Subj: Poconos (3/7) by Jess
Date: 8/10/99 7:01:00 PM Central Daylight Time
From: jessica@amazon.com (Jessica Mabe)
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TITLE: Poconos (3/7)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com
RATING: NC-17
Summary in Part One.
Emails are saved and cuddled like teddy bears.
Scully reached one arm lazily out and grabbed another handful of popcorn
from the bowl on the coffee table. She had managed to talk Mulder into
watching bad late-night TV, rather than the stuff he'd wanted to watch,
namely: horrible sci-fi B movies involving bulbous-headed alien women.
Or that mysterious video, whose possible existence tantalized her. She
had nothing against a little porn, though she'd never have told him
that. Let him think she was frigid. It made him try harder.
"You're hogging the couch, agent."
She wiggled closer and dug her elbow into his ribs. He jumped.
"God, and I wanted to do this."
"Stop grousing."
She turned and settled with her back against the arm of the couch. Idly
she wondered if there was a rule against pressing her feet up against
the warm bare thigh of her partner and decided she hadn't read it
anywhere, so there must not be. Mulder let one languid hand fall onto
her ankle and squeezed. Somewhere buried beneath the day's accumulation
of sunlight and warm pecan pie, she felt a little warning jab from her
conscience. She extended one foot onto Mulder's lap, effectively
crushing her conscience beneath her heal. Mulder eyed her foot for a
moment and then turned to her, questioning.
"Are you looking for something, Scully?"
"A little foot-action, Mulder," she purred.
She felt him shift slightly in surprise. You're pushing it, Dana, her
conscience whispered. You're writin' checks your body can't cash, it
said in a deep male voice.
That thought set her to giggling, just as Mulder gave one experimental
sweep of his thumb up the arch of her foot.
"Ticklish, Scully?"
She shook her head, still giggling.
"Could've fooled me."
She swallowed as he dug his fingers into her skin and began the massage
in earnest. I will not groan, she told the conscience.
"Feel good?"
His voice was dark and a little smoky.
She nodded and leaned back, closing her eyes.
You're in way, way over your head, the conscience whispered.
Shut up, she told it, I can't hear my heart pounding.
Mulder moved to her other foot and ground his knuckles into the center
of the arch.
"You're going to owe me, you know." The tone was intimate, as if he were
whispering in her ear.
"Owe you what?" she answered, not opening her eyes.
"I haven't decided yet," he said. "I'll let you know when I see it." And
then he placed both hands on her calves and kneaded.
That opened her eyes, wide, to find him staring at her with a lust so
barely controlled she had to consciously shut her mouth to keep from
gaping.
"Mulder," she whispered, suddenly deeply nervous. "It was just a foot
massage. I'm not letting you hold me to just anything."
He leaned back into the couch, smiling to himself.
"I didn't have 'just anything' in mind."
She drew her feet up protectively.
"Mulder…" she used her you're-crossing-that-line tone.
He sighed and Scully could practically feel the disappointment set in.
What she couldn't figure out, what hung between them whenever they got
close to each other, was why exactly they weren't lovers. She had no
reference point for it anymore. Once she could have placed it, saying:
ah, we're partners and regulations forbid it. But they had broken every
regulation known to exist in the Bureau handbook except that one, so
that didn't work. Or: he's too damaged and crazy. But now, so was she.
Perhaps at one time she would have said: He loves someone else. But she
knew that wasn't true. He might still be attracted to other women, but
if he was tempted, it was only because she wasn't available. The only
thing she could come up with now was that neither one wanted to be the
first to actually give in.
It was an endless game of chicken, and she was ready to just lie down in
the road and let him run right over her.
But not tonight, she thought ruefully. And maybe that was it. It was
never tonight.
Mulder stretched and caught her eye.
"So what now, Scully? You ready for a dip?"
It took her a moment, but when she realized what he was saying, the
thought of Mulder in a bathing suit sitting opposite her was just too
much.
"Not tonight," she said. "I'm too tired. Besides, we have to save some
pleasures for day two."
Mulder pulled out the hide-a-bed and lay down on top of the wool
blanket. The cabin was dark, though he could still hear Scully puttering
around in the bathroom and see the shaft of light from underneath the
door. He was quietly miserable, as he often was when she was getting
ready for bed. In some ways their lives had become as interconnected as
a married couple. He knew her routines, her little patterns. But in the
end, she would step out of the door wearing her furry bathrobe over her
pajamas and slip quietly into the bedroom, wishing him goodnight from as
far away as Antarctica had ever been. He sighed and rolled away from the
bathroom door to watch the night's shadows in the trees outside.
He heard the door open and her soft footfalls as she crossed the carpet.
"Goodnight, Mulder."
Her voice was a whisper, in case he was asleep. In case. As if he ever
was. He didn't answer right away and heard her open the bedroom door and
hesitate there.
"Goodnight, Scully."
She moved again, closing the door behind her.
For a long moment he lay in the silence. He should be thinking about the
case, about his work. But he was thinking about the way the wind moved
the branches of the tree closest to him, about the soft sound of the
clock ticking in the bedroom, of the way her small feet had felt tucked
under his leg.
Then there was a soft whirring sound, growing slowly louder until he was
aware of a motor running in Scully's room. He sat up. What on earth was
she doing?
Just as he rose to find out, the door opened, flooding the room with
light. Scully, looking slightly disheveled but still wrapped up in her
robe, smiled weakly from the threshold.
"Mulder," she said. "The bed's spinning and I can't get it to stop."
He couldn't help himself and started laughing.
"I'll come take a look."
He passed close to her, feeling the warmth of her skin from a foot away.
"I just laid down and started to go to sleep and it started up on it's
own," she told him. "I think it must have a short in it."
Must indeed, he thought, watching the bed whirl around at an amazing
speed.
"I'll crawl over there and turn it off," he said, and scrambled up.
He made one movement before he felt the blankets begin to slide. The bed
was spinning well beyond its designed speed now, and he grasped madly at
the headboard as it swung by. Missing, he gave a little cry of surprise
as he flew off, landing in a heap in one corner of the room.
Looking up, he found Scully strangling her laughter without great
success.
"My God, Mulder," she gasped. "That was hysterical."
He rubbed his knee and found himself smiling back at her, grinning even.
"Come on, Scully, I've got a couch built for two."
Her eyes widened and he could sense her discomfort. Irritation sunk in.
"For God's sake, Scully…" he began.
"It's all right, Mulder. I just hadn't thought about that."
He ushered her out of the bedroom, shutting the door against the
whirring motors.
"I hope it doesn't spark and catch fire…" she said, glancing back.
He pulled back the blanket and slid in.
"Don't worry about it. Come to bed."
Standing at the end of the mattress, she smiled.
"I think you planned this. I think, somehow, you set this up."
He sighed.
"If I really wanted to get you into bed, Scully, I think I could come up
with something better than that."
She raised one eyebrow, her face pale in the light from the open window.
Then she took off her robe.
He was used to the blue silk pajamas. He was even accustomed to the
white ones, which were nearly see-through. But nothing had prepared him
for the fact that she might not wear actual pajamas tonight. That she
might wear this little spaghetti-strapped slip of a silk thing in a
shade of dark purple that was nearly blue. He couldn't take his eyes off
her.
"Mulder," she said, crawling up the bed toward him. "Stop that."
He could see more cleavage in that moment than he had ever been
privileged to in his life. He was instantly, unbearably turned-on.
"Stop what," he whispered.
"Staring."
"I'm not staring," he told her, "I'm ogling. There's a difference."
She peeled back the blanket and slid in a good two feet away from him.
He could have wept when she pulled up the sheets and covered that… thing
she was wearing.
"Well, stop ogling and go to sleep. You'd think you'd never seen a
nightie before."
He lay back and stared at the ceiling, fighting every nerve to keep from
rolling over and pinning her to the mattress with his entire body.
Just as he heard her breathing slow, he whispered.
"No, Scully, I've just never seen you in a nightie before."
He felt her jerk awake and smiled to himself. All was fairly met, he
thought, and closed his eyes.
Mornings were not Mulder's forte. But somehow, waking to find his arms
wound tightly around his sleeping partner, her warm body moving beneath
his with each breath, he thought they were something he could come to
like. Afraid to breathe too hard in case he should wake her, he lay
perfectly still, absorbing every place their skin touched in his mind
like a map to her.
"Mmm," Scully groaned softly and moved closer, flopping one arm over his
neck. Her small face was just inches from his own, and he could smell
the awful yet delicious scent of her breath mingling with his own.
Unable to resist, he gently stroked her soft hair away from her face.
She smiled in her sleep and burrowed in, her nose resting just below his
own, her lips against his chin. My God, Mulder thought, I will now die a
happy man.
With a restless answering snort, she rolled away and then pushed back
against him, her body curled into his. Like baby cats, he thought, and
tightened his grip around her, sliding his hand under the edge of the
silk to rest it against the hot skin of her stomach. Her nightgown had
ridden up, and only their underwear now stood between them. Almost
unable to resist a thrust, he held his hips away so she wouldn't wake to
feel his erection pressing against her ass.
"Mulder?" she murmured.
"Yeah, sleepy-head, it's the one and only."
She sighed and for a moment, relaxed into his arms. Could it be, he
thought? Would she let him hold her? But no, her body suddenly tensed
and she practically bolted out of the bed.
Looking gorgeously flustered, she stared at him, pulling down the
nightie.
"Mind if I shower first?" she said, back in possession.
"Go ahead," he answered, smiling at her. "You're a little stinky this
morning."
Her mouth opened and then shut. She smirked.
"Well at least I won't have to worry about leaving you any hot water,"
she said. "You'll definitely want this shower turned to 'cold'."
Before he could recover from the shock of hearing her actually come-on
to him, she was gone behind the bathroom door. Mulder leaned back in bed
and watched the blankets rise conspicuously at his hips. Yeah, he
thought, cold shower indeed.
The small white bungalow was clearly not going to be white for long.
Buzzing around it like so many workers in a hive, the good folks of
Clement were painting the widow Cratched's house sky blue. Scully
stepped out of the air-conditioned car and nearly stepped right back in
as the wall of heat hit her body. It was going to be a very long day.
As she and Mulder made their way up a short cement sidewalk, folks – and
she couldn't think of them any other way – parted and let them through
as if they bore the plague.
The door opened and a large young woman smiled at them, her face blotchy
with recent tears.
"Mrs. Cratched?" Mulder asked, flashing his badge.
"Yes, come on in. We've been expecting you."
Scully glanced up at her partner, but found his face unreadable. After
this morning, she thought ruefully, maybe that was good thing.
Inside the little house, the air conditioning chugged merrily around at
least twenty women, all dressed in dark cotton sundresses and all a bit
overweight in the way that only too much delicious fried food can
create. They looked at her as if she were an alien, creeping wasp-like
into their cozy circle.
"Well, hello, Mr. and Mrs. FBI," one woman said, eyeing them both.
"Hello right back at you," Mulder said, his voice playful and yet
strained at the same time. "I'm Agent Fox Mulder and this is my partner,
Agent Dana Scully. We're here investigating…"
"The deaths," six women said in unison.
"That's right," Scully replied, accepting a proffered chair. "We just
wanted to hear about what happened to Bob."
"Oh," Mrs. Cratched sighed miserably. "He loved that little scotty dog
so much…"
Mulder had come to stand behind her and she could feel the warmth of him
against her back. Just like this morning, she thought, a pleasant twinge
tickling her stomach.
"He followed it into the septic tank, isn't that correct?"
"Yes," Mrs. Cratched nodded. "He had opened it up to unclog it, you
know? We were having problems. Anyway, I guess Scottie must have
wandered over to sniff at it, and she fell in. Bob, being the kinda guy
he was, just went right in after her. But then of course, they couldn't
get back out. We found him nearly five hours later, his arms still
wrapped around the poor dog. I guess he just got too tired and couldn't
stand up anymore."
Mulder sighed. "Did Bob have any enemies, you can think of, Mrs.
Cratched? Was there anyone who might have hurt him?"
She smiled. "Well sure, practically the whole town."
Scully started and crossed her legs the other way to hide it.
"Are you saying your husband was unpopular, Mrs. Cratched?"
"Oh sure. Bob wasn't exactly well-liked. He could be…" she hesitated and
another woman finished for her.
"Bob was an ass, if you must know. A wife-beating, dog-loving, stupid
sonova bitch."
Scully swallowed.
"Then there is the possibility that this could have been murder?"
"Oh no," Mrs. Cratched replied. "You see, at least three people, myself
included, saw Bob jump into the tank."
Mulder stirred behind her and she felt one hand brush the back of her
neck.
"And you just left him there?"
"Well, not exactly. You see, I thought he'd gotten out. He usually stays
out there all day, working. And I didn't hear anything. It wasn't until
he didn't come in for dinner that I started to worry."
For a long moment everyone was quiet.
"Would either of you like something to eat?" Mrs. Cratched said
suddenly. "I've got more food that I could ever eat in a lifetime." She
motioned to the kitchen behind them. Scully turned to see the entire
table, every counter, even the top of the refrigerator, covered in
dishes of food.
"Very neighborly display," Mulder said.
"We take care of our own," a woman in the back said warmly. "Carmen
won't lack for anything as long as we're here."
"No," Mulder said softly, and Scully recognized the thoughtful tone,
"I'm sure she won't."
End part 3 of 7
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Date: Tue, 10 Aug 1999 15:59:28 -0700
From: Jessica Mabe
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