"Java Jive" By XFBandit Rating: PG Classification: MSR, V Rating: PG Spoilers: Paper Hearts, Pusher, Kitsenguri, Terma, Herrenvolk, Grotesque Feedback: Sure. drambo@sonic.net Archive: Anywhere, as long as my name and addy stay attached. Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be. No money changed hands, and no characters were hurt in the creation of this fanfic. Los Angeles, CA 0331 Hours I haven't slept in 48 hours. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. I've gone as long as 71 hours without closing my eyes and letting sleep claim me. But that was on a weekend in college, studying for a ball-breaker of an abnormal psych exam. On a case, on a stakeout -- it's different. I see her coming back from the bodega, two cardboard cups of coffee balanced carefully in a cardboard carrier. Her steps are quick, sure, and I marvel at her ability to control her body's reaction to the stress we're under. She gets back in the car and silently hands me my cup. Normally, I drink tea, but I want the coffee. It's almost a ritual by now. I remember it from my ISU days. Sitting for hours, days...weeks on some monster, waiting for him to make a move. Coffee was the fuel, endurance was the word of the day. You could be the best profiler in the world, the rule went, but if you didn't get the bastard in custody it didn't amount to shit. The arrest was all that mattered. It's a wonder more of our suspects didn't die in a hail of gunfire. Take a team of four FBI Special Agents, deprive them of sleep for two days, jack them up and out with caffeine, and then ask them to arrest a violent criminal. Nerves on edge, twitching fingers caressing the triggers of shotguns and high-powered assault rifles...I'm amazed that we managed to arrest more than we killed. I pry the little plastic sip-guard back and inhale the aroma gratefully. It's strong, black, hot. Scully knows me so well by now. Her coffee has two glops of that God-only-knows-what's-in-it "non-dairy" creamer stirred in. Mine is black, inky black like the night outside our car. "God, I'm tired," she moans, letting her head slip back against the seat. I grunt something that's supposed to be an agreement. This temporary assignment to ISU has given Scully a whole new perspective on the Job. Normally, FBI rules dictate that agents must sit on stakeout no longer than 12 consecutive hours. ISU makes the rules, and ISU breaks the rules. We're the elite. The best of the best. We're supposed to be superhuman. "Do you think he's going to make a move tonight?" she asks. I grunt another positive-sounding statement. The ability to form coherent words and thoughts left me about six hours ago. I'm running on instinct and adrenaline. "I'm going to sack out. Wake me if anything happens," she says. I nod, reaching for the radio, looking for something soft and meaningless to ease Scully's passage into slumber. Ninety minutes later, as Scully drools onto her trenchcoat, it happens. The plastic earpiece in my head crackles, and the voice in my head announces, "He's moving." I start the car. The noise from the engine wakes Scully and she blinks like a startled animal. "Wha-?" she asks. "He's moving," I grunt, my voice hoarse from too much coffee and too little sleep. Scully reaches to the small of her back and returns with her SIG. I hear the metallic click-snap-click as she slides the magazine out, checking that it's fully charged before she reinserts it. I hear the metal-moist sound of the slide being inched back just enough for her to see that a gleaming brass shell is in the chamber. Then I feel her hand on my hip and I almost run a red light. Without asking, knowing that I'm too out of it to think, Scully withdraws my weapon and performs the same check. She lays the pistol on my thigh, where I can reach it if I need it. I glance left, right at the light, wondering if I should blow it. I don't want to spook our quarry. He's in his shit-brown Dodge about sixty yards ahead. Scully is rotating her neck, satisfying little "pops!" coming from the tired muscle and vertebrae. "Blow it," she tells me. I accelerate through the light, but not too fast. Somehow, he makes us. I see the flash of sudden brake lights as he takes an unexpected left. I slow to take it and then tear the wheel to the side as his high- beams fill my windshield. He's coming at us, the roar of his engine in my ears. I'm tired, and I'm not fast enough. I can't turn quick enough. His left front quarterpanel catches my left rear one, spinning us towards him. I cut the engine and realize that I'm trapped. I can't open the door. I turn to Scully to tell her to get out, out, out! and see that she's leveling her weapon at me, her teeth bared; I can see the hammer inching back and wonder why she wants to kill me. Then I hear it. The whisper of his window coming down. Slow, too slow, I look left and I see the sawed-off double- barreled shotgun oozing through his window towards my head and I know that Scully's going to waste him. I lean back, closing my eyes, wanting to raise my hands to my ears, knowing that it's going to be loud- And it is. Four shots from Scully's pistol, two groups of two, evenly spaced. Silence. I look left again, slowly opening my eyes, wondering why my head is ringing. He's a mess. Two of her shots took him in the head; there's blood, bone and brain matter on the passenger-side window. He's slumped over the steering wheel, his dead eyes open, staring at me, a look of surprise on his face. Don't ever point a gun at Scully, I think. Bad move, asshole. "Are you allright?" she asks. I nod, not sure that I am. We climb out her side. I radio for our backup and they're there in moments. They take one look at the corpse and shake my hand. Scully's hiding a smile. "She did it," I say, hooking a thumb at my partner. My savior. They look at her and she nods, accepting the credit. They don't congratulate her. I guess they've never experienced the Scully Magic the way I have. The locals come. Questions are asked, measurements taken. They want to impound Scully's gun for ballistic tests. I inform them that nothing of the sort will occur, and that they can call the FBI Ballistics Lab and have her records faxed. That's all they'll need to prove the fatal shots came from her pistol. The West Hollywood watch commander shows up, glances around, notices that there's no media, and gets back into his car -- no doubt to find a donut shop. We go back to the motel. I have never been so tired in my life. <><> It's almost morning. The birds are still asleep, but not for long. I've taken a shower and am lying in my bed, too tired to sleep. I hate it when I get like this. From next door, I hear a noise. I raise my head, worried. It's a noise I've never heard from the other side of six thousand hotel rooms. I strain to figure out what the noise is, and then I'm moving, not totally aware yet that I know what the sound is. The connecting door is unlocked. Scully is on the bed, curled around a pillow, softly crying. I stand beside her, waiting to be noticed. Tear-stained eyes, blue fire flashing at me, she smiles sadly. "I'm sorry," she whispers. I know what she means. Weakness. Scully's oldest nemesis, her most hated enemy. I offer my hand and she takes it, drawing me down beside her. I wrap myself around her, my hand moving to her hair, smoothing it away from her face. I say nothing. Only an idiot would say "It's ok." She turns in my arms, her face to my neck. "I almost killed you," she whispers. "He would have killed us both with that shotgun," I point out. "All I could think was...what if...what if he pulled the trigger?" "We would have died," I point out. "But...I mean...what if we'd died...before..." she says, and then stops. Before? Before what? And then I know. Before we'd... Before. "I never...I don't want to...just to...have it done," she says. "To get it out of the way. So it's...not left undone in case something happens." I know what she means. The specter of...it...looms above us in the room. I say nothing. Anything I say will be the wrong thing. "I want to..." she says, and stops. "Do it," she finishes. I feel like I'm in high school, and I struggle to swallow the smile threatening to break out on my face. I'm not smiling because Scully wants to make love with me. It just sounds...silly. "I want to do it." "Me, too," I say, and leave unsaid what I know she will hear. I want to, but not for this reason. Just to have it done. "Now?" she asks, her voice small and girlish. I sigh, and that's my answer. "Why not?" she asks, and I feel her stiffen, thinking I'm rejecting her. My arms tighten around her, my hands moving a little more freely. "Not...just to have it done," I say. "There will only be one first, Scully. I want it to be...right." She hitches against me, a silent sob wracking her body. "Mulder," she whispers. "Scully...we're exhausted. We've been running this guy to ground for almost three days. Anything we do, anything we say, anything happens...and tomorrow is going to be a car-wreck for us. It's waited this long. It'll keep." She sighs softly, liquidly, through her tears. "But when we get back," she moans, "it will be..." She doesn't finish. She doesn't have to. That's the irony, I think. Right now, we're both ready for it, we both need it more than we need our next breath, more than we want to sleep. And now, we can get away with it. It can happen. All I have to do is slip my arms inside her t-shirt and...let nature take its course. Six, almost seven years of desire will erupt in an explosion of hunger, heat, and love. But it's not the right time, and it's sure as hell not the right reason. And tomorrow, after we've rested, when we're back in DC, the walls will be back up with no way to break them down. After Modell -- we almost did, but stopped for the same reason. Roche, again. Modell's sister, thrice. After Canada. After Russia; coming back from the Senate hearing, Scully all but wrote in magic marker how much she was ready. Wrong times, wrong reasons, all of them. We both know it. We both hate it. I continue to hold her through the night. An hour later, she slips into sleep. I stare at the ceiling, wondering when the time will be right. When we will have the time to find the time. <><> FINI