"Snapshot 27:Musings of a Dishwashing Pair" 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. Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this entire text as is without changes. Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address is drambo@sonic.net Classification : MSR,A Rating : PG Enjoy! ----------------------------------------- 22 Mon Bar Road Pave Creek, Montana Lunch was finished, and they were doing the dishes. They stood at the sink in companionable silence, she washing, he drying. Normally so focused, the thoughts running through both of their minds were a composite of memories, predictions and assumptions about what was to come that night. Mulder wasn't sure how he felt about possibly learning the truth about Sam once and for all. If he had been asked a week ago the question before him that afternoon, he wouldn't have been able to give a definitive answer. The end of his Quest was a daunting, imposing thought under any circumstances. Had the situation...things between Scully and he not changed, Mulder was not sure what would have come next once the truth had been learned. But with the pregnancy, everything had changed. For the better, to be sure, but still changed nonetheless. Now, if his Quest ended, Mulder knew that he had something to look forward to, something he could cherish and protect, just as he had the memory of his sister. He let his mind drift, allowing himself to think about life with Scully and the baby. They would have to get married, he knew. As old-fashioned as it sounded, Mulder wanted to give a name to the child. His child. He studied Scully out of the corner of his eye, watching her move. He noticed her hands, the way they gripped the dishes and utensils, the way they moved with a grace of action and a surety of touch. He remembered the way her hands felt on him, on his body, when they were together, behind the closed bedroom door as it were, when he was losing himself in her beauty, in her sensuality...in her. He felt a small laugh bubbling up inside him and stifled it; as close as they were, as attuned to each other as they seemed to be, even the slightest change in body language would telegraph his feelings, the fact that he found something funny. And knowing Scully the way he did, she would prod and prompt him until he came clean and told her what he had been thinking that was 'so funny.' This was something private, these musings, he thought. Something that I will share with her, but at another time, another place, when the world doesn't seem to be spinning so crazily out of control. He let his mind drift back to the fateful day in his office when he had first put his hands on her. Oh, to be sure, it was not the first time he had put his hands on Scully, not by a long shot. But it was the first time he had given into his secret demons and put his hands on her...with intent, as the cops say. Assualt...with intent. Possession...with intent. Touching...with intent. And she had sensed it. She had known that somehow, this time it was different, that this time his naked, screaming need was obvious and undeniable. He remembered her words, about how it was not the time, how it was something she had thought about, and how that had so completely and utterly surprised him. The fact that she, Dana Scully, had thought about...it. About him. About her. About she and he and them and us. There were so many...implications to that thought, that statement. For Scully to have revealed that so easily, so openly, looking at him the way she had that afternoon. Inevitable? There was that flavor to it all, that quality...that taste to some of what had happened next. He tried to remember the first time he'd been aware of her as a woman. Not as a female, he reminded himself...as a woman. An attractive, mature, intelligent, sexy woman that had caught his attention and held it, the way a young boy traps a firefly in a glass jar, the better to study it with awe. Oh, and how she had caught his attention! The partnership had been growing, an almost organic entity, practically since day one. The Tooms case had been the first time he had sensed it overtly, and after that it had just grown and fed on itself, becoming something real and tangible, something tactile, something you could almost reach out and touch. The connection, that amazing silent bond that had left supervisors and co-workers open- mouthed from Washington to Langley to the four corners of the compass and back. He marveled at the way he could sense her emotions, how he could almost read her thoughts, and she his. How they could communicate an entire paragraph's worth of thought without actually speaking a word. He had thought about these things before, he admitted, but never with the same undertone, the same promise for the future as he did so now. The future. God, before, that word had no meaning. There was only the present, and to a huge degree...the past. What had happened had effected every single facet of his life until the moment Dana Scully had walked into his life, and subsequently into his heart. He had not trusted her...but he had, yet, somehow. He struggled with the concept, trying to wrap his formidable mind around it, trying to quantify and qualify it for himself, so he would finally be able to put it into words if asked. It was not she that he distrusted, but rather what she had stood for. The partnership foisted upon him by management, a pair of eyes to tag along on his cases and report back. His cases. When had they come 'their' cases? He could not pinpoint the moment, the case, the week or the month when it had occurred. Before, it had been him against Them, and if she wasn't one of Them, she certainly wasn't one of me. And then, somehow, at some point during those first early months, she become one of him, and he had become Us, and then it was Us against Them. He thought back to the times they had shared. The good and the bad. Staring at each other from the countless hospital beds. Nights spend in thousands of motel rooms across the country, going over the latest case, fighting over the movie on the tube, all those little moments that had spun together into the tapestry of what they had become to each other. Friends. Partners. Lovers. And soon, spouses and parents. He felt the smile and let it happen. ***** Scully reached for the fork she had used to separate the tuna, running her fingers over the tines, using the soapy water to wash it clean. Her thoughts, too, were far away. How long had she known, suspected? How many times had his touch invaded her space, his breath tickling her ear? How many times had he looked at her in that special way he seemed to reserve just for her, those eyes focusing on her in such a way that she'd silently chided herself for feeling and acting like a crush-fueled schoolgirl. Had it been a crush? Well, some of it had been. Let's be honest. Fox Mulder was a legend at the Bureau, for both the right and the wrong reasons. For one group of people, a group that was careful to keep their opinions quietly to themselves, Mulder had been the most successful violent crimes profiler the BSU had ever seen. His intuitive leaps of logic and deduction were now legend, told and expanded again and again to the new recruits, until it was assumed that he kept a crystal ball in a filing cabinet in his office. To another group, a group that had learned to hold a jealous grudge, he was a flake, a longer, an introvert...he was different in a place where conformity to the norm was held in a higher light than individualism, intuition or creative thinking. So, sure...at first, there was the crush part of it, in the sense that she had been thrilled to watch his mind work, even though it had taken her own mind in directions it hadn't been prepared to go. There had been the thrill of working with "the" Fox "Spooky" Mulder. There was a certain prestige that went along with the assignment. Some thought that she had been partnered with him because she had been deemed his equal. Some thought because she had been fast-tracked to Assistant Director, and was proving her administrative mettle by reigning in the bad boy of headquarters. Both parties were surprised, outraged, angered...and in some cases even hurt when they discovered that none of their assumptions had been correct. But then it had changed. Something had begun to happen between them, something they had left unspoken for so long that it become and almost physical ache in the center of both their bodies. They had each become an emotional narcotic for the other, something craved for, something needed and hungered for, something that defied description or analysis. And somewhere along the line, that need had shifted from emotional to physical. In the last weeks and months before they had become lovers, they had both felt it. They needed to be with each other, to be in the same room, occupying the same space, breathing the same air, in order to be complete. She remembered those times during the years when she had been so angry at him she could barely manage to speak. Times when she had been so scared that she was almost unable to think, to function. Times when she had been so glad to see him that it had taken all of her restraint not to throw her arms around him and... Ruin both their careers. The first law of Bureau politics after the place had gone co-ed: Thou shall sleep with thy partner, for verily, it will cause plague and pestilence to descend from the Heavens, otherwise known as the Seventh floor. And fer Cripes' sake, if you did sleep with your partner, don't get pregnant! And they had done both. There had been other chances, other opportunities, she knew. Times when she could have gone to him in the night, could have snuck through the connecting door and slid into his bed, snuggling her nude body (whenever she imagined...ok, ok...fantasized about it, she was always nude...) against his, and let nature taken its course. But that would have ruined their careers, and ruined their lives. So she had not, even though, at times, the desire had been almost too much to resist. Desire...the body's need for physical contact, the spirit's need to connect with another human being in that way that we seemed to have mastered. She remembered the words of Mark Twain: "Man is the only animal that blushes...or has need to." She felt a blush actually starting at the remembrance of all the times she had blushed in the past thinking about Mulder. Towards the end, towards that point where one relationship had ended for all time, and another had taken its place, Scully had been thinking about Mulder on an almost nightly basis. It had started slowly, almost imperceptibly, until she was focusing a lot of time and attention on making those thoughts go away, so much time and energy and effort that she knew what would happen next. As her conscious mind fought against the rising tide of attraction, need and desire, they resurfaced at a time and place where she had no defenses, where her imagination was set free to run the gamut from start to end: her dreams. Oh, the dreams! Erotic and fanciful, dynamic and engrossing. Fantasies she had thought were long buried and forgotten were resurrected during the witching hours of the night. How many times had she woken clutching a pillow against her breast? How many times had she woken during the night, the sheet plastered against her sweaty skin, skin to sensitive that the lightest, most gentle touch had taken her completely over the edge? She had not remembered all of the dreams, but on more than one occasion, as she had touched herself softly, gently, just to make sure...how many times had she bit the pillow and screamed her partner's name as the waves of pleasure had raced through her body? She felt a smile warming her face and let it happen. ***** They stood and watched the water draining. At last, the sink was empty. The air between them was crackling with electricity, tension, desire...hunger. Without a word, Mulder reached out and took her hand, leading Scully out of the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hall, and into the master bedroom. He sat on the end of the bed, she standing between his spread legs. His hands made quick work of the buttons on her blouse, using his fingers to skim it off her, letting it fall at her feet. Quickly, yet slowly, efficiently, yet hungrily, they stripped and moved towards the center of the bed, moving together as one, becoming one. ***** Behind the house, Scimitar grunted. He had heard every sound during their lovemaking, and the sound had meant nothing to him. He couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a woman. There had been a woman...once, who had meant as much to him as the woman in the house obviously did to the man. He had forgotten her name, though. He remembered her face, sometimes, in his dreams. As he sat there, waiting, Scimitar struggled to remember her name. Sarah. Her name had been Sarah. Pretty, with dark hair and dark, full eyes, eyes that had looked at the young Israeli officer with love and adoration. In the dim recesses of his memory, Scimitar recalled that someone at Mossad had told him, after a discreet inquiry, that she had mourned his death for two years and then taken another husband, and had given him children, as a good wife should. He remembered feeling nothing upon hearing the news, and being surprised at his lack of emotion, and then saddened at it all. Love was for other people, Scimitar felt. All he knew was hate. ***** Starke was grinning. The passive listening devices that Stone had planted in the house were working perfectly. Undetectable by anyone except the NSA, the pinpoint-size microphones were giving him a blow-by-blow update of the goings-on inside the bedroom at 22 Mon Bar Road. God, she was a tiger, he thought. ***** Spent, they lay together, bodies snuggled warmly. Mulder's head was nestled against her throat, his breath soft and warm on her neck. Idly, Scully ran her fingers through his hair. She sighed. "What?" "What, what?" "What were you sighing about?" She laughed softly. "It's nothing." "It's something. Give." "Well..." she hesitated. "Don't think me evil..." That caught his attention. He rolled away from her, propping his head up with a hand. "Now I'm interested." "Well...it's just that...I'm going to miss being a newlywed." Mulder grinned. "The assignment isn't over yet, Scully." She frowned. "That's not what I meant." Mulder arched an eyebrow. "It's just...well, with the baby and all...even if we get married for real the day this assignment does end, we won't have the time that most couples get before we'll be parents." "We've had four years to learn each other's bad habits, Scully. You know I'm a slob. I know you're an anal-compulsive neat freak." She punched him on the arm, none too gently. "Ow!" "You deserved it." Sulking, he rubbed his arm. "Anyway, just because we have a baby doesn't mean we won't have any private time together. There's your mother...I'm sure she won't mind baby-sitting from time to time." "Yeah...I suppose..." Mulder grinned. "I'll make you a promise right now. Six months after Junior is born, we'll take a honeymoon. Anywhere you want to go, just you and me. Deal?" "Not San Diego?" "Or Montana," Mulder added. ***** At the mention of a baby, Starke's head rose, as did Scimitar's. That was a very valuable piece of information, and both intelligence operatives knew it. ***** "Deal," Scully said, closing her eyes. "Let's take a nap. We still have a while before we have to meet Zack." Mulder nodded, too sleepy to care. ***** Federal Aviation Administration Billings Air Traffic Control Center (BATCC) Charles Watkins ("Chuck" to his friends,) stared at the computer printout on his console and wondered what the hell was going on. He had a military C5A on priority approach at twenty miles, an FBI Lear out of Denver at thirty miles, also on a priority approach, and another FBI Lear at a hundred miles, on an even higher priority approach. All three wanted to land forthwith. He also had several dozen commercial jets transiting the area, all of them wanting clearances to climb to cruising altitude, or hand-offs to other ATC centers, or just plain descend-and-turn instructions for landing at BMA. Well, they give these planes a priority for a reason, he thought. "Continental six one seven, begin two minute turn at your present altitude until further notice. We have priority traffic transiting the area." Switching frequencies quickly, hopping up and down the dial, Chuck quickly racked, stacked and packed his planes. "Delta four seven seven, begin two minute turns..." "American four four four, begin two minute turns..." Within four minutes he had finished. Finally switching to the GUARD frequency that all aircraft were required to carry, he addressed the C5A. "Billings ATC to Air Force C5A on GUARD, you are cleared for immediate descent into BMA. I am handing you off to BMA approach at this time. Please inform tower on final." "Roger that," the C5A pilot replied. "Thank you for expediting, Billings ATC. Much appreciated." "Roger that," Chuck said, already moving to switch frequencies again. "USG Lear November Golf one six seven four, you are cleared as number two for approach after the C5A. Please watch for turbulence and jet wash. You are cleared to descend to angels eleven and turn right to heading zero two zero for approach to runway 1 November. Please contact BMA approach on tower squawk one six six point eight." "Roger that," the pilot of the Denver HRT Lear replied, and was gone. Sighing, Chuck turned to his last plane. "USG November Alpha one one five four four, you are cleared for immediate descent and approach to BMA. Please increase speed to six hundred knots, and turn right to a heading of zero four zero, descend to angels ten as you transit BMA. Please contact BMA approach on VORTAC and report on final." "Roger that," the Lear carrying Assistant Director Walter Skinner replied. "Much appreciated, BATCC." The pilot pronounced it "Bat-cee." Chuck nodded to no one in particular and decided to give the BMA tower a heads-up. He lifted a red phone to the left of his console and punched four numbers quickly. "BMA Tower," a clipped, efficient-sounding voice answered. "This is BATCC. You have three rockets headed your way, first should be reporting on final in less than five minutes. The first is a C5A with a Alpha Four designation and transponder. Then you have two USG Lears, one about five behind the C5A, and the second about ten after the first. All three have been cleared to transit, and have been given priority approaches. We've got the rest of the space stacked and packed. Do me a favor and hold all your departures on the threshold for the next fifteen, ok?" "You got it," the voice said, and hung up. ***** Billings Municipal Airport Air Traffic Control Tower Billy Pierce hung up the Bat phone (the phone that connected it to the BATCC, or, BAT Cave, as it had been called for as long as anyone could remember,) and turned to the other two controllers on duty. "We have three rockets coming in," he started, but was cut off by the authoritative voice of the C5A pilot pouring from the loudspeaker above their heads. "BMA Tower, this is a USAF C5A reporting on final approach." Chuck lifted a hand towards the speaker. "Here's one of them now." Reaching to his belt, he depressed the transmit button for his headset. "Roger, C5A, you are cleared to land on runway 1-N. Winds are from the west at six, and the ceiling is unlimited. Please report on the ground, over." "Roger that," the pilot replied. Sixty seconds later, the largest military cargo transport plane in the world landed on the BMA runway. The whine as the huge jet reversed thrusters was loud enough to make the three tower controllers wince. "C5A on the ground at twelve past the hour," the pilot said. "Request taxi and park at the furthest point, BMA Tower." "Roger that. Take threshold six charlie and taxi to the southwest portion of the tarmac. Sorry, Air Force, but we're kinda small here." "Roger that, BMA Tower. Thanks a lot. Be advised, we will be deploying armed security on engine shutdown. We request that a two-hundred yard perimeter be established." The three tower controllers exchanged a glance. "Roger that, Air Force. Be advised, two USG Lears are right on your tail." "Roger that, BMA Tower. Please give them instructions to taxi and park inside our perimeter." "Roger, Air Force. BMA Tower out." ***** Aboard LearJet Tail Number NA11544 On Final Approach to BMA "Are we in range yet?" Skinner shouted to the pilot. "We should be, sir. Give it a shot." Skinner nodded and retrieved his cellphone....his normal, USG- issued, unscrambled, unsecure cell phone. The other one was forgotten. He punched the number he'd been given in and waited. He listened to it ringing. ***** 22 Mon Bar Road Pave Creek, Montana Scully came awake first and reached for the phone. "Hello?" "Dr. Edwards?" "Yes-" she recognized the voice. Skinner! "Is your husband there?" "Hold one," she said, unconsciously using FBI radio jargon. She handed the phone to a slowly wakening Mulder, mouthing the word "Skinner" to him as he took the receiver. "This is...David." "Your package is arriving," Skinner said. "When do you want it delivered?" "You'll have to hold it until tonight." Skinner felt his jaw clenching. "I thought you wanted express delivery," he managed to growl. "I did, too, but we have some...guests." "Right now? Or are you expecting them later?" "Either. Both," Mulder said. "Understood. Just call me when you want delivery...but be sure to give me at least half an hour so I can guarantee the...delivery time." "Understood. By the way...is it a big package...or a little one?" "Oh, Mr. Edwards...it's pretty big." "Understood. Thanks for calling." "My pleasure," Skinner said, and hung up. Mulder glance at his watch. It was four-thirty. "Crunch time, Scully," he said, getting up out of bed. "Time to get ready." ***** Starke grimaced. Shit. The little fuck had called in the calvary. All that talk about packages and delivery times hadn't fooled Starke in the least. Well...what now? What was coming? HRT, at the least. Perhaps SEAL Team Six. Perhaps the entire might of JSOC was about to descend upon Pave Creek. A man might get his ass killed out here, he thought. Crunch time...that had been the term that the little prick Mulder had used, and he couldn't have been more right. Starke had to make a decision, and he had to make it now. ***** Scimitar thought over his options very carefully. There was going to be more guests at this party than either side realized. His orders were clear, his mission absolute. He could not...would not fail. His decision made, Scimitar began to pack up in preparation for moving. It was time to go hunting. And the first target was his friend across the street. Starke had to be removed from the equation, and quickly. ----------------------------------------- End Chapter 27