"Convection" By Dawson E. Rambo Disclaimer : Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, the property of 1013 Productions, and the property of Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. No infringement of any copyright is intended. Characters created by the author remain his property. Original Post : August 6, 1997 Archive Entry : "Convection" Classification : Undisclosed at Author's Request Rating : PG-13 (Language, implied sexual contact) Missing Parts : http://www.sonic.net/~drambo Feedback : All feedback (good or bad) to: drambo@sonic.net Antishipper : 5 on a scale of 1-10. Shipper : 5 on a scale of 1-10. Casting : Dennis Franz, "Detective Garber" : Martin Short, "Hotel Clerk" Timeline : Fourth season, prior to "Momento Mori." Note: An MSR, sort of, from a different point of view. We've seen the three versions of Scully: SaintScully, SultryScully and Schoolgirl Scully. This is a...new interpretation. -1- New York City Detective Garber glanced up from the DD5 he was filling out at the two FBI agents seated in front of him. They looked tired, he thought. Beat. Beat up is more like it, he amended. And then he noticed how they were looking at each other. Like they wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else but in the detective's squadroom of the 6th Precient. And judging by the way the one agent was specifically looking at the other, Detective Stan Garber knew, or at least, thought he knew where they wanted to be. In bed. Together. Sighing, Garber returned his attention to the DD5, "Report of continuing investigation, annotated," and resumed hunting and pecking on his ancient IBM Selectric III. The golf-ball sized element spun and whacked and buzzed, and in less time than either agent would have thought, he was finished. Ripping the six-carbon form out of the typewriter, Garber deftly spun it in his hand and presented it to the agents. "Read it, initial each page, and sign it at the bottom," he said, the oft-repeated litany familiar and comfortable in his mouth. The woman leaned forward first, her eyes scrunching up as she scanned the report. "But there's no mention of-" "Sign it, Scully," the man said. "But-" "Sign it so we can get OUT of here," he insisted. Glancing at her partner (lover? Garber thought) over her shoulder, the named Scully locked gazes with the one named Mulder for a long, heart-stopping moment, and then nodded and signed. "You're right," she sighed tiredly. Mulder didn't even read it, Garber noted. He pulled the DD5 towards him, initialed each page quickly, and scrawled his name on the last page as eagerly as someone endorsing a lottery check. Reminds me, Garber mused. Gotta get my ticket on the way home. Up to eleven million. "The NYPD appreciates your assistance," he said perfunctorily. "Please see the desk sergeant for your weapons." They stood and nodded, hands were offered and shook, and the two FBI agents took their leave of Detective 2nd Grade Stan Garber. *** Downstairs, Scully turned to her partner. "Now what? Back to DC?" "No...too late. The last shuttle flight left an hour ago. We find a hotel, we crash, we sleep. Tomorrow morning, first thing, we go back." Scully nodded. "Get our weapons; I'll hail a cab." Mulder bobbed his head in agreement and went to find the desk sergeant. *** Manhattan Skyline Hotel 0230 Hours "I'm sorry, but if you don't have a reservation, there's very little that can be done." "We are agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Mulder explained slowly, carefully. "We are in town working on a case. We didn't have TIME to make reservations." "I'm sorry, but we only have the one room; there's a convention in town." "What convention?" Mulder asked, not sure why he had. "Some music thing. Hip-hop or something like that." "Wonderful. One room. Not even a suite. That's it?" "That's it. And most of the hotels in this area are booked solid. We had a last minute cancellation. If you want to go to one of the outlying boroughs, I'm sure that you'll be able to find accommodations there. Perhaps Queens, or the Bronx." Mulder screwed up his face. The thought of getting into another taxi was repugnant. "Scully?" he called. She looked up from where she was standing, arms crossed, staring out the front window of the hotel at the passing traffic. Even at two in the morning, New York City was still alive and moving. "What?" "Only one room, and no one else in the area has anything." "Fine," she said distractedly. Shrugging, Mulder returned to the front desk. "We'll take it." "Very good sir. If I can just see some identification?" *** Room 345 "This is a room?" Scully asked. "It's more like a closet! With a bed! A..." Tiny, minuscule bed, she thought. "I'll sleep on the floor," Mulder offered. "Don't be silly," she said automatically, and then realized how that sounded. "I mean-" "Don't worry about it. We'll figure something out," Mulder groused, dumping his bag in the only chair. "Right now, I want to get into the shower more than anything in the world." "Go ahead," she said gently. "I'll shower in the morning." Mulder nodded, reached into his bag and found a towel, a change of underwear and his toiletry kit. He ducked into the even smaller bathroom and shut the door behind him. Scully was amused to hear the snick! of the lock engaging behind him. Paranoid to the end, she thought. My Mulder. Scully undressed quickly, changing into a pair of track shorts and an old T-shirt that Mulder had left over her apartment once. She had claimed proprietary rights to it, and it had become her favorite piece of sleepwear when on the road. Moments after getting into bed she heard the shower start. Seconds later she was asleep. *** Mulder wiped the mirror with the palm of his hand, trying to cut through some of the fog. The shower had done a lot to clean the grime and slime of the Big Apple off of him, but it hadn't had the refreshing effect that he'd been searching for. If anything, he was more tired now then he was when he'd gotten under the hot spray to begin with. Sighing, Mulder reached around and unlocked the door, stepping into the room before remembering to turn the light off. The sudden wash of incandescent brightness into the room woke Scully, and she shaded her eyes with the edge of her hand. Momentarily distracted, she wondered where she was. And then she saw him. Boxer shorts, his chest hair matted and wet from the shower, stepping into the room, reaching back to switch off the light. She watched his body as he moved, his sinewy muscles popping into sharp relief by the sensual mixture of light and shadow. Scully discovered with a start that she was aroused. Very aroused. Mulder moved to the chair and lifted his bag up, depositing it on the tiny circular table with a heavy thump. "What are you doing?" she asked sleepily. "Getting ready for bed," he said with a chuckle. "Mulder, come here," she said, the tone of her voice making it clear that did not expect, nor would she tolerate, an argument. "We're both adults," she added. "We can manage one night." Mulder stood and looked at the bed. As tiny as it was, it did look inviting. Especially with Dana Scully inside it. Sighing, he slid in next to her and turned away, showing her his back. Safe, he thought. Less chance of waking up with her in my arms. Sad thought that it was. He tried to sleep and found that he could not. He knew that the television would wake his partner, so that was out. He shifted on the bed, slowly, carefully turning over to face her, and found that she was already facing him. "Don't you ever get tired of it?" she asked softly. "Of what?" "Our jobs. This." "This...what?" "On the road every week. Sleeping in fleabag motels, eating greasy diner food, chasing the crap that we chase." She paused. "Not having a life." Mulder didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. "Don't you miss...women?" "Scully..." "No, Mulder, I mean it. Don't you miss having a lover? Someone to hold you, to kiss you, someone to make you feel handsome and sexy?" Mulder decided to tell the truth. "Can't miss something I never had," he said softly. She sighed. "Mulder, I know you're not a virgin." "No, that's not what I meant, Scully. I mean...someone that made me feel special. I've never had that." Except for you, he thought but didn't say. "Well I have," she said, and then added, "and I miss it." "Scully, what are you saying? You want a transfer or something?" "No," she replied. "Not really. I just want--" She stopped, not sure what to say or how to say it. "I'm not sure what I want. I just know I don't want...this." She turned over away from him, punching the pillow with her fist before settling down. "I think you're sexy," he whispered. Oh my god! Did I say that out loud? he wondered. "Thanks," she replied softly. Yes, I guess I say that out loud. He waited for her to say something...anything. She remained silent. "Who?" he finally asked. "Who what?" she said sleepily. "Who made you feel sexy?" Silence. Long, pregnant silence. Finally: "You." Not another word, not another sound. Just that one word. Mulder took the word from the air and turned it over in his hands, examining it. "You said you missed it." Silence. "Don't I make you feel that way anymore?" he asked. She sighed. "Do you really want to talk about this?" she asked. "You brought it up," he pointed out. "Just forget I said anything, ok? Drop it." She sighed as soon as she'd said the words. Asking Mulder to 'drop' something like this was like asking the sun to stop shining or the Earth to stop spinning; sure, both things would eventually happen, but Lord, they would take for-damn-ever. "Scully-" "All right!" she said, turning around to face him again. "Let's get this over once and for all," she said grimly. Get it over with? he thought. She started. "It's not that you don't make me feel sexy. It's just that...I've stopped letting myself let you make me feel that way." His confusion, even in the darkness, was obvious. "Mulder, those feelings were dangerous. They were stupid. Nothing was ever going to happen, and it was just driving me crazy. So, I don't let myself think about it anymore. Whenever you do...whatever it is that you do...I just...ignore it." "Like what?" "What?" "What are the things that I do that make you feel sexy?" he insisted. Scully considered not telling him. She felt him move in the darkness, and then felt his hand on her bicep, squeezing gently. She froze. "What are you doing?" The hand vanished so quickly she imagined that it left a vapor trail. "Sorry." "Mulder, can we please have this discussion in the morning, over breakfast or on the plane?" "Why?" She hesitated. "Because I think it's dangerous to have this conversation now." Again he asked, "Why?" She wanted to tell him it was because she was tired, because the case had taken a lot out of her and she wanted to do nothing but sleep, because she wanted to be in full possession of her mental faculties when and if they had this discussion, but the truth of the matter was that his nearness, the smell of him, that intoxicating Mulder aroma was forcing her thoughts away from rational discourse and discussion and towards other issues, more dangerous issues. "Because," she finally said, moving as she spoke. She threw a leg over his hip and pushed off the bed with her hand, ending up sitting astride him, her buttocks pushing against his crotch. Leaning down into his face, she brushed her lips against his. "It's dangerous, Mulder." She kissed him again, more slowly this time, running her tongue across his lips before speaking again. "A person could get carried away," she whispered softly, kissing the line of his jaw. "A person might do something..." she husked, lowering her face and kissing the side of his neck. "A person might-" And then there was no more talking. His hands came up, under the hem of the shirt and quickly lifted it off her body, Scully raising her arms to ease the movement. His hands found her then, stroking her back, her sides, her stomach, and then rising, his palms opening and finding her breasts, fingers tracing the shape and contour, closing over her nipples and twisting gently. "Ooooh, that's nice," she whispered into the dark room. And then she realized what she was doing, what was going on. Scully moved quickly, reaching to the side, finding the shirt and climbing off her partner. "No!" she said, quickly donning the shirt. "This can't happen, Mulder." Silence. Heavy breathing, and silence. "Mulder?" she asked. No answer. "Mulder, answer me!" "What do you want me to say?" "Something. Anything." "Come back to bed." "Mulder-!" "Just get in the bed, Scully. I won't lay a hand on you." Ever, he thought. Ever again. She climbed back into the bed, giving him a wide berth. After a long silence, he spoke. "I'm sorry." She almost turned to face him. Almost. "Mulder! I'm the one that climbed on you; I'm the one that kissed you. I'm the one that stopped it before it went too far. I'm the one that should be sorry, not you!" "I'm still sorry," he insisted. "For God's sake, Mulder, WHY?" "I don't know. I just am." "You're impossible," she said softly, a smile on her face. He sighed in the darkness. "You never answered my question," he said softly. "What question?" "What did I do to make you feel sexy?" Now it was Scully's turn to sigh yet again. "Mulder--" "Just tell me, ok? That way I won't do it anymore." She didn't answer, so he continued. "That way, I won't accidentally make you feel something, make you...do what you just did. Or make you want to. Or make you think about it. We can just be partners, not even friends, not even the friends that we've come to be, Scully. It...upsets me to think that I make you uncomfortable in any way, Scully. Please...tell me, so I don't screw up." She finally turned to face him. "Mulder..." "What?" "It's not that easy. It's not something I can point to and say, 'There. That. When you do that, that makes me feel...that way.'" "Sexy?" Now he was mocking her. "Yes, Mulder. Sexy. Are you happy now?" "No. When I put my hand at the small of your back -- does that make you feel sexy?" "Mulder-" "Yes or no?" "Sometimes," she admitted. "When I look at you, when I really look at you, not just glance, but...when I look at you-- does that-" "Yes." "Every time?" "Yes." "Ok...now we're getting somewhere." "Mulder, you can't stop looking at me!" "Says who?" "Me." He reached out in the dark, his palm capturing her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin softly. "This," he whispered. "When I do this, does it make you feel sexy?" Oh, Lord, she thought. Yes yes yes. "Yes." He removed his hand. "No touching the face. Check." "Mulder!" she complained. "What?" "Why did you-" "Just checking, Scully. I need to be sure." She turned away from him again, pouting. "You can be such a pain in the ass sometimes, Mulder." He said nothing. Scully started to think, to think about all the times he had touched her, looked at her, smiled at her in just such a way, a certain perfect way, that had made her feel like the most beautiful, desirable, sexy woman who had ever lived. God, I must be losing my mind, she thought. "Is it so bad?" Mulder asked. "What?" "To want to feel special? To feel sexy?" "No," she said softly. "Of course not." "That I make you feel that way?" "Yes and no, Mulder. It's just not that easy." "It can be," he offered. She knew what he meant. And then she didn't care anymore. "Touch me again," she requested. "Are you sure?" "Touch me again, Mulder." His hand captured her face again. "Not here," she said, taking his hand and guiding it to where she wanted it. Lifting the shirt again, she put his hand on her stomach and then slowly slid it up. "There..." she whispered. "Touch me there." He did. And then, he touched her everywhere. *** Annapolis, Maryland Two Days Later Scully groaned, realizing that she was running late. The last thirty-six hours had been a whirlwind. After a night of passion that still made her toes curl when she thought about it, she and Mulder had returned to DC. They had not talked about what happened. They had returned to the office, operating as partners, as they always did. They filed the case paperwork, made their final report to AD Skinner, and went home, each to their own apartments. Until about ten last night. The knock had been unexpected. She'd opened the door, and he'd been standing there. They'd made love in her front hall. And then in the bedroom. And then in the kitchen, on the kitchen floor. His passion was insatiable, Scully found. His hunger for her body unquenchable. Once again, he'd managed to make her feel sexy. Wanted. Desired. He'd left in the wee hours of the morning, kissing her softly on the forehead. And now she was running late. Damn! *** Washington, DC Fox Mulder's Office When Scully opened the door to the office, the memories of the past two days came to a crashing halt. Sitting on what Mulder called her 'desk,' and what was actually no more than a cleared workspace, were a dozen long-stemmed red roses. She hung her coat up and crossed to the desk, staring at the roses. She didn't touch them. Damn him, she thought. Damn him to hell. She opened the card and read it. Poetry, pulled from Mulder's photographic memory. Signed, "Love, M." She crumpled the card and let it fall from her hand into the wastebasket. Just like a man, she thought. Just like Mulder. Misinterpreting events; confusing one reality with the true reality. The door behind her opened. Mulder stepped in, saw her, saw the expression on her face. "What?" he asked. "Close the door, Mulder." He did so, shucking his jacket and hanging it next to hers. "Scully...what's wrong?" "We have to talk," she said softly, moving away from her desk, away from the roses, away from the overwhelming implication they represented. She moved to him, standing in his space, her arms crossed. He moved to put his arms around her, and she stepped back, pinning him with her gaze. "Don't," she warned. "What?" "Mulder, are you in love with me?" she asked. A smile broke out on his face, a warm, sunny, thankful smile. "I think I am," he admitted. She sighed. "I was afraid of that." His face fell. "Excuse me?" She threw her hands up. "Don't you see? That's..." She stopped, moving back to her desk. "How much did you pay for these?" "Scully-" "Mulder! Answer me!" "About eighty bucks." She snorted. "Almost a hundred bucks for a bunch of flowers. Because you think you're in love with me." She let out a huge breath and sat down, cradling her forehead in her palm. "Mulder, why do you always have to screw things up?" "W-what?" "Mulder...I'm not in love with you," she said, softly, carefully, pronouncing each word. He blinked and then moved to his desk. "I don't understand..." he started. "We just spent the last two days..." "Why," she interrupted, "can't we just be lovers without being 'in love?'" "I...uh..." he started. She sat back, crossing her arms. "Mulder, being in love is just too much work when it comes to us." She saw the pout starting and decided to let it happen. "Scully, I..." "Mulder...I never said I wanted a relationship. Do you really think we could sustain one? Over the long haul?" He said nothing. "Neither do I, to be frank. There is no way that we can be in love with each other and remain partners. It's hard enough the way it is now. And now, with...what's happened, it's going to be even harder. I don't need the pressure of a relationship!" "The pressure?" he asked. "Yes, Mulder, the pressure! All the little things, the edges, the margins. Making sure that we have 2.5 dates per week, or that we sleep over my apartment as many times as we do yours. Making sure that I don't forget the little mini-anniversaries. The anniversary of our first kiss, our first date, the first time we made love, making sure that I buy presents for Elvis's birthday. All that...crap. I just don't need that stuff in my life right now." "I see," he said carefully. "Do you?" "Yes. You want a stud, Scully. You want a stud horse to come over and service you when you're horny. Is that about it?" She sighed and stood, hands on her hips. "No, that is it, Mulder. God! You make me sound like a cheap slut!" He said nothing. "Is that what you think?" Mulder had never seen her eyebrows that high on her face before. "No, of course not. I'm just...surprised." "Surprised that I'm not falling over myself in love with you?" "N-no," he said, but she knew she'd hit the mark. "Oh," Scully said nodding. "I get it. This is one of those dual standards things. You screw one of the secretarial pool girls, and it's just sex. Nothing important, nothing Earth-shattering. But a woman, me in this case, a woman who wants the same consideration, the same kind of no-strings-attached sex is a slut. Is that it?" "No! You're a slut!" he protested. "Well, I'm glad we've established ," she said. "Besides, I haven't slept with anyone in-" "In what, Mulder? Days? Weeks?" "Three years," he said softly. That caught her short. "Wait...are you telling me...? No! I saw you with...what's her name...the bimbo with the big hair... at the movies! You were all over each other." "Penny. We didn't sleep together." "What about...the FBI picnic? The...brunette, with the..." Scully made motions with her arms. "The...legs. What's her name?" "Angela. And we didn't sleep together, either." Scully chewed her lip. "Why not? They obviously wanted you." He regarded her calmly from behind his desk and gave her the 'kill' shot. "Because they weren't you," he said softly. Then Mulder got up, retrieved his jacket, shrugged into it, opened the door and departed, leaving a thoroughly confused Scully standing there. The click! of the door closing brought Scully out of her reverie. Because they're not me? she thought. Oh, Lord, we're in trouble. *** Annapolis, Maryland Three Days Later 2100 Hours They hadn't spoken since. They came in, did their work, and went home. It was mostly paperwork anyway, and what communication they did need to do their jobs was accomplished through email and phone messages. Scully was sitting on her couch, legs on the coffee table, flipping through the channels when the knock came. "Come in, Mulder," she called. "It's open." He entered. "How did you know it was me?" "There's no one else that would show up unannounced at nine at night." "Oh." "Come. Sit. Let's talk." He came and sat. "What's on your mind, Mulder?" "Uh...our conversation." "Which one would that be?" she asked. "You know, Scully. Why are you being such a..." "What? Bitch?" He nodded. "Oh, ok...now we get to the meat of it, huh? I'm a bitch because I want the same rights that you-" "I told you," he started. "I haven't slept with anyone-" "That's not the point. You can sleep with anyone you want. I'm not stopping you. We're not in love. I'm just asking for the same thing you yourself expect from me." "Who ever said that I expected that from you, Scully?" That brought her up short. "Excuse me?" "What? You thought that...what? We sleep together on assignment, and then I just chalk it up to another conquest? Another notch on the 'ol bedpost?" "Something like that," Scully admitted. "Oh, so now the slut," he said softly. "Just interested in one thing. I guess those roses didn't mean anything, huh?" "Mulder, I figured-" "You figured wrong, Scully. You figured that I'd treat you the way the rumors about me say, huh? That I'd fuck you and dump you, and so you figured you'd beat me to the punch, huh? Dump me before I dump you?" "Mulder, I didn't dump you. I just told you that I'm not in love with you." "Aren't you?" he challenged. "No," she said slowly, shaking her head. "Not in the least. I find you attractive, and...as the rumor goes...you're great in bed. But I am not in love with you, Mulder." "So where does that leave us?" he asked. She moved on the couch, straddling him in much the same way she had in the dark motel room. Catching his face in her hands, she focused her gaze on his. "Here," she said. "Together. From time to time, we'll take comfort from each other, as friends, as lovers." She paused, and then added, "Don't you see? If we do it this way, we can still be partners. And we can both get what we want...and what we need." "So...let me get this straight," he said. "You want me, but you don't love me." "Yes, I do, and yes, I do love you. I'm just not in love with you." His brow creased. "What's the difference?" "You love your mother, right?" "Barely. And I don't want to sleep with her." She nodded. "Point granted. Ok...you love Phoebe, right?" "No. And I don't want to sleep with her, either." "Ok...isn't there anyone that you love that you're not in love with that you want to sleep with?" "No." "So this is all new to you." "Yes." "Can you handle it?" "Sleeping with you without being in love?" He considered. "I don't know. I think I'm in love with you." Scully switched tactics, taking his hand and putting it on her breast. "In love with me...or this?" He removed his hand. "With you," he said with finality. She moved back to her side of the couch. "So, as you said earlier, where does that leave us?" "I don't know." She stood, holding out her hand. "C'mon. Let's go to bed. We can have wild, care-free sex all night long. And in the morning, we're still partners. Best of both worlds, Mulder." He looked at her hand, longing to take it, to take her. "Do you think you could ever fall in love with me?" he asked, his voice small, child-like. She shrugged. "Sure. Someday. It's possible." "But not definite?" "No." He stood and took her hand. "Ok...I'll take the chance." He started to pull her towards the bedroom, but Scully stood her ground. "Wait," she said. "What?" Stepping into his space, she looked up at him. "If we do this... if we continue to do this...we do it my way, Mulder. No cards, no flowers, no expensive presents, no rings on bended knee. Got it? Just sex...hot sex, mind you...but just sex." "I...uh...er..." "Mulder, men have been doing it for four thousand years. Think of it as your contribution to the emancipation of females across the world." "So is that what you are?" he asked. "Free?" She smiled. "Hey...I may be easy...but I'm not cheap." She laughed and led him to the bedroom. Willingly, he went. ------- THE END Guess we need a new "Scully" type, huh?