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Maison Noir by K Bellot
TITLE: Maison Noir
AUTHOR: K Bellot
EMAIL: [email protected]
RATING: NC-17ment, alm
CATEGORY: M/S, Skinner/Other
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY: Misunderstanding and mistaken assumptions rule the day—and night.
DISCLAIMER: Special Agents Damien Kanahoe and Grace Pachelli belong to me—all others are the property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions, so pirates beware, especially those on the far reaches of the galaxy.
MAISON NOIR
By K Bellot
Part I
10:47 A.M.
“Mulder here.”
“Fox Mulder?”
“Do you know of any other Mulders working for the FBI?”
“No darling, just you, and you’re the one I want to see—you’ve got something I could really use right now.”
“Ooh, tell me more, Grace.” Fox put his feet up on the desk and grinned in the direction of Scully’s work station. She raised her head, raised an elegant eyebrow—and went back to the paperwork before her. Mulder’s grin deepened; she would be quizzing him on this phone call later—he could bet on it.
“I hear you’ve got unofficial channels for—certain services.”
Mulder’s curiosity rose. Grace Pachelli was not the sort to pussyfoot around when asking for a favor. He made a noncommittal grunt. The soft voice on the line continued.
“I need one of those services. Look, can we meet somewhere, lunch or
something?”
“Sure, fine. The reflecting pool in the Mall?”
“Perfect. Around 12:30 or so. I’ll bring the sandwiches.” Grace offered, sounding relieved. She hung up before he could ask anything further. Mulder replaced the phone on the hook and stared at it, almost missing Scully’s too-casual question.
“Grace Pachelli?”
Mulder nodded.
“What does she want?”
“Certain services that only I can provide.” he smugly answered, watching for his partner’s reaction. Scully gave him a skeptical look and he shrugged.
“I guess it was inevitable that she’d succumb—when you have as much boyish charm as I—”
Scully threw a pen at him.
** ** **
12:34 P.M.
The midday sun sparkled on the water of the reflecting pool, and overhead the blue sky seemed to stretch on forever. Mulder leaned back on against the top stone step of the stairs the overlooked the pool and soaked in the sunshine. He’d taken off his coat, and laid it over the step; loosened his tie a bit. A breeze ruffled his hair.
Spring in D.C. was a rare and lovely thing, not to be missed when it happened. Mulder gazed over the tops of the blossoming cherry trees that lined the pool, scanning for Grace. A quick glance at his watch—she was a little late, but not by too much. His stomach growled.
And there she was, rushing up the steps to meet him, paper bags in hand. He took the one she held out, peering into the depths.
“If this is egg salad olive loaf or head cheese, then all deals are off.”
“Turkey and bacon with mustard.” she announced, dropping down on the stone step next to him. From the other bag she produced two bottled ice teas. Mulder took his and they settled down to eat for the moment, enjoying the balmy afternoon. Grace seemed as hungry as he was, and tore into her sandwich with unladylike haste. It amused Mulder to watch her—in the soft gray sweater, pearls and short black skirt she didn’t look like a seasoned agent, but more like some fantasy version of a personal secretary.
“Slow down—I haven’t had a CPR refresher in years.” he warned. Guiltily, Grace swallowed her mouthful and took a breath. Mulder swigged his iced tea and finished off half of his sandwich. After a moment, he sighed.
“Now—I’ve been wined and dined—what else is on your agenda, Pachelli?” He leaned back on his elbows and didn’t look at her. Instead he studied the water shimmering before them.
“Okay—do you know what Damien and I have been working on lately?”
“Something to do with following up on the Prevost kiddie porn ring, right?”
“Right. We’ve been checking out a few of Prevost’s associates, tailing them, watching their daily routines—” She shook her head and made a moue. “Disgusting what money will let you get away with.”
“Oh the rich can afford their weird little whims.” Mulder agreed, finally turning his head to look at Grace. She rolled her eyes as he picked up the other half of his sandwich, but continued.
“Well, Damien and I were skulking around in Maison Noir last night, and—”
“Whoa, Whoa—Maison Noir?” Mulder sat up sharply, almost knocking over his iced tea. “THE Maison Noir as in the most exclusive sex club outside of New York or Los Angeles? THAT Maison Noir?”
Grace simply nodded. He shook his head. “And here I am wasting time on X-files—” a breeze ruffled his hair, making him look boyish.
“Oh please, Mulder—neither of us had a particularly good time.” Grace dryly pointed out. “It was a hell of a risk. Prevost’s pals know what we look like.”
“Point taken.” He admitted. “So? What were you wearing?”
“Leather, chains and a very uncomfortable expression. Look, can we get to the point here?” she blurted. Mulder dropped the teasing even though his imagination raced through all the possible costumes her words brought to mind. All of them intriguing. REALLY intriguing— now if only Scully ever— Grace reached over and yanked his tie to get his attention.
“Mulder! I got into the back offices and took something.” She admitted with a trace of panic.
“And this is the something you need help with.”
“Yeah. A disc that I hope had a mailing list of the Prevost customers and patrons.” she affirmed. Mulder shook his head slightly at her audacity and sighed. She rushed on as he began eating the second half of his sandwich.
“Look, I can’t take it to the lab here—they’d want to know where it came from, and the evidence is already legally compromised, not to mention that I have to get the thing back to the club tonight-” Her voice was a tiny bit strained.
Mulder thought it over. He stood, stretched, grabbed his coat and pulled out his cell phone.
“Scully? Listen, we won’t be back in for a couple of hours … No, I’m pretty sure we’ll be there for the meeting at six… . Yes she’s with me… no …turkey and bacon … Save us some seats in the conference room.” He hung up with a slightly smug expression.
“Being with you seems to pique some curiosity.”
“And you’re milking that for all it’s worth.” Grace pointed out as she picked up the paper bags. She long suspected that Mulder was crazy about Scully—it didn’t take a genius to see the strong attraction between the two. She grinned up at Mulder who smirked back.
Co- conspirators.
“Damn straight. One more call to make—”
1:17 P.M.
“Now I have to warn you that these guys are somewhat paranoid and a little unconventional—” Mulder warned Grace as they stood before the steel reinforced door. She shrugged.
“If they can get the job done, I’d put up with baboons singing opera.”
Mulder grinned and knocked. A camera above the door slowly rotated to focus on them. Mulder looked up. Grace waved.
“Babe Alert, Babe Alert.” Frohike announced from his position in front of the monitor. Langley scurried over, Byers strolled. They crowded around and Langley piped up into the microphone.
“I.D.?”
“It’s me. This is Special Agent Grace Pachelli.” Mulder called up. The agents waited several moments in the dark hall and he whispered, “They ‘re probably going over your records now—”
“Hope they like the photo—”
Apparently they did; the bolts clicked loudly and the door swung open. Mulder ushered her into the dim room. Grace looked around curiously as Byers came over, politely extending his hand. Grace shook it, approving of his three piece suit and neatly trimmed beard.
“Ms. Pachelli. You have an impressive service record.”
“Too bad about all those speeding tickets, though,” Langley snickered. Grace narrowed her eyes and he stepped back half a step. Mulder hid his grin. “Calm down, Grace.”
She took a deep breath (a move appreciated by Frohike in particular) and nodded. Briskly she handed a disc to Langley with a small shrug. “Right More important things to do. Here.” He took it, and turned it over in his hands, tossing his stringy blonde hair back with a nervous wave of his head.
“You saw what my last commendation was for?”
“Prevost. Nasty stuff.” he acknowledged. Grace sighed.
“We managed to put him and a few distributors away, but that’s not the end of it. I’m betting that disc has a list of his clientele. If you three can get it printed out, Damien and I can finish this case.”
Frohike broke in. “Hey, hey slow down, Sweetheart—where did you get this? I don’t recall seeing any evidence entered in the court transcripts that mentioned computer records. So if you picked up this little tidbit illegally, then whatever’s on it is inadmissible in court.”
“I know.” Grace admitted. “I stole it from Maison Noir and I have to get it back there tonight.”
“M-M-M-Maison Noir?”
“Oh yeah.” She breathed with a little smile. Behind her, Mulder tried damn hard not to laugh.
Byers grew pale, Frohike’s eyes glazed over, Langley twitched up and down like a kid who needed to go to the bathroom. For a moment no one spoke, but finally Byers pulled himself together and plucked the disc from Langley’s hand.
“You stole it. How can you defend using it if you can’t concede the source?” His voice barely quavered.
“The list would merely be a starting point. Damien and I can find enough justifible cause to cover ourselves, but only if we know where to start looking.”
Grace added softly, “Come on guys—I’ve had to collect a pair of training pants full of blood and semen as evidence in that case—I don’t ever want to do that again.”
A quiet pause filled the dim room, broken only by the soft beeps and clicks from the various hardware around them.
“Sick motherfuckers.” Frohike shook his head. As one, the three Lone Gunmen shifted over to Langley’s terminal and shot the disc into the slot.
“Uh oh—” Byers stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Top of the line encryption. It’s going to take some time.”
“Fine—take all afternoon.” Grace chirped. “I won’t need it until tonight.”
The three men sighed in weary unison at her computer naivete. Mulder tapped her shoulder and motioned with his chin for them to leave.
1:23 P.M.
“There’s a phone call for you sir.” Kimberley’s voice sounded a little surprised.
“Who is it?”
“Uh, the Italian Consulate sir.” She murmured.
Wondering what the hell this was going to be all about, Skinner picked up the phone and growled, “Assistant Director Skinner here.”
“Signor Skinner?” The softly accented English brushed his ear. “This is the Baron Farussi’s secretary, Orianna Brazza. The Baron thinks it would be in your mutual best interest to have a late lunch with him today.”
Skinner paused, memory racing, at a loss for the moment, but the secretary continued smoothly. “He says you have a mutual concern that needs to be handled—gracefully? A car will pick you up at one thirty.” the line went dead. Skinner hung up slowly, and looked at his watch.
What the hell had Grace gotten herself into now?
2:10 P.M.
The courtyard behind the consulate was sunny and quiet. Skinner had been ushered to a table in the shade there, and sat waiting, keeping his tension in check. Impatiently he studied the white linen cloth, the gleaming china.
“Signor Skinner–Vittorio Farrusi.” Rolling towards him, an old man in a wheelchair extended a papery dry hand. Skinner stood and shook it, surprised at the strength of the grip. The other man chuckled.
“Only the legs are weak. Sit, sit—”
As they did, Skinner got his first good look at his host. He had probably been tall once, when he could stand. He wore a light linen suit that hung on his lean frame. It was a thin aristocratic face with dark luminous eyes, framed with curly white hair. Dimly, Skinner recognized something familiar about the man. Vittorio could see the director puzzling over it.
“I saw you at young Lorenzo’s wedding last September. We were both guests, although our paths did not cross at that time.” He helpfully supplied. “It was quite a—celebration.”
Skinner nodded, but the flood of memories must have shown in his eyes because Vittorio smiled again. He spoke briefly in Italian to the young waiter who approached their table, then turned back to Skinner when the boy left. His countenance was more forceful now.
Vittorio leaned back, steepling his long hands together and spoke slowly, carefully. His guest watched him.
“My niece works under you.”
The careless way the older man phrased it was no accident; the hairs on the back of Skinner’s neck rose. He tried not to let his jaw clench up and Vittorio let the moment drag on before speaking again.
“Graziella is a good agent?”
“Yes.” Skinner offered no more, no less. His host slowly reached for the goblet of water on the table. He took a sip.
“Will she listen to you long enough to save her life, perhaps?”
“Get to the point.” Tired of waiting, Skinner risked a little rudeness and frowned. Vittorio nodded in approval and let his hands fall to the table with a slap.
“Buono! Very well. I know that Graziella has been investigating the activities of Prevost’s associates, and that she and her partner are getting very close to some of these—” He made a harsh face “—predators.”
“That’s privileged information.” Skinner pointed out. The waiter returned with two plates of fresh ravioli, homemade bread, red wine and salad. Vittorio shrugged and waved to his guest to eat.
“Beside the point, Signor Skinner. Grace has stolen something from one of these men.” Skinner looked up but didn’t interrupt. “I don’t know the item, I suspect it’s a list, but I do know the man, a Belgian national who narrowly avoided being named in that terrible child murder case in Europe last year.”
“Who?” Skinner demanded sharply.
“Pascal Lavasque, one of the Belgian Embassy staff.” Vittorio slowly began to eat his lunch, speaking between mouthfuls. “He’s in charge of security there—a small blonde man with the smile of a vampire.”
“How did Grace—” Skinner slowly asked, staring down into his half-finished plate of ravioli.
“Last night she broke into the offices of Maison Noir.”
Skinner brought his steely gaze up to meet that of his host. Vittorio nodded grimly. The older man leaned forward, his expression troubled.
“I wasn’t sure if she told you any of this—I see she hasn’t” He shook his head in frustration. “Ah Graziella! Too impulsive, like her mother. I suspect she will try to return the item tonight. Pascal will be watching.”
“Jesus ” Skinner muttered. He pushed away the unfinished plate and sighed. His host pulled something small out of his breast pocket and tossed it onto the table.
A thin credit card of glossy black, edged with gold. Nothing embossed or written on it’s sleek surface, giving it a slightly sinister aura. Skinner picked it up.
“That is a membership card for Maison Noir—don’t ask.” Vittorio held his long hands up to ward off the question on Skinner’s lips. “Favors called in, strings pulled—just be there tonight and keep Graziella from being killed.”
Skinner slowly picked it up and tapped the card edge on the table for a long moment as Vittorio sipped his red wine. A breeze ruffled the tablecloth.
“How the hell am I going to pass for a member of Maison Noir?” Skinner finally demanded through clenched teeth. His host gave a small cynical smile in return.
“That’s the easy part—just wear what the other members wear, Signor Skinner—Something expensive, something fashionable. Three piece suits, Armani shirts, cuff links—if you can look like a lobbyist or senator or a judge, you’ll fit right in.”
4:20 P.M.
“Where have they been all day?” Scully asked Damien as she crossed her arms and looked around the basement office she shared with Mulder. Damien looked up from his work with the calculator on Mulder’s desk and smiled.
“Hint of the green-eyed monster?”
No—just … Curiosity.” Scully petulantly countered. She slowly began to put away files, talking as much to herself as to Damien. “I mean I don’t really care, but it’s getting late and—”
“They’ll be here. Grace won’t risk screwing up our job tonight.”
“Stakeout?”
Damien sighed strangely. “More like a black bag job. Besides, Grace isn’t really Mulder’s type.”
“And how would YOU know?” Scully teased gently with a smile. Damien looked at her askance and reached down to the lower drawer of Mulder’s desk. He scooped up a handful of videos and read off the titles to her.
“TITAN-HAIRED TEMPTRESSES, RED GIVES HEAD, FLAMING LOVERS— come on, Dana! The man’s not only seriously hetero, he’s obviously hot for redheads.”
“What?!” Stunned, Scully reached over for the videos as a blush raced across her features. “MISS COPPER LAYS PIPE, CHERRYTOPPERS, FIRECRACKERS THAT FU—Oh my God!” Damien watched her with kindly amusement as she pawed through the rest of the stack, spilling them across the floor.
“Face it—Mulder has a secret passion to go down in flames, girlfriend. Yours undoubtedly.”
“Damien!” Scully was scarlet-faced by now. He helped her pick up the videos and drop them back in the drawer then put a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“You mean you never realized it before?”
“No! If one’s out I just toss it in the drawer—I don’t, I never—”
“Shhhh.” He pulled her into a bear hug. “Calm down—it’s no big deal, Dana. Kinda flattering, really.”
“Flattering?” Scully managed to put an edge of menace in her voice. “Flattering?”
“Flattering.” Damien pointed out patiently. “Think about it, Dana. Instead of putting your working and personal relationship in jeopardy, Mulder lives out his erotic fantasies about you in a safe way. I do the same thing with my fantasies about Mulder.”
The remark distracted her, just as Damien had hoped—she tried to give him a stern look and failed. Damien put on an innocent face, muttering,
“Don’t you breath a word of that, either—the man’s jumpy enough around me as it is—” They didn’t hear Mulder and Grace walking in the door.
“Hey Dami—” Mulder froze for a moment at the sight of his partner in an embrace with someone else. Scully pulled away quickly, and Damien looked up at the ceiling, counting the pencils there as Grace, oblivious to the tableau bustled into the office behind Mulder.
“Oh man—think I have time to go to the bathroom before we go up to the conference room?”
6:22 P.M.
“And one last item— we at Tech division have finished the prototype of the new lie detector we’ve been working on for three years. We want a few field agent guinea pigs—Davidson, Bronkowski and Kanahoe—you three are first.”
“Me?” Damien looked up in surprise as Roger Lea from the Lab department nodded. Skinner was already stacking papers and everyone else in the conference room was packing up to leave. Grace tapped Damien on the hand.
“Ready to go?”
“Damien’s not going anywhere tonight, Grace—he’s got a 9:00 appointment with the lie detector.” Roger pointed out. She pouted.
“Can’t he trade off with someone else?”
“Like—you?” Roger countered. She frowned again and tugged her partner into the hall. He raised a hand to stop her from speaking first.
“I know, I know—back up tonight. Jeez I knew it was a bad idea to pinch that disc.”
“Well too late for that—who can we get to help out? Who owes us?” Grace hissed back at him while pushing her bangs from her eyes. “Honestly! I’ve got to pick it up at Mulder’s source, and then go home and get dressed—”
“Mulder. He and Scully could do it.” Damien grinned, running a hand through his thick black hair and making it spike up. “We could take an hour or so to brief ‘em and they’d do fine.”
“Mulder and Scully. At Maison Noir?” Grace didn’t quite snort, but she came close to it. Damien gave her a serious look as other agents brushed past them in the hall.
“Hell, they investigate little green men and vampires—S&M should be a snap for those two.”
Skinner strode towards them; Grace glanced up and stiffened.
“If you have a moment, Agent Pachelli—” He hissed. Grace definitely didn’t like what she saw in his eyes, she shook her head and tried to turn away. Skinner hooked a hand on the purse strap that she held in a death grip and tugged.
The purse fell, tumbling to the tiled floor of the hall, spilling everything out at their feet : keys, wallet, makeup, ID, pregnancy test, Kleenex, pens and pencils—
Pregnancy test—
For three seconds, the entire world around Damien, Grace and Skinner seemed frozen. Then Grace scrambled to the floor, scooping everything up in a mad haste, stuffing it all back in the purse, dashing away with the desperate speed of a born sprinter.
“Sir, I said you have a call from the Attorney General’s office—” Kimberly came up behind Skinner. He didn’t seem to hear her. Damien edged away and down the hall in the same direction Grace had taken, shaking his head and rumbling to himself. By the time he’d reached their cubicle, he was ready to burst out laughing.
“Gracie! I thought you were going to hide the disc in a tampon box!” He smirked, looking like a young and handsome Buddha as he laughed. Grace looked up warily, relaxing when she realized it was her partner. She rolled her eyes.
“I wanted something that would require a little privacy—if they catch me in that back office, then what could be better than a quick pregnancy test?”
“Uh, don’t you have to pee on those things?” he inquired, cocking his head to one side. Grace shrugged.
“I was looking for the bathroom and got lost?”
“It could work. Listen, if we want to catch the Spooky Duo, we better get moving, huh? Roger Ramjet is gonna hook me up at nine sharp—”
“Right.”
7:10 P.M.
“Let me get this straight—you’ve stolen a disc and now you’ve got to put it back?” Scully asked in her cool and rational tone of voice. Grace nodded. “And you need backup in case of trouble?”
“That’s it in a nutshell pretty much.” Grace admitted cheerfully. “All the leads indicated that Maison Noir had the info we needed and I just sort of helped myself.”
“Does Skinner know about this?” Scully continued relentlessly. Grace flinched a bit and reluctantly shook her head. Damien and Mulder exchanged a look as Scully digested this information.
“What are the consequences if you don’t return it?” she asked softly.
“We lose whatever chance we have of finding the kiddy porn buyers. Maison Noir will report the theft, warning the patrons, and they’ll disappear.”
“How do you know the theft hasn’t been discovered yet?” Mulder interjected as he toyed with a pencil. Damien looked again at the ceiling and Mulder laid the pencil back on the desk, a little self-consciously.
“I don’t. I did manage to stuff another disc into the box to fill the space. All I can guess is that since these are mailing addresses, the staff at Maison Noir probably doesn’t use them every day. But obviously the sooner I get the disc back the better.” Grace concluded, studying her nails.
Scully sighed. She paced the floor, her heels clicking. Finally she crossed her arms, spun and glared at the three waiting agents.
“Alright. But—you two—” She pointed at Damien and Grace, —owe us big time for this.”
“How big?” Damien teased. “Dinner at the top of the Windjammer lounge big? Redskin season tickets big?
“The tab’s running.” she snapped back. Mulder cracked a sunflower seed in his teeth and quietly asked,
“Tell us what we need to know about Maison Noir.”
The atmosphere in the room changed, subtly; the four got down to business. Scully sat on the edge of the desk next to Mulder. Damien stood.
“Right.” he glanced over at Grace, who cleared her throat and began.
“Maison Noir is a private mansion just north of Reston. It’s owned by three dummy corporations, all untraceable. The clientele is rich, discreet and willing to pay top dollar to indulge in an atmosphere of total decadence. Get it clear in your minds—this ain’t no nightclub with biker bouncer and tattooed strippers— we’re talking crystal, china and sixteen piece place settings on the dining tables.”
“Emily Post parks her whip at the door—” Mulder murmured. Grace persisted, shooting him an annoyed glance.
“Laugh if you want to, but some of the most powerful men in D.C. come here, and they expect everything to be up to their standards. And that includes the slaves.”
“Slaves?” Scully stated flatly.
“Slaves. Gorgeous, provocatively dressed, obedient and plentiful. Most of the patrons have one in attendance at all times. Slaves to be fondled, punished, traded and played with. Think trophy wife crossed with a Playboy centerfold and you get the idea.”
Mulder’s grin went from ear to ear; Scully actually growled.
“No! Not me—Why can’t Mulder be the slave?” she demanded. “He’s the one with all the videos—” Memory of those same videos made her break off in mid-tirade, but no one seemed to notice.
“Sorry Scully—while there are a few male slaves, there are no women members of Maison Noir. Old boys club through and through. The dominatrices there are hired help only.” Damien smiled sadly. “Like it or not, Mulder’s the boss.”
“I should get a plaque engraved with that—” Her partner broke in. She gave him an evil glare.
“Tombstone, Mulder. A really big tombstone.”
“We don’t have time to get sidetracked, children.” Damien rumbled gently. “So it plays like this: You and Mulder show up at ten or so. Mingle with the other guests, show off a little, it’s expected. Keep an eye out for Grace—she’ll be there within an hour. Her collar will indicate she’s looking for a master. Make contact, and then try to post yourselves close by. She should be able to get the job done in, what a few minutes if it goes smoothly?” He looked at Grace.
“If someone hits on me, I may be delayed while I get rid of them. That won’t happen to you when Mulder’s your master.” she remarked to Scully, who nodded reluctantly. Grace frowned and critically studied the redhead.
“Clothes?” she muttered to Damien.
“Mulder-master, here I can dress him up, no problem. The eye candy is your department, but I think that green velvet thing of yours in the locker, the one with the black leather accessories would be perfect on her.”
“Leather?” Both Mulder and Scully piped up.
—/—
Maison Noir Part II By K Bellot
8:40 P.M.
“I can’t wear this.” Scully announced, stunned by her appearance in the mirror of the FBI bathroom. Grace set her lips in a tight line and came up behind the other woman.
Dana Scully was a dream in a tight, low-cut forest green velvet dress with tiny black leather bows on the thin shoulderstraps. Matching bows trailed down the back. She wore long fingerless black lace gloves on her creamy arms, with matching black lace stockings on her legs. The high heels gave her a bit more height and the bows on the backs of the heels completed the outfit.
“Why not? You look molto elegante. That shade of green does wonders with the red hair—Mulder will love it.” It was the wrong thing to say; Scully spun around sharply.
“I look like a—”
“—beautiful harem girl. Just like you’re supposed to.” Grace was rapidly losing her patience. “Give me a break, Dana. The one night you can have some fun completely blowing your partner’s mind and you balk—what’s the problem? Is there anything wrong with flaunting a little once in a while?”
“We are government employees and professionals—not cast members from some soap opera.” Scully grumbled. “I just feel it goes against my—”
“—catholic upbringing?” Grace interrupted through her mascara application.
“—I was going to say my sensibilities, but yes, I suppose there’s that as well.”
“Hmmmm. I don’t seem to have a problem with it.”
“Grace, Damien’s gay—it’s not quite the same.”
“Dana—” Grace cocked her head and looked, really looked at the other woman. “Be honest. Isn’t the reason you’re having cold feet grounded in the thought that this might be something you have wanted to do with Fox? Act out a little? Be people you could never be in the real world?”
Scully didn’t reply right away, and when she finally did, her voice was very soft, very low. ” Possibly.”
“There you have it. Tonight’s a game, a charade. No Dana sitting in the cinders, okay? You will be the most incredible, sexy sultry thing there— Fox Mulder is a big boy, but every now and then he needs to be reminded that you’re not just a partner. Here.” Grace fastened a black satin choker with a tiny gold cameo around Scully’s throat.
“ID?” Scully asked, looking at the tiny cameo in the mirror. An anchor, she realized. “You betcha. It co-ordinates with Mulder’s lapel pin. I bought these at an estate sale in Maryland. The grieving seventy-year-old widow was unloading her Admiral husband’s stuff. She had no idea what they were—with them, Damien and I get in free.”
“How will you get in tonight?” Scully asked, studying herself one last time in the mirror. Grace smiled, and wrapped a cameo-less velvet band on her own throat. “Sort of a guest pass. It means I’ll get a master on the premises—”
“Isn’t that dangerous? I mean if some lunatic comes up and demands that you—”
“There are lots of ways to get rid of them. I’ve hawked phlegm on their shoes. Once I even managed to pick my nose and pretend to eat it to discourage a guy—”
“Ugggh! Grace—don’t tell me these things,” Scully pressed the lacy palms of her hands to her eyes. “I want to go, get the disc back, and then come home to a warm cup of cocoa and a Carl Hiaasen novel.”
“Well at least you don’t have to wear—” Grace described her outfit for Scully.
Dana winced, shook her head and reached for their trenchcoats. Grace picked up the shopping bag at her feet.
9:10 P.M.
“Hubba hubba!” Grace murmured as Mulder pushed himself away from leaning on her BMW. Even Scully managed an approving smile. Mulder raised his arms and turned around for them, slowly.
“GQ— the Dominator edition.” he tossed over his shoulder. Grace nodded handing him the keys to her car. Under a camel hair overcoat, Mulder wore a dark wool suit of charcoal with a collarless white shirt. The small anchor pin gleamed on the right lapel. Black leather driving gloves covered his long hands, his dark hair was lightly spiked with gel, and he wore serious, studious, slightly tinted wire rimmed glasses on his face. Leather ankle boots completed the outfit.
“You look like a junior Doctor Strangelove.” Scully commented. Mulder opened the car door for her, smiling benignly.
“Strangelove is probably the right word for it. If I start speaking with a German accent, hit me.” He climbed in behind the wheel and they drove out of the parking garage into the busy traffic of D.C. On the way to the Lone Gunmen, they discussed the layout of and protocol for Maison Noir. Scully still muttered under her breath rebelliously until Grace pointed out,
“Dana—anything suspicious, anything that draws the attention of the staff could be dangerous for all of us. You cannot be your fiery independent self.”
“Alright.” The other woman muttered in an I’ll-do-it-but-I-won’t-like-it tone of voice. Grace turned her attention to Mulder.
“After I get the disc and list from your friends, I’ll catch a cab home and change. You two go on the Maison Noir. Better think of some pseudonyms for yourselves. Something unique.”
“Like—?”
“Well, Damien and I called ourselves Sunnyside and Casket.”
“After the magazine?” Mulder asked, surprised.
“Both of our dads were funeral directors—it seemed to fit. You two have to find ones for yourselves.” They drove in silence for a moment. Scully sighed.
“Smith and Jones?”
“Scul-ly! We could be a bit more daring than that. I could always call myself, oh, Van Blundht.”
“Sure, and I’ll be Bambi.”
“Low blow.” Mulder shook his head. Grace ignored them.
“You started it. How about Marty and Ginger?”
“Ginger? You mean you’d cater to my Gilligan’s Island fantasy?” He teased. Scully closed her eyes.
“No. But Ginger is a hell of a lot better than Red or Cherry. So shut up.”
Grace clutched her shopping bag and checked her watch.
10:11 P.M.
“Nice outfit—going to a mad scientist convention?” Frohike muttered as Mulder pushed past him. Grace and Scully followed, moving over to Byers and Langley, who held out a sheaf of papers and the disc.
“Here it is—but you’re not going to like it.” Langley muttered, pushing up his glasses by jabbing a finger between his eyes. “Most are mail drops, and the ones that aren’t have diplomatic immunity.”
“I figured as much.” Grace replied, taking the proffered papers and pocketing the disc. She scanned the list briefly. “But it’s a start. You guys are great—thank you.” The unexpected warmth of her praised startled them; all three fell into an embarrassed silence. Grace fished in the shopping bag and shoved packages into each of their hands. Quickly she turned back to Mulder and Scully. “Gotta get moving.”
“Ready Ginger?”
“As I’ll every be, Marty.”
They left. “What the hell was that all about?” Frohike wondered outloud.
“Hey!” Byers opened his package with a pleased smile. “Homemade fudge.” He nibbled a piece.
Langley tore his open. “Oh man! A Cathy and the Catheters shirt! Totally
cool!!”
Frohike unrolled his.
“Playboy, nineteen eighty two.” He flipped it open to the centerfold. He blinked.
Langley and Byers flanked around him.
It’s—her.” he breathed, almost reverently. “Ms. Pachelli.”
No one said anything for a long moment. Finally—
“She’s got really pretty eyes.”
Langley and Frohike turned to stare at Byers.
10:46 P.M.
The long drive leading up to the mansion was lined with Italian cypress trees that reached up fifteen feet or more to the dark sky. Mulder slowed the car down as they approached the circular driveway at the front of the house.
“Bienvenu a la Maison Noir.”
“Aptly named. Do you see what I see?” Scully pointed up ahead. Two girls in burgundy skirts were valet parking the cars. Not unusual, except that the outfits were topless.
“How could I miss it?” He replied. “Sure you’re going to be okay, Scully?” He looked at his partner and even in the darkness she could see the quiet concern in his eyes. She flushed, half in irritation, half in gratitude.
“Look at it this way—if I had to pick a master, I suppose it would be you.” She admitted, grudgingly. Softly.
“Scully I’m touched. And intrigued. If you do windows, we could extend this engagement indefinitely.”
“Mulder—” Whatever rebuke she was about to make was cut short by the driver side door opening.
“Master, we live to serve. May we move this car for you?” Begged one of the girls standing there. Mulder took a deep breath, nodded with as much dignity as he could, and got out. Scully did as well and stood waiting for Mulder to give her the first order.
“Ginger—heel.” he managed with a straight face. Scully fell in on his left side, her shoulders heaving slightly, but whether she was laughing or fuming was impossible to tell. Mulder led the way up the stone steps to the brightly lit entrance of the mansion. Strains of instrumental jazz drifted out into the night, flowing around them.
“Into the breech—?” Mulder whispered softly. Scully gave a quick smile. The doorman glanced at Mulder’s lapel pin and sharply nodded.
“We’re honored to have a founding father represented tonight, sir.” The man told him in a respectful tone. Mulder inclined his head slightly. The doorman held the door for both of them as they stepped inside the building. Once inside the foyer, they looked around.
To the left was a hatcheck room manned by another topless girl in a burgundy skirt. She waited. Scully waited. Mulder waited. Scully finally realized that she was expected to remove Mulder’s overcoat, and jumped quickly to do so. Mulder allowed himself to be helped out of the greatcoat, not even looking at Scully while she handed both coats to the hatcheck girl and received the ticket.
“Ginger—” he purred over one shoulder, Scully brought herself back to his left side, trying to ignore her burning desire to kick him in the shins. He crossed the anteroom to the glass and bronze Art Nouveau double doors on the far side and waited. Scully came forward and tugged on one of the heavy doors. It didn’t move.
“Master—” She muttered sulkily. Mulder shot out a hand and gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Behind the smoky lenses, she saw a flare of impatience. Immediately she dropped her eyes to avoid the rebuke that would be coming.
“Sorry.”
“Take a look over there.”
With his hand, he turned her head to the right. She bit back a gasp.
There was a little, well-lit alcove next to the double doors. Above it, a scrolled sign announced: I HAVE BEEN DISOBEDIENT. PLEASE REPRIMAND ME. In the alcove itself, a gagged, naked girl in high heels was bent in half, her wrists cuffed to her ankles with gleaming silver shackles. A wooden paddle hung on a hook under the sign.
Mulder slowly walked over and picked up the paddle.
He handed it to Scully.
She hesitated, looking at him. He nodded.
Scully bit her lip, and swung the paddle at the girl’s rump. It was a weak strike, but still made the girl grunt against her gag. Flinching, Scully dropped the paddle, which clattered on the tiled floor.
“Pick it up and replace it.” Mulder’s voice came out in a silky whisper. With nerveless fingers, Scully did. He turned back to the double doors, pausing. For a moment, she studied him: so tall, so imposing behind his glasses—
She scurried to the door, and adrenaline gave her the strength to tug it open. Mulder sailed through first with his slave following in his wake.
The main salon of Maison Noir was a huge room, with four supporting pillars framing a skylight above. Underfoot was a parquet floor of polished wood with inlays of green marble forming patterns of leaves. Enormous potted ferns hung in baskets from the pillars, and on the opposite side of the room, a six foot tall fireplace of green marble housed a cheery blaze.
Scattered about the room were deep club chairs and ottomans upholstered, some in rich ruby leather and some in green and black brocade. Thick oriental carpets under the chairs protected the floor from scratches. Against the right wall, a bar of mahogany carved with intricate Art Nouveau designs stood. Set flush against the left wall, a grand staircase with a green and black balustrade rose from under the floor and up to a second story.
Mulder and Scully stood for a moment, taking it all in. Mulder sighed.
“I’ll find a seat, you get the drinks.” he directed, pulling off his leather driving gloves and scouting around. Scully pursed her mouth, asking,
“Well what do you want? Beer? Wine? Imported water?”
“Actually—” he glanced down at her and his lazy smile made her stomach flip flop. “A root beer float would be perfect.”
“Are you out of your mind? Who would come to a place like this and order—”
“—Anyone who considers a root beer float part of a true fantasy fulfillment. Fetch, Ginger.”
“Grrrr.” she strode off towards the bar, leaving him to admire her determined back view. Her decidedly sexy walk— Mulder choked off that thought and went to find a chair. He nodded at people who nodded at him in that familiar don’t-know-you-but-acknowledge-you fashion. The room wasn’t crowded—only thirty or so were here, not counting the attending slaves. He tried not to stare as he drifted, but it was difficult.
Some of the women were dressed traditionally, in gauzy harem outfits. Others wore sarongs, loincloths or short togas. A few were in truly extraordinary wear: Mulder spotted a meter maid, a Girl Scout, a punk rocker and a nun in the latter group. He casually strode to the left side of the fireplace, finding an empty pair of chairs facing each other. Perfect. If he took the left one, he had a clear view of the front door and the staircase. Mulder sat down and settled in, relaxing into the soft chair.
It was good to be the king.
Scully found herself at the bar waiting behind a small black woman with beautiful hip length dreadlocks. The woman also had on an Egyptian shenti and an elaborate gold collar with the eye of Horus on it.
“Is your master as hot as he looks, honey?” The black woman turned and softly demanded. Scully blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your master—the one with the specs and spikes? Is he looking for a second slave tonight?”
“Uh—”
“‘Cause I would dearly love to ditch the old fart I’m here with. All he does is ramble on about government conspiracies and feel me up a little when he’s had a few.”
“Oh. Uh—” was all Scully could managed to get out. The other woman gave her a wistful smile and shrugged.
“One on one tonight, huh? Lucky girl. Well, if he gets in the mood for a different set of pyramids, come find me. We’ll probably be up in the Voyeurs Hall.” She picked up the silver tray with the whiskey sour on it and glided away.
“Right.” Scully called out after her. The bartender a tall cadaverous man with an eyepatch and long blonde hair scowled impatiently at her.
“What will your Master have?”
“A root beer float.”
“Red cherry or green? Diet or regular root beer? Mug or tall glass? Two spoons or one?” he demanded, even as he began to pull the ingredients together. Scully lifted her chin a little.
“Green cherry, regular root beer, a mug, two spoons and the best damn vanilla ice cream you have.” The bartender smiled.
11:16 P.M.
Skinner stepped up to the doorman, meeting the man’s steady gaze with one of his own. The card the AD held out glittered, catching and throwing light between them. The usher nodded.
“Sir, welcome. Will property be joining you later or will you be acquiring here?”
“Acquiring here.” Skinner rumbled. He strode in, and looked at the hatcheck girl, who straightened up, wet her lips and smiled back.
“Take your coat, Master? ” she huskily asked, hinting at how much she’d like to take anything else he’d care to offer. Skinner shook his head. He glanced briefly at the manacled girl in the alcove, checking to see if he recognized those buttocks. Nope.
He grabbed the handle of the bronze and glass door, took a deep breath, and strode in.
The conversation nearest him stopped, and the three men in it glanced at him before returning to the topic of national defense policies. Skinner looked around, more impressed than he cared to admit. He saw the bar, and headed over, trying not to rush, trying not to stare.
“Oohh—” came a soft giggly whisper. He couldn’t mistake that teasing tone; Skinner refused to even look at the woman who had breathed it. He kept his eyes on the bar, and when he reached it, ordered,
“Scotch, no ice.”
“Absolutely sir.” The tall man with the eyepatch replied. The drink materialized, only to be picked up by someone else’s delicate hand. Skinner tightened his lips.
“May I serve you?” A tiny girl in the loincloth asked, holding the Scotch up to his mouth. Skinner sipped it without choice, and when the girl moved it away from his mouth he rasped out,
“That’s enough.”
The girl pouted and Skinner was tempted to wallop her backside. Christ what was she? Eighteen at most?
“Go back to your master, Zenobia, or risk getting beaten.” the bartender warned under his breath.
“It would be worth it.” Brazenly Zenobia moved closer to Skinner, looking at him through her lashes. “I want a real master, not a tired old man.”
“Well your disloyalty has just earned you a trip to the Pain Clinic, girl.” muttered the bartender. Seemingly out of nowhere, two burly attendants in Maison Noir uniforms flanked Zenobia. She went pale.
“I live to serve.” she whispered hollowly. The attendants escorted her to a doorway further down the wall. Skinner finished his drink in three swallows.
What the hell was he doing here?
x o x o x
“Has she been with you long?” The old man sitting in the easy chair opposite Mulder asked cheerily
“A good four years.” He replied, carefully avoiding Scully’s gaze. She sat on the floor near his feet, the firelight reflecting off her hair. Across from them, an ancient English gentleman with a brushy white walrus moustache sat back in his chair, nearly lost in the seat cushions. His slave, a curvy woman with elegant brows and sweet doe-like eyes sat perched on the arm of the chair, looking fondly at him.
“My Red here has been with me ever since the Profumo affair. Isn’t she a darling girl?” the obvious affection between the two was sincere; even Scully smiled. “I bought her from a Swede who had no time to enjoy her. She can’t speak a word of English, but we do just fine.” The woman blushed a bit.
“A worthy investment.” Mulder murmured.
“Indeed. Yours there is quite a beauty. Does she have tawny nipples or pink ones? Most of the redheads I’ve seen have the tawny ones, but every one and then you find the girl with a difference.” The elderly man observed thoughtfully.
Mulder was too stunned by this rapid change of conversation to reply immediately, he shifted in his chair, Scully didn’t dare look up at him; he would get no help from her on this one.
“Uh—”
“Can’t remember, eh? Well let’s have a quick peek and settle the matter. I’m betting on pink, lad. Perky pink for such a beauty.” The old man laughed happily without a trace of lechery or malice. There was an expectant pause that neither agent seemed to quite know how to fill. Scully finally looked up to Mulder and purred,
“With your permission—” She shifted in front of him, resting her back against his knees and reached for the leather bows on her shoulders. Mulder could hear her take a deep breath. She tugged the ends and the dress slid down to her waist. In the glow of the firelight she seemed dipped in gold, a bronze haired statue. The old man clapped his hands delightedly.
“Oh how pretty, how extraordinarily pretty! Look Red, not pink, not tawny, sort of a —well I’m not sure what you’d call their color.”
Mulder sat very, very still. He could see Scully’s bare shoulders, feel the kittenlike bones of her shoulderblades pressed against his knees. Behind his closed lips he was biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood. Scully shifted, rising up on her knees to let the old Englishman inspect her more closely. Mulder crossed his legs and cleared his throat. Her bare back, her delicate spine, the dimples above the cleft of her derriere in view—
“Sort of a dusty rose, a mix of pink and gold and beige. What a lucky man you are to have such a perfect little pet.”
“Lucky.” Mulder echoed. Scully drew a breath and turned her torso to look back at him , the gold light bathing her as she met his gaze.
—/—
Maison Noir Part III By K Bellot
“Merde alors!” the blonde man muttered, alarmed and angry. ” Skinner realized that he didn’t have clue as to the layout of the building but he did know that Grace would have to come through the front door, so he stayed at the bar and kept an eye on the main entrance. The Scotch was good, mellow and well-blended, with enough of a bite going down to satisfy.
He could see that the main hall was filling up; more people came in not only from the front door but also from the various stairways and doors within the building. Now there were at least forty five to fifty people here mingling and talking. He sipped again, watching.
A few feet ahead, a man had a slim blonde on all fours, his feet resting on the small of her back as he sat in his easy chair, laughing and talking. The woman had a patient expression on her face. Across from her, another man had his shoes off and his slave was massaging his feet—her expression indicated that perhaps his odor eaters hadn’t lived up to their name.
A lull in the conversations allowed him to hear the front door open again; he looked up and brought his lips together in a thin hard line as Grace strolled in. He stared at her as did many others in the room. Tonight she was well worth staring at.
Grace wore a skintight, fire engine red latex mini-dress that clung to every curve on her like a second skin. It had a high neckline offset by the two zippers that raced from each collarbone over the slopes of her breasts to meet at the navel. Currently the zippers were half-open with the little silver pulltabs just above the straining swell of her chest, winking in the light. Her hair was down and loose, the dark curls spilling over her back. Fishnet hosiery and red pumps with four inch heels completed the outfit. As she turned to look to the left, Skinner saw the other side of the outfit and nearly dropped the glass in his hand. There was no back to the dress, just a tight grillwork of latex cords that laced all the way down. Grace’s lovely back, spine and bottom were clearly, nakedly visible through the woven cordage.
Dimly Skinner heard a sigh go through the room. He closed his eyes, fighting down the maelstrom of conflicting reactions and emotions within himself. Refocus on the objectives: replace disc, get Grace out. He slammed his glass down on the bar harder than he’d intended; the man next to him jumped. When Skinner looked up again, Grace was already gone from the doorway.
x o x o x
Mulder kept his eyes on Scully’s face, but even with that as his focus couldn’t help noticing her beautiful collarbones, the proud lift of her chin, the ample swell of her chest—<Christ! They are dusty rose—>
He cleared his throat. “Come here.” he croaked out quietly. Scully shifted around on her knees to face him, running her lace-covered hands on the tops of his kneecaps.<she was got the most gorgeous tits—> She seemed to be keeping her expression neutral, but Mulder could see a quiver running through her small frame. Lurking on the corners of her mouth was a ghost of an uncertain smile.
That smile, that little sign that everything was going to be all right sent a flood of relief everywhere throughout him but his groin. Nothing was going to alleviate that particular point.
“Master?” she purred in exactly the same tone she would have said “Mulder?’ It was a solid grounding query that only exacerbated his physical agony. He leaned forward, lifting his back from the chair, moving closer to her. Across from them the old Englishman and his slave were fussing over his drink. ress up now.” Somehow even that simple directive ended up loaded with far too much innuendo; Mulder flushed. Scully took a deep breath, and the smile threatened to spread like melted butter across her face. Slowly, in a reverse strip tease, she pulled the material up and languidly re-tied the leather cords into bows. Mulder assumed that once everything was covered up again that he could finally relax, but his body: memory, hormones and reflexes continued their relentless assault on his psyche.
“Too much ice. Damned idiots, I’m going to give them what for. Excuse me—” the old man muttered, struggling to his feet. His lovely slave gently helped him up and as he leaned on her arm, they headed to the bar.
Scully stiffened. “Master may I?” she didn’t really wait for permission, but climbed up into his lap, straddling his hips in the club chair and pressing close. Dimly he realized that she was a dry-mouthed as he was.
“Jesus Scully unless you’re prepared to pay for some dry-cleaning, don’t do this to me—” He hissed through clenched teeth. His hands clamped the arms of the chair in a death grip, threatening to shred the fabric.
“Mulder, look over my shoulder at the man a few feet behind me. Do you really want him to recognize us?” came her slightly strangled reply. He craned his head, glanced in the indicated direction and the sensation was akin to having ice water dumped down his back.
Tall, imposing and hostile, Skinner was striding across the main salon with people cautiously ducking out of his way. He wore a coal black cattleman’s duster with the sleeves pushed up on his forearms. It swung open as he walked to reveal a navy turtleneck sweater over charcoal dress slacks. The boots were polished Italian leather and made sharp sounds on the tiled floor as he moved forward. A Rolex with heavy silver links loosely circled one strong wrist.
“What the hell is Skinner doing here? Scully, please don’t shift like that—ahhh—” Mulder alternately mused and begged. Scully pressed her right cheek against Mulder’s left, obscuring his face from view and whispering in his ear.
“Wasn’t Damien taking a lie detector test? I think beans were spilled. He’s here for Grace.”
“Shit. What do we do?” Mulder breathed. His entire body was rather forcefully telling him exactly what he should do, but manfully he ignored it as best he could.
“Sit and wait. Keep an eye on him.” Scully whispered back in a strained voice. “Jeez, Mulder can you shift your Sig Sauer? The thing’s jammed against my—”
“Uh, Scully, that’s not the gun—stop, stop!” Frantically Mulder slid his hands around her back and pinned her to his chest. He could feel her giggling against him, and in a flare of annoyance, he took her lobe in his teeth. She became a statue as his hot breath steamed into her ear. A nip, and he let go.
“Do the initials CT mean anything to you besides Connecticut?” His voice had gone back to the dangerously silky whisper. Scully gave her head the tiniest of nods. “Stop moving. You’re my partner, and God help me Scully, the only person in this world I will ever trust, but tonight has already been a bit of a mind blower with your breasts now forever in my thoughts so I would appreciate it if you didn’t add the further indignity of making me come in my best dress slacks.”
“Oh.” Scully managed. She lifted her face to look at him, her pert nose only an inch or so away from his.
“These are your best slacks?”
x o x o x
Grace moved quickly enough to keep people from approaching her, but sporadically enough to make her way across the room. She’d spotted Scully and Mulder early on, and debated on whether to interrupt their tête a tête—but since Scully’s dress was around her waist at the time, Grace grinned and moved on. Ah, young love, she mused. All it takes is one night at a sex club—
She moved down the stairs and into the foyer of the lower level of the club, pausing to get her bearings. A long glass hallway travelled the length of the building, highlighting the subterranean gardens and rock pools. Through the glass she could see various Masters and slaves strolling and feeding the koi fish. A short blonde dominatrix dressed as a Roman gladiator was forcing a girl to crawl on the gravel, carrying a little bucket of fish food pellets in her mouth. Grace looked to the right of the staircase behind her. Administrative offices. She slowly strode over, and tried the knob. Unlocked. She sighed in relief, and stepped into the office.
The room was medium sized and completely dark. Grace waited for her breathing to level out—she hated the dark. Reaching awkwardly under her dress, She peeled away the duct tape patches from her inner thighs and removed both the disc and the pregnancy test. One hand groped on the wall for the light switch, and she relaxed once she could see again. Grace set the pregnancy test on the nearest surface, a glass and chrome desk. Quickly, she tossed the tape in a garbage can, shifted to the computer behind the desk, and looked desperately for the case of discs that had been there just the day before.
No luck. Shitshitshitshit—her eyes scanned the room, looking, searching, not finding. They couldn’t be that hard to locate—
A creak of the turning doorknob broke into her concentration.
x o x o x
“Scully?”
“Mulder.”
“My legs are falling asleep.”
“Other parts of you seem wide awake.”
“Response to stimulus. I am not responsible for my biological reflex here. This Darwinian drive for reproduction goes back to my genes.”
“Back to your slacks, you mean.”
“Oh give me a break—you go flashing yourself to Alastair Cooke over there and I’m supposed to ignore that? Com’on Scully, that’s asking a hell of a lot from any man.”
“Mulder, it was asking a hell of a lot from me.”
“But you did it anyway.”
“I did it because it was what everyone was expecting. Besides, it was nice to hear somebody appreciate my looks.”
“He wasn’t appreciating your looks, he was appreciating your breasts. And anyway, I appreciated them first.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I have at least four and a half years of accumulated positive recognition of your chest, alright? I, Fox William Mulder had dibs on praising your bust.”
“That’s it— you’re not making any sense. We have to get out of here. Now.”
x o x o x
Grace froze. The door opened slowly, almost cautiously, and the last person in the world she expected to see stepped in. Her gasp was harsh in the stillness of the office air.
Simultaneously they both growled, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Grace lifted her chin indignantly. “What the hell am I doing here? My job, okay—You know damn well that I’m still investigating the Prevost ring—”
“—Through illegal, unsanctioned and dangerous actions.” Skinner snarled back. “Pachelli, the shit you’re in doesn’t get any deeper than this.” He advanced on her, his boots sounding loud against the tiled floor. Involuntarily Grace flinched.
“Don’t you dare threaten me, sir. This is my case, and if I have to use unorthodox means to follow up these bastards then I will—ahhh—” He had grabbed her by the upper arms and had shaken her once, lightly, to stop her tirade. She looked up at him, and realized that they both seemed to be out of breath … God he smelled wonderful, the testosterone was practically crackling in the air around him.
“If I have to drag you out of this building by your hair, Grace I will do it.” His mouth hovered over hers, his warm breath tickling her lips. “Nobody would even notice.”
She squirmed, hating the sudden flush of lust that raced up her spine, hating the fact that he could talk to her in such a matter-of-fact manner and still have her wet before he’d finished speaking.
“I have to put the disc back.” she managed to whisper between clenched white teeth. He nodded curtly and let her go, his grip dropping from her arms. Grace bit her full lower lip and turned away, her stomach quivering with the rush of adrenaline and desire. She stumbled against the desk, but he made no move to help her. She looked up, spotting the case tucked between the desk organizer and the computer tower.
“There—” she reached for it, fished out the substitute disc, and swiftly replaced it with the original. When she turned back to Skinner, he was holding the pregnancy stick test, tapping it in the palm of one hand thoughtfully.
“That’s just a decoy, an excuse to be down here.” She muttered too quickly. He looked down at her, searching her face with an intensity that frightened her; she dropped her eyes. He scooped her chin up in his free hand and forced her gaze back up to his.
“If it ever happens, you are to tell me.” his words, although soft, resonated commandingly.
“If it ever happens I’ll tell you.” she agreed softly. “But it’s not going to. Mai in vita mia.”
His smile held a glint of ice at her reply, but his eyes held a flash, a hint of something that Grace recognized as wistfulness.
he was about to mutter something as the door creaked once again. A Security man in a Maison Noir uniform followed by a stylishly dressed short blond man who looked them over impatiently. Imperiously.
“You air in an unau-torized area.” The little man with the shark smile and heavy French accent told them. “Please tell me your nayme, sir?”
x o x o x
Mulder flushed as Scully slid off his lap and stood on unsteady legs. He rose himself, and cautiously looked around as his partner waited. Finally,
“I haven’t seen Grace. Let’s go take a look downstairs. Maybe she’s already here.”
Scully glanced up at him, and waited for his next words. He stepped off, then looked back and muttered,
“Heel, okay?”
Scully followed him, trying to keep up with his long stride, trying not to bump into people that he brushed by. When they reached the stairs, Mulder clattered down them first, and Scully nearly ran into him as he paused halfway down. He pointed, and Scully peeked at the open door just to the right of the landing.
“Skinner.” They could see the AD talking to a man in a Maison Noir uniform.
“Grace too. What do we do? Go back up?” Scully whispered. Mulder frowned. He motioned for her to follow, and once they reached the landing, he led the way to the glass-enclosed gardens, where the two of them disappeared in the landscaped hedges. Dimly Scully noticed how beautifully the subterrariums around her were. Tropical flowers and huge ferns steamed greenly in the quiet setting. A stream flowed by, with Koi flashing gold and white in the diffused lighting. Somewhere a waterfall splashed.
“Garden of Eden.” She mumbled. Mulder turned his gaze to her. He briefly
smiled.
“Hi, my name is Adam and I’ll be your date tonight—”
“Funny. But look at this place—even the National Arboretum doesn’t have anything like this, Mulder.”
“Bet they’d sell a lot more tickets if you threw in the dominatrices, huh?” He replied absently. He was watching the foyer, waiting to see what would happen, and Scully turned her gaze in the same direction.
x o x o x
” … and I’ve taken care of it.” Skinner finished.
Grace dropped on all fours and quickly kissed Skinner’s boot. The AD held up the pregnancy test, showing it to the men before tossing it lightly into the garbage. The little blond man sneered and rolled his eyes.
“Dey-sgusting. And zat is a word I rarely use around ‘ere.” He snapped his fingers, but Grace stayed down, looking up at Skinner. Only when he nodded did she rise, waiting. Miffed, the blonde man reached out and yanked a lock of her hair, using it to pull her face down to his as he studied her features. Skinner tensed.
“Hmmm. Too old for my tastes. Still, though, if she had a leetle sis-tair, or une fille perhaps—”
“Let go of her hair.” Skinner measured out the words carefully, with a hint of threat. It was enough to make the blonde man open his hand. He looked back at the guard and waved him forward.
“Bien. We both know zat zis is a seer-ious breech of Maison Noir pro-to-col, Sir. Your pet will be punished, but you of course get to choose zee method.”
Skinner tried to catch Grace’s glance; she set her mouth in a firm line and kept her eyes averted. Her whole body language spoke of meek servility as she allowed the guard to usher her out. Skinner locked gazes with the little blonde man, who shrugged lightly.
“Ze Pain Clinique. Where we se-par-ate ze dilettante from ze true Master, non?”
Skinner stared him down; the blond man’s sneer melted under the intensity of Skinner’s flinty facade. Angrily the blond followed Grace out, and the four of them marched down the glass enclosed corridor, past where Mulder and Scully watched them.
“They have Grace and Skinner.”
“No. They have Grace. Skinner’s playing his part. Look again.” Scully pointed out. Mulder whistled softly and looked down at his partner in admiration. She missed it as she stared back to the vacated administrative office.
“Wanna do some groping in the dark?”
“Gee Scully, I thought you’d never ask.” They moved in unison for the door.
—/—
Maison Noir Part IV By K Bellot
It was an empty white room, with long chains dangling from what looked like garage door runners on the ceiling. Grace shivered.
“Put her on ze overhead track.” The blond man ordered.
Grace stepped forward and waited, hoping against all hope that Skinner would play along. She bit the inside of her cheek and kept her face down, letting her dark hair hid her features. A hand grabbed her left wrist roughly and locked it into a cuff. The right one followed and Grace grimaced as the slack in the two chains was taken up. She felt her shoulders roll as overhead, the chains glided towards opposite walls. Her feet barely touch the ground, and already her arms tingled with the loss of blood flow.
“Dangling and ready.” the blond gloated. “Now all we need eez a cle-ar surface to whip. “Erick—”
This last was to the Maison Noir guard; Grace felt the man step behind her and quickly begin slicing through the spandex cords on her dress, starting at the shoulderblades and working his way to her waist. The front of the dress slid down, and Grace was grateful she was facing away from the men behind her.
“Would you like ze honor or would you pre-fer to del-i-gate the punishment?”
Oh God—Skinner whip her? It hadn’t occurred to Grace that he’d be offered the chance. She bit back a little whimper, remembering the strength in his arms. She’d need a lot more than Tylenol to recover from that—this absurd thought kept dancing through her head in the ensuing pause.
“You call this punishment?” came his reply, dripping sarcasm so venomous that even the guard looked up. Grace tried to sneak a peek over her shoulder, but it was too painful to twist that way. What the hell was he up to?
“A whipping. Ten lashes that barely draw blood.” Skinner continued in his deep measured voice. “Is this the best you can offer?”
“Does Monsieur have a preferred method of punishment?” The blond man’s voice held a note of interest and a hint of respect as well. Grace had to admit Skinner seemed to be doing just fine. Maybe a little too good for her own comfort.
“Watch.” She could hear him walking towards her, coming around to face her. She lifted her head and looked at him. He was all hard angles, all edges now, with no softness, even in his deep brown eyes.
Without warning, his hand flashed from the periphery of her sight landing with explosive force on her nose. Dimly Grace heard the crunch of cartilage and felt the hot gush of blood through the supernova of pain that burst on her face. She screamed, jerking her head back, spattering blood on the floor, on Skinner, on herself in a drenching rainshower of red droplets.
What ze hell aire you do-ing?”
“She’ll remember not to put this nose where is doesn’t belong.”
Skinner slid one hand on her shoulder, gripping it as he pinched Grace’s nose shut with the other, cutting off the blood flow, stemming the red tide. Grace moaned as the tears rolled down her face. Skinner tugged on her nose, and she shrieked again.
A shocked pause and then,
“Effective, Monsieur. Erick, have a medic come down.” Respect warred with the fear in the blonde man’s voice. “I hope you two enjoy ze rest of your evening. Now if you will excusez moi—”
Grace felt the softness of a handkerchief mopping her chin, she opened her tear-blurred eyes to meet Skinner’s as he searched her face. They could hear the two men leaving.
“Goddamn modderfugging bastard!” her whisper sounded like an infuriated Elmer Fudd.
“Four years of wrestling in high school. Three in college. Mine got broken once every year. It feels like shit, but you’ll live.”
“I’ll fugging kill you!” Grace hissed. Skinner sighed deeply. He dropped his mouth on hers, hard. The heated hunger of his tongue cut through her pain and sent new fireworks off in her belly. When he straightened up, she could see her blood on his chiseled lips. He tugged the top of her dress up and began to retie the cut strings across her back.
“Take a number Grace. Let’s get you down and into a splint before the swelling gets bad.”
x o x o x
“There’s the tape in the garbage and the test too—I guess Grace did it after all.” Scully straightened up to see Mulder flipping through the box of discs with a little frown on his face. He nodded absently.
“There are other mighty interesting discs here—you don’t suppose they’d miss any if we—” Whatever Mulder was going to suggest was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked to Scully, who darted deeper into the room. She reached a door near the back of the office and opened it, Mulder on her heels.
“Supply and Xerox closet.” She breathed. Her partner followed her in and closed the door behind them just at the main office door opened.
“—ce salaud! No finesse at all—” They heard someone grumbling. A shuffling noise, the clicks and beeps of the computer coming on. Mulder sighed; sounded like someone was settling in for a while. He let go of the doorknob and straightened up in the dark, feeling Scully pressing against his back.
The sensation was delicious: the full mounds of those all-too-memorable breasts made the touch more intimate than ever. Mulder turned in the dark, bumping something not nearly as soft as Scully. Both of them froze as the tiny ‘thunk’ of sound rattled out. No reaction from outside. Mulder felt Scully’s small right hand wander over his arm and up his shoulder to settle across his mouth. The lace-covered palm pressed into his lips.
Two could play at that game—he let his own right hand mirror hers and cover her full lips half a minute later. They stood there in the dark, a hand over each other’s mouths, waiting. And waiting. Mulder stirred.
Actually Mulder felt himself stir somewhat more selectively, not an unusual reaction when Scully was around, but before he could reach down with his free hand and quietly readjust himself, she beat him to it. Startled, Mulder jerked back, hitting the xerox machine again. Another ‘thunk’ softly rang out, but Mulder barely heard it since his whole being was intently focused on Scully’s left hand and it’s casual journey up and down the outline of his renewed erection through his trousers.
Under her palm, his lips moved, but he didn’t expect Scully understand, so he used his free left arm to pull her closer. She slid willingly up against him, her other hand moving heavily, languidly on the taut fabric. Mulder could feel the smile on her lips, and for a maddening moment he rocked back and forth, gently thrusting himself against her touch.
It was too tempting. He grabbed a handful of the back of her dress and tugged it up, hearing the soft hiss of the cloth as it slid upwards. Under his right hand, her smile trembled, but within a moment, Scully pulled away enough to allow the hemline to reach her waist. Mulder send his left hand back on a delicate reconnaissance mission to Scully’s ass.
<OhmyGodnounderwear>
He pinched. Lightly, but she jumped, and her own left hand reached for the tab of his fly rather hurriedly. Mulder bit back a groan: stuck in a utility closet, trying very hard not to get caught by God knows who outside, all while finally getting a heaven-sent opportunity to indulge in a hot grope-up of the incredibly delectable Dana Scully.
<God has one twisted sense of humor.> he decided from a great distance as Scully slipped her hand into his trousers.
x o x o x
They walked the corridor in silence. Grace glanced at her reflection in the glass of the subterrarium hallway and quickly closed her eyes. Skinner frowned.
“Three days and the black eyes will be gone. Four tops.” He told her tersely. She shook her head and laughed in soft bitterness at his complete misunderstanding of her reaction. She stopped walking, forcing him to turn to her, impatience all over his expression. He radiated a faint aura of menace.
“That’s it?! You haul off, break my nose and all you can say is that I’ll be better in four days?” Her eyes narrowed, and the lashing venom of her words sizzled in the short distance between the two of them.
“I can’t even begin to say all I wanna say, you stronzo caparbio, not by a long shot! We get out of here and it’s goodbye, I don’t know you, I never want to see you again and don’t bother stopping by my cubicle unless you wanna lot of very big Italian thugs to show up on your doorstep avenging me!!”
“Are you finished?” Skinner asked. It infuriated her and she growled, gritting her teeth, stepping closer to threaten him. He looked down into her face, impassive as ever.
“No I’m not finished! How dare you hit me you, you … She launched into a fresh tirade of blistering Italian profanity that left a faint blue tinge to the air, and echoed off the walls. A few of the guests enjoying the gardens on the other side of the glass walls looked up curiously. Skinner waited until she ran out of steam, and spoke in slow precise words.
“A broken nose is a hell of a lot easier to explain to your HMO than fifteen or twenty whiplash cuts across your back. And believe me Grace, If I had been the one to do it, you’d be needing a transfusion as well. You’ve stolen private property, trespassed, and endangered at least two lives tonight through your recklessness; I’d say you were getting off pretty lightly.”
“I …” She started, but as his words sank in, she abruptly shut her mouth and stood silently, her jaw working.
Skinner continued. “I can’t reprimand you officially—” His unspoken threat hung in the air. Grace sighed, and wearily rolled her shoulders back.
“You’re right sir. Absolutely right. And all I can hope is that the information we’ve uncovered will be worth the risk.”
“Kissing up now, Pachelli? It’s going to take a lot more than that—” He rumbled unpleasantly, “To please me. Let’s go.” Without waiting, he strode off down the hall, forcing her to trot behind him in her ridiculously high heels.
x o x o x
Things were getting very serious, and potentially messy. Mulder was secretly glad he’d spent some time Firing his Surgeon General earlier in the day; if he hadn’t, Scully’s relentlessly eager assault on it would have left them both drenched by now. He struggled to pull her fingers from covering his mouth, but she kept them clamped over his lips and hissed warningly.
Mulder dropped his own hand from her mouth and brought to to join the other in cupping her buttocks. Scully let a soft moan trickle from her uncovered lips, and rubbed herself against him. She was rewarded with a quick double cheek squeeze from Mulder and they both paused, listening.
Beyond the door they could hear the steady ‘tock-tock-tock’ of someone typing on a computer keyboard, accompanied once in a while by an oath or a expletive, indicating the moments when touch typing was giving way to hunt and peck. Other odd little sounds: a pencil rolling off a table, the hum of the monitor, a thin almost noiseless vibration from the air conditioning, all filtering through the darkness to them.
Scully pulled her free hand up from Mulder’s trousers to his arm, tapping it urgently. He took a breath, and picked her up, feeling her stiffen as he did so. The dress shifted further up her body as he lifted her and deposited her lovely ass on the top of the Xerox machine behind him. Mulder swore that every rustle, every whisper sounded like a elephants having seizures; to fight the panic attack, he took a deep slow breath around Scully’s hand and let his tongue lick the lace palm.
She responded with a tiny sigh. Encouraged, emboldened, he took her other hand back to his fly, and she freed him with a dexterity that would have done her credit in any operating room. He shuddered, suddenly grateful for the extra height that had plagued their relationship to this point; oooh, the Xerox corporation was going to get one deeply sincere thank you letter.
Scully spread her thighs, holding him in a vise-like grip. Mulder could feel the tremble running through her frame, and it made his breathing suddenly go a bit spastic. Quite bit spastic actually, and Scully, alarmed by the feel of it pushed on his mouth none too gently. <OhmanherthighsareHOT> Her other hand slid from gripping his cock to holding the back of his neck, giving her some sense of leverage. Mulder was teetering on the brink of aroused insanity: his nipples were so hard they actually hurt, and as for his cock—
She pulled his face to hers, lips blindly searching for his ear. Mulder heard her even as he felt the slick warm fur between her thighs part, felt the head of his cock glide forward and upward—
“Mmmmmulder I wannnttt yoooooooooooh—” Her voice began to rise from a hissing whisper, and Mulder quickly cupped his hand over her mouth, the edge of it against her lips, the fingers curled around her chin. His body bucked forward, filling her. <RightideaohJesusGodScullyyou feelSOOOfuckinggood—>
Scully wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him in, little whimpers leaking out around his hand’s edge. Mulder plunged on, lost in the hot rhythm of their bodies. Neither one of them noticed light flashing out from under Scully’s ass as they charged their way towards critical overload. Neither one of them heard the hum and clicks of paper moving from one side of the machine to the other.
But somebody else heard.
x o x o x
They’d gotten turned around; Grace realized Skinner was heading the wrong way, but she stubbornly kept quiet and followed him until they stepped into an elevator and headed up. He glanced at the buttons, selected one and jabbed it. Grace gingerly touched her bandaged nose. The elevator rose and stopped. Without a pause, Skinner stepped off and into another foyer. He opened the first door on the right. No lights, but a quick scan around revealed a library of some sort: the walls stood lined with oak bookcases, and more comfortable chairs were scattered about. There was nobody else in the room. Skinner shot a look back at Grace, an impatient one.
“The Archives. Pornography and erotica collected from all over the world. I undertand they have some of Tiberius and Caligula’s favorite scrolls here.” She murmured. “Rumor has it that half of this material is straight out of the Vatican vaults.”
“What a friend we have in Jesus.” He replied dryly. Grace giggled, she just couldn’t help it as the incongruity of the situation hit her.
“God, I bet they even have the Playboy issue I was in.” she remarked. Skinner let a ghost of a smile touch the corners of his mouth briefly. He glanced around. One huge picture window overlooked the front driveway down below.
“How the hell do we get out of this building?”
“Elevator down to ‘S’ for Salon I think.” She said absently as she strolled ahead of him and took a book off the shelf.
“Put it back.” He ordered. She did, returning to his side with a slightly annoyed expression. He was staring out at the circular drive with dour concentration.
“What’s wrong?” She asked. He roughly scoopd her into his arms and pressed her to the window, pinning her tightly; she squirmed as the cold glass chilled her through the latex cords of her dress.
“Maybe that you’re half naked and still wearing too much.” he rasped. Grace was caught between the chill of the glass and the searing heat radiating from Skinner. Deliberately he pulled the hem of her dress up. high. Her legs went rubbery and she would have fallen but he pressed harder against her, pinning her to the window until she gasped, partially in fear.
“We play by the house rules, Grace.”
Swiftly, he lifted her, thumping the glass once with his left hand, once with his right. Something else made a light scratching noise: Skinner’s discarded glasses skittering across the windowsill. Grace squealed as her shoulders were twisted back. One of her high heels dropped off, lightly landing on the carpet. She hyperventilated as she looked down. Thighs spread, legs dangling uselessly—
Oh God.
Skinner had her propped up, straddling the crooks of his powerful arms. His knuckles braced against the thick glass, his hands gripped her wrists behind her, forcing her to arch up. She squirmed.
“Watch your back.” he warned her softly. Grace bit back a shudder. With casual strength, his arms moved up on the glass, angling higher. She felt herself start to slid down towards him, towards his—oh God—she gave a little cry as his mouth burrowed into the wet fur between her thighs.
She sobbed as she struggled, but it was useless. Her body, wound tightly with hours of tension throbbed eagerly under the assault of his tongue. Every stroke was deliberate, every kiss purposeful. Grace lost all sense of time and place as her hips began to rock forward. His hot breath seared the delicate folds of her flesh. Her head rapped back on the glass in a rhythm. She began to pant.
Then, Skinner lightly rubbed his bared teeth against the engorged bud deep in the velvety wet folds of her sex.
Grace’s entire body spasmed violently for a few seconds; she sang a high wailing note that echoed in the empty room, filling it with vibrant sound. Limply now, she dropped her head forward, hair cascading down, held from slumping any further by Skinner’s hands locked on her wrists.
He let his knuckles come off the glass, released her hands; she wrapped them around the back of his neck as he lowered both of their bodies to the carpet. Kissing him, she tasted traces of herself deep in his mouth. His palms hit the carpet on either side of her shoulders: he was on top of her now, all his weight bearing down. Around his braced arms, her legs tightened. Hot, hard, she felt the huge head of his cock pressing for entrance, then ramming in slickly.
Skinner made a guttural sound deep in his throat. Grace stiffened, letting her hands scrabble across his broad back, urging him on with wordless moans as he plunged again more quickly, building into a powerful rhythm. His body plowed into hers, the wetness between them so abundant that they could hear it squelching and sucking with every thrust. Something hard was behind Grace’s head; she dimly realized it was her lost high heel. Something dripped down her cheek; her nose was bleeding again.
Lost in the inferno searing between her thighs, Grace didn’t give a damn.
Skinner rose above her and came, slamming down in hard fast thrusts; she lifted her legs higher, riding the crest of his orgasm. The blistering flood surged into her, spilling in her, on her, over her tender clitoris; Grace came again herself, writhing under him as he let his thrusts die away.
She said it then, the words a trickle of a whisper from her dry throat. She didn’t want to, she never intended to, but the words themselves forced their way out. He turned his head to look at her, a long, powerful stare that squeezed her heart. Reaching one hand up from the carpet, he wiped ineffectively at the mess under her nose.
“It this what it takes to make you say it?” he asked gruffly.
She only smiled.
—/—
Maison Noir – Epilogue By K Bellot
Both Mulder and Scully heard the door open, and several things happened in rapid almost comical succession: While deep in the intimate embrace of his partner, Mulder drew the Sig Sauer and without bothering to turn his head, aimed it at the silhouetted figure in the doorway. The intruder screeched an extremely obscene oath in french and slammed the door closed again; Scully came and as she did so, Mulder came.
Then he screamed and dropped his gun.
In fairness, he screamed because in her intense orgasmic frenzy, Scully had managed to sink her beautiful white teeth deeply in to the edge of his hand which he still had pressed against her mouth. The shock was worse than the actual bite, although blood did flow.
“Oh God that was Wonderful Mulder!”
He swore she licked her lips. “— Jesus H. Christ, finally after sixty months of assorted forms of foreplay, I can’t believe it—”
“—Yeah, but I’m going to need a tetanus shot—” he hissed even as he brought his face to hers. His foot kicked the gun; it skittered under the Xerox machine.
“MmmmMmm…Don’t worry about it—I’m a doctor—”
“Good enough for me—” he kissed her again, indulging himself in the heat of her mouth, the softness of her lips. She held him tightly, hands locking behind his neck. They kissed for a moment longer, but gradually sanity began tapping at their shoulder and clearing it’s throat uneasily. Mulder pulled away and announced:
“You know we can’t stay here—security will come goosesteeping though that door any minute, and somewhere out there, Grace and Skinner are probably in it over their heads.”
Scully nodded reluctantly, giving his chin a last loving lick before sliding her achy hips off of the Xerox machine. Mulder grinned as he scooped up a sheaf of papers from the out ramp and stuffed them into his inner coat pocket.
“Souvenirs, Scully—you know I always wanted a picture of you for my bedroom—” He bent down and retrieved the gun.
“Mulder—” she growled at him while she smoothed her dress down and patted her hair, “If any of those show up within three hundred yards of the Hoover Building, you are such a dead man.”
He couldn’t see her face in the dark, so he let his hand cup her shoulder, and slide gently down to her breast. The move was almost natural, only a slight tremor betrayed his emotion at finally being allowed to caress her.
Her hand covered his, and squeezed lovingly.
“Come on.” he huskily whispered.
They opened the door and stepped out into the harsh light of the office, blinking, glancing around and trying not to look guilty. No one else was in the room, but the computer was still on, the the monitor displaying the middle of a business letter. Mulder motioned with his chin to the door. They could see the knob starting to turn.
“I spy with my little eye—”
“Something that begins with lie—” Scully finished. She took a step back behind Mulder and let her shoulder sag. Mulder raised his chin as the door opened.
“Yes?”
The security guard entering had a smug and dangerous look that quickly faded to confusion as he recognized the pin on Mulder’s lapel.
“Sir. We had a report of someone with a dangerous weapon in here—”
Mulder managed a frosty smirk and lifted his chin even higher.
“Well thanks for the compliment, but you’re not really my type.”
“I mean a gun, sir. All firearms must be checked in at the door.” The guard muttered helplessly. “Even for Founding Fathers, sir.”
“Right.” Mulder replied in a bored tone. He raised a hand, motioning for Scully to start following him as he moved to the door, brushing past the guard. “But I think we’re done with that terrorist and hostage secretary fantasy for tonight. Home, Ginger.”
And as Scully sauntered past the guard, she drove her spiked heel into his shoe.
** ** **
“Wow.”
Damien looked up from his newspaper to see Grace slink into their cubicle, splint on her nose, big Jackie Onassis sunglasses covering half her face. He thought of a dozen questions, but a single glare over the top of the sunglasses kept him silent.
A few minutes later, Mulder swung by and dropped off a report file over the portable wall of the cubicle. He said nothing, but the thick ace bandage around his hand stood out against the dark contrast of his suit. He was whistling. Damien opened his mouth and closed it again.
“Damien—” Scully limped past, tossing him a weak smile as she followed Mulder down the hall. For a while, Damien sat, stunned at his desk, then turned to Grace and slowly drawled out in his best Island accent,
“Musta been a helluva night out.”
“It was.”
In the pause that followed, he could hear all the office noises in the building around them, the normal everyday mundane sounds. Damien toyed with a pencil.
“Was it worth it?”
Grace looked up from her legal pad and smiled. She gingerly touched her nose and closed her eyes thinking back on the night before for several long seconds before nodding.
END
EX-LIBRIS: X-LIBRIS
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