scully's reaction would or could be upon awakening, I still had these stolen minutes to watch her, head splayed across my stomach, arms pulled tight around my waist. She was deeply engrossed in a dream, her eyelids fluttering in another state of consciousness. I felt her hands grasp at imaginary objects, scalpels, perhaps. Such subtle movements, precise, economical even when asleep. O.K., so that's what I thought she was doing with her strong, little hands. Sue me for letting my mind run wild.

Clearly, my body had done that last night, influenced by a hefty dose of testosterone. Not enough to kill, thank God. But enough to make me painfully aware of every previously identified erogenous zone of my body and then some. Places no lover had gone before or were likely to, if Scully hadn't stepped in.

I had resigned myself to my aroused condition, courtesy of an assailant in a Dover, New Hampshire park. We were here to investigate the murder of three young college students at the University of New Hampshire in Durham, all of massive testosterone poisoning. The cheapest accommodation, in other words, the one preferred by the Bureau, was in Dover, six miles away. And that's where I'd gone for an evening run, before some masked marauder attempted to depress a hypodermic needle into my thigh.

Fortunately they didn't get much into me; unfortunately it was enough to cause me considerable anxiety. I'd locked myself in the bathroom, hypersensitive to Scully's touch. She was only trying to calm me down, get me ready for another trip to the emergency room. Inadvertently, she excited me, her soothing hands stimulating my nerve endings past insanity.

I banished her from her own room to mine. She left willingly enough, realizing what had occurred, locking the connecting door between our rooms. My bright idea to chain myself to Scully's bed altered significantly when she returned several minutes later, hell bent on seducing me. I was in no condition to resist her wiles, thoroughly shocked, thoroughly pleased by her enticement.

She took full advantage of the situation, giving me the best blow job I've ever had. I ignored my shackled arm, combing her thick red hair with my free hand, telling her over and over how much I loved her, how much she meant to me. She glanced up at me periodically, her face a mixture of devilish satisfaction and feminine pride. She had absolute power over me, I needn't have been shackled to the bedpost; I was shackled to her heart.

Sometime later, much later, I became aware that I'd been caressing her with both hands for quite awhile. I hadn't paid much notice when she eventually freed my wrist, so mesmerizing were her movements, her attentions to my urgent need.

As a thirty-seven year old man, I ordinarily don't expect to have more than two, maybe three hard-ons in one night. Last night proved the exception to that rule, as the drug in my system overstimulated me, bringing me back for more.

I kept on asking Scully if she was all right, if maybe this wasn't too much for her. She assured me everything was 'fine', and I certainly had my doubts when she used that word to describe her own sexual state. I was so worried about her, about my size, her being sore, her being exhausted in the morning. She dismissed my fears, kissing them away, drawing me closer for another roll in the hay. I was weak-willed, succumbing each time, losing track of how many times we did it. Scully will know. She'd keep track of something like that, scientist that she is.

I lay underneath her pretty head, dreading her return to consciousness. What if she'd done it just to put me out of my misery? Not out of genuine affection for me? She'd said she loved me, but so do a lot of women when they're in bed with you. The aftermath is not always so rosy, when everyday life steps in, obliterating even the most glorious sexual experiences. Phoebe and Diana had told me they loved me. Only to hurt me later on, leaving me in the lurch to lick at opened wounds.

I was about to find out the truth of the matter. Scully was stirring awake, pulling herself up the terrain of my chest, settling her sightless eyes beneath my chin. She nestled there, awake, but unseeing, kissing my neck, sending shivers of joy and apprehension through my skin. Her hands clutched at my shoulders, toying with them. She ran her fingers up and down my arms a few times, as I lay passively enjoying her ministrations.

Finally, I caught hold of her hands, lacing our fingers together. She picked her head up a bit, opening her eyes, smiling at my serious countenance. I couldn't help my glum look, I was still worried that she'd run away, that I had already lost her by letting this happen.

"Mornin', Mulder. Whatever is bothering you today?"

I half-smiled and shook my head, still stumped for words. She let go of my hands and pulled herself onto my stomach, cradling my face in her hands.

"Hey, you feeling alright? Maybe we *should* get you to the hospital."

"No, no, not the hospital, Dr. Scully. Your miracle cure was a huge success."

"Oh, really? I guess we had to run through the experiment more than once, didn't we?" She smiled, then ran her hand gently through my tousled hair.

"Repeatedly. More times than a man my age could ever wish or hope for. You'll have to write me a prescription for androgen therapy, Scully."

"Oh, no. No, Mulder. This was a one shot deal, to make an awful pun out of your predicament. No more testosterone supplements for you. I'm sure you'll do quite well on your own."

I pulled her face down to mine and planted a kiss on her lips, a long, slow one. She gave me an enigmatic smile, then shifted her position again, lying down on my chest, fitting her head underneath my chin. She curved the rest of her body around my side, her feet just reaching my shins. I could feel her smile against my skin and I stroked her back lazily.

"Scully?" I had to ask her. I had to know.

"Huh?"

"We're not a one shot deal, are we?"

Her body winced at such a suggestion; she emphatically shook her head against my shoulder. She didn't lift her head to look at me, but I knew she was smiling in disbelief.

"Oh, Mulder. We could never be a one shot deal." She squeezed her arms around me and kissed my neck tenderly.

I laid there, too choked up to respond, too happy to think clearly. I tightened my left arm around her and leaned over to kiss her forehead. I stroked her cheek gently, then nestled my right hand at the nape of her neck, massaging tight muscles there. I could feel the implant beneath her skin every time my hand passed over the tiny scar.

"You do feel better, don't you?" she said, genuine concern in her tone of voice.

"Oh, yeah. Much better. Never better in fact. We've overslept, Scully. It's almost ten o'clock right now. When are you supposed to look at the body of the latest victim?"

"Not till this afternoon, thank God. I'm surprised no one called us by now. We're expected this morning, Mulder. We really should get up."

She started to untangle herself, but I caught her and held her fast.

"Just a few minutes more, Scully. It's just so nice to have you next to me like this. You smell wonderful." I gathered her tightly in my arms. "Exactly how you should."

"Well, you're not so bad yourself, despite our heavy duty workout last night. You are one lucky guy, Mulder. Not only did you escape certain death from testosterone poisoning, you had someone to share your, um, discomfort, with..."

"I didn't mean for you to come in here. I was just going to sleep it off, Scully." I looked at her earnestly, lifting her chin so she could see the honesty in my eyes.

"I know. But I went over to your room, surrounded by your stuff, lying in your bed and I couldn't sleep. I heard you take a shower and I thought I heard you come out of the bathroom. After what you said... you know... through the door... I just didn't want you to be alone all night. So I put on a robe and unlocked the door between our rooms. When I saw the lengths you were going to, just to protect me from yourself... that was the last straw... And you looked so vulnerable there. Especially after I took the key away from you!"

She smiled, another one of those wicked smiles from last night. I couldn't help but laugh, pulling her back upon my chest so we could exchange more kisses. Not surprisingly, neither of us felt like making love that morning. We were exhausted from the night before and we knew we had to get up and continue work on the case. In fact, that's the only reason we got up then, untangling our bodies, taking time for a few more passionate kisses in the doorway between our rooms.

After much needed showers, despite any assertions to the contrary, we dressed and got in the rental car to drive the six miles to Durham. I was amazed that nothing had really changed between us. Other than a few lingering touches in the car, we behaved pretty much as usual. And, like any other road trip, Scully criticized my driving on the way there. That was a sure sign love doesn't conquer all one's trespasses.

We stopped for coffee and bagels at a minimart, aware that we were behind schedule. Scully was due at the morgue by one p.m. and it was already close to noon. We wanted to find the local police station first and look over the local files one more time (even though we had been faxed copies at Hoover, we always liked to see the originals).

I was inclined to stay close to her today. If I had been identified by our murderer, who knows what lay in store for Scully? I didn't want to hover over her while she worked, I didn't want her to think I was being overprotective. But, clearly, someone was aware of our presence in New Hampshire and it would be wise to err on the side of caution.

So, instead of taking off and conducting interviews of some of the dead students' teachers and friends, I hung around outside the small city morgue. Scully didn't say a word about it. She was probably spooked by last night's assault and didn't want me taking off on my own. That's the only conclusion I could come to. Ordinarily, she would have shooed me off, told me to get lost.

One hour later, she was done examining the body. It had been autopsied by the Coroner yesterday and he arrived halfway through her examination. He had been extraordinarily helpful in getting permission from the family to hold the body one more day. The poor guy was to be buried tomorrow and the brief, but thorough glimpse I had of him made me shiver to my bones. That could have been me, I thought. I was a lucky man, indeed.

We'd decided on the way over to tell the local cops about the attack on me, and we had, when we first arrived at the station. They'd been concerned and we reassured them that we would take extra care and practice the buddy system from now on. If they'd only realized what kind of buddy Scully was to me, they probably would have snickered at their own remark. Fortunately, we were determined to behave professionally in the public eye. We never even discussed that on the way over; we just took it for granted that we weren't on display for gossip-hungry local cops.

We sat outside the city complex where the morgue was and discussed the latest victim. Scully had found no evidence to contradict the local coroner's conclusions. In fact, we were both doubting why we'd ever been sent on this case. Other than the bizarre nature of murder by testosterone poisoning, there was nothing to recommend this as an X-File. As always, I suspected someone in this college town had a friend in Washington, one who would pull strings to get a notorious crime solved quickly. And despite my reputation around Washington as a kook, it was nice to know that people respected our work outside of the Beltway.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the University of New Hampshire, reviewing student records of the three young men, searching for some elusive connection between them. A few of their professors were available. They were all average 'Joe College' guys, none of them had girlfriends, all were from other towns in New Hampshire. Nothing unusual about that, nothing unusual about anything in their lives.

We found that two of them had shared the same dormitory, so we stopped there first. The Resident Director, Sam Lanigan, was happy to help us and invited us into his office. We asked him whether either young men had dated any girls regularly or had any best buddies as far as he knew.

"I don't think I ever saw him with the same girlfriend for too long. He was seeing some blonde last week. She's a townie and I can't remember her name right now. Why don't you give me your card and I'll ask some of Peter's friends. If you want to interview them yourselves I can direct you to their rooms," he said.

"What about Aaron? Do you remember any of his friends?" I asked.

"He was more of a loner, but I seem to remember him having a blonde girlfriend, too. Two weeks ago. She might have been the same girl. You better ask these kids, if you can get a straight answer out of them. They're just eighteen year-olds and some of them act a little immature. Aaron didn't. He and Peter weren't friends and I suspect that they just knew each other in passing."

"Thanks for your help, Sam. We really appreciate it," Scully said, as we rose to leave the R.A.'s office.

He gave us the room numbers of several friends of Aaron and Peter. The college students were taken aback when we announced ourselves as F.B.I. agents. I remembered my reaction to any law enforcement wandering the halls at Oxford, particularly on weekends when the pot and other forbidden substances emerged. These kids were probably thankful it was Tuesday and nobody was throwing a party that day. At least not at four in the afternoon, that is.

As the Resident Director predicted, we didn't get much from these kids. Other than being intimidated by our titles and somewhat reluctant to be completely forthcoming, they really didn't know the dead students that well. The students were Freshmen and school had just started four weeks ago; no one knew anyone that well.

The common denominator seemed to be the blonde girlfriend. If we had to comb the whole city of Durham and interrogate every blonde in sight, there would be no end to this case. Hopefully, the R.A. would get more out of one of these kid's friends, because we certainly hadn't.

Our next and final stop for the day was the frat house of the third victim. He was also the one we'd seen in the morgue today. His friends knew him a little better, since there were fewer people living there than the dorm. He had seen a blonde three weeks ago. She had been named Melanie and all the kids we interviewed seemed to think she was pretty attractive. She did live in town, but nobody knew where. In fact, I would have been surprised if Melanie was her real name. If she was murdering young men with such stealth, she was probably savvy enough not to tell her prey her given name.

We got in the car and continued talking about the case.

"Scully, where do you think this girl, woman, whatever would get the testosterone enathate? Do you think she works at a medical lab, a doctor's office?"

"Could be any one of those. Could be she gets it out of town, even in Mexico. All she needs to do is take a flight down there and she can buy practically anything. We have so little to go on here. Three men, one woman in common. None of the guys' friends saw her for more than a couple minutes. They all said she was a knockout, but eager to leave as soon as she'd come over to the men's rooms. We might try having a couple of the guys at that frat house describe her to a sketch artist, but I think I'd like to try something else."

"What?"

"I don't know if you're going to like this suggestion, Mulder. I don't even care for it myself."

"What?" I was getting impatient, but I tried not to raise my voice at her.

"We need someone to act as bait."

"You're kidding."

"It doesn't have to be you, Mulder. It can be a local cop. Though it's disturbing that she knew who you were. Maybe, she's a hacker and got into local computer databases. Maybe because she's a townie she knows somebody inside the city complex who can get her all kinds of information on open cases. I don't think she's breaking into the F.B.I. database, but who knows? And also, maybe it is just coincidence that she dated all three young men."

"Scully, I don't think she'd take the bait if it were just another cop. It would have to be me. I'm not happy about that, but I see no other choice."

"We could bring the locals in on it."

"Like you said, she might have a contact within one of the city departments. She'll know. She won't go for it. If you're there to back me up... ," I said.

"I won't let you do it without the locals involved. I'm not letting anyone get close enough to inject you again. It's just a theory that she has a contact, she might not..."

"O.K., O.K. We'll bring the local cops in for backup."

"Gee, Mulder. You're capitulating so readily. What's got into you?"

"Let's just say, I don't feel like sleeping alone tonight..."

I threw her a lecherous glance as we slowed down at the stoplight and she laughed, a wonderful sound to my ears. Boy, you're whipped, Mulder, absolutely whipped.

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Early evening, Days Inn, Dover, New Hampshire
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We were ravenous by the time we got back from Durham, attacking our pizza with zeal. I wasn't worried about the case anymore. If we didn't lure the perp out of obscurity tomorrow, we'd go the sketch artist route. If that didn't pan out, I had no guilt about leaving town. It wasn't that I didn't care anymore. I sincerely hoped that my attacker would be captured, but I questioned our role in her pursuit. It wasn't an X-File, never had been an X-File, and the local cops would have been able to deal with it as well as we had.

However, I was delighted that we'd come to Dover, New Hampshire in the first place. If we hadn't, who knows how much longer Scully and I would have repressed our feelings for one another. I wasn't about to question fate this time around, she had finally blown a fair wind my way. After years of platonic love, Scully and I deserved a bit of romance, no matter what jumpstarted it into existence.

We watched the local evening news and every station led with the college student murder story. Fortunately, the police had leaked very little about the case. No one knew about the blonde, no one even knew about the overdose of testosterone each student had suffered. It was amazing that they'd suppressed the facts of the case so well, unbelievably so. My penchant for paranoia searched for a conspiracy behind it all, my penchant for Scully told my mind to shut up and enjoy our private time together.

I had been anxious to touch her all day and we sat comfortably on the bed, digesting pizza and discussing our plans for tomorrow. We had phoned the local police in Dover and obtained their cooperation for tomorrow's operation. I would go to the same park, hang around the same bench, at the same time of night. Yeah, it was kind of a lame idea, but I was hoping the blonde was a candidate for "America's Dumbest Criminals." Either that or the impulse to murder yours truly was of overwhelming significance to her. I was actually glad I wasn't taking any more chances than I had to this time. Additional backup would be welcome if the assailant showed up, hypodermic needle in tow.

Scully yawned and leaned heavily against my shoulder, nodding off to sleep. It was only eight p.m., but it had been a long, long twenty-four hours for both of us.

"Hey, sleepyhead... why don't I tuck you into bed?"

I meant it, too. I didn't think either of us were up to any more sexual gymnastics. I'd be content to hold her in my arms all night, her scent surrounding me, her breath matching my own. I was relieved that my insatiable sex drive had all but diminished. I felt in control again and I didn't feel like taking advantage of Scully's good nature yet another night.

She'd do practically anything for me, but I knew she was sore and tired and not really in the mood. Last night had been a marathon for both of us; too much too soon, really. I just wanted to spoon up like those little baby cats I'd joked about in Arcadia, soothing her to sleep with gentle kisses to her neck.

"O.K."

All the response Scully could manage to my question, all the more reason to pull back the bedclothes and tuck her inside. I rifled through her suitcase and found her pajamas, walked her sleepy body to the bathroom and left her to her nightly routine. I used my own bathroom, stripped down to my undershirt and boxers and returned to find her already in bed.

Not quite asleep, she settled easily in my arms, purring like those proverbial baby kitties. With my arms wrapped around her and the steady rhythms of our heartbeats between us, I felt like I'd finally accomplished something in my life. I'd been seeking this kind of peace for years. Ironically, it'd been hiding in plain sight, in the guise of my lovely partner.

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Wednesday evening, a park, Dover, New Hampshire
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I sat on the same bench, at around the same time of night, in about the same clothes I'd had on the other night. I tried to seem nonchalant, but there was nothing casual about my presence there that night. I had a device in my ear, into which Scully spoke from the van across the street. There were cops behind trees; there were cops walking their dogs. A few of them had night vision eyewear, even though the area was pretty well lit, all things considered.

I sucked at the end of my water bottle, pretending to take a break, every muscle in my body tensed for action. I wasn't going to be taken unawares tonight; I didn't much care for a replay of the other night's events. Once was enough. Actually once hadn't been enough; I'd had more than my share of pleasurable pain that night and I didn't think Scully or I cared to relive those frantic hours. Nice, placid sex with Scully was on my agenda tonight. No pressure, no urgency, no problem.

My mind continued to wander, anticipating fondly my imminent reunion with my partner. I was startled out of my daze by her voice, alerting me to a interloper in our controlled situation. Before I could turn my head and confront my assailant head on, ten cops had emerged from their respective hiding places to tackle one ski-masked individual.

They pulled her mask off, revealing a lovely young woman, barely out of her teens. No profiler could have guessed this one. It was plain old grunt work that led to her arrest. I was happy there was an arrest, I was even happier to get the hell out of that park. My adrenaline level was plummeting back to normal, my heartbeat slowed the further we got from the prime suspect.

We shared a few handshakes with some of the participants in the operation and promised we'd stop by in the morning. We left the arrest, interrogation and booking of the disturbed girl to our friendly local detectives and got in our rental with very little fanfare. Nobody questioned my reluctance to hang around. The cops were preoccupied, wallowing in their success, anxious to get on the ten o'clock news.

I was anxious to spirit Scully away from all that. I'd worked hard to conceal my cache of perishables back at our modest motel room. If we were going to make love again, I wanted to get all those romantic details right this time. Well, as right as you can get them in a Days Inn in Dover, New Hampshire. She'd probably thought I'd been up to something earlier that day, going out for a bag of sunflower seeds, returning with a hidden sack of goodies.

If she suspected anything, she mercifully disguised her curiosity and stayed out of my room. I wouldn't have put it past her to snoop around, but we left the rooms fairly early in the day and spent the day with police planning that night's activities.

So, now that we were back at the motel, Scully launched into full investigative mode. In other words, she pinned me to the bed and demanded her chocolate now.

"What chocolate?" I said, innocently.

"Mulder, I can smell it from across the room. You've bought something very large and very chocolatey and I'd prefer it now, please."

Her demands were combined with strategic kisses to my neck and very effective pelvic action below. I let her bully me, preferring this kind of torture above all other. We made out on the bed in our sweats, enjoying the freedom to act on impulse. She started to undress and I stopped her, determined to do things right.

"Scully, why don't you go get a bucketful of ice?"

"Ice, Mulder? Are you too hot?"

She emphasized her point by tackling me again, pinning me with a most passionate kiss. This time, I turned the tables on her, pulling her off the bed in my arms, placing her beside the motel door and handing her the ice bucket.

"Ice," I commanded, ignoring her affected pout.

By the time she returned, I had transformed my room into a softer, gentler motel. I'd bought a few candles and they glimmered in the near darkness. The Godiva was out (God knows that was hard to find in Dover), the champagne was ready for the ice bucket, and the hastily purchased CD player was pouring out something mellow from a local station.

"To what do I owe this occasion, Mulder?"

She encircled my waist with her arms as I arranged the champagne in the bucket.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Call it a thank you for the other night, call it what you will, I just wanted to surprise you."

"Well, you didn't, but you did. I never pegged you as so romantic. I guess I've got a lot to learn, huh?"

I turned around in her arms, leaned down and kissed her tempting lips. A slow song that I remembered from years ago came on the radio and I tucked her into my body so that we could sway slowly to the music.

"Mulder?"

"Hmmmm..."

"I can wait for the chocolate."

Oh, God.

fin

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