El Quinto Sol -3
OneMillionAndNine

April 3 2000

Taos Police Station. 8:35 a.m.

To quote the old saw, the lights were on but no one was home. No one awake, anyway.

Mulder and Scully stared at the young officer sleeping on the other side of the counter behind the Plexiglas shield. It took a full minute before Mulder leaned into the slotted metal oval.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat.

He would have preferred no reaction at all, but the man behind the partition began to snore softly in reply.

"You know Mulder there are some situations where any attempt at subtlety is wasted." She craned her neck to catch sight of the officer's badge before barking, "Officer Concha!"

Mulder felt himself snap involuntarily to attention, so he fully expected it when the hapless officer fell out of his chair. It happened so quickly that Mulder had no idea he'd pressed his nose against the glass in an attempt to get a better look at the police man sprawled out on the floor on the other side of the counter.

Concha had a Marine's high-and-tight hair cut and a vaguely cricketish face. Behind his glasses round eyes blinked furiously. He looked young. He seemed to be just barely stifling a yawn. Poor guy.

"You people need somethin'?" He still looked startled and had not quite finished blinking.

"We're Mulder and Scully, FBI." Flashed their badges; same old drill.

"What you come here about?"

"You have a series of murders, The Iverson murders I believe," Mulder began.

"Those?"

"Are there others?"

"We've had six unsolved murders in the last twelve months. Six other deaths. People, ummm, not on Viggo's list. . . "

"Is that unusual for this area?" Scully wondered.

He looked down. "No."

Scully raised an eyebrow. "You have six additional unsolved murders in a population of 7,000?"

The young man looked her squarely in the eye, causing Mulder but not Scully to notice how very short he was.

"Yup that pretty much sums it up. You got any idea how many strangers pass through here every day? The Chief's havin' breakfast up the block with everybody Else, if you want talk to him"

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

On her way out of the bathroom winding through the restaurant's three large dining rooms, Scully heard a disturbingly familiar conversation.

"So Agent Mulder, if you're asking me if I believe the world is eternal, I honestly can't say. But if those fellas up at the Ragnarok Ranch got the date right, I'll eat my hat. Think about it. Seems to me since the beginning of the world people have been predicting the Apocalypse." He took a bite of his eggs and chewed thoughtfully.

Mulder nodded.

"Looks mostly like a kinda grandiose reaction to individual mortality. We do get more than our fair share of the nuts, too. You know those Heaven's Gate guys started out here? The leader, Do, ran the concession stand at the Taos Civic Auditorium for eight years before he decided to devote himself full- time to the Apocalypse. They thought little grey men were coming to get them, too. These guys aren't much different. And we've got no evidence they are doing any of this. You prove to me it's anything other than bad luck and the power of suggestion and I'll go pick 'em up myself. Otherwise, you're on your own." The Chief took a sip of his coffee.

"And the blonde woman who shot Scott Mackenzie?"

The man shrugged. "You got any idea how many people pass through this town in a year?"

"A lot of 'em change genders in a jail cell? Because that's quite a trick. Usually, you have to go to Sweden for that, and even then I think it takes more than 10 minutes."

Scully would have crossed into the side dining room and found her seat at the table beside her partner, but it seemed a life sized Ken doll was barring the way.

"You must be Agent Scully. My name's Jet, Jetsun Rinpoche Loew, actually." He drew his speech out as though he were a television announcer. "I'm the DA's special investigator into cattle mutilations - that makes us colleagues."

"Nice to meet you, Detective Loew. I was just trying to. . ." Despite her best attempt at pleasant professionalism, he grinned and cut her off, determined to be chatty.

"Jet, please call me Jet. And your first name is?"

Exasperated, she responded, "Dana, Dana Katherine."

"Well Dana, it's out of my limited jurisdiction and against the unspoken wishes of my superiors, but I'd like to help you find a way to stop what's happening."

"Why?" She felt herself getting a cramp in her neck. He was bigger than Mulder, much bigger, and fairly young, thirty at the very most. It would be at least ten years before he started to get beefy. She found her mind straying from the case, straying, even more notably, from her partner. She was unsure if she should be relieved at this apparent sign of vitality in her libido or if she should be swimming in guilt. Both responses seemed irrational.

"Isn't a concern for the public welfare enough?"

Scully involuntarily felt her eyebrow rise.

"Okay, I suppose not. Look the first victim, Kathy Brencis, was a friend of mine."

"Oh?"

"Besides, I was wondering if I had a shot at your partner? He's certainly very. . ."

"Attractive?"

"The word that came to mind was 'exquisite.'" Jet gave her a significant look. "So, do I have a chance?"

This definitely wasn't Mulder's fault but she was ashamed to find herself wanting to make him as uncomfortable as she was at the moment. "Let's just say my partner prides himself on being open to extreme possibilities."

"You're quite attractive, too, of course, but there are so few really appealing gay men in the area I was just considering adding variety to my dating life. It's been awhile since I. . .this is too much information, isn't it?"

Dana Katherine's eyes had grown fairly large in her face but she managed a weak smile to go with the nod.

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

Fox Mulder was developing a pounding headache, though he doubted it was the fault of the damn whatever it was that was eventually going to kill him. No, he traced it directly to the fact that he had surveyed the evidence photos several times before and after arriving in New Mexico and never once had he recognized Kathy Brencis as the porn star Kitty Cream. Perhaps the lapse itself had been attributable to the black magic worked on his brain by CGB's terrified doctors, but the ache between his ears was definitely, unquestionably caused by missing such a vital piece of information.

On top of everything that had already gone wrong on this case, now Scully thought he'd known about Brencis' former occupation all along and had just neglected to mention it to her and was thus suitably miffed. The whole thing made him feel vaguely panicked -he owned both video taped and photographic depiction of the victim with a mouth full of cock, and yet he had failed to realize it when the crime scene photos slid across his desk. Any pretense he made at not objectifying women was lost.

He tried in vain to calculate the number of times he had pulled his cock as he watched her choke down some behemoth, all the while trying to force the image of Scully on her knees out of his mind. It never worked. By the time he came, it was always her face in his mental beta-max smiling wide, spattered with semen. It was a wonder he didn't have to scrub with Comet every night before bed.

He looked up to see that Mr. I-Screw-Porn-Stars-And- Now-I've-Come-For-Your-Partner was still talking, pouring charm like maple syrup all over Scully. She must have just been giving him a hard time earlier because Jet Loew was looking at Dana Scully in a downright heterosexual way. Mulder looked at her at least four times a day that same way himself and he didn't appreciate anyone else muscling in on his territory.

The fact that he was suffering from smoldering jealousy still didn't lend him enough raw will to pay attention to what Mr. I-Investigate-Nothing-But- Cattle-Mutilations was saying. He considered how to address his rival. It was a rare occasion on which he internally thanked his parents for the name Fox, but being a male model-looking asshole named after a Tibetan saint - that took the cake. It had to be worse than being a goofy-looking guy named Fox. It had to be. Jetsun Rinpoche Loew, indeed.

He couldn't bring himself to concentrate on the exchange no matter how hard he tried - if his mind hadn't been wandering regularly for the past few months he would have immediately suspected that he'd been drugged. He still did not rule the possibility out entirely.

It was not until that afternoon back at Frigga's ranch that his head felt really clear.

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

Junior pulled the axe off the wall beside the back door and headed out with Mulder tight on his heels. Beside the back porch sat a mountain of half stacked wood and Junior looked appraisingly at it, axe dangling from one hand.

"Mind if I ask you a few questions, Jun?"

"Ask away." He set a piece of wood onto a stump that seemed to been set up especially for the purpose. "That's what you're here for right? You might want to stand back a little bit, Agent Mulder." In a few blinks he had spread his feet apart and swung down hard, wedging the axe deep into the standing log. A few breaths later he lifted the ax, log and all, and brought it down harder still, splitting it into three roughly even pieces.

Mulder jumped back involuntarily. "I want to know about Kathy Brencis. I think if we can understand why she was the first hit, we can understand how to stop Viggo."

Jun was huffing, already on his fourth log. "That's easy." He brought the ax down again. "She was a fucking powerhouse, Seider-wise."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"You know, the first time I saw Kitty in person she was sitting in Michael's Kitchen having a cup of hot chocolate with Harry Reams. They were here skiing. About half an hour later, he put his car right in the middle of a snow bank. As luck would have it, yours truly was there to pull 'em out. Eight years we were friends - good friends."

Mulder nodded. "So I understand."

Jun snorted. "I have a good guess at what the local cops probably told you, but never once in those years did I so much as fondle her genitals, nor did she fondle mine. Kitty and Frigga had been going at it pretty hot and heavy ever since she moved here. She had a couple of guys she was in the habit of seeing from time to time - the principal at one of the private grade schools and a guy in the DA's office. But there are other women who get around a lot more."

"But none of them ever took a face-load of come on camera - not that you can rent down at the local video store. That makes all the difference in the world."

Jun brought down the ax again. "That pretty much sums it up." The wood cleft perfectly.

Mulder drew his inadequate coat up tight around him and did his best to remain nonchalant about stamping his feet to keep warm.

"You wanna swing for a while?"

"Excuse me?"

Jun proffered the ax handle. "It'll warm ya up. 'Sides, you know what they say."

"What's that?"

Jun answered him, squinting peevishly, thickening his accent to point of self parody. "Ain't nobody chops wood like 'em boys from Oxford."

The slightest of smiles spread itself across Mulder's face. Who was he to refuse such an offer? Stripping off his coat for mobility's sake, and his tie for safety's sake, he took the ax.

He was not out of shape. Compared to the gelatinous forms of most other 15 year veterans, he was practically Jackie fucking Chan. Nonetheless, miles of running and swimming every day were not perhaps the ideal preparation for log-splitting. His first swing was so poorly aimed it glanced futilely off the side of the log.

Jun sucked his teeth and hoped his second shot was better. More than that, Jun concentrated, staring as Mulder took two more tries to breach the upturned wood.

"You know there's some old deep magic in sex, right?" Jun began. "You got the driving force of the universe right there. It's obvious women have more of it, the power, I mean. You see it all over nature."

"Yeah?" Mulder breathed heavily. If he weren't both cold and frustrated, the conversation would have been a lot more enthralling.

"Like ants - the male mates with one female and dies. He's got a lifespan of maybe a few weeks. The Queen, on the other hand, mates with dozens of males at a time and can live for years. When some kinds of snakes breed they form what's called a 'mating ball,' with one female and any where from three to upwards of a dozen males.

"Right," Mulder agreed, not sure what the point was, but hoping Jun was planning to get to it.

"Same deal. The female orgasm powers the Seider. Pretty much any woman can come three or four times a pop. Find a man that can pull that off and I'll show you somebody's who's worked at it for years."

Mulder wisely chose to swing the ax again rather than attempt to comment.

"I've seen Kathy come fifteen, sixteen times in one ritual. If Viggo and LaGrange left her alive, we would have shut their asses down as soon as they started pulling this shit. Missy's sister or not, your partner has some pretty big shoes to fill."

Mulder grunted in shock, missing the log he was swinging for entirely and burying his ax deeply in the stump below. "You expect Scully to join the Seider?"

"That was the general idea. Ah, what say you gimme that ax before you cut your fucking leg off?"

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

"You're joking, right?" Dana Scully surveyed the serious faces. "Mulder, tell me you're not a party to this. God, look who I'm asking." She closed her eyes. "Of course you're a party to this.

This was, as Mulder would say, un-fucking-believable. He was asking her not only to participate in, but be the center of some orgiastic new age clap-trap, the kind of thing even he would normally dismiss.

So what if it purported to potentially grant her a certain amount of control over the chip in the back of her neck? As far as she could tell, there was no way it could work. There was no way it could bring Wunjo Iverson home to his mother.

Sure, sexual activity in general and the female orgasm in particular were known to produce certain hormonal and enzymatic responses that could, theoretically, effect the microchip, depending on its programming and composition. So, maybe, on a very hypothetical level, it might work. Not that that obligated her in any way to participate. It was so preposterous that she gave the only answer she knew how to give.

"No. Absolutely not."

Mulder's focus was intense, as if he was mentally laying out his beads and rattles in advance. "Like I said, it's your call, Scully."

She felt her temper move from a simmer to rolling boil. "I am so glad you are choosing to recognize my right to self-determination today. It really is a refreshing change of pace after the last seven years. But then, everyone knows you're full of surprises, among other things."

Part of her twinged with guilt that he was shocked into such a nervous silence in front of an audience, but another part raged on. She should have known Eddie Van Blundht was an imposter the moment she first saw the bottle of wine. THIS was Fox Mulder's style; hokey and improbable, with plenty of wiggle room, so he could claim it meant nothing.

Frigga was twisting the silver ring on her thumb. "Do you know why your sister, Melissa, left Taos?" she asked quietly. Mulder put his hand on shoulder as if to quiet her, but she shrugged him off.

"She felt it was time to move on." Scully's gaze challenged Frigga to contradict her. "She was like that."

"Two months before your sister left she lost a pregnancy under very mysterious circumstances." Frigga remained calm as she spoke, in hope that Scully would relax and listen.

"My sister was never pregnant." Scully's expression was flat.

"Your sister had had two normal ultrasounds and was just entering her second trimester when the fetus she was carrying simply disappeared, without so much as a leak in the amniotic sack. If we'd known then what we know now, we could have stopped it." Frigga licked the corner of her lip compulsively.

Some how this horrific information was restive, almost soporific, giving Scully the chance to operate as a doctor and an investigator, to feel back on an even keel again. In her element. "Stopped what? There's no conspiracy at work here. I know it seems odd but re-absorption of fetal tissue happens. If what you're describing did occur, there was no alien involvement. It was a rare but explainable form of spontaneous abortion where, instead of being expelled, the tissue is absorbed by the mother."

Internally, Scully pleaded with Frigga to stop trying to make this personal.

"Your sister was a multiple abductee, just like you," Frigga said slowly and clearly and too close to Scully's face for comfort.

"Frigga, alien abduction is not a proven phenomena."

A pleading quality entered the other woman's voice. "What happened to her could happen to you."

And an edge entered Scully's. "No, it couldn't. My ova were harvested."

The razor Scully cut with came back at her in Frigga's voice. "During one of those pesky abductions you won't admit actually happen?"

"I don't care to discuss this." Rather than hurt, Scully simply sounded dead.

There was a forcefulness close to anger in Frigga's voice now. "You could use the Seider to stimulate your ovaries into producing. You could have children."

Again the tone caught hold of Scully. "How do I know you aren't saying this just to get me to agree? If you're at the point I think you are, you'll say anything, do anything, if you think it has the faintest chance of bringing your son home."

Frigga's pitch escalated. "And I think you're afraid to admit that anything that's happened to you is real."

Scully teetered on the brink of screaming. "I really don't want to talk about this. It's a waste of our time."

After his partner had all but sprinted for the door Fox Mulder was heard to mutter, not quite as under his breath as he imagined, "Stonewall Scully rides again."

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

Dana Scully, as usual, was stuck between a metaphorical rock and a hard place.

She knew they did not have the back up, the firepower, or the tactical expertise to go knocking on the front door of Jackson's compound and demand custody of a boy everyone claimed was now invisible. Neither did they have the authority - really - as two lone agents. All they would do if they were to attempt a direct confrontation was draw the bureau's wrath. Well, that and get herself and probably several others killed.

At the same time, her conscience would not allow her to return to DC. Clearly these people needed her help and no matter how much she argued that no evidence of foul play existed, there was still the matter of six deaths. And this Seider stuff. . .

How could it be true? It seemed ridiculous that her ability to have multiple orgasms would save anyone. Old deep magic, her ass.

She stirred her latte clockwise then counter clockwise, hoping to come up with some solution, some middle ground where justice was served, the boy was returned safe and sound, and everyone kept their pants on. It was not working.

Even if she managed to conjure up enough doubt to force herself to go home, Mulder would not be moved. He'd swallowed it all hook, line, and sinker. Besides that, he was tied to these people, these friends of Melissa's. It made her wonder for a minute exactly what led them there. They had made similar choices, all of them desperately looking for a road less traveled, all of them trying with varying degrees of success to shuck off their affluent backgrounds.

The day before, in fact, she had bitten her tongue as she watched Frigga fill an exquisite crystal bowl with water, only to set it down beside the kitchen door for the collection of scraggily dogs that seemed to have free run of the house. It was so Mulderish of her, so like him. Just like Mulder, Frigga seemed bordering on naive, as if she knew the value of everything and the price of nothing.

And what exactly, she mused, stirring again, was the price for one Dana Scully? Had she cost Mulder too much or too little? Did her even want her? Or had he long ago decided she would spend the rest of her life amongst the window dressing? It was painful.

And what if she did lose her mind and agree to partake in the ritual? Was he expecting to be 'the one?' Or could she take the easy way out and choose one of the other women to be her partner in the Seider? Of course, they had made it clear that the choice was entirely her own. But Mulder - what was going on in his head?

They had spent the entire day up to that point in utterly fruitless investigation, at her behest. It was clear there was no physical evidence to be found, but he remained pleasant, obliging, supportive, even. Why? Was he trying to get in her good graces?

Did he want to experience the ritual with her? Did he hope she would stand fast? Did he just want to have sex with any willing female? Had she been misreading him all these years? Did Loew actually have a better shot at him than she did?

No, she stirred more determinedly, that was one extreme possibility she just didn't see Mulder jumping into head first. As far as she could tell, didn't respond to men sexually - none of the dilated pupils and galvanic skin response in the presence of choice males that he got in the presence of even vaguely desirable females. Oh well, she'd cross that question off her list for the moment.

She glanced up at him. The table was too small for him to slide his knees under, so he sat pulled away, balancing a plate of irregularly shaped spice cookies on his knee as his coffee cup hovered ceaselessly in his hand. He was not sitting at the table as much as he was in a general orbit around Scully.

"Mulder?"

"Yes?

She tried to say it in the lightest way possible. "What should I do?"

Panic Face, followed swiftly by an attempt to drive all emotion from his voice. "You're reconsidering. then?"

She exhaled. "I want to explore all the possibilities. There isn't much chance of us taking the boy by force, I have been unable to find any forensic evidence that would help us get the law enforcement assistance we would need, and there have been six deaths, which is about five more than coincidence can account for."

He nodded slowly, trying to remain calm. He stuffed a cookie into his mouth before he could manage to say something wrong.

"I don't suppose you would have any interest in being my partner in the Seider if I were to rethink my position?"

He chewed and swallowed. He swallowed again. "Actually, yes. I already am your partner, after all." He swiftly shoved three more cookies in his mouth to stem the tide of stupid things he was about to say. This was not the time or place for professions of love and desire.

"You want to have sex with me?"

It took all his inner resources to appear calm. "This is less sex than it is performance art."

Satisfied with his response, he attempted to take a sip of coffee, as if it were perfectly normal to discuss the Tantric union of souls, to discuss not only having sex with his partner, but having sex for the first and quite probably only time with his partner, in front of other people with blazing fires and magical symbols painted on their bodies in - oh, wow, would they actually use blood? Cat or dove? Not human, surely? Even Snow wouldn't go that. . .

The sip of coffee was not a success. He missed his mouth entirely and dumped scalding coffee onto his crotch. The cookie plate smashed dramatically on the floor when he jumped up in more shock than pain.

For a brief moment, it was pandemonium as time seemed to slow down. He became aware of the sensory minutae around him - the throb of the bass coming crackling through the radio at the counter, the citrus smell of Scully's hand lotion, the taste of straight black Kona combined with anise and citron and cinnamon and clove cookies, with the sharp aftertaste of brandy, the fine grit of the last of the cookie crumbs in the corner of his mouth, the reverberating ring of porcelain against tempered-earth floor, the crack of the initial shatter, the heavy sound of Scully's breath, the drone of the English girl reading tarot in the corner.

He even heard the burn of the paper as the customer, the fortune tellee, sucked hard on her cigarette. His pants felt scratchy. All his skin felt vaguely raw. It took forever for staticky singer's words to form WE ARE IN TRUTH THE TRUTH WE SEEK. He could have sworn he felt the hair on his arms vibrating. He was shocked by a low voice.

"Everything all right in here?"

It was the Boris Karloff wannabe from behind the counter - say want you want about the Mummy the guy made a mean cup of coffee and the cups were reasonably clean.

Mulder blinked several times as his perception returned to normal - he guessed Ol Boris never took the time to learn Morse code. Scully's mouth was open and she was blinking, too.

"I just. . .I just spilled my coffee"

"And tossed your cookies," Scully muttered.

Boris sprinted nimbly toward them. "You can clean up in our bathroom if you want. We usually try to keep it employees only but you look like you need it. Here, I'll show you."

Before Mulder knew exactly what was happening, he was following ersatz Boris through what his imagination could easily have turned into catacombs, followed by three earthen steps. Behind a monstrous mechanical dishwasher and its hygienically-challenged operator, was a bright blue door.

Employees Only.

Inside, a huge list of things it was not advisable to attempt to flush down the ancient plumbing system, up to and including human waste, hung on the door. Beside that, a series of Natal Horoscopes of people he assumed were employees graced the wall, followed by snip of poems and bits of Camus, Sartre, Ginsberg, and others were stuck into the adobe with thumb tacks. Magazine photos. napkin drawings done in blue ball point pin all forming a huge collage that he scrutinized as he half-heartedly attempted to rinse the coffee out of his shirt.

He heard the peal of tires in snow and realized there was a window in the far rear of the long narrow room that looked out into the courtyard, even now not completely empty. There was something strange he could just barely make out behind the wall, almost completely obscured from view by the trees that ringed the far edge of the courtyard. He pulled his glasses from his inside jacket pocket.

Shit! Was that an eye?

He came barreling out of the bathroom, grabbed Scully by the hand, and attempted to drag her out the door.

Scully, however, was not prepared to be pulled out into the snow without her coat. She balked.

"Come on, Scully! There's something in the parking lot. . ." For the moment, all thoughts of sex, performance art, and performance anxiety were gone.

"Do I have to freeze to death to see it? Just let me get my coat."

He nodded, his left knee bobbing, not bothering to put his own coat on as she slid into hers.

As soon as she was ready, he ran through the enclosed patio, through slush and snow, with Scully trudging behind him. He stopped just ahead of her through the wooden courtyard doors, his face wearing the patented Mulder Look of Wonder.

What was it? Fairies? Flying Saucers? Vampyra doing a burlesque-style bump and grind?

Scully stepped over the snowy threshold into the parking lot and her eyes snapped wide with horror.

It was a bloody, severed horse head on a listing pole.

Mulder was circling the mayhem with downright glee.

"Can you believe it? I've never seen one before, only read about them, but look. . ."

"Well, then you're ahead me on this one Mulder. What the hell is it?"

"It's a Nithing Pole, Scully," he responded, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, a Pole of Insult?"

She just shook her head.

"Haven't you read your Norwegian History? Egil? 12th century? Deposed the King and Queen of Norway by constructing a Nithing Pole? Beowulf? Any of this ring a bell?" He was circling more slowly now, his eyes still riveted to the pole laughing, intermittently at the sheer wonderful weirdness of it. He never imagined he'd see one of these.

"I must have been absent that day." It made her flesh prickle. Every time she looked up, she imagined the screams of the horse as it died. She couldn't get that sound out of her head. "What's it supposed to do?"

"Well, this particular Pole of Insult gives me the option of leaving town or dying at the hands of Viggo and LaGrange. Hey, but don't worry. According to this they fully intend to pay their blood debt to my loved ones."

"Excuse me?"

"With inflation, that should come to a pretty penny. On the up side, you'll finally be able to afford that new car you've been looking at."

She looked and there along the pole was his name carved carefully in what appeared to be runes.

"See?" His eyes were twinkled as he pointed.

She saw. "Mulder, I just officially changed my mind."

:~:~::~:~:~:~:~:~:~

She was really doing this.

She still couldn't quite believe it, but she knew there would be no backing out. She had no intention of backing out, really. The clarity of her situation amazed her. She kept expecting things to go fuzzy at any minute. Instead as she practiced what Mulder called "The Cobra Breath," an eerie sense of reality settled over her. She was going to have sexual union with Fox Mulder, not in a moldy vermin infested motel room, not in a rented car, not in his apartment, or hers, or even on the desk in their office, files falling to the floor around them like leaves.

No, instead they were in a huge adobe room with a fireplace blazing at either end. All the furniture had been cleared. She tried not to watch Eve and Emily arranging what appeared to be a pile of furs on the floor. The very idea of Mulder naked on fur made her breathe even more slowly and deeply to avoid hyperventilating. Maybe there was some way she could casually ask him to wear his glasses, too?

Junior, Dave and Vivian were preparing to leave. Some last terrified part of Scully wished she was going with them. They'd probably get slaughtered.

They had been elected to go and snatch the boy while the others engaged the enemy in less corporeal terms. They were carefully scratching a symbol into their finger nails with the point of a knife, some symbol called The Thorn. Frigga said it was generally considered the darkest and most dangerous rune. Some people held the belief it should never be mentioned at all, let alone used, but she maintained it was invaluable to a soldier with his back against the wall. She alleged it tapped directly into the deepest, blackest power of the Id. If that were true, Scully could use it herself. If only she could figure out where to put the mark.

Or maybe not. For once, her Super Ego seemed under control. Okay, maybe not exactly under control, but pulling in the same direction as the deep blue sea of her Id, psychic oxen yoked to the same purpose - consummation. And yet, some part of her hung back, lit a metaphorical cigarette, and turned up its metaphorical collar. She wouldn't get emotionally involved.

Okay, honestly, she was already emotionally involved, so maybe she wouldn't get any MORE emotionally involved.

And exactly how involved was she? It wasn't something she could even begin to quantify, so how would she know if she became more enmeshed if she couldn't even tell where she was with him to begin with? Still, a part of her remained separate.

For Mulder, things were not the same, but Fox Mulder, FBI Agent, Oxford graduate, Apparition/Alien/Mutant Chaser Extraordinaire, was not having an easy time of It, either He felt, in fact, like he was going to throw up at any minute. His cock was hard and his brain was racing. Junior's minimalist words of direction were ricocheting around inside his skull.

"Look, you pretty much know what you're doin'. It's not complicated. Just raise both your Kundalinis through each chakra an' up to Shakti at the top of the skull, then just try to make her come as many times as you can. Okay?"

Oh yeah, nothing much. Should he split some firewood while he was at it? That was the kind of thing some Taoist mystic might do. If you could accomplish something like that, after you died some guy somewhere would build a shrine to venerate a lock of your pubic hair. He was just a guy who jerked off for six years, stuck on Vishuddi.

So it started. An egg shaped ring was drawn on the Floor, encompassing nearly the entire room. Around its edge, runes spelled out their desires and intentions. Here and there Mulder could read a name, a word, occasionally more, but never enough to make any real sense. He breathed in slowly, filled his lungs until they could hold no more, then released, not in some desperate sigh, but just as slowly and as controlled as his inhalation had been, exhaling until his lungs were well and truly empty. When he began again he could feel the golden ray of light shoot up toward his navel. It occurred to him that the cobra breath was perfect. It worked. My God, if he hadn't been doing it for the last hour he was certain he would have come half an hour ago when she'd removed her shirt, revealing her naked back and black bra.

By his side, she regarded him out of the corner of her eye as he undressed, already naked herself. His hands moved clumsily, opening his shirt.

"Scully, are you sure about this?" He was looking down at his fingers working the buttons, not at her.

"I'm fine with this, Mulder"

"No, really. I don't want you to do anything you don't feel good about."

"Or maybe," her voice was only a half-step above a whisper, "you don't want to do this?"

His shirt was still on, hanging open, but the only thing he could think to do was push down his pants. "I know how you feel about tangible evidence," he croaked.

She had never seen him both naked and turgid at the same time without feeling she should look away before. It was bigger than she expected, red to match his lower lip, and bouncing in the open air. She could practically see his pulse beating in the veins that stood out along his shaft.

She had never felt this way, never before felt the compulsion to take a penis into her mouth. Oh, she had certainly performed fellatio before and she had certainly enjoyed it, but she had never felt the urge to swallow down a man's cock the second she saw it. It felt like a physical hunger.

She held back a wealth of conflicting emotions: the urge to suck his lower lip into her mouth, to wrap her hands around his throat, but they were too small. She had no idea where the sadistic impulse came from, except that she had always admired what was fragile in him.

And like that, the twisted desire passed and all that was left was an almost magnetic pull toward him.

He was consumed with self consciousness. The very idea of Scully standing there, openly staring at his erection, open mouthed, made his chest contract. He breathed in slowly. Did she realize her mouth was open?

Over the years he had always judiciously avoided looking at her mouth because he loved it. The ripeness of it, the wetness, the slight duck-ish quality of her upper lip paralyzed him with lust like the proverbial deer in the on-coming headlights.

He was filled with a vague sense of desperation when he realized he could kiss her now. In fact, he was expected to kiss her. The thought of even trying to imagine how to start made him want to cry.

Luckily, as he waffled, Scully pulled him down by his neck into a clinch of her own devising. She didn't seem to be having the same problems he was. They both shut their eyes, but not quickly enough to avoid seeing Frigga kill a dove and begin draining its blood into a wooden bowl.

Scully felt vaguely sick, but continued kissing. A few minutes later, Mulder felt Frigga's warm hand on his back, sticky with blood. He began to sweat.

"This is Eihwaz, the spine and the yew, it denotes the strength to take risks and the courage to act on your convictions." As she drew a line of blood up his muscled back, he began to suck harder at Scully's mouth. She continued making what looked much like a stylized letter z of both their backs.

It alarmed Scully that she wasn't alarmed at all.

They parted momentarily so that Frigga could continue marking them.

Frigga still spoke as she worked, but Scully no longer cared to focus on much beyond Mulder's body. She expected to be put off by the bloody characters, but she was not. She caught the names of some of the marks as she watched his chest expand and contract. Inguz, Dagaz, Kenaz, Ehwaz, Teiwaz, Sowulo, Algiz, Berkana, Raido, Wunjo. Frigga fell back and the drums began. The tattoo the women beat was hypnotic.

Scully surged toward him. It was such a cliche, like something out of Penthouse Letters, surging toward him, but that was the only description his brain could come up with. She was on him like, like. . . again, his intellect was against him. On him like. . .like white on rice, like ugly on warthog, like bald on Assistant Director Skinner. God, his brain would kill him if it didn't stop soon.

Why did he keep distracting himself, like a joke at a funeral?

It wasn't that he didn't want her; god, how he wanted her. But he was so afraid. It was the End of the World. What the Hindus call the Kali Yuga - wasn't that the name of the bar where this whole sorry mess had started? The Mayans called it El Quinto Sol, The Fifth Sun. In any language, it was Armageddon, and he was an apocalypso dancer.

He wanted it. He wanted her. And he was a traitor to be willing to risk everything. Kundalini and Nazis and miracles aside, he was a fool to be willing to trade everything in the world for a dive between those smooth white legs, to trade companionship, trust, the best friend in the world, for pussy, for cunt that couldn't possibly be that different from every other cunt in the world.

Except, of course, it was wired into the best friend in question.

If he pressed the magic button, it would invariably send a jolt into her pleasure center. She would release endorphins, adrenalin, a cocktail of other chemicals.

Love? Did it matter? Did it exist? Could he get it from her? Chances were if he spun the wheel of fortune he'd inevitably hit BANKRUPT if he were lucky, maybe LOSE-A-TURN. Her lips brushing over his nipples felt like an electrified sweep of silk oh-my- god she was moving lower and he was going to die.

He pulled her up by her shoulders, whispering, "This isn't how we do this. You need to, ah, let me lead this dance or, um, this is going to be a wasted effort." It was the only way he could think of to express it, but jeez, how it stumbled along. "Lie down, Scully."

His eyes ran over her again and again. He had a feverish desire to stare and stare and stare between her legs. He wished he had a speculum, a gynecological table, and one of those strong lamps from the doctor's office. Now that he had her, was having her, would have her, he wanted to explore every square inch of her. He didn't feel shy at all.

That didn't make him any more certain than he had been a earlier; it just meant his inborn curiosity had won out. He wanted to tell himself 'in-for-a- penny-in-for-a-pound,' but it was a stupid, pointless, useless, hackneyed phrase after so many years of straddling the fence.

Suddenly, words he had no conscious memory of ever hearing ran through his head. 'Put your secret longings in the river underground.' It seemed fitting. He would let those urges, those pointless urges for romance and love and a little family of two wash out with the subterranean tide of his unconscious mind and fuck Scully like she had never been fucked before.

In the Tantric tradition, this was a bonding, the ultimate marriage, no matter what Scully thought or didn't think, an intimacy beyond intimacy. What did it matter if she never said, "I love you," so long as they were joined on etheric plane?

Who was he kidding? It mattered.

Suddenly, he felt the gold light rise as it never had before, and his spine went perfectly, divinely straight. Insane heat radiated from his skull and he felt a buzz above his head. He could feel the molecules around him reverberating. He could feel Scully's skin, even though he was not touching her. He could feel what she felt. Her sensations were his.

She stared up at him and was IN LOVE, had been IN LOVE for a long, long time. On a subatomic, level he was laughing, and every electron, neutron, and proton that was Mulder jingled merrily and without rancor. She loved him. She had loved him all along.

He could do it now. More than that, he would do so much more than she imagined. Her imagination was so limited. He loved her and he would make certain it rang in her like a bell.

Gaze upon gaze, they remained. He ran his fingertips over her knees, so softly she could barely feel him, yet every hair on her body stood at attention. His palms grazed the swell where her leg turned into hip before his mouth followed. His forefingers traced the spiral of her ear, but it was his warm, ripe lower lip that caressed her earlobes.

His lips hummed at her neck, then went on to suckle, and finally to blow softly across the wet surface. She practically convulsed. He could smell her arousal wafting through the room in waves, competing with the resinous pine of the fires for dominance.

It took every fiber of will to lick the inside of her thighs without moving on to her pussy.

He moved away slightly when he was done so he could breath on the skin he had licked from a distance. Soft as the pressure from his mouth was, she writhed under it. Reluctantly, he shifted her onto her side and began on her back, the sacral-lumbar junction to be exact, and began his kisses. He felt her lower two chakras open like flowers. He was minutely aware when the skin on her body tensed like a drum. His tongue slipped down to the backs of her knees and he felt her begin to shiver. He felt the pulse of it in a strange place back behind his balls. . .

She was coming. She was coming from him breathing on the back of her knees and he felt it. His head was still on fire and for a second his vision went black at the center. Her orgasm felt like a train running up his spine. Sweet-Ed-Wood-In-A-Dress could he... could he eat her now? All the times he had sat in the office throwing pencils at the ceiling dreaming of prostrating himself just enough to get his head between her legs and here he was, the luckiest son- of-a-bitch alive.

Her name came out of his mouth, surprising her. "Scully?"

She stared. It all seemed unreal - Mulder's fingers holding open her labia, his mouth poised over her straining clitoris and he was smiling. She didn't know how to answer him, so she lifted her hips to his maddening lips in response.

He laughed. Laughed, sucked her clitoris, and sent a buzz shooting up her body that caused something above her navel and something else, something in the middle of her chest, to fly open like a window.

She was so wet that she made juicy noises when he pushed two fingers inside her. She felt vaguely embarrassed until he hit that spot with his fingers, that special spot, that made her whole body contract and expand around him, uncoiling. And something within her throat blew clear.

She was coming, again and again, gripping at his fingers.

He lifted his head. "Can I kiss you?"

It was not her partner who settled on top of her, not the man who dropped his gun and talked with food in his mouth, not an infuriating fool in love with the sound of his own voice who left her to do all the paperwork, but a golden god, glowing in the fire light. A god who would obliterate anyone or anything that hurt her. A god she would never succeed in pushing away.

His face loomed over hers. He was asking not to take her, not to possess her, but for her to take him, make him her own. In the split second that hung like an axe above them, she made up her mind, and flipped him onto his back in a smooth, swift move she must have learned at Quantico.

They were eye to eye, forehead to forehead. He sucked in her exhalation and felt gold sparks shoot out of his finger tips. Her last chakra, her third eye, blinked open and met his, opening to opening. Her wet crotch gasped against his belly and her mouth sucked at his. This had nothing in common with the New Year's Eve peck. This had nothing to do with his lonely, painful clinging to her scared, stiff body when his mother died. His tongue connected with hers and the circuit was complete. The snake in her spine unfurled like a flag. He felt the rumble, saw her shine like rosy gold above him. There was an air of danger about her and suddenly, the strangest thing occurred - her hair was red. It was red and he could see it.

It was no longer a woman who went on fad diets, listened to incomprehensible music, and had a disturbing love of organization, with his penis nestled between her labia. It was a goddess made of milk and blood. There was an element of terror to his worship. He could understand the fear that led millennia after millennia of men burn women at the stake, he understood the maleus maleficarum when it said that woman was the closest companion of Satan. They had some link to the underlying power of the universe, the great dark mysterious, that men could never claim. Every day of his life he could smell it on all of them; now, he would just have to throw himself on her mercy and enjoy the ride. After all, he was golden and divine - he could probably survive. He'd taken larger risks with smaller pay-offs.

She shifted her lips to his ear, half a kiss, half a whisper, "My tit, Mulder, suck my tit." Vaguely, he noted that she didn't say 'breast' right before she shoved it into his mouth. He was delighted.

He opened his mouth wider, trying to suck in every bit possible, like a baby. He pulled hard with his mouth, squeezed her waist in his hands. Her nipple, wedged tight between his tongue and hard palate, made another circuit, and he could taste her Kundalini, like fire and iron and green leaves and sea spray wrapped with his own.

He felt the shock as another orgasm ripped through her and she pulled back, ripping her nipple from between his lips.

He expected her to say something. He had imagined it differently. He imagined her trembling underneath him as he penetrated her with infinite care. That wasn't what happened.

Instead, she caught his eye and held it, nodding, nodding at him like she had when their office had burned, when she had her gun to the back of a killer's head, when it was all she could do to shake back the adrenalin. She nodded.

With a sting and a shiver, he was home inside her. His hair was soaked with sweat as she shook on top of him, her too long fingernails cutting into his shoulders.

There was a painful and exquisite slowness to it now that they were joined. It was stupidly beautiful. Cock in cunt - any moron could do it, and frequently did. But it had taken the two of them, with their ponderous brains like planets careening out of their orbits, close to forever.

He was aware of every cubed inch of air in the room. It seemed like each subtle move he made brought another wave of harsh tremors through her. The flashes that accompanied each orgasm were becoming blinding, pink and gold and apple green ringed with violet. Her teeth gnashed and only the whites of her eyes were visible.

He could not believe how good it felt inside her. She gripped him in waves. His vision pulsed. He couldn't hold out much longer. It hadn't been a struggle before, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. They had been one piece for what seemed like days. The gold shone brighter and larger, like a balloon, reaching critical mass. With all the strength in his body, he lifted her up and off and she stared, mouth open.

He sat up, gesturing to her. "I wanna, I wanna come like this, Scully."

Nimbly, she climbed onto his lap, facing him.

"Mulder," she blinked, "this...," she stretched up to his ear, ". . . this is good..." and proceeded to lock her ankles around his waist.

He gripped her head with both hands, "Really?" His voice was beginning to take on a quality she normally associated with hospital rooms. "I mean, I only got about half-way through the Kama Marmas. . . "

"Yeah?" Her voice sounded drunk and she tried fruitlessly to move forward enough to kiss him but she couldn't get her head out of his hands without dislodging his penis and so thought better of it.

"The Kama Marmas are the erogenous zones used in Tantra to open the chakras and release the Kundalini." His hips moved against her and she attempted to buck wildly again, but he pulled her tighter to him making it impossible.

"Umm humm. . ."

"It's common belief that the Kundalini resides in its dormant phase at the base of the spine but that's misinformation - it actually is in the brain, the lower sections of the brain."

Her nipples were red and hard and she pushed them against him. "You have a big brain, Mulder, okay?" She slipped the tips of her pinkies into the corners of his mouth. "I've always loved your lips, Mulder. Now. . . ummm"

"Now what, Scully?"

"Mulder," she mumbled, using her formidable thigh muscles to try to bounce on top of him, despite his efforts to subdue her.

"Scully." It was an attempt at admonishment, but she proved to be less than cowed. He trembled despite his best efforts when she changed her tactic and ran her fingers down his back.

She pressed her forehead to his, the thin rind of her irises screaming blue behind her bloody hair, all crazed and curling in his fingers. "Come for me, Mulder."

He could still smell the toothpaste on her breath. Was it like this for her, too? Could she see the air reverberate? Feel his thoughts? Were the colors the same for her? "I don't. . . I don't know if I'm ready..."

She screwed up her forehead. "Wha. . .?"

". . . ready for this to be over, Scully. I don't know if it will ever happen again."

She bit her lip - gasp - "We'll do it again" - gasp - "I promise."

"I love you, Scully. Can I say that now?"

"I love you, too. Now fuck me."

He thrust up hard against her, his nose pressed into her cheek, his lower lip thrust into her mouth, his hands still grasping desperately at her skull. She arched her back and pushed down with all her might.

She seemed to be beginning to regret both his size and her movement as he thrust three hard jabs that seemed to go past the mouth of her cervix. His final moves were graceless as he came inside her, clutching her to him, whimpering into her mouth.

Mulder and Scully never noticed when the drummers stopped.

They had fallen asleep where they lay before the hunters returned safely with the child.

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

He seemed particularly bent on pressing his right knee against her left, but she wasn't sure how much of his behavior she could attribute to the cramped conditions in coach. The accommodations certainly had little or nothing to do with his incessant smiling: of that, she was certain.

He grinned and cleared his throat. "You gonna register that as a deadly weapon?"

She practically jumped out of her skin. "Jackson and his group were disturbed individuals. There's no evidence that anything Frigga's people did - with or without us - affected them. It's just fortunate they were able to get the boy out before they started killing each other."

He smirked. "Strong coincidence though - a ritual aimed at directing their violence back on them and they obligingly shoot each other to death."

She sniffed. "I had nothing to do with that."

"Never said you did."

"I believe your words were, 'Are you gonna register that as a deadly weapon?'"

"Maybe I was talking about me. I think you've done permanent damage. I may never play the violin again."

She frowned. "That would be a shame."

He straightened his tie nervously and did his best to wipe the grin off his face. "Look Scully, by any standard, I mean 'any' standard, that was incredible. You were incredible. I'm not, um, I'm not the most, um, I'm no Eddie Van Blundht, but I've never seen anything - any'one' - to compare to what I saw yesterday. You were unbelievable. Were you - have you always been like that? Or was it me? I mean, it was you, clearly, it was you, but, um, did I. . .?"

"Mulder?" She blinked at him over the tops of her glasses. What the hell was going on in his head?

All his jocular bluster was gone. "Scully, I. . ."

She waited. And waited. Finally, she asked. "What are you trying to say?"

He peered at her, wide-eyed, bit his lip.

And it hit her. Just like that.

Holy shit, for the first time in forever she thought she knew, she thought she had a clue.

"Mul-der," she stretched out his name, "is this about what I promised you?"

He swallowed audibly. "Scully, you don't have to worry. I'm not going to hold you to anything you don't want to do."

"Mulder, I. . . " She was shaking her head in disbelief, at a loss for words.

His words rushed out. "It's okay. You can dump me. No hard feelings."

Dump him? She worked with him five days a week and spent about half her weekends with him, too. How effectively could she dump him? And furthermore, the man had maintained an erection for two and a half hours - why the hell would she want to dump him?

You can't break eggs for an omelet then decide you want to raise chickens instead, she thought. And she didn't want to. She just needed some time to think it all through.

"I meant every word I said, Mulder. Every one. I just need a little time to regroup."

He nodded, but didn't look convinced. "How much time? Seven years? Six months?"

"More than a day, less than a month - I'll let you know."

He looked down, not at his shoes, it seemed, but hers. "You honestly want this? Want me? Us?"

"Do you?" Her voice was quiet. "You have to answer me this time, actual words. I'm reasonably certain not even you would pull down your pants on a plane full of people, but. . ."

"Wanna bet?"

"Mulder," she warned.

"Okay, Scully," he nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's what I want."

"I do, too. I want this Mulder, I just don't want it to come between us. If sleeping with you means putting our friendship in jeopardy, I'd just as soon stick to Friday nights with my vibrator."

"You have a vibrator?"

Was he serious? She was a thirty four year old single woman who saw her gynecologist more often than she saw a live naked man. Did she have a vibrator?

"Mulder, I'm serious."

"I know you are."

She leaned forward, unable to speak, her mouth half- open.

Finally, Mulder looked up. "Are you afraid you made a mistake?"

There was no hesitation. "No."

"You meant every word you said?"

"Every one."

He nodded. "Even when, when you said you loved me?"

She hadn't even realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled. "Even then."

"Nothing has to change, Scully. We can just be, just be, you know, there for each other a little more."

She chuffed. "If you were any more 'there' for me, Mulder, I'd have one of your kidneys." She smiled as she said it, a bigger smile than she had intended.

He smiled in response. "You'll give me a chance?" and extended his hand

She nodded, extending her own hand. "You'll give me some time?"

And they shook hands.

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

The End

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