"Snapshots 14:Walkabout" By Dawson E. Rambo Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used without permission, and no infringement is intended. Classification : MSR,X Rating : PG13 ----------------------------------------------------------- American Airlines Flight 1013 1120 Hours CST Friday Night Jenny Ray had wanted to be a flight attendant for as long as she could remember. Ever since she had been a little girl and her father had taken Jenny on her first plane trip, she had dreamed about the exciting life of what was then called a stewardess. Flying off to different cities all the time, meeting all sorts of new and interesting people, perhaps meeting a handsome, dashing pilot, marrying, settling down and having little pilots and stewardesses of her own. To a degree, Jenny had made that dream come true. She was a flight attendant, and she did fly all over the country first for Delta, and then later for American. But any thought of glamour had long since left Jenny's hopes. The reality was stuffy businessmen, crying babies, passengers constantly complaining about things that were totally beyond her control and just generally making her life more difficult. But every once in a while a passenger like 6E came along and made her job worthwhile. He was polite to a fault, had only asked her for a coffee refill once, and hadn't made a sound otherwise during the entire transnational journey. He was cute, too. Curious, Jenny had checked the passenger manifest and had been surprised to discover that the man was a Deputy US Marshal, assigned duty on her flight as part of the aging but still-active Sky Marshal program that had been developed in the late 70's to combat terrorism and airplane hijackings. FAA regulations clearly stated that anyone armed aboard a flight had to be known to the crew in the case of an emergency. Passing by him again, Jenny took an extra second to study him. He glanced at her and smiled, more with his mouth than with his eyes, and Jenny returned his grin, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. There was something about him that was strangely appealing, even though he looked... Jenny searched for a word that described the vibe the man in 6E gave off. Dangerous? No...but, yes, too. Rugged? Barely contained? A caged animal eager to be out stalking it's prey, sinking it's teeth into her neck, his claws ripping at her clothes, tearing them off her body so he could lower his razor-sharp, powerful teeth to her neck and- Jenny felt her eyes close and open with an almost audible snap! Oh my, she thought -- where had that come from? It had been a long time since any man on a flight had affected her that way, but it had been a longer time still that had done anything about it. The airline frowned on stewardesses - excuse me, she mentally corrected, -- flight attendants accepting proposals of any kind from any passenger. But what the airline didn't know, Jenny thought. The man in 6E, of course, was not a US Deputy Marshal. He wasn't even a police officer, although he had been at one time. The Marshal's credentials were very authentic, very real, and anyone calling the USMS in Washington to verify his identity would be assured that the bearer of that particular badge was indeed a US Marshal. It has long been known that certain members of the US Intelligence community pose as Marshals when traveling by air across the country. It just makes things so much easier when transporting briefcases full of classified documents that can't be x-rayed or hand-searched. The man had another complete set of identification inside his briefcase, this one identifying him as a member of the Defense Intelligence Agency. These were just as bogus, and oddly enough, just as valid as the first set. The DIA ID helped the man when he needed local law enforcement help when dealing with...certain matters. Employees of the CIA had no charter to operate domestically, although they had for years and continue to do so today, and no one hates the FBI more than local law enforcement. The DIA had seemed like a wonderful compromise at the time, combining the weight of the federal government, with the inherent secrecy of the intelligence community, without any of the bad feelings associated with the CIA and FBI. The man had used the DIA identity on more than one occasion, and always to spectacular effect. The briefcase held several other little goodies, tools he planned to use on his mission to San Diego. He hadn't missed Jenny's hesitant smiles in his direction. In his line of work, he couldn't afford to miss anything like that. He had been turning the specifics of his mission over and over in his mind, wondering how he was going to get into the room while attracting as little attention as possible, and seeing the way Jenny was obviously ready to fawn over him had given the man an idea. The Pointe Hotel, San Diego Main Registration Desk 0230 Hours "Yes, Mr. Adams, we have your reservation right here...although we weren't aware Mrs. Adams would be attending?" The clerk's professionally phrased question had been asked for two reasons. If "Mr. Adams" confirmed that the man was his wife, the hotel would be free to charge him the double occupancy rate. If the man gently protested that the woman checking in with him wasn't "Mrs. Adams," then the hotel would go ahead to charge the double occupancy rate, but the switchboard operator would be instructed to discretely screen all calls so as not to embarrass the guest. It was a service that the guests of the Pointe Hotel had come to depend on over the years. "She's not my wife," the man whispered, a little too loudly. Jenny felt herself blushing, and unconsciously looking around to see if anyone noticed her checking into a motel with a man she had met less than seven hours ago. He'd come up to her as she'd deplaned. He'd been blunt and straightforward. "I'm staying at the Pointe, and I could use some company. I'm tired, so I don't want to play a lot of head games. If you want to come, I'd love to have you. If not...tell me now, and I'll leave you alone." She had found his directness very refreshing, and had only taken a moment to nod and follow him to baggage claim. And, after that, a short taxi ride from the hotel found her in the lobby of one of the most expensive hotels in the city getting ready to do God knew what with this man who's first name she didn't even know. They rode up in the elevator together, not speaking a word. After the bellboy left the room, the man locked the door and turned to face her. "To quote an old movie, I guess you're wondering why I've called you here. To tell you the truth, I'm not a US Marshal." Jenny felt something in the pit of her stomach turn over and flop horribly. She was suddenly scared. She was in a hotel room with an armed, strange man who had just confessed to lying to the airline and God knew who else in order to get his gun on the plane. "I'm with the DIA," he said, opening his briefcase and offering Jenny his ID. She took it and opened it, reading the twin plastic-coated ID cards that identified the bearer as Commander Walter P. Starke, US Navy, currently assigned as a Special Agent for the Defense Intelligence Agency. "Why are you showing me this?" Jenny asked. "Because I'm in San Diego on business, and I need your help." And as the man began to explain, Jenny felt herself getting excited all over again. This is why she had become a flight attendant! She had met a real, genuine secret agent and he wanted her help on a mission of terrible importance, a mission with National Security Implications Up To The Highest Levels. That's the way Jenny heard it when Starke told it. After he explained what he needed from her and why, Jenny nodded. "I'll do it." She thought about it a minute, biting her lip. "I just hope he's cute." Starke frowned. "Will it be a problem if he's not?" Jenny saw her opening, stood, and walked over to where the DIA agent stood. Linking her arms around his neck, she pressed her body against his. "No," she mouthed against his ear, "I'll just pretend it's you..." The Pointe Hotel, San Diego Room 1013 0930 Hours Saturday Morning They had awoken together, naked limbs entwined in sleep, Dana's face in Mulder's chest. The morning sunlight was streaming in through the window, escorted inside by the gently wafting odors of the sea breeze. It had been warm enough to sleep with just the topsheet the night before, but they had still drawn closer together in the night, seeking warmth and comfort and love. They had greeted the new day with love, moving slowly together, trying to find each other's prefect rhythm. It had been slow and comfortable and loving, totally unlike the frenzied, animalistic coupling of the night before, and that was one of the things each treasured about the other: The acceptance of the dichotomy of sexuality, the ability to go from sweet, gentle lover to lust-fueled sex-machine. Neither one of them saw the small hole suddenly appear in the wall. The Pointe Hotel, San Diego Room 1011 0930 Hours Starke was standing on a chair, holding the silent, battery- powered drill in one hand, and the Sony XM3 Fiber Optic HDTV camera in the other. In two more seconds, he would have a large enough hole to place the camera in, and then he would have total visibility of the room, minus the bathroom. Finished, he withdrew the drill and inserted the camera. Jenny stood beside the chair, holding the small Sony TV-FO1 monitor in her hand, watching as the room swam crazily around as Starke twisted the fiber optic camera. "There," she said. "It's right side up." She giggled. "They're naked!" "Let me see," Starke demanded. She handed it to him, a small pout already forming on her lips. Then she saw that his entire attention was focused on the hand-held television, she forgot about wasting one of her pouts on someone that didn't care. She moved back to the bed and sat down, thinking about the previous night. The sex had been OK, if a little perfunctory. She had the idea that Starke's mind was somewhere else, and judging by the way he was obsessively staring at the fiber optic monitor, she had a good idea where his mind had been. Room 1013 0959 hours "Ready?" Scully asked. She was dressed in a pair of khaki walking shorts, comfortable, worn-in sneakers, a stone-washed blue cotton oxford that had once belonged to Mulder, and a Seattle Mariners baseball hat, her ponytail threaded out the back. Sunglasses dangled from a cord around her neck. Mulder was sitting in front of the computer, frantically trying to email a message to Trixie, which for some reason wasn't responding. He left a message for the network administrator to check it out, and stood to join his partner. He was dressed similarly, with no hat, and a striped button-down shirt. He wore tasseled topsiders on his feet with no socks. "Geez, we look like a pair of dopey tourists," he grumped. "Mulder - no we don't! We look normal. Now, c'mon, let's go." She took his hand and dragged him out of the room. Locking it behind them, they linked hands and walked to the elevator. "So tell me how you know so much about the city," she said. As the doors closed in front of their faces, Mulder smiled at his reflection in the stainless steel walls. "My second case out of the Academy was at Mirimar Naval Air Station. It was about two weeks long, and so I got to know a couple places pretty well." Scully looked up at him, well aware that there was naked adoration in her eyes, and more than well aware that he could see it, and that he was wallowing in it. She had never known that she could feel this happy, this complete, with Mulder...or any man for that matter. Mulder made her feel so completely alive, so utterly cherished and respected and outright desired. This was the real thing, she thought. This is what little girls are taught to want practically since the moment they were born. A wonderful man, falling in love, the proposal, the showers, the wedding, the honeymoon...children, a house. She caught herself staring off into space, and quickly looked around to see if Mulder had noticed. He was similarly lost somewhere, probably on the case. "Where were you?" she asked when his focused on hers again. He grunted. "You don't want to know." Scully smiled, stepped closely against him, both her hands on his chest, her face turned up to his. "Tell me...and tonight, when we get back, I'll tell you one of my fantasies." Mulder considered lying for the briefest of moments. It would be so easy to tell Scully that he'd been thinking about the case, about the obviously and mysteriously related deaths. She would buy it, or at least, pretend to, but to start lying now...even if his true thoughts had been silly. "I was thinking," he said, his voice meant to mock himself, "about how you would look... arriving at the back of the church...with your gown arrayed around you like your own personal, portable cloud, suitable for an angel...on our wedding day." Scully's head rocked back as the imagery of Mulder's words fired across the synapses of her brain. She knew it wasn't a proposal, and after that discussion in their office just before Danny had walked in and almost ruined her world, she knew that Mulder had thought about getting married someday... specifically, marrying her someday, but she had never, ever in a million years considered that Mulder had given as much...thought to the details as he so obviously had. It was both oddly touching and downright scary at the same time. The doors dinged! open and they exited. They took a cab to Mission Boulevard, to the rollercoaster that made San Diego famous. They planned to spend the entire day together, and after taking five or six rides on the coaster, they found themselves walking hand in hand down Mission Boulevard. "Hungry, Scully?" he asked. She considered. "I could eat." "How about hamburgers. No, check that...how about the most incredible, most delicious, best hamburger the world has ever seen?" "And this would be...where?" "Here," Mulder said, stopping and pointing above her head. The sign said "Acapulco Joe's" and the logo was of a bushy-haired Mexican wearing a huge sombrero, waving a taco in one hand and a huge bottle of Tequila in the other. "Here?" Her face belied her obvious disbelief. "Scully...trust me...these are the best hamburgers in the world." "OK, Mulder...I'll take your word for it." She stepped ahead of him, stopping only to lean down and pet the huge Great Pyrenees that was lying down just inside the door. They found a booth and ordered quickly, Mulder asking for two cheeseburgers, Scully deciding to stick with one until she'd had a chance to test them. "OK, Mulder," she said. "Why are these so good?" "Dunno," he said, taking a tip of the beer that had just arrived. "Something about the ambiance of this place...I guess." Scully looked around. Two tough-looking biker types were in the back playing pool, while a bikini-clad bimbette from the beach watched avidly, perched on a stool. "Oh, yeah," Scully muttered. "That must be it." Their food was delivered surprisingly quickly, and she looked at it dubiously. "Are you sure this is the best hamburger I'll ever eat?" "Positive," Mulder managed to say around his first bite. Shrugging, Dana picked it up and took a tentative bite -- And felt her tastebuds explode. No, that wasn't quite right. It was if they had been...seduced. Yes, that was closer to the truth. The first juicy morsel of the burger had seduced her taste buds, and it was a skilled lover. It was spicy, just a little, the taste of saut‚ed onions somewhere in the meat's past just dancing on the tip of her tongue. They had used very lean meat, she knew, because the natural juices released by cooking weren't nearly as oily as she expected. The bun tasted as if it had been hand-baked that morning, and Scully suddenly knew that it had been, that Mulder was right, that this was the single most delicious hamburger she'd ever had in her life. She swallowed, not wanting to, wanting to savor that single tiny bite as long as possible. "My God, Mulder!" she said. "You...this..." She pointed to the burger, and decided that actions were better than words and took a huge bite, removing fully half the remaining burger with her teeth. She ate ravenously, as if she had been starved for days. The burger was history in a matter of seconds. She was licking her fingers and looking guiltily around to see if anyone had noticed her acting like a pig when Mulder pointed at the remaining one on his plate. "Take half." He saw the look of naked desire on her face, mixed with thoughts of tight clothing and traitorous scales. "Take it, we're on vacation, and I know you want to. We'll take a long walk on the beach after lunch...work it off." Smiling, Scully reached over and took half, popping the first bit into her mouth and smiling at the gorgeous man sitting across from her, the man who had held her hand as they explored the city together, the man she felt more comfortable with than without. Oh man, Scully thought, I just love him so damn much. The Pointe Hotel Room 1011 1330 hours "You know what to do," Starke said. He was busy taping the body antenna of the Motorola CMX-100 portable two-way radio to her back. Originally designed for use by the Secret Service, the radio was meant to be concealed, was lightweight, and had a battery life of over sixteen hours. He would only need a fraction of one of them for what he had planned. "I stand by the elevator. If anyone comes out, or I hear anything in the hallway, I tap my foot against the floor. That will open the microphone channel. I just say something like hello or nice day. If it's a cop, or someone that looks like security, I ask them if they have the time. I wait for you to come and tell me that it's clear. I don't leave, no matter what, even if the fire alarm goes off." "Good girl," Starke said, patting her on the butt. "Let's do it." They exited their room, Jenny moving to cover Starke. He held what looked like a thin piece of plastic with several dozen holes punched in it. The Pointe used electronic card keys to get in and out of the rooms, and Starke held an electronic master key in his hand. Very hard to get. Very expensive. But worth every dime. He would be in Mulder's room within seconds, with no chance of anyone finding him kneeling on the hallway carpet with lock picks in his hands like the old days. He inserted the card in the lock and felt it hum. A second later, the loud click! of the bolt disengaging told him that it had done its' job. "Go!" he whispered. Mission Beach, San Diego 1330 hours "God, I'm parched," Scully complained. "All this walking...." "Good thing we're only about two hundred yards from what I personally consider to be the best bar in the world." Scully felt herself smiling almost ruefully. True to his word, Mulder had taken them for a walk on the beach after lunch. And now, when she was about to drop from heat prostration, he had somehow magically ended them up a little ways away from what promised to be yet another adventure. He was really good at it, Scully admitted. Building memories. Attraction, overwhelming sexual attraction, was a good thing, she knew. That was the grease that kept the wheels of a relationship turning. But the memories, the quilt of shared experiences...that was the glue that kept it all together. She had a mental rolodex of literally thousands of memories revolving around Fox Mulder, starting with "No one here but the FBI's Most Unwanted!" And now that their relationship had taken on this delicious, scandalous personal nature, he was creating memories of a different sort without apparent effort. Why Phoebe, or any woman that had ever been with Mulder had ever let him go was beyond Scully, but she gave a silent prayer of thanks that they had. It was only as they were going in through the front door of the bar did she realize that perhaps Mulder hadn't treated any of them the way he treated her. She was amazed at how much that thought pleased her. Mulder led her through the bar, and out the back doors onto the deck. It was a huge deck, about thirty feet on each side, extending to the boardwalk. Fifty-five gallon drums filled with ice and chilled beer bottles were scattered here and there. "This," Mulder proudly announced, "is La Hinea's. Take as much as you want, but drink everything you take, and pay for what you drink on your way out." Scully looked around in amazement. "No one's keeping tabs?" "Nope...it's all strictly on the honor system." Taking her elbow, he guided her to a corner table overlooking the ocean. "In about three, four hours, when the sun starts to drop into the ocean, this is the most popular spot on the beach." "I can see why," Scully admitted, taking off her hat and tossing it on the table. "I'll get the beers," Mulder said. The Pointe Hotel Room 1013 1333 hours He moved through the room quickly, making his first pass. He found the two laptops and put them by the door. He then went through the room much more carefully, checking all the drawers, under the bed, lifting the mattresses to peer between the frame and the box-spring. He opened the toilet tank and peered inside, looking for a waterproof bag containing diskettes or other incriminating evidence. He went to the dressers and started at the bottom, working is way up, pulling the drawers out to check underneath and behind, to make sure that something wasn't taped to the bottoms. He found nothing. Scooping the laptops up, he exited the room, returned to his own, and softly said, "Clear" into the microphone. Thirty seconds later, Jenny was in the room. An amateur's first instinct would to be to get the hell out of dodge, but not Starke. The fiber-optic camera was still in place. He would sit and watch what happened when the duo got back from their trip. Studying their actions would help him, would let him see how they worked together under pressure. He would also be able to see if they'd hid a diskette anywhere he hadn't thought of. "Get comfortable," Starke said to Jenny. "Probably gonna be a long wait." Mission Boulevard 1550 Hours They were walking hand in hand around the edge of the bay. The houses situated about sixty feet from the water had spectacular views of the moored sailboats, of the powerboats cutting cleanly across the water, bumping gently in the wake. Scully was looking at the houses, wondering who lived in them, what kind of lives they led, when she noticed something strange about one of them. It took her a moment of staring at it, trying to figure out what was different, what was wrong, before she figured it out. Nudging her partner, she said, "Mulder, look at that." He turned and followed her gaze, and she heard him gasp. The owner of the house had taken out an entire wall of what appeared to be his living room and replaced it with two glass garage doors. If they stood just right, they could both see the controlling motors and chains, and the tracks. It was odd, but when you thought about it, it made perfect sense. Sit down on the couch, hit the switch, and your living room wall opens to one of the most beautiful views in the world. "That," Mulder said, point, "is probably the coolest thing I have ever seen in my life, bar none." Scully turned to him, aware that she was more than a little drunk. "None?" she asked. "None," he affirmed. She giggled into her hand, leaned up and whispered her fantasy in his ear. Mulder considered it for a moment, nodded thoughtfully, turned and yelled, "TAXI!" --------------------------------------------------------------------- END PART 14 Well, of course I was going to end it with a cliffhanger. And since there's a new "Friends" AND a new "er" on tomorrow night...I'll just have to stay up even later to finish fifteen, won't I? Note : The hamburger joint, the bar, and the house with the glass garage doors all do exist in San Diego. I have spent more time than I care to admit in Mission Beach, including bars like The Daily Planet, and participating in the Pub Crawl. Every year, around the fourth of July or so, some of the bars participate in this...event where everyone goes to a bar, has a single beer, and then walks to the next bar, and repeats the process until you can barely walk and are blind stinkin' drunk. I still have a T-shirt from the 1991 Pub Crawl.