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Five Card Stud (Fox’s Wild) by Rosalita
Date: Sun, 28 Nov 1999 17:59:30 GMT Subject: Five Card Stud (Fox’s Wild) (1/3)(NC-17)
TITLE: Five Card Stud (Fox’s Wild)(1/3)
AUTHOR: Rosalita
E-MAIL ADDRESS: c/o the publisher at [email protected]
FEEDBACK: Please do!
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere-but we appreciate knowing where
SPOILER WARNING: None
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: T, R
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully
DISCLAIMER: Any X Files related characters are the property of Chris Carter and Fox Television, we just borrowed them, played with them, and now we’re giving them back. Thank you kindly. Rocky Hardin is the property of Rosalita and may not be borrowed, used or abused without her express permission. (She’s just too damned fond of him!)
SUMMARY: An investigation in Las Vegas coincides with an adult entertainment convention and guess what? It appears that Mulder’s leading a double life…or there are two of him!
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Originally published in the fanzine “Red Speedo Diaries #1” by Two Plums and a Gherkin Press
Five Card Stud (Fox’s Wild) by Rosalita
FBI Headquarters Washington, DC
August 21, 1996 3:31 p.m.
On her return from a late lunch on her own, Special Agent Dana Scully paused in the hallway outside the entrance to the X-files office to give her wet umbrella another shake—it wouldn’t do to scatter raindrops from the latest summer storm all over Mulder’s scattered documents and other water-sensitive paraphernalia. The wooden door was slightly open and she peeked in, thinking it was unlike Mulder to give too curious eyes this easy opportunity to look over his shoulder. Scully could see the other agent sitting at one of their worktables with his back to her, shoulders hunched over, head bent forward, and from the motion of his arms, his hands were occupied with some activity that was obviously holding his full attention. At this angle she couldn’t tell what he was doing, and a faint frown of curiosity appeared on her face as she refurled and fastened shut the now somewhat drier umbrella. No reason to stand here and wonder.
Scully pushed the door open wider and headed straight across the office towards her partner. She wasn’t really trying to sneak up on Mulder, telling herself that there was no need to announce her entrance into what was her office, too, it just looked that way. He didn’t stop what he was doing, or even turn around at the sound of her footsteps.
“Scully, do you consider yourself a lucky person?”
She moved to Mulder’s right, turning around to perch herself between him and the umbrella she hooked on the edge of the table. The corner of her mouth quirked slightly, hinting at a smile. “In my experience, there’s no such thing as luck.”
Mulder’s hands finally stilled and he looked up and over his glasses at her, hazel eyes glinting, and took the offered bait. “Ideologically, you and Obi-Wan Kenobi are still worlds apart.”
Scully ignored him and reached to pick up what must’ve been the object of his intense scrutiny while she’d watched him from the door. Tilting the small, clear red cubes of plastic so they caught better light, she raised an eyebrow. “Are they loaded?” She asked as she tossed them back on the table.
Mulder pointed to the dice but looked at her. “Snake eyes, every time.”
Scully glanced down. Sure enough, one dot was face up on each die. “Recalling your misspent youth, Mulder, or thinking of cashing in the X-files and starting a new career in Atlantic City?”
“Neither. Believe it or not, Scully—this is our next X-file.” He picked up the dice, shaking them. “At least, gambling is the central focus of the case we’ve just been given.” He stood up, stretched, then walked over to his desk. Picking up a manila envelope from the top of one of the mountains of paperwork, he walked back to where Scully had remained leaning on the table and handed it to her as he retook his seat.
She accepted the envelope, but didn’t open it right away. “Since when do we get anything that has to do with gambling? Isn’t that the local bunco squad’s problem?”
“Usually, but the Las Vegas Police Department referred it to us when an agent with the local Bureau office heard the particulars during a routine request for assistance with an especially tough case. They said it was too weird for them, and after reading the case files, I’m not surprised they think that way.”
This time, Scully raised both eyebrows. “Too weird? In Vegas, how’d they notice?”
The other agent pushed his chair back, lifting his legs to set his feet on the table.
She recognized the signs that told her Mulder was settling in to explain the basics of the case, and hopped up on the table into a more comfortable sitting position. Scully dropped the envelope beside her, figuring to read it and fill in the details later, though Mulder’s explanation would probably prove to be clearer and more concise than the enclosed police report. Her partner was very useful that way, but if she wanted to get a sense of the actual who and what, examining the specific phrasing and any physical evidence would also be necessary. For now, she crossed her arms and turned a listening ear to her partner’s expositional tone of voice.
“Mr. Shaun Patrick O’Malley came to Las Vegas six weeks ago. He, like any other visitor to that city, checked into a hotel and promptly hit the casinos. He didn’t seem to favor any one establishment; like most casual tourists, he tried several in one night, looking for the best games, the loosest slots. He was polite, tipped the dealers and didn’t whine when he lost. No one paid any extra attention to him. At least until after he figured he’d lulled anyone watching into a sense of security. Mr. O’Malley settled down for the last week of his vacation—or so he told anyone who asked—at the MGM Grand Hotel, because he liked the extremely large casino. Lots of choices, he said. What he really meant was, he could move around a lot, it was crowded, and he was hardly an attention-grabbing sort. This being the tourist season, security had its hands full, never mind Mike Tyson’s comeback boxing match generating its own special brand of hoopla.
“In fact, Mr. O’Malley was virtually ignored, even though his last week of vacation stretched into three. But finally, the Japanese tourist group left, the pharmacists’ convention checked out and with the boxing match over, security finally had a bit more breathing room. And like any gambler with an overestimated sense of his own abilities, Mr. O’Malley got caught working a system.” Mulder paused to take a breath and linked his hands behind his head, elbows straight out at the side. “A case for hotel security and the Las Vegas bunco squad, you say? Absolutely. There’s always someone who thinks he can beat the house. File charges, put together the case, of course the MGM Grand cooperates fully, get him out of casino circulation, right where they want him—”
Scully couldn’t resist interrupting him. “But Mr. O’Malley is no run of the mill cheat—”
Mulder grinned. “Mr. O’Malley turned out to be an exceptional cheat. He quietly, systematically, in the space of four weeks, skimmed the hotel casino for $1.2 million dollars.”
She couldn’t resist a low whistle. “That’s some system. Did they get him to explain his methods?”
The other agent nodded. When they checked him out, Mr. O’Malley had no criminal record; in fact, a background investigation in his hometown of Portland, Connecticut, uncovered only a few parking tickets, and those had always been paid on time. Otherwise, he’d been a model citizen.”
“That should have warned them right there!” Scully couldn’t resist the gentle dig, and Mulder nodded agreement.
“Shocking, I know,” he responded right on cue, then continued his case review. “However, rigorous questioning revealed that Mr. O’Malley had help developing his system.”
“He had outside help. Someone else working with him, maybe on the casino staff?” she guessed.
“Very outside help.” Mulder announced.
Scully was a damn good FBI agent. She smelled a trap, but that hadn’t stopped her from entering a dark building by herself yet, she just took extra care. “How outside?” she asked suspiciously.
Her partner’s face remained expressionless. “Extraterrestrial help.”
There it was, and she hadn’t just walked in, she’d entered the trap singing and skipping all the way. Fine, she was used to this. “He told the police that aliens taught him his surefire gambling system? This is the plot to a very bad science fiction movie.”
Mulder shrugged. “I’m just telling you what’s in the case files. Mr. O’Malley claims that he’s been abducted seven times over the last three years; the first was while he was on his way home from his accountant position in Rocky Hill, Connecticut. It was one of those winding, tree-lined country roads, a bright light appeared in his rearview mirror, he thought it was another car with a headlamp out, but it caught up too fast. The last thing he remembered was that his radio shorted out and the light surrounded his car at the same time. When he came to he thought he’d fallen asleep at the wheel, but instead of a few seconds, he’d been out for an hour and his car was off to the side of the road with no sign of an accident. The next six times they took him from his house, and on the occasion of his last abduction, the aliens offered him a chance to show their thanks. Mr. O’Malley figured he’d gambled and won with these aliens and asked how to turn the mild distraction he had with the rare blackjack game into a retirement fund. With superior technology this wasn’t a problem, and Mr. O’Malley had his system. Unfortunately, being naive to the ways of casino security, he should have played it out over several years instead of several weeks.” Mulder paused again, his hands dropping into his lap from their position behind his neck. “You play, you pay.”
“Mulder, that is the most outrageous abduction story yet. Why didn’t they just check this man into the local criminal psychiatric ward for observation and leave us out of it?” She frowned in exasperation; usually their cases had a lot more going for them by the time they were deemed worthy of investigation by Mulder; this was just plain silly.
“Because that system had to come from somewhere. So far, all the controlled testing they’ve done on it with their own people in the casinos has been with frighteningly successful results. It hasn’t shown any signs of failing yet. They want to know who developed it, where else it’s being used and by whom. Mr. O’Malley is sticking to his abduction story, so they thought our special brand of interrogational knowledge in this area would get them the results they want. It’s all in the file, Scully.” He gestured at the manila envelope as he stood up. “You can read it on the plane.”
“Plane? Mulder, you’re not seriously thinking of going to Las Vegas?”
The other agent had walked over to his desk, and was now shrugging into his raincoat. His face was serious, though Scully heard the smile in his voice. “Our flight leaves in three hours. Don’t forget to pack your sunscreen, and you can leave that at home!”
By the time Scully glanced down and realized he meant her umbrella, he was out the door. She sighed. Nevada in August. “It’s hot out there, Mulder.” Even though he was gone, she complained out loud anyway as she also stood up to leave.
“But it’s a dry heat, Scully!”
The words floated back to her through the open door. She did not deign to answer, merely picking up her umbrella and considering the alternative uses she had for it as she followed her partner down the hall and into the elevator…
MGM Grand Hotel Las Vegas, Nevada
August 21, 1996 9:17 p.m.
Scully dropped her suitcase on the floor next to Mulder’s in the middle of the lobby of the MGM Grand Hotel. Her raincoat, needed in DC but put aside as soon as they’d landed in Las Vegas, went on top of it and she shrugged out of her blazer, adding it unceremoniously to the pile. She’d been right, it was hot here; the fact that the sun had set hours ago had little effect on the outside temperature, merely serving to drop it into double instead of triple digits. She sighed, tired from the cross country flight and the late hour–-to her it was after midnight—and swept a glance at her surroundings. Mulder had gone to check in, and that left her to look around a bit without straying too far. Her first impression of the hotel from the ride over in the rental car had been its immense size and lack of subtlety. The whole building glowed with an indigo light, and the MGM logo, built as a massive, four story gold lion at the street corner entrance, swept a green-eyed glare over the cars below, mouth open in a permanent roar. Mulder didn’t even ask; he’d driven straight to the valet park section and turned the keys over to a polite but fast moving attendant. Scully’d caught sight of the parking garage—itself the size of most hotels—and approved her partner’s actions.
Now inside, her gaze traveled over a swarm of tourists of all ages, hotel personnel, piles of luggage, and luggage carts. Behind and to her left was a large in-hotel store, full of what looked like Hollywood-themed memorabilia and souvenirs. From her observations of the various billboards and posters all over the airport, highway, and even the taxis, Vegas was big on themes and shows with a theme. The MGM Grand tipped its hat to the movies and the Hollywood studio that it owed its name and ownership to. On her direct left was the high and wide entrance to the casino; it was a swirl of brilliant color and commotion, full of accompanying sound effects. it looked big and confusing, even from this perspective, and she decided that it was lucky that she’d taken that wilderness survival training course. The MGM Grand had plenty in common with an Amazonian jungle.
“Ready, Scully?”
Mulder’s voice startled her out of her casino reconnaissance. She turned to face him; he was standing behind her, jacket swung carelessly over his shoulder and a selection of hotel personnel behind him. She glanced at them, they all smiled, then at her partner, her eyes questioning. Mulder bent to pick up her suitcase, but a bellboy gently but firmly cut him off, carefully laying her coat and blazer over one arm and gathering up her suitcase with his free hand. Another bellboy already had Mulder’s suitcase and garment bag in a strong grip. Silently, another man, wearing a charcoal grey suit, gestured for them to follow as he walked towards the casino. The bellboys hurried off after him. From his quick stride Scully figured he knew where he was going. She glanced again at Mulder, who canted his head after the disappearing hotel employees.
“C’mon Scully—if we lose them, we’ll never find our room. All the attention is because they think we’re going to help save them from any future O’Malley’s.”
“It’s nice to be wanted for a change,” she murmured to herself as he touched her arm lightly and stepped forward. Not wanting to be left behind—Mulder was right; to be lost in this hotel was to become a candidate for the X-files—she lengthened her strides to match her partner’s, at least as best as someone 5′3″ could keep up with someone 6′1″. She looked around the casino as they moved in a winding path through thousands of people playing an infinite number of slot machines, and betting on any number of blackjack and poker games, roulette spins and crap shoots. Bells rang, coins clattered, people shouted with joy and groaned in disappointment, and Scully was both curious and slightly overwhelmed. She flicked a glance upward, there were many lit signs pointing the way to various areas of the hotel: casino, restaurants, race and sports book, the theme park—Theme park?!—a special events Grand Garden and the Emerald City. The Emerald City…? She didn’t have time to wonder any further; ahead she could see one of the bellboys holding the elevator doors open for her and her partner.
Once in the elevator, Mulder introduced her to the others; they all shook her hand warmly and offered words of greeting and welcome. Aside from Todd and Tony the bellboys, she met Mr. Callahan, head of hotel security, Mrs. Williams, casino supervisor and Mr. Bateman, the man in the grey suit, who was a member of the MGM Grand’s managerial hierarchy. They all remarked how pleased they were that the FBI were there to resolve this matter of Mr. O’Malley and his foolproof gambling system. Scully smiled and nodded at the appropriate times and hoped they were merely escorting them to the rooms and would not ask for any kind of meeting at this late hour, though without clocks, time of day or night probably held little significance to doing their job. The elevator finally stopped, and the long walk to their rooms began.
“I wish there was a faster way,” Mr. Bateman apologized as they turned yet another corner. “These particular rooms are actually rather centrally located. Ah, here we are.”
More time was spent unlocking the doors, bringing in and sorting the luggage and opening the adjoining door in between. Todd showed Scully quickly around her room, pointing out that Mr. Bateman had upgraded their initial reservations according to his appreciation for their presence. It was comfortable, even if a bit overdone and heavy on the movie theme. On her way into Mulder’s room she noticed the gold star on the bathroom door and tried not to appear as disgusted as she felt. Her partner and the other hotel staff members—minus the bellboys, who had unobtrusively departed—were already into a discussion on casino rules as relating to the case, and she gave up the notion of sleep any time soon. An hour later, Mrs. Williams caught her discreetly hiding a yawn, and stood up with a smile.
“Perhaps we should continue this tomorrow? Since Mr. O’Malley is safely in custody, our sense of urgency may be a bit inappropriate, though I’m sure you understand that we do not want any more visitors like him. The more we know, the better we can secure our casino.”
The other hotel personnel caught the hint and got to their feet. Mr. Callahan shook hands with both the agents again. “Tomorrow morning, my office, 9 o’clock?”
Mulder glanced at her, she nodded, and he eased them towards the door as he responded. “We’ll be there, Mr. Callahan. Good night.”
Scully tilted her head thoughtfully; it was finally quiet enough to think and consider their welcoming committee, and they had been very welcoming. Hmmm…. “Mulder—” She turned around to look at her partner, who was fiddling with the lock on his suitcase. “You haven’t told them exactly what division of the FBI we’re from, have you? And they don’t know about Mr. O’Malley’s very outside help, do they?”
Mulder shrugged. “No, but I’m not sure it would matter to them where his assistance came from. This is a city built on superstition and ritually induced luck, Scully. I have a feeling if Mr. O’Malley tried to explain about his alien friends, they would just want them sent back to Reticula. It’s not something the police would want to spread around, and the casino probably doesn’t want it known that one simple accountant cheated them out of over a million dollars. I’ll bet the security in the other hotels has heard, but they’re busy assuring their employers that it can’t happen to them. It’s Mr. O’Malley’s results they fear, not where he got his information.”
“I still think once we have a chance to speak to him ourselves, we’ll find out he’s just like all the criminals, and is hoping for a psychiatric evaluation of insanity so he’ll get as easy a sentence as possible.” Scully protested, carrying on the argument started on the plane flight.
“Mr. O’Malley’s journey through the criminal justice system doesn’t interest me, but I do want to hear more about the extraterrestrial blackjack players. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; what else is there to do on those long interplanetary flights?”
“Hmpf.” Scully snorted in disgust. She was too tired to respond with more of a comeback, and turned away from Mulder’s cheeky grin. “I’m going to bed.”
“Scully, it’s still early. Want to hit the casino? For a little investigative research, of course.”
She could hear the hope that she’d go with him underlying the gentle sarcasm in his words, but she wasn’t the night owl he was. Scully turned around, and all the sad reasons why her partner didn’t sleep much gentled her response. “I’m sorry. Stay up if you want, Mulder, but nine am to them is six am to me. Have fun, but be careful—finance won’t understand ‘$1,000 loss to hotel casino’ on our expense report.” She smiled up at him as she offered a final admonishment. “And don’t get lost.”
He headed for the door that led out into the hallway, and leaned back inside for his own parting comment. “Don’t worry, I can always follow the yellow brick road…”
“Good night, Mulder.” Scully escaped into her own room to avoid any more of Mulder’s Wizard of Oz humor, and heard his door shut as the other agent left to wander the MGM Grand jungle. …and good luck, ‘my pretty.’
Poolside, MGM Grand Hotel
August 22, 7:19 a.m.
He’d been wrong, completely wrong, in his assessment that the hotel pool would be empty this time of morning. As late as he’d been up last night (he and all the other guests who had spent the pre-dawn hours cruising the casino,) surprisingly, he wasn’t the only one who’d pulled together enough masochistic discipline to get up early and go swimming. Besides himself, quite a few others had had the same idea; swim or tan before the rest of the day’s activities got started and the summer temperatures turned poolside into a barbecue pit. Mulder continued his steady progress through the warm, bright blue water with a steady forward stroke, keeping a fairly straight course despite the number of legs he could see in the pool with him. He’d decided he couldn’t swim around most of them; they would just have to get out of his way. His early morning companions were mostly content to stand in the water, or float well away from his wave-producing, raft-rocking body motions. he could see old legs, young, tanned legs, children’s legs, and the occasional entire swimmer as someone dove in and swam around underwater. No one else was actually exercising, but most vacationers had little interest in staying in shape.
The next stroke brought him to the edge of the pool in the deep end, and he flipped over; his return to the shallow end would finish this swim session. He was sorry about that, he didn’t get to swim outdoors as much as he would have liked back in Washington, so this was a nice change. Mulder promised himself he would swim every day if he could during this trip, even if it was at night. The bottom of the pool was getting closer; just a few more strokes and his hand touched tile-edged concrete. Mulder stood up in the three foot deep shallow end, eyes closed as he wiped water from his face. More water trickled down his neck and back as he ran his fingers through his hair, and then he could open his eyes. He blinked once, twice and then stared. The words ‘Nevada’ ‘desert’ and ‘mirage’ went quickly through his mind, though wasn’t The Mirage another hotel on the Las Vegas strip? Who cares? Right in front of him, sprawled lazily, sexily, carelessly, on four chaise lounges were four well tanned, toned and built women, well oiled skin gleaming en masse. Were they pretty? His eyes hadn’t gotten that far yet, though his well trained, peripheral vision recognized lots of blonde, brunette and red hair. One of them stretched and rolled over to reveal her tiny, bright orange bikini had a thong bottom.
Mulder’s eyes widened slightly, and he was suddenly very lightheaded. Dizzily he thought, I should leave, or swim, or at least move—but surely you don’t wear that kind of suit and think no one will look. This is the swimming pool of a very busy hotel, though maybe that’s why they’re out early. He looked cautiously around him; the three kids and their mom were too busy splashing around, but a couple of older guys were nodding in his direction and smiling. He ignored them; did they expect him to leap out of the water and drag off his sunbather of choice? He turned around again; just one last glance, then he really would swim off—but it was too late. The brunette’s eyes were open, and trained directly on him. His mouth fell open slightly, and he struggled to make it smile. She beat him to it, full pink lips drew back in a ‘go ahead, look’ grin. She sat up, rolling half onto her side, her eyes still holding Mulder’s attention, though that peripheral vision was coming in handy again.
He realized her lips were moving. ‘I love red…’ he interpreted, just as she completed the shift of position onto her stomach. Red? His gaze shifted downward as her words clicked into place, settling on his favorite Speedo. It made a slick, brilliant flash of scarlet just under the water’s surface, covering the minimum amount of flesh to make him publicly legal. She, and maybe the others, must’ve been watching him swim. Mulder was flattered and embarrassed at the same time. At least the admiration had been mutual, and the positive reinforcement warmed his heart before it settled into his groin. The right reaction, in the wrong environment, at the wrong time. Mulder sighed, then took a deep breath as he slowly slid lower and lower until he was completely underwater, his Speedo getting tighter and tighter. He pushed off, swimming beneath the surface towards the opposite end of the pool—there was no way he was going to let on he had a hard-on. He swam faster, thinking the same thought over and over: I am working, I have a 9 o’clock meeting, I am working, I have a 9 o’clock meeting… He reached the other end and swung himself up the ladder and out of the pool, body under his control. As he pulled on the shorts and T-shirt that he’d worn to make the long journey through the hotel halls, he allowed only the briefest consideration to what might have been if he’d climbed out of the pool in the shallow end, sighed, and left to return to his room without a backward glance.
“Damn it!” Scully let out an explosive breath and swore at the same time. It should not be that difficult to get around one hotel. Hotels were supposed to be guest-friendly, but the sheer size of the MGM Grand made just going downstairs to the coffee shop a major undertaking, no matter how they tried to camouflage the distance with hallways filled with twists and turns. She and Mulder had gone down to breakfast together, and it hadn’t seemed that far from their rooms to the first floor cafe, but then she’d had her partner’s company and conversation to distract her from thinking about how long a walk it was. She’d automatically kept an eye on their route—it was an agent thing—and she had a good sense of direction anyway. That was why she’d returned to her room easily and on her own after coffee and toast in the restaurant downstairs. They had some extra time, and Scully figured to go back and get her tape recorder to bring to the meeting. Mulder said he’d meet her there, and they’d split up at the elevator. It was only after the doors were closed that she’d realized that she didn’t know where the security office was. No problem; she called down to the front desk and got the location and directions from her floor. Scully hadn’t gotten far before she was certain that the desk clerk had been very little help, and not even a good sense of direction would be of any use if you didn’t have a clue in the first place.
I suppose I should’ve asked Mulder if he knew where the office was, but I figured I could find it, and he probably took it for granted that I knew where I was going. Besides, even if she’d asked, she wasn’t sure what kind of answer she would have gotten; her partner had seemed a bit preoccupied. She’d asked him what was wrong, and he’d started, almost guiltily, and responded ‘What thong? Uh, nothing’s wrong.’ She’d decided that she didn’t really want to know that badly. Their odd exchange was part of the reason why Scully had decided to give it a good go on her own, but so far she’d only found vending machines and housekeeping closets. She glanced at her watch, it was too close to 9 o’clock for comfort. She stepped up her pace, a couple more turns brought her back to the same bank of elevators she’d started her latest floor investigation from—at least that sense of direction was helping a little. A set of doors opened just as she arrived, and she just barely waited for all of the guest inside to exit. Scully pretended not to see the Hawaiian shirted gentleman hurrying straight toward her car from a distance down the corridor. “Sorry, sir, official business,” she muttered to herself as she punched what she hoped was the right button for a floor of offices and the doors closed on the other man’s look of dismay.
When they opened again and she practically leaped out, she knew right away it had been another bad choice. It was a long hallway with nothing but big spaces between sets of taller than average doors. She paused, looked around and was delighted to see one of the doors open and a young man wearing a hotel staff blazer step through. He looked a bit dazed, but Scully didn’t care—if she had to, she was going to flash her badge and demand an escort.
“Excuse me, please—” Scully waved the other man over. “Can you help me? I need to find the security office—”
He frowned slightly. “Why? It’s okay for them to be here in the hotel, they’re what we call repeat customers, and they pay their bills on time, better than some—”
“Excuse me?” Now Scully frowned. “What are you talking about? I just need directions.”
“You mean you’re not going to complain about the convention?”
The rest of Scully’s patience disappeared. “What convention? Never mind, I don’t care. If you can’t help me find the security office, then all I care about the convention is if someone in there can!”
The young man smiled. “I mostly know where it is, but it just so happens Mr. Callahan’s assistant, Miss Stone, is here checking on the convention security. Come with me, ma’am, I’ll introduce you. And I’m Kyle.” he tapped his chest, then motioned for her to follow him back to the door he’d just come out of.
The FBI agent followed right on his heels, anxious to enlist this Miss Stone to her cause. She glanced at her watch: 8:58am. There was no way she was going to be on time. Scully dug in her purse for her cel-phone, and speed-dialed her partner, who was probably already at the meeting. As the phone made its connection and began to ring, she finally had a moment to see where Kyle was taking her. All she’d been aware of so far was that they were in a large ballroom, and seemed to be winding their way through a mass of portable booths and tables—not uncommon to conventions, but there was something different about this one…
The ringing in her ear finally stopped, and part of Scully’s brain registered the familiar voice.
“Mulder—”
She took a good look around the room, never losing track of Kyle’s green blazer, and the fact he was a little too busy looking around himself and not checking to see if she was still with him. There were lots of people, some visitors, some working the displays. She saw carefully, heavily made up women with lots of hair, and an extreme lack of clothing. There were men wearing pants so tight their pockets wouldn’t take a credit card, men in so much leather they didn’t dare go outside into the heat, and a proliferation of gold chains, usually adorning the necks and wrists of baseball capped, hyperactive men. There were lots of posters and cardboard standees, portraying men and women, men and men, women and women, several women and one man, all wearing some combination of spandex, leather, metal or well tanned skin. Some of the posters advertised movies with titles like Forest Hump, Beaverly Hills Cop III and Regarding Heinie. There were tables filled with tapes, books, whips, harnesses, lotions, oils, various unknown gadgets and chocolate in shapes that Godiva had never thought of.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she opened her mouth to call to Kyle, who was still charging ahead. Her question died on her lips; the answer was emblazoned on a large and colorful banner hung high on the wall right in front of her: ‘Annual Adult Movie, Book and Poster Convention—X-citement and X-excellence in Entertainment.’
“Hello? Hello? Who is this?” The insistent voice in her ear called for attention.
Scully stopped, ignoring the standee cutout of a man and a woman wearing only hard-hats and well-placed tool belts. The spirit line read: ‘Watch our show ‘Tool Time’ on ‘Hormone Improvement’—If you build it, we will come!’ “Mulder, it’s me—”
“Scully, where are you? It’s after nine—”
“Where am I? Where am I? You know damn well where I am!” She whispered fiercely into her phone.
Mulder frowned at his cellular phone. His partner sounded weird, and what was all that noise in the background? “I know you’re somewhere in the hotel—are you lost?”
“Don’t change the subject, Mulder. You knew they were going to be here didn’t you? And wasn’t it lucky that you managed to have a case at just the right time!”
Scully’s voice was louder than usual, the noise and her obvious irritation driving the volume level up. He held the phone slightly away from her ear, and Mr. Callahan looked up from his desk. His expression said ‘what is going on?’ Mulder smiled reassuringly, but he stood up to pace to the other side of the office. “Scully!” he hissed. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how your after hours entertainment habits have led you to put aside your professionalism and finagle a trip on the taxpayers’ money to shop for souvenirs and get autographs from, from, from—Miss Divinity and the Naughty Nudies!”
The FBI agent heard his partner pause for breath, and his mind raced to put the clues together. Entertainment, Miss Divinity, souvenirs…? His face paled. The Annual Adult Movie, Book and Poster Convention is this weekend?! He’d always considered his tape collection to be a private matter; he’d never really wanted to get together with a large group of people and discuss his favorite movie scenes with them. Conventions were just not his style, though his habit of absorbing vast amounts of information on subjects that interested him had brought him notice of the yearly event. He hadn’t consciously made a decision to attend, had he?
“Mulder, are you there?”
He glanced at Callahan, who was writing in a file on his desk, but the agent could tell he was listening carefully.
He whispered his response. “Yeah, Scully, I’m here. This is not the time to discuss my possible, but unlikely motivations for involvement in their case.” Mulder closed his eyes tightly, as if he felt a sudden pain in his temples. “You should be here. Please hurry, Mr. Callahan doesn’t have all day.” He quickly pushed the ‘end’ button and suppressed a shiver. He was going to pay dearly for that, but hopefully Scully would give him a chance to explain before she shot him…
Special Agent Dana Scully growled wordlessly into her cellular phone, then jammed it back in her purse. She looked around for Kyle, who was standing against the far wall next to a tall, dark haired woman, and motioning for her to join them. She stalked off in their direction, an agent with a purpose. That must be Miss Stone, my ticket to the security office. The sooner I get there, the sooner the meeting will be over, and I can make Mulder pay dearly for that…
The door to Callahan’s office swung open, Agent Dana Scully stepped inside, and directly a brief, but memorable look at her partner. Mulder felt the temperature in the room drop to Arctic level. He glanced at Callahan, who shifted his gaze from one agent to the other, and though he couldn’t have missed the cloud of tension and annoyance Scully had brought with her, he chose not to comment on it.
“I’m very sorry I’m late, Mr. Callahan. I…I took a wrong turn.”
“Thank you for coming, Agent Scully. Please sit down.” The head of security gestured to the chair on his right. “Agent Mulder?” Callahan pointed to the other chair, next to the one Scully had been assigned.
Mulder hadn’t moved from his position on the opposite side of the office; he’d been there since the aborted phone call with his partner. He glanced at her now, and she turned to face him only long enough for him to catch another freezing glance. “No, thanks, I’ll stand.”
Callahan frowned. “As you wish.” he sat up straight in his chair, resting both forearms on the desk, hands folded. “As we discussed last night, Mr. Mulder, I called the officer who has charge of Mr. O’Malley—he’s expecting you this morning…”
Scully cleared her throat, and Callahan paused, eyebrows raised. Mulder was surprised at the interruption, but didn’t show it.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Callahan, I don’t think it’s necessary that both of us interview Mr. O’Malley. I think my time would be better spent talking to some of your employees, get their impressions of him. And could you arrange for me to take a look at Mr. O’Malley’s room?”
It was Mulder’s turn to interrupt. “I think I should be there for that—”
“Of course, but we needn’t see it together. Who knows how long the interviews with Mr. O’Malley and the hotel employees will take? This way, we won’t waste time. We can compare notes later, and take another look, if we need to.”
Smooth, Scully, very smooth. “Agent Scully has a point, Mr. Callahan. We know you would like this case solved as soon as possible, and if we separate we can cover twice the ground in our investigation.” Only Mulder would have recognized the discomfiture that flickered over his partner’s face. She hadn’t expected him to capitulate so easily, which is why he did it. Maybe the memory of her frustrating morning would fade without him there to remind her.
“Of course, I will be glad to conduct my own interview with Mr. O’Malley, and compare my conclusions with yours.” She nodded pleasantly at him.
Mulder noticed the look on Callahan’s face. It read ‘what cooperative, professional agents.’ Scully, of course, was needling him in her own inimitable fashion. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He nodded back, just as pleasantly.
“Very good, then. I’ll arrange the interviews, Agent Scully, there’s an empty office down the hall you can use. Would you like an escort there?” Callahan smiled at her as he spoke.
Mulder coughed, and Scully glared at him.
“No, I can find it, thank you.”
“As I started to say earlier, Agent Mulder, the officer in charge of Mr. O’Malley is Andy Wagner, and he is expecting you. Shall I have my secretary call and let them know you’re on the way?”
Mulder grinned lazily. “No. I do so love the element of surprise.” He ignored Callahan’s sudden frown, and turned to Scully as she stood up; she didn’t look at him right away.
“Where is that office, Mr. Callahan, and will you be able to send those staff members to me fairly quickly?” Scully’s questions turned the other man’s attention to her.
“It’s to your right as you leave my office, down the hall, past the elevators. Number 2720. George Eckstein, the daytime pit boss, should be just coming on duty, I’ll ask him to come right up.”
“Thank you, Mr. Callahan.”
Only when her questions were answered did she turn to face him. “Agent Mulder—” She motioned at the door.
He was surprised, but didn’t show it. “Be right there, Agent Scully,” Mulder nodded his thanks at Callahan. “I’ll let you know how my discussion with O’Malley goes.”
“Fine—I look forward to it.” The head of hotel security looked pleased.
It was Scully’s turn to cough. Mulder took a chance by touching her elbow and easing her out the office door before Callahan could comment on their joint coughing spells. She let him guide her into the hallway before gently disentangling herself from his grasp. Scully paused, and looked up at him, silently, expectantly. She knew him well.
He put his hands in his coat pockets. “I’m sorry you got lost, Scully,” he said sincerely.
Scully began to walk down the corridor, towards the elevators. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“And I’m sorry I hung up on you.” Mulder continued.
“And I believe you didn’t know that convention was here before we took this case.” Scully finished it.
They stopped in front of the elevator doors, and Mulder pushed the ‘down’ button. “Sure you don’t want to come with me to talk to O’Malley? The Las Vegas police station ought to be worth the trip. I’ll bet they have their own unique procedures developed just for this town.” He waggled his eyebrows. “We might see Elvis…”
“There’s an X-file for you, Mulder—sightings of the King of Rock n’ Roll still abound, seventeen years after his death.”
“It’s unsolvable, Scully, even by me.”
She chuckled, which is what he meant her to do.
“I’ll speak to O’Malley next time, Mulder, I’m sure you won’t just have one interview. In the meantime, I’ll get a good start on this end. Someone must have a clue how he could cheat so well for so long…”
Mulder interrupted. “We know how, I just want to know who—”
Scully continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Call me when you’re on your way back, I’ll let you know where the situation stands here.”
“Okay.” Mulder wasn’t fazed by her disinterest in his theory; she always ignored his first ten attempts at alien explanations. One down, nine to go… The elevator doors finally opened, and Mulder stepped inside. He paused, not pressing the button for the lobby just yet. Should he ask? The car was empty, and he took it as a good omen. “Scully…”
His partner had taken a couple of steps, but she stopped and turned back at the sound of his voice. She looked questioningly at him.
“Uh, what floor did you say that convention was on?” Mulder squirmed, and hoped Scully didn’t notice.
“I didn’t.” Only her eyes smiled as she turned away, one last piece of advice for him as he let the elevator doors begin to close: “Figure it out, Mulder. That’s why they put the ‘I’ in FBI….”
He grimaced, then shrugged. “Couldn’t be too difficult—” he murmured to himself as he punched the ‘L’ for lobby button and the elevator began its descent.
Las Vegas Police Department
10:31 a.m.
“Thanks, bud—you, uh, gonna be leaving here any time soon?”
One of Las Vegas’ many cab drivers acknowledged Mulder’s generous tip and hinted hopefully at a possible return engagement as his passenger leaned over the front seat and paid for the ride from the MGM Grand Hotel to the police station. He’d left Scully the car, just in case something came up and she needed it, and figured to absorb some local color (and forgo the road map) by taking a taxi—they were ubiquitous and easy to catch, too. He shrugged. “Maybe. Drive by in a hour. If I’m out here, I’m yours.” Mulder opened the door and exited the cab long legs first. He stood up quickly and shut the door behind him, just barely catching the cabby’s ‘see ya later.’ The noonday sun hit him with a thud; this was the first real contact he’d had with summer in Las Vegas since they’d arrived last night—his morning swim had been early enough to be pleasant, and later he’d stepped from the lobby right in to the taxi. Mulder was glad that he was wearing a light colored linen suit; with a nice shirt (short sleeved) and a tie he looked professional enough, though when Scully saw him in it for the first time that morning at breakfast she had raised an eyebrow and asked him for an ice cream sandwich. He’d ignored her comment, but had looked pointedly at the skirt to her peach suit, which was quite a bit shorter than was her norm, and his practiced eye had discerned that her top was probably a tank. She didn’t mention his suit again. Mulder was glad she hadn’t pursued it; he’d have hated to confess to buying the suit in a mid-80’s fit of fashion trend conformity. At least he wasn’t wearing a T-shirt, too…
Mulder swept a glance over the station building before he headed for the entrance. It was a fairly normal looking concrete structure (no neon at first look), located about eight miles from the Strip and a few blocks off Fremont, the main street of downtown Vegas. As he neared the front door he hoped their air conditioning was working—the hot air was sucking the moisture out of his eyes, even though they were shielded behind his sunglasses, and making him squint with discomfort.
Once inside the blessedly cool station, Mulder checked in, flashed his credentials and passed through their security procedures without incident. Detective Andy Wagner showed up about halfway through this process to introduce himself and then guide the FBI agent to the appropriate interrogation room. The officer in charge of O’Malley was young for his rank, but gave off an air of competence that his short cropped hair and beard only added to. Mulder easily kept up with the other man’s quick, determined stride down several different corridors, stopping when Wagner did in front of a nondescript grey door numbered 2-A.
“O’Malley’s already here, waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” Mulder reached for the doorknob, but paused as the detective gestured slightly with his hand.
“Agent Mulder, you do know what he’s saying about how he cheated…” Wagner hesitated.
Here it comes…. Mulder thought, and sighed inwardly. “I read the report, Detective Wagner. It’s why I’m here, why you called me. It was you that signed that report, isn’t it?” he pushed back, gently.
“Well, yes. I wrote it, but I don’t believe it. I still think he’s covering up for someone else, maybe someone he’s too scared of to rat on.” The Las Vegas police detective shook his head doubtfully. “He figures if he blames spacemen at the very least he’ll get sent to the cookie farm. Well, guys from another planet aren’t real, and no one around here is going to let him get away with that excuse.”
Mulder just stared at Andy Wagner for a moment, who frowned slightly at the stretch of silence. Finally, he turned the knob on interrogation room 2-A, pushing it open as he spoke with an enigmatic smile. “I don’t think there’s a broad enough base of reality in this city to fully support that line of defense, Detective Wagner. We’ll see how well he stands up to my investigative requirements.” He glanced through the now open door to see Shaun Patrick O’Malley sitting in a chair, handcuffed wrists resting on the long table in front of him. “I assume you’ll know when I’m finished?”
Wagner merely nodded in response, but Mulder didn’t care what the other man thought. The police officer had made his position known even though Mulder hadn’t asked for it, Andy Wagner may as well know how he stood with the FBI agent. He went into the room and shut the door behind him without another thought for the opinions of the Las Vegas Police Department. He had to admit, though only to himself, that this case seemed pretty farfetched, even up against X-files standards. Gambling extraterrestrials? Well, if he stretched it, you could say that these were interested in the science of poker winning strategies, or in psychological studies of addictive behavior in humans, or perhaps were possessed of a sense of honor that dictated they make appropriate restitution for services rendered—or maybe it was just a more complex version of a mouse in a maze, with the human O’Malley getting his ‘piece of cheese’ for successfully navigating their puzzle. As always, at the back of his mind was the possibility, no matter how remote it may seem at the beginning, that this case, this witness, would be the proof that he needed that could not be destroyed or bargained away, and would have the information for him to find his sister, and save his soul. It was a tall order for anyone, and it was time to see where, or if, this man fit in. Mulder walked over to the table and took a seat opposite Shaun Patrick O’Malley.
The scourge of the MGM Grand Hotel Casino (and maybe Mulder’s savior) was a small, thin, red-haired man of Irish descent, who smiled cheerfully at the federal agent. “My name is Fox Mulder, Mr. O’Malley. I’m with the FBI.”
“Well, now, that makes me feel important.”
There was a slight Irish lilt to his voice, and he even sounded sincerely pleased that the government was involved.
“I’m here to question you on the more unusual aspects of this case, there are plenty of other law enforcement agencies that are involved with the investigation and prosecution of your crimes. Would you please tell me about your specially engineered winning streak, Mr. O’Malley?” He decided that he didn’t want the other man to know that there was even a remote chance that he believed in extraterrestrial gambling teachers, just to see how convincing O’Malley could be… “You mean you want to know who told me how to win, whenever I want? Or did you want to know the system? Cause that I won’t tell you—can’t have everyone using it, don’t want to put the hotels out of business.” O’Malley shook his head for emphasis.
“Very considerate of you—especially since if you hadn’t been caught, you’d’ve won a very nice retirement fund for yourself.” Mulder commented dryly. O’Malley just smiled at him. “Yes, I want to know who—was it little green men?” He smiled patronizingly back at the suspect, but he felt his stomach tighten in anticipation.
O’Malley leaned forward, lifting his hands to gesture Mulder to come closer. The agent canted his position towards the other man, but not too close.
His voice was a whisper, and his pale blue eyes bored impossibly knowing into Mulder’s as he answered, his smile still in place. “They’re grey, not green.”
Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI held on to his poker faced expression for dear life. This was just about to get interesting… “Please, tell me more.”
O’Malley practically beamed. “They’re tall, tall as you, with eyes set close together. Sometimes they talk out loud, sometimes in my head—I think that’s easier for them, though their English is not bad, considering’—”
Mulder interrupted. “They speak our language?” he felt doubt begin to crowd the feelings of hope that had flickered earlier.
O’Malley nodded. “They been watchin’ us a long time, Agent Mr. Mulder. Did you think they’ve not learned nothin’?” he looked reprovingly at the FBI agent.
“I suppose that would have been the point of their visits.” Mulder had to agree. “Will you please tell me about the specific instances when you were allegedly taken?”
“There was no ‘alleged’ about it. They came for me many times, guess I was a good subject for them.” O’Malley paused, the smile finally disappearing from his face, his eyes clouding over with emotion. “Don’t be mistaken, Agent Mr. Mulder, they were not nice to me. I wouldn’t wish what they did on anyone else. They tested my tolerance for pain over and over, they poked and pried until I screamed. They took things out of my body, put the good Lord knows what in it. I never knew when they were comin’ for me, I never knew if I’d get back home!” O’Malley’s voice had risen with every detail he recalled, the anguish plain on his pale face. “No matter the law, I earned my repayment—”
Mulder sighed. “Mr. O’Malley, believe me, I am sympathetic—probably the only one here who is—but the fact is, you have broken the law. Even if you could persuade your tall, grey co-conspirators to testify in your behalf to what you’ve been through, if it is indeed the truth, you still misused an amazing opportunity. The law does matter, Mr. O’Malley, and you are more than likely going to jail. I would like more details on these abductions, and if you cooperate with me, I will do what I can for your case.”
“They think I’m crazy, don’t they?” The Irishman reached his hand up to tug at his reddish curls, the other hand went with it, cuffed to the first, and hung unused in front of O’Malley’s face.
“Yes, they do.” Mulder was honest.
“Do you?”
The federal agent didn’t answer right away; when he did, the honesty continued. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Fair enough.” O’Malley was somewhat calmer. He suddenly squinted at Mulder, the ‘knowing’ look was back in his eyes. “I get a feeling’, we’re not so far apart, you and I.”
“This table’s about thirty-six inches wide, I’d say.” Mulder gently fended off the attempt at familiarity. He wanted to get more information (it made for more ammunition,) and when he’d heard enough, then he would request that O’Malley be sent for a series of thorough medical exams. Then he’d have Scully do her own interview, and look over the results of the tests with him. He wanted to contact the sources back in Connecticut and get some outside opinions on their gambling suspect. “So, Mr. O’Malley, please tell me about the first time you were abducted,” he asked in his best, most soothing agent-on-your-side voice. Mulder fixed a genuinely attentive look on his face, and settled back to listen, hope and doubt still vying for the top position within his heart.
MGM Grand Hotel
12:04 p.m.
Agent Dana Scully was glad that the hotel staff interviews were over; the employees had ranged from overly helpful (with no useful information) to reticent about even giving their full names. She’d thought about telling security chief Callahan about these last, surely they had something to hide, but decided to make that decision later. Her feelings of annoyance at Mulder had not disappeared, merely transferring themselves to the members of the MGM Grand Hotel staff, and she didn’t want to cause any of them unnecessary scrutiny just because she was having a hard time. She put them all out of her mind, and focused on the next part of her investigative duties for the day—checking Shaun Patrick O’Malley’s room. An assistant manager had escorted her as far as the proper floor, but then got a call to return to the front desk (a tour group gone awry, Scully thought, if she figured the side of the conversation she’d heard correctly, and all hands were needed to straighten it out). The manager had hesitated, the key to room 5150 in his hand, uncertain whether to give it to her and let the agent continue on her own. She’d smiled winningly, and gently proclaimed “If you can’t trust the FBI…”
Maybe it was the smile, maybe it was the reminder about the government agency she represented, it didn’t really matter. She was here in front of number 5150, key in hand, and thankfully alone to look around and make her notes in relative peace and quiet. I wonder how Mulder’s doing? she thought as she put the key in the lock and turned the door handle. He said he’d call, but it’s been a while—that could be good, or bad…should I call him? Scully decided to be patient and wait to hear from her partner as she swung the door open and stepped inside the room. She pushed the door shut behind her, it closed with a quiet click. Drawn drapes made it dark in there, and she waited for her eyes to adjust to what little light drifted in between the gap of window and covering. She could tell it wasn’t a suite; to her left was an open door, thick shadows obscuring what she guessed had to be the bathroom inside. Looking around the main room, Scully detected the outline of a king-size bed, a dresser, and next to the window were two chairs and a table. She smiled as she recognized the shape of a lamp on top of the table and eased her way toward it, running a hand lightly on the dresser to guide her steps.
Scully leaned on the table with one hand, the other fumbling to find the light’s ‘on’ switch. Her fingers finally found a small knob, and she turned it, murmuring a triumphant “Got it—” The darkness disappeared, and Agent Scully straightened up and turned around for her first good look at the hotel room. The gasp escaped before she could stop it, and she reached instinctively for her gun, comfortingly ensconced in the holster under her arm. She stopped mid-gesture. The object of her concern was sitting up in bed, blinking sleepily at her, both his hands in plain sight on top of the comforter. He didn’t seem to present any immediate threat, but Scully didn’t relax. “What are you doing in here?” she asked brusquely.
The man in the bed wasn’t fazed, and leaned back against the wooden headboard. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”
She supposed she should be thankful that he hadn’t freaked out at waking up and finding her in his room, Why isn’t it empty, or didn’t anyone think to tell me they’d checked in a new guest?! and she spent a few seconds observing the other occupant. He was young, dark haired, with hazel eyes that watched her watch him, and he only smiled lazily when her face creased in an abrupt frown. He was familiar, somehow… “Mul-der?” she dragged the name out slowly, even knowing full well that was not her partner.
It was his turn to frown, the same full bottom lip pursing slightly. “No, it’s Hardin. And who are you?”
She started slightly, finally reaching for her ID. She opened the small leather case with her left hand, and took a couple steps closer. “Agent Dana Scully, with the FBI. I’m investigating a case, and this room is part of it.”
Hardin pushed back the covers and straightened up, but paused when Scully tensed. “May I…get out of bed?”
“Yes. Slowly, please, though. You may be an innocent bystander in all this, but you’re in what could be a roomful of evidence.” She warned him.
He nodded as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Scully saw for the first time that he was basically fully dressed; a white French style tank top was mostly tucked into very faded, ripped jeans. The first button of his 501’s was undone, and he made no move to pull it together. She noted that he was at least as tall as Mulder, too, with the same lean build, though he had more muscle definition than her partner.
“Like what you see?”
Hardin interrupted her observations, and Scully was surprised at the forward comment, though she supposed she’d been staring. I can’t help it, he looks more and more like Mulder…
“It’s okay,” he continued, nodding. “I’m used to people staring at me.”
Well, that could mean just about anything, Scully thought wryly. She avoided the subject in its entirety. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hardin, there’s been a mistake. As I said before, this room is part of an ongoing investigation. You shouldn’t have been allowed to check in.”
“Aw, man—”
Not exactly Mulder’s broad vocabulary—
Hardin gestured in annoyance. “You mean I have to change rooms? I got in late last night, after being on a plane for hours—do you know how long the flight from Berlin to New York is? And then another plane here. I was so tired, I didn’t even unpack my suitcase. Hell, I didn’t even undress for bed. And speaking of bed, I need to get back to sleep, or I won’t look good for my appearances or my workshop. When they see the bags under my eyes, the convention publicity committee’s gonna kill me—I don’t want to move!”
She’d tried to at least slow the other man’s tirade, but didn’t get a chance until he paused to take a breath. He had a point, but she didn’t need to hear it. “Mr. Hardin, I really am very sorry—” something he said suddenly fell into place with a telltale ‘clink,’ and she switched gears mid-sentence. “Convention?” Nah…couldn’t be. There was room for more than one convention here, wasn’t there?
The other man’s frown disappeared, replaced with a broad grin. “Yeah, it’s my first visit—I’ve always wanted to go to the Annual Adult Movie, Book and Poster Convention!”
Scully blinked twice, her blue eyes growing wider. That figures. “You flew all the way from Germany to be at this convention?” She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice. It was really none of her business where this stranger went, and why…this stranger that looked just like Mulder.
He shrugged, looking a little defensive. “Hey, it is part of my job—”
“Your job?” Whoa, Dana, don’t go there…
Hardin’s eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. “Hey, you’re not going to arrest me, are you? I live in Europe, I’m a good actor, and everything I do is strictly legit. So’s this convention.”
Actor?! Oh, dear. “I’m really not concerned with what you do and why you’re here in Las Vegas. What I am concerned about is the fact that crucial evidence in my case may have been destroyed because you were allowed to have this room.” Scully swung the conversation back securely to FBI matters. “If you’ll please come with me to the lobby, I will speak to the manager to make sure you get another room, and some kind of compensation for your inconvenience.” She knew she might be overstepping her bounds by making promises on behalf of the hotel, but was fairly sure that they would want to keep their guests happy. Besides, it was their fault, not his, and being with this convention, he probably had access to all sorts of publicity machinations the hotel staff would not want involved in an official complaint.
Hardin sighed, tilting his head slightly to one side. A lock of hair fell forward, and he looked at her sort of up and around it. His hair was a little longer than Mulder’s, it feathered down the back of his neck and would have been considered inappropriate for a federal agent. Together with his pitiable expression it made him look both roguish and pathetic at the same time. It was Scully’s turn to sigh. It was a look she’d seen on her partner’s face often enough, and the list of similarities that he and Hardin shared was getting longer, the weirdest one being the proclivity for X-rated movies. Mulder would have a field day with this—‘Scully, it’s a documented fact that everyone on earth has an unrelated twin, a doppelganger. How many times can you mix up the gene pool? Odds are, someone’s bound to share your DNA, it’s just that the odds also are you will never meet them…’ I don’t need him here, I can do his spiel for him. I’m beginning to hate the letter ‘X’! “I don’t know what else I can say, Mr. Hardin. Please don’t make this more difficult that it already is—”
“Okay, I’ll go quietly, Agent Scully. Anything so I can get back to sleep! Guess I should get my suitcase…” He looked around from where he stood, finally spotting a dark leather garment bag about the same time Scully was going to point it out. He paused in mid-reach. “Can I at least go to the bathroom first? I mean, I just got up.”
“Of course.” Hardin walked toward her and she moved out of his way, not wanting to be too close. Hardin may be everything he said he was, or he could be O’Malley’s mystery accomplice. A few more questions might be in order, and she’d need to fill her partner in. That will be an interesting experience! He moved with a similar athletic grace as Mulder, but there was an added element that she couldn’t quite figure out. Dance, of some kind, maybe, or gymnastics? Those would be helpful in his line of work… He smiled as he went by her, not too closely, but near enough for her to catch a faint whiff of very expensive cologne.
“My name’s Rocky, by the way.”
She ignored the attempted familiarity. “Well, Mr. Hardin, do you think I could see your passport?”
He looked over his shoulder as he paused in the doorway to the bathroom. “If you’ll just let me pee, I’ll let you see anything you want!” Hardin pleaded with a grin, and not waiting for an answer, stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Scully rolled her eyes, and briefly debated on asking him to leave the door open, or call him out so she could check the bathroom for anything suspicious, but at the telltale sounds coming from behind the shut door, it was too late. Her experiences in the X-files division had fine tuned her sense of danger, and of dangerous people, and ‘Rocky’ Hardin had not set off any warning signals—so far. Her time in the X-files had also taught her to keep her guard up, no matter what. She waited for the man to finish; as she listened to first the toilet flush, then water running for washing up, she glanced around the hotel room. He really had gone straight to bed; the garment bag looked still full of clothes, though there was a leather jacket on one corner of the bed and a pair of black cowboy boots lay on the floor nearby. The doorknob to the bathroom clicked and turned, Scully immediately swung her eyes in that direction.
Hardin stepped out, still gently patting a towel over his damp face and hair. He smiled cheerily at her. “Much better. Agent Scully, what time is it, please? My watch is still set for Berlin.”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s one-twenty, in the afternoon,” she added helpfully, realizing he probably wouldn’t know whether it was day, or night.
“One-twenty?” He frowned, then gave an obvious start. “Oh, God—oh, shit!” Hardin turned first one way, then the other, finally tossing the towel at the bathroom counter behind him. He took two quick strides toward her, then plowed to a halt as Scully reached beneath her jacket. She did not like the sudden, out of control movements at all. She put out her other hand in an obvious gesture ‘to calm down.’ Wisely, for him, she didn’t have to say a word. Hardin stopped in his tracks, and took a deep breath.
“What is wrong, Mr. Hardin?” Scully kept her tone calm and firm.
“I’m supposed to be at a promo for my movie in less than ten minutes. The studio put big bucks into this production, and took a chance on me—an American, in a German film, you know. Maybe you’ve heard of it? ‘Das Booty?’” Hardin looked at her hopefully.
That’s my partner’s area of interest, not mine. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Anyway, I’ve got to be there—can’t we get me a new room after? I just can’t go with you right now!” He fidgeted anxiously, then took a hesitant step. “Please, it’s a long walk to the convention rooms—let’s go.”
“Mr. Hardin, we really must get the room situation resolved as soon as possible. May I remind you, again, that it is part of an ongoing investigation. You don’t seem to be involved, but your continuing cooperation will go a long way to making me believe that fact one hundred percent. I’m sorry to inconvenience you—”
Hardin interrupted her. “It’s more than an inconvenience, Agent Scully. Missing this promo could get me in a lot of trouble—I want to keep working for this company, and this could get me fired! Besides, I owe it to my co-stars, and my fans, too! Why don’t you come with me? It won’t take that long, and then we can go to the front desk. I don’t want to cause you trouble, but I have to go to this promo!”
Scully opened her mouth to protest again with several reasons why she could not go with him, that this was a federal matter, and that superseded any convention activities. How it would not look good for her to be there, that someone might remember her from her mistaken visit this morning, that he had no right to even ask her. She was an FBI agent, he had to do as she ordered, or else… But she took a good look at the man, and could not refuse the oh-so-familiar mute appeal in those same hazel eyes. She heard her voice say it, but she couldn’t believe it. “All right, Mr. Hardin—but we’re not staying any longer than necessary, and please do not call me Agent Scully while we are there!”
His face lit up with a smile she wished she saw on her partner’s face more often. “Thanks—thanks a lot, Ag-, er, Miss Scully. I’ll just grab my jacket, and boots, and we’re out of here!’
Dana Scully watched him pull on the cowboy boots with practiced ease, and scoop up his jacket, which turned out to be in black leather motorcycle style, complete with fringe along the sleeves. She opened the door and motioned him out, hurrying along side him as they headed for the elevator. I’m only doing this because if he lost his job because of me, he’d probably sue the government, and I don’t want to face Skinner, or Mulder, or anyone else over it. This is just part of the case, right? Ri-i-ight…
Elevator, MGM Grand Hotel
1:27 p.m.
Agent Fox Mulder shuffled into the elevator along with the rest of the crowd that had been waiting for the next available car. He found himself being gently jostled to the back wall, and as the interview with Shaun Patrick O’Malley was still rerunning itself through his brain, he let it happen. With all the people in there, he figured someone would push the floor he needed. His subconscious registered the surface characteristics and conversations (or silence) of his fellow passengers; every color and kind of outfit was represented, some with fashion sense, some without: from khaki to denim to silk, stripes and plaids (together), straw hats, visors, high heels, sandals, birkenstocks and boots, all set off with quite a bit of gold and topped with very big hair. Mulder’s eyes hurt and he felt dizzy from all the perfume and cologne. Give me a liver-eating genetic mutant to chase any day— There were at least three other languages besides English contributing to the chatter that assailed his ears and provided background music for his thoughts on the case.
When the elevator doors finally opened and one voice rang out above all the others, proclaiming “Here we are!” he just naturally followed the most distinct order he’d heard in a while. “Excuse me, pardon me, ma’am—” He apologized in an absent tone as he eased his way out of the car and on to the—what floor was this, anyway? The FBI agent stopped dead, right in front of the now closing elevator doors. He looked up and down the hallway; instead of doors with numbers on them, there were only a few and far between tall, wooden portals. The three people who’d gotten off the elevator before him had just disappeared into the set of doors on his left, and as the entrance drifted shut, a low roar of activity reached his already overworked ears. He could still hear some sounds through the wood; music and laughter stood out among them. Mulder frowned. Wonder what’s going on? Some kind of meeting? Nah, they’re having too much fun. Is it a— Mulder smiled slowly, richly, thinking maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t needed to be the ‘I’ in FBI. —the convention? He looked at his watch. I really should check in with Scully, he thought, as he walked over to the same double doors his elevators cohorts had used. I’ll peek in, see if I’m right. What harm can that do?
He shoved away the mental image of Dana Scully frowning at him and tapping her foot, and opened the door. Slowly. Poking his head and shoulders in first, then sliding the rest of his body in after them. He swept the ballroom with a penetrating gaze, taking in much the same sights as Scully must have earlier in the day on her misguided trek to the security office. —oooh, ‘Mucho Coco’ is making those in peanut butter now? And there it was, the banner that assured him he had been correct in his interpretation of the evidence for this gathering: ‘Annual Adult Movie, Book and Poster Convention…’
Mulder just stood there and grinned to himself. I shouldn’t stay, but it’s Frohike’s birthday soon…isn’t it? He was about to head down the nearest aisle of vending booths, when there was a sudden, insistent tug on his sleeve.
“There you are!”
A very cross feminine voice resounded in his right ear. He couldn’t stop himself in time, he jumped nervously away from her, blurting out, “Scully, it’s not—” A tall, blonde woman was frowning at him.
“Who’s Scully? Is that where you were, with some Scully-person?” She folded her arms in obvious and angry frustration. “Look, buddy-boy, I don’t know how you do things in Germany, but here we gotta schedule to keep.” She reached out and took a firm hold of Mulder’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
Mulder set his heels in the carpet; it was tough not to move, she was even stronger than she looked. “Look, I don’t—”
She ignored his protest, merely pulling harder on his jacket. “Save it, we’ve got to get you to the press room right away!”
He started to lose his balance, and walked a few steps just so he wouldn’t fall. Unfortunately, once he was moving, she wouldn’t let him stop again. She was very tall, and her stride was practically even with the agent’s at his fastest pace. He supposed he could put some of that FBI self-defense training to use, but it seemed a little extreme for the circumstances, as did his government issued gun. He felt its presence on his hip strangely reassuring at that moment, though he wasn’t sure why. Yet.
Common sense told him to stop this before it developed into something he was going to regret, but the spirit of Frohike whispered, “Go with the flow, Mulder…” They were plowing through the ballroom at breakneck speed, and if he hadn’t been so intent on keeping his balance and not running over anyone, he might have noticed the odd mixture of looks his presence was prompting among the other visitors. Frowns of concentration, smiles of recognition, even a squeal of delight, but Mulder didn’t hear any of them. He was too busy dealing with the mental image of a dramatically pissed off Assistant Director Skinner shouting ‘you were WHERE in Las Vegas and did WHAT?!’ Then he was hauled inside what turned out to be a small side room that looked like it was being used as some kind of dressing room. Why else would that man be helping that other woman glue jolly roger flag shaped pasties to her breasts while she strapped on a plastic sword? She was also wearing an eye patch, and an artfully tied red bandanna served as a kind of g-string. “I sense a theme here…” Mulder muttered to himself, then something hit him in the face. He caught it reflexively, his hands registering soft, stretchy material even as he snapped angrily at his captor. “Hey, watch it!”
She waved his words aside impatiently. “Pay attention, next time. Now put them on, please.”
Mulder held up the items she indicated; his eyes widened and both eyebrows went up. Since he prided himself on not reacting to any kind of extreme stimuli (aliens and Dodger dogs got basically the same expression,) this was akin to someone else screaming. His hands dropped to his sides. “I’m sorry, you must have me mixed up with someone else—”
The blonde shook her head, interrupting him yet again. “No, I’m positive. One thirty, the star of ‘Das Booty’ makes a promo appearance—that’s you.”
Mulder stepped forward, holding up what was probably the promo outfit for this ‘Das Booty’ actor. “Look, I’ve seen the 1981 German film on the difficulties of serving on board a Nazi submarine during World War II that no doubt inspired your title, but that’s as close as I can come to being in it. Here, take…this, and I’ll be leaving now.” He frowned when she made no move to receive the clothing he was holding out towards her. In fact, she put her hands on her hips.
“Why are you being so difficult, Mr. Hardin? This promo is good for you—every adult movie maker worth anything is here. Advance on your picture is hot. This could get you work in America. Isn’t that what you want?”
Mulder sighed. No matter what he said, or did, this woman paid absolutely no attention to him. “I am not Mr. Hardin. I shouldn’t be here, so I’m leaving.” He turned around and started to walk away.
“Hey, wait. You can’t go—”
He stopped. She just wasn’t going to give up. He supposed flashing his badge (as opposed to other…things) would convince her, but he really didn’t want to cause that kind of scene. Mulder turned around, exasperation edging his voice. “I can, and I am.”
“Please?”
He paused, surprised. Was that real pleading in her tone, and a touch of fear? He looked into her face, trying to read the truth of her emotions there. She was very pretty, he hadn’t had time to notice before, and her blue eyes reminded him of someone else, someone he trusted. He decided to hear her out, just for a minute. God, Scully must be starting to wonder! She must’ve seen the change in his expression, because she smiled a bit.
“Look, Mr.—whoever you are. I still think you’re Rocky Hardin, you damn sure look just like him, but that’s all I need. The first part of this promo is just taking pictures, it’ll give you a chance to get comfortable, before they start asking questions. Come on, what do you say? If you’re not Hardin, I don’t know where he is and why he isn’t here, but he’s gonna be in big trouble when he does decide to show up. Unfortunately, since it’s my job to see that he gets to where he’s supposed to be, and I trusted him to be here, on time, I’m in trouble, too, the kind that could get me fired.”
She moved closer, reached out to touch his arm.
“But not if you’ll help me out.” She smiled coaxingly, no trace of her former abrasive self apparent. “C’mon, you came to this convention, you probably know enough about the product to get by a little. Like I said, photo op first, and who knows, maybe by the time they get to ask questions, the real Rocky will have arrived. In fact, once you’re on stage, I’ll track down his room and see if he’s still in it. Though I still think you’re him, and are just having fun with me. I heard you’ve got that kind of sense of humor.
“Honey, if you’d wanted some fun, all you’d had to do, was ask…” She gently rubbed his arm; he felt it getting warm under the linen jacket sleeve.
Mulder looked into her eyes, her invitation plain, her sincerity assured at least in the matter of keeping her job, if not genuine attraction for him, er, Rocky. Why does this stuff always happen when I’m on duty? Oh well, she wants this Rocky-guy, not me. I’ve never heard of him, but I don’t exactly follow the actors as closely as the actresses, and he’s been in Germany, and why do I care?
“Hey…what do you say?”
She was gazing expectantly at him, but he still didn’t answer right away. Mulder, you can’t do this…it is totally against the FBI rules of conduct, you are on a case, your partner is probably looking for you… All the reasons why he should run out of the convention ballroom right then filed quickly through his mind, but then there was that teasing whisper—They don’t know who you are—they think you’re this star of ‘Das Booty’. If you just take some pictures, maybe you can slide out the before the questions start. Since when have you ever followed the rules to the letter? When was the last time you did something this dangerous that didn’t involve a gun being pointed at you or your ass kicked, and was potentially this fun? With any luck, you’ll be done and gone before anyone notices a thing… “Okay, Miss?—I’ll help you, but not for long.” He shook his head warningly.
She smiled; it lit up her tanned face. “Great! Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while.” She scurried over to the chair where he’d tossed ‘his’ outfit, scooping it up she turned back to him. “Here, you’ve only got a minute to put this on. I’ll get some stuff to do your hair—Rocky’s always got some bangs—yours is only just long enough, but we’ll make do.” She waved the clothing at him. “Come on, don’t be shy—and by the way, I’m Jessica. And you are…?” “…to remain nameless. Otherwise, no deal.” He crossed his arms.
She raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “No problem, actually people should only hear me call you ‘Rocky’ anyway.” Again, she held out his outfit.
He slowly took the proffered clothing, and looking down at it, a wry quirk twisted his lips. Jessica departed as soon as it left her hands, presumably to get ‘hair stuff’, and Mulder was alone to change; the ‘pirate couple’ had disappeared a while ago. He dropped the limited amount of material—I hope it stretches a lot—on a nearby table, shrugged his jacket off, folded it in half, and dropped it on the same table. Mulder loosened and pulled his tie off, then began unbuttoning his shirt. He dropped them on the table, also, and then pulled his gun from its holster, fingering it absently as he tried to decide what to do with it. I can’t leave it in here, can’t wear my holster out there… He finally decided he would tuck it in the back of the leggings—the automatic’s flat design would hopefully keep it from being too obvious, and he would just have to remember not to turn around. He sighed; unfortunately, the extra hardware was probably going to make the spandex an even tighter fit. Oh, well. Mulder shrugged mentally as he reached to unfasten his linen pants, and tried not to listen to the voice of better judgment inside his head, screaming at him to run while there was still time…
Scully found herself staring at Rocky Hardin again; she tried not to be obvious, but he looked so much like Mulder, it was frightening. He must’ve felt her eyes on him—how could he not, they were in an elevator—and though he smiled at her, it didn’t go with the puzzled expression on his face. He took a breath, opening his mouth to speak though no words came out right away. Uh-oh, I’m not going to like this…
“Why do you look at me like that? I mean, like I said before, I’m kinda used to women staring at me, but it’s not the same…it’s more like, I don’t know, like I’ve got two heads, or something. It’s weird…” He shook his head, and leaned back against the elevator wall, hands hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. His leather jacket creaked as he shifted to get comfortable, waiting for her answer.
Scully looked away, but swung her eyes back again almost immediately. She felt a bit embarrassed, at first not knowing what to say, but deciding to go with the short version of the truth. He didn’t need to know any more. “I’m sorry, I know it’s rude to stare, but you look very much like, in fact, exactly like, someone I know. It’s…unnerving.” Scully had to admit.
“You mean we look that much alike? Is this that identical twin thing—you know, we all have a twin somewhere?” He shrugged. “I always thought I was an original!”
Scully raised an eyebrow. Well, the ‘twin thing’ would be Mulder’s explanation, too. Even some of their thinking is a on a parallel, though Rocky’s certainly…simpler. She didn’t want to call him dumb outright, it wasn’t fair. He probably wasn’t dumb, actually he was quite normal, she was just used to Mulder’s accelerated brain power. He’s right about one thing, this is weird…and why am I calling him ‘Rocky’ all of a sudden?
“So who is this guy? Where does he live? How else is he like me? Or do we both just have the good looks and charm?”
Hardin pushed away from the elevator wall to pace a couple steps, eyes bright with curiosity as he fired questions about his lookalike at her. She hesitated; she didn’t want to say too much, but it was highly likely that Hardin and Mulder would have to meet even if only briefly, concerning their case. That was going to be interesting, telling Mulder about Rocky Hardin—yes, Mulder, it’ll be like looking into a mirror. What does he do? Uh, he’s in entertainment, yeah, that’s it. Actually, Mulder would probably be amused that Rocky was a porno star. And they are ‘foreign films’… Scully smiled at her own joke, and Hardin pounced at her change of attitude.
“C’mon, Miss Scully, give. I just gotta know something, and you think it’s cool, too, I can tell!” Hardin ducked his head towards her, smiling and flashing a co-conspirator’s wink at her.
Scully caught herself in time; the one thing Rocky had on Mulder was a guileless sort of charm. It made you feel comfortable talking to him, he gave the impression of a harmless, overenthusiastic Irish Setter puppy that was somehow graceful and beautiful at the same time. Her partner had been through too much to ever lose that fine edge of cynicism and pain that even colored his jokes. Once in a while, if she was lucky, she got a peek at the gentle and lovingly concerned Mulder, who was there for her as often as she’d let him. She sighed softly. Maybe it might be nice if Mulder and Hardin met and a bit of each rubbed off on the other… “You don’t dress anything alike. I don’t think his hair’s ever been that long. Fringe on leather jackets would appall him. He’s got a great smile, but you don’t see it often enough. He’s very smart, fiercely loyal and I trust him completely.” …with my life. Scully added silently, thinking she’d probably said too much already. She glanced at Hardin, who was staring back at her with an odd glint in his hazel eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Geez, is he a saint? He probably wouldn’t even like me. I’m not sure I like the sound of him, though you seem to think he’s pretty special. Is that why you’re acting so strange around me, you got a thing for him, and I’m some kind of weird cheating thing?” Rocky frowned.
Scully was too startled to answer right away. She could’ve sworn she detected a touch of jealousy in Hardin’s words, but Mulder was tough to live up to, and this man didn’t even know him. As for the rest of it— “I do not have a ‘thing’ for him. And I’m not acting strangely, this behavior is known as professional, investigative courtesy.” She crossed her arms, plainly closing that direction of their conversation. “We should be there already, what’s going on?” As if in response to her question, the elevator car bumped to a stop, the doors opening.
Rocky’s smile returned as suddenly as it had left. “Here we are. You first?”
Scully shook her head, motioning him to step out ahead of her.
He obeyed without protest, though he tossed back one last comment. “Methinks you doth argue way too much.”
Scully rolled her eyes, following the other man on to the convention floor; sure enough, there were those familiar doors from that morning. Rocky got to them first, he opened the right side, sweeping her in and following close behind. The first thing she noticed was that pretty much everyone was standing on one side of the room, their attention focused to the front. Scully could see a series of flashbulbs going off, and there was scattered laughter and applause.
“Uh-oh…” Hardin groaned. “They’ve already started. What am I going to do?”
He hurried off in the same direction as the crowd, Scully right behind him. They angled themselves in towards the front far side; she excused both of them as Hardin was silent in his determination to get up front as quickly as possible. He finally came to an abrupt halt, then spun to face her.
“Hey, next time, give me some warning—” she began testily, but Rocky interrupted her, pointing up and behind him.
“Is that him? What’s he doing here?!” Rocky hissed in her ear, a look of anguish on his face.
Scully backed away, and tried to look over his shoulder. “Who are you talking about?” Rocky ignored her, turning back to the small stage set up front not far from where they now stood. He looked in shock, and she was out of patience. What the hell is going on? She followed his gaze, and both eyebrows went up at what she saw. No wonder the shock on Hardin’s face, hers probably looked the same way. Somehow, there was Mulder, on stage, posing for photographs. He was smiling, turning this way and that, and though she could see some kind of announcer out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Scully could only stare at her partner, and at what he wasn’t wearing: no shoes, his feet were bare. So were his chest, and arms. He only had one item of clothing on; a pair of sleek, silver-grey lycra leggings. They covered him from waist to ankle, but they didn’t hide much. Somewhere, between being mortified, and angry, and mightily curious, Scully was impressed.
She sensed Rocky start to speak, and she grabbed his arm tightly. He was surprised enough not to go any further, and looked down at her.
“What is it? That’s supposed to be me up there, not him. And you didn’t tell me he was here in Vegas—” He spoke accusingly.
“You didn’t ask,” Scully reminded him. “But if you interrupt now, you’ll cause more trouble than you both need—let’s wait just a bit. I…I know him—he’ll find a way to not have to speak, or stay up there any longer than he absolutely has to. You may look alike, but you don’t sound alike.” The couple in front of her turned around, frowning at her and Rocky for too much conversation. She tugged on his arm. “Come on, before someone sees you.” He only resisted briefly, but then started to move away quickly, head down. She was right behind as they searched for a quiet spot they could still watch for the end of the photo session and a chance to replace Mulder with Rocky. I can’t wait to hear this one…
It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later, but it seemed so much longer to Scully. Rocky fidgeted the entire time, muttering to himself now and then, but she didn’t really know what he said as she was too busy thinking about how to handle Mulder. Should I tell him I saw him on stage in full view and jeopardizing his job with the government? I can’t let Rocky meet him on their own, it’s not right to have him tell Mulder how he ended up involved in our case. Will he be embarrassed that I’ve seen him like this? He doesn’t seem to mind everyone else leering at him—he’s probably loving every minute of it—and what the hell was he thinking, participating in this very public demonstration? At least, (if I can control Rocky) everyone will always think they were watching an adult movie actor named Rocky Hardin, not Fox Mulder, the FBI agent. She suddenly thought of Skinner, and shuddered—if he ever found out, he’d have a stroke, right after he shot them both for letting it happen. And wouldn’t Cigarette Smoking Man love to hear about this? The agent in charge of the X-files discredited, and at his own hand. Mulder, we’ve got to get you out of here! She sighed, and before her thoughts went any further, the session ended and Mulder-as-Rocky bowed slightly and left the stage. The second her partner turned to make his exit Rocky headed straight for him with a single-mindedness of purpose that made Scully think of Mulder. She followed; they both moved quickly and as unobtrusively as possible.
Mulder ducked through a side door that seemed to open by itself for him, the unseen force closing it as soon as he was through it. She saw Rocky fix his gaze on that door and lengthen his stride; she knew exactly what he planned to do. “You can’t just barge in, you don’t know who, or what is in there!” Scully struggled to keep up with him.
He shook his head. “I don’t care, I have to get to the next part of this event, not him—there’s going to be questions! This is my time, my movie, not his!”
He sounded more anguished than angry, and Scully couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for him. Rocky had been turned out of his room, told that he was perhaps a suspect in her case, was very late to his important publicity event, only to find out someone else was impersonating him. “I’m sorry all this is happening, I can’t believe that he would do this—I’m sure it’s not personal. Remember, you were late, maybe he was just in the wrong place at the right time, and you would have been in trouble if he didn’t step in!” Scully tried to defend Mulder and calm Rocky at the same time.
“Yeah, maybe, he was trying to help me, but I wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t made me that way.” Rocky reminded her as they finally arrived at the door. He twisted the knob and stepped in without breaking stride.
Scully took a deep breath and was right behind him.
“You were great!” Jessica enthused as she shut the door behind Mulder’s re-entry, and turned to smile at him.
“Yeah, thanks.” Mulder just barely acknowledged her appreciative words, he had other things on his mind, more important ones—like getting his own clothes back on. He didn’t even care that she was there in the same room with him; he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the lycra leggings and started to push them over his hips. They’d been more comfortable than he thought they would be, and he decided the faster he got out of them, the sooner he could get out of here, and the likelihood of him wanting a pair of his own would be lessened. The sound of the door opening stopped him in mid-strip, and he straightened abruptly, pulling the leggings back up. Jessica spun around at the same time, obviously just as surprised as he was at the interruption. Two people entered the room, and Mulder promptly forgot all about Jessica. He was face to face with—
“Rocky! Finally!” Jessica recovered first.
“Scully?” Mulder whispered in horror.
“You!” Who had to be Rocky Hardin, didn’t know his name.
“Oh, Mulder—what…how…for God’s…” Scully couldn’t finish a sentence, and that worried Mulder all the more.
“Holy shit…” Jessica breathed, staring outright. “You guys are scary.”
She was looking back and forth between him and Rocky Hardin like she was at a tennis match, her eyes big. He glanced at his supposed lookalike, and shook his head. Fringe on a leather jacket? Not in my closet. He didn’t really have anything in common with this other guy, did he? Mulder frowned at Hardin, and was disturbed to see basically the same expression on the other man’s face. True, they had the same hair color, and eye color, were pretty close to the same height and weight, the facial structure was eerily similar, and yeah, he didn’t seem to tan either. But there were differences…like clothes—oh, that’s significant. Surely there were some others…
“Look, whoever you are—I…I don’t think I like this, but there’s no time to argue about it now—”
Hardin interrupted Mulder’s thoughts. “I haven’t said anything, yet,” he protested. “But now that I think about it, how did you acquaint yourself with my partner?” He looked suspiciously at both Hardin and Scully. What was she doing with this guy? How did they get together in a hotel this size?
“Mulder, he’s—”
Hardin shook his head impatiently, interrupting Scully, too. “She came to my room. It doesn’t matter right now. She said I could do my promo. Now, give me my outfit so I can go finish it!” He took a step towards Mulder, his hand out.
Mulder glared at him. “What was she doing in your room?” He made no move towards changing his clothes.
Scully broke in, sounding truly annoyed. “‘She’ is here, and very unhappy that no one will speak to her directly!”
He turned towards his partner. “Well?”
“He’s part of …of why we’re here.”
She gave him a pointed look, and he frowned in confusion. “How?”
Hardin sighed loudly, and he saw Scully glance at him. They exchanged looks of sympathy and pleading, then she turned towards him again.
“Please, Mulder, put on your suit, and give Mr. Hardin his…his, um, outfit. I’ll explain everything while we wait for him to finish his promotional appearance.”
“Yeah, honey, give him the leggings. And where’s that hair stuff? They’re probably starting to get pissed that Rocky’s not out there answering questions, and you don’t want anyone to come in here looking for him!” Jessica broke in, unexpectedly the voice of reason.
Mulder stiffened slightly, as the realization struck him. “I have to stay in here while you’re out there, they can’t see both of us at the same time.”
Jessica nodded, “That’s right, hon, at least for awhile, till everyone’s distracted with Rocky, again.”
He sighed. He was being pushed, and he didn’t like it, and what was the meaning of those knowing looks between Hardin and his partner? They hadn’t know each other long enough for that kind of communication. He had to know, and he dreaded finding out. But why? “All right, but this isn’t finished.” He spoke warningly to the other man.
“Of course not, I promised Miss Scully we’d finish right after the promo. Now, give me my outfit!”
Mulder again hitched his fingers in the waistband of the leggings, then paused. They were all watching him. “You could at least turn around!” Scully, Jessica and Hardin all rolled their eyes at the same time, and turned around. He ditched the leggings as fast as he could, and pulled his knit boxers, pants and shirt on just as quickly. “Okay.” Hardin practically spun around in mid-air and dove for the spandex. He didn’t bother asking any of them to turn around, Hardin just began pulling off his clothes like he was trying for a disrobing record. Mulder turned away, though he briefly wondered if he and Hardin were similar in any other, more personal ways… He shuddered. Don’t go there, Mulder!
He looked at Scully; she had wandered over to one of the other tables and was fiddling with some bit of costume she’d picked it up. It was a mixture of leather and feathers, but not strange enough to be holding Scully’s full attention for this long. She was avoiding him, at least until they were alone. He suppressed a sigh; behind him he could hear the sounds of Hardin, with Jessica helping, prepare to go out and finish the promo he’d started.
“How’s my hair?”
“Great. Straighten that. Now look at me.”
“Doesn’t a harness go with this?”
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t wear it…..you look fab in it, come on, let’s go.”
Mulder figured by this last from Jessica that it was time for Hardin to make his appearance. He turned around, just as the other man was headed for the door, Jessica on his heels. Hardin was wearing the leather harness, it added a dimension that Mulder just hadn’t been prepared to deal with.
“Miss Scully? I’ll be back in half an hour, then I’m all yours.” Hardin called to his partner, as he opened the door.
He saw Scully look up, and soften her expression as she caught Hardin’s eye.
“I—we—will be waiting. And, good luck.”
“Thanks!”
And then they were gone, and he and Scully were alone. He turned to face her squarely. She was looking back at him, those laser beam blue eyes fixed on his face. He felt like she was reading his thoughts, and he didn’t have to say a word. They were silent for a time. Scully spoke first.
“Honey?”
Mulder was startled. She’s calling me honey? Then it dawned on him. She was recalling Jessica’s earlier endearment, and sounding annoyed by it. He shrugged mentally. “It was a bribe. She wanted me to go do that photography session and thereby save her butt. I guess it’s appropriate, because Hardin was late because of you.” He folded his arms. “Care to explain?” Now he sounded annoyed.
Scully moved away to seat herself in one of the folding chairs, crossing her legs and settling in for their half hour wait. “It’s very simple, really. I went to check out Shaun Patrick O’Malley’s room. When I let myself in with the key management gave me, there was Mr. Hardin. In bed. Asleep. The hotel made a mistake and checked him into that room—I haven’t spoken to them about it yet, but they probably thought that the room itself didn’t matter. He explained to me who he was, and why he was here in Las Vegas. I told him he’d have to move out of his room, and since I didn’t want to damage his career and to fend off a potential lawsuit, I allowed him to make this publicity appearance. I suppose there is a very small, outside chance that he is an associate of O’Malley’s, but I don’t think so. He promised he would check right out of the room as soon as the appearance was over, and I’m with him to make sure of that—I also want to make sure the hotel treats him well because they are ultimately at fault for his inconvenience. That brings us to right here.”
“Not quite. You didn’t mention his distinct resemblance to someone you know very well.” Mulder didn’t want to dissect their similarities, but it was odd Scully didn’t bring it up at all.
She didn’t answer him right away, when she did, her tone was very deliberate, as if she was weighing each word. “Of course, I saw it immediately. As I spoke to him, and observed him, I realized that he is not even vaguely like you, on all the levels that count. I’m surprised that you’re not enjoying this more—it seems to be right up your alley.”
Mulder wanted to ask her— what levels? Something deep inside him lurched; Scully’s voice had been very dispassionate, why did her pronouncement make him feel almost dizzy? She’d changed the subject, turning it back to him and obviously did not want to discuss what she meant. He took a deep breath, and silently told his stomach to stop tap dancing. “I guess because I’m the object of study, and I haven’t had a chance to think about all the implications and possibilities. These are pretty bizarre circumstances.” He gestured, taking in the room and towards the convention outside.
“True. I’m sure you two will have a very interesting conversation, when you have a chance. We do have to make sure he’s not involved in this case, but I’m just dying to hear how you ended up in grey spandex on stage at a pornography convention. What were you using for a brain? It’s quite a chance you took.” She shook her head warningly. “And if anyone at the Bureau found out—you know your enemies would love to use that against you.”
Mulder sighed. “Believe me, my whole life flashed before my eyes, then crashed and burned like no X-file has ever made it. But, it wasn’t me out there, it was Rocky Hardin, and I figured, if I didn’t have to talk, what the hell…tough decision for a real rule-keeper like me.” He grinned slyly at her. “It’d almost be worth seeing the look on Skinner’s face, when he found out—right before he had the heart attack. Besides, that photo session was the extent of my career in the adult movie business—it’s not nearly as exciting as the FBI.” Scully raised her eyebrows, but didn’t comment. “Anyway, maybe I will talk with Hardin.” Mulder nodded, warming to the whole situation a bit. He couldn’t help it, his curiosity was getting the best of him, as it often did. “You know, it is a known fact that we all have a non-familial twin somewhere…” The sound of laughter interrupted him. He frowned. “What…?”
Scully stopped chuckling. “Nothing. I’m sorry, but could you just keep that little talk between you and Rocky? I’ve had enough of that for a while. Why don’t you tell me about your interview with O’Malley?”
“All right. …” And he spent the next twenty minutes filling her in on his venture to the Las Vegas Police Department. Mulder finally decided to perch on the edge of the table near Scully, now so into the alien gamblers that he’d temporarily forgotten his own odd feelings from earlier. He finished up by describing her next duty for their case. “…and I’ll want you to physically examine him, Scully. He says they opened—” The door suddenly flew open, and they both jumped to their feet, then relaxed. It was Rocky Hardin, looking excited enough to fly across the room, and he practically did. There was a big smile on his face, and he went straight to Scully, his arms open wide. Before either of them could move, Hardin scooped her up into what Mulder now noticed were more muscular arms than his, and planted a kiss on both of her cheeks.
“Mr. Hardin, please! Put me down, I’m a federal agent! I gather it went well?”
Her words were stern, but Mulder saw her smile over Hardin’s shoulder. The other man did as he was told, too energized to stand still anyway.
“It went great!! Thanks so much for letting me do it—”
Mulder watched the other man pace around the room, quick and graceful, shining with sweat and enthusiasm. On Rocky, it looked good—and so very different than he. His shoulders drooped a bit—Scully had practically out and out told him that he was much better than Hardin, that they only looked alike, and looks aren’t important. But he could see Scully watching Hardin practically dance across the room, and right this minute he would trade every intellectual accomplishment he had achieved to have her look at him like that, just once. Mulder, she’s your partner, if she looked at you like you were steak on the grill, you both would be in big trouble…and suddenly the dizziness, and tap dancing stomach made sense: the lines of partnership and working for the Bureau had been compromised, and he had Rocky Hardin to blame, or was it thank? The tap dancing changed into gymnastics, and Mulder put a hand to his stomach.
“Mulder? Are you all right?”
He started. His partner’s voice had come from very close by. Looking down, he realized that she’d moved to right in front of him, and was scanning his face intently. “Yeah, I’m…fine. Why do you ask?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hardin finally stand still; the other man had a concerned look on his face, too. “I’m fine,” he repeated firmly. “Isn’t it time we moved on?” Now it was his turn to change the subject.
Scully gave him a strange look, but didn’t argue. She turned to face Hardin. “He’s right, Rocky. I kept my part of the bargain, now it’s your turn.”
Hardin grinned at her. “Okay—I just gotta change back into my clothes.” He started to walk towards the chair where he’d flung them in his undressing frenzy, but changed direction mid-stride. Hardin, his hand out, made a beeline straight for Mulder, who took it hesitantly. For a moment they looked each other straight in the eye, hands clasped in a firm handshake whether the FBI agent liked it or not. Mulder stood his ground, and refused to catch the other’s infectious smile. Hardin didn’t seem to notice.
“Hey, I don’t know your name. It’s not Rocky, is it? That’d be too weird.”
Scully coughed, and Mulder tossed her a glare before answering the other man. “No, it’s not Rocky. It’s Fox Mulder. Special Agent Fox Mulder.”
“Miss Scully never mentioned that the man who looked like me worked with her. Frankly, the way she described you, I thought ‘saint’ had to be part of your name somewhere. ‘Fox’, huh? That sure fits both of us!” He burst out laughing as he released Mulder’s hand, and went back to change his clothes.
Mulder looked at Scully, who was now very interested in a pair of satin shorts hanging from a clothes rack on the opposite side of the room from both of them. Scully had given Hardin the impression that he, Mulder the outcast, was a saint?! His expression gentled as he looked at her, fingering the satin with an intensity she usually reserved for dead bodies. The smallest spark of hope flickered inside him—he’d hardly dared to imagine himself discussing his stomach gymnastics with her before—Scully’d always been all work—but maybe, now, there was something to have a serious conversation about? He swallowed hard; his liver had joined his stomach in trying out for the Olympic gymnastic team. I, who have faced six foot fluke worms, vampires, fat sucking mutants, cigarette smoking men and even possibly the devil himself, without blinking an eye, am scared of discussing any of this with my partner. What am I going to do? Am I making too much of this? He didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“Mulder? We’re leaving, so keep your head down, we don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.”
Scully broke into his thoughts, but not really looking at him as she motioned for him to follow her and Hardin, who was now dressed. He obeyed, walking behind both of them on the quickest path through the convention ballroom, mind still reeling with the possibilities.
Room 6226, MGM Grand Hotel
10:12 p.m.
Special Agent Dana Scully walked to the window of her hotel room and drew open the curtains. Light in rainbow colors spilled in, gold and green and blue and white and red, and she didn’t bother turning on the lamp. It was nice to be back in the relative peace and quiet of her room, and she sank down on the edge of the bed closest to the window. She turned off her thoughts, and just sat, watching the lights and what they did to the night sky above this part of Nevada. Scully kicked off her suede pumps, then slipped out of her blazer, tossing it at the chair by the table. It missed, but she didn’t care. She took a long, slow, deep breath, and allowed one thought to sneak through the ‘relax, Dana’ barrier: I guess I should take a shower….but she made no move to get up. The lights were such a pleasant distraction, she just might sit there all night. There was a sudden thud from the room next door, the one that Mulder occupied, and she started slightly, glancing at the connecting door. It was slightly ajar, and she considered calling out, but changed her mind. She just wasn’t quite ready for a conversation she knew they needed to have.
Mulder had kept giving her the most peculiar looks during the rest of their work day, mostly when he thought she couldn’t see him. Scully had caught enough of them, and frankly they’d made her squirm. They’d spent the rest of the afternoon dealing with (relatively speaking) mundane matters: both she and her partner had taken Rocky to see the hotel manager—they had immediately found him another room; the last she’d seen of Rocky, he was being led to his new accommodations, and the manager was on the phone ordering him ‘a bloody big fruit basket.’” She smiled to herself, Rocky had flashed her a look over his shoulder as he went with the bellboy that had a distinctly wicked cast to it—he was obviously enjoying himself. She’d called in a request for anything the Bureau’s considerable resources had on Rocky, but she sincerely doubted he had any kind of a record—but you couldn’t judge by appearances, and he had chosen an offbeat career path to follow, and in another country. Mulder had gotten right to business as if the last couple of hours hadn’t happened, and she hadn’t argued, using her cellular phone to call the Las Vegas Police Department and arrange her own interview and medical exam for Shaun Patrick O’Malley. Mulder had firmly announced that he would take up the search of O’Malley’s old room—he hadn’t mentioned Rocky—and was there any hotel staff member she thought he should speak to? There were three, she gave him their names, and he used a house phone to call Mr. Callahan and ask him to make the necessary arrangements.
They had gone their separate ways for the second time that day, and she’d almost told her partner to stay out of trouble, but something had stopped her—perhaps it had been all those peculiar looks. Hours later, they reconvened at the Coyote Cafe (one of the hotel’s many restaurants) for dinner and a mutual reporting session. She’d found enough in her preliminary exam (odd scars, soft spots, strange reflex reactions, among others) to warrant taking O’Malley to a more sophisticated medical facility for further tests, and had stood her ground with Detective Wagner when he’d dragged his feet on handling the details for getting O’Malley to the local hospital. She’d wanted it then, he insisted it had to be the next day ‘sometime’—they compromised, he would push the paperwork through and meet her at 9:30 a.m., sharp. Mulder had found a button under the bed and a ten dollar chip in the nightstand (in other words, nothing) during his search of O’Malley’s room, and had questioned the three hotel employees with enough depth that he could dispute and dismiss Scully’s only slight suspicions about them. Business finished, at least temporarily, they’d sat at the table, Scully absently sipping her tea and her partner playing with his piece of apple pie a la mode. She finally hadn’t been able to bear it, and asked her question: ‘Had he seen, and talked to, Rocky, er, Mr. Hardin?’
Mulder had continued picking apples out of his pie and sliding them through the vanilla ice cream before he popped them in his mouth as he’d answered. Scully almost hadn’t heard a word he said, there was something strangely…compelling…about how he’d been eating that damn apple pie. He’d kept his reply short—yes, they’d spoken while he’d been waiting for Scully to return from the police station.
They’d discussed enough of their lives and background to decide that they had nothing in common beyond the physicality of their resemblance. The only characteristic that they shared was incredible memory power—Rocky memorized scripts, articles, book passages with as much ease as Mulder did his text books and case files. Scully hadn’t been able to stop the laugh from escaping; when Mulder had looked questioningly at her, she’d clued him in—‘what script?’ Then they’d both laughed, breaking the tension that had been swirling around them all afternoon.
She and Mulder had even relaxed enough to take the monorail in back of their hotel, which dropped them at Bally’s Hotel, on the Strip. They’d walked around a bit, people watching and enjoying the immense electrical display up and down the street—it was quite a sight, you had to admit it, no matter how jaded you were.
After an hour or so, they’d caught the return monorail and finally headed for their rooms. As she’d put her key in the door, she’d hesitated, looking up and over to where Mulder was doing the same thing; suddenly the tension was back, and she’d mumbled a quick ‘good night.’ She heard him respond, ‘yeah, no wandering around here any more, not safe…’ and then she was inside. Scully’d gone straight to the window; if she’d noticed the connecting door open before, she would have closed it right then. But it was still ajar, and she could hear the sounds of Mulder turning on the television and rummaging in his suitcase, and suddenly, silence. Then, a tap at the connecting door made her jump.
“Scully?”
She’d turned away from the window at the sound of the tap to scoot around on the bed to face the door. She saw Mulder leaning in, head down. “Yes?”
“You, ah, have time to get breakfast in the morning before you see O’Malley?”
He finally looked up, faint hope reflected in his raised eyebrows.
She just stared at him for a minute. Well, either you’re going to pretend nothing strange has happened today, that neither one us heard and said things we haven’t before, or this is a neutral opening line. Well, Mulder, I’m gonna give you a break—take it, you don’t get many in Las Vegas. She smiled, hoping he couldn’t see the apprehension in the gesture, and waved him in. “Come here, Mulder. Please?”
“Of course, Scully.”
He pushed the door open wider and walked in, perching on the edge of the dresser. She could see him and his profile as it reflected in the wide mirror above the dresser. The lights from his room and outside were enough to have this conversation by, any brighter and she would have probably stopped right there, but she plunged ahead. “Mulder, what were you thinking today, at the convention?”
He just looked at her for a moment, and she thought she saw his shoulders droop a bit. “I told you, Scully, I wasn’t—not enough anyway. Sometimes you just have to go for it, even though there’s a thousand reasons not to. Maybe the devil made me do it—”
Scully frowned, interrupting him. She hadn’t been clear enough, and now Mulder was taking a frivolous turn. No, not this time. “The devil we’ve met doesn’t have time for that kind of silliness, Mulder.”
“It was a joke, Scully.” He pointed that out gently.
“I know, but I don’t feel like joking now.” She took a deep breath. “I feel like talking. Are you game?”
Mulder shrugged. “This is Vegas—let’s talk.”
His words were casual, but she knew from the way his body stiffened he was taking her seriously. Good. Here we go… “I meant, what were you thinking about, afterwards, when we were waiting for Rocky to finish his appearance—you looked at me so strangely…’ Scully faltered. This was going to be tougher than she thought; she and Mulder just didn’t discuss their feelings about each other—no matter what they were. They discussed many things, and argued easily, and often, but the friendship, caring, trust, love—they were all shown with actions, not words. But self-examinations and revelations occurred at the strangest times, when you least expected, or wanted them, and were inspired by the strangest of messengers.
Who would have thought a pornographic movie actor visiting from Germany would have goaded her into taking a clearer look at her partner? Describing Mulder to Rocky had forced her to think about and use her own insights on another person in a way that no one else had ever asked her, or cared about. Hardin could not have cared less about what a great federal agent Mulder was—he’d only wanted to know how they were alike, and then he’d reasoned that he couldn’t have lived up to her opinion of his lookalike. She’d had to agree; she thought Mulder was incredibly gifted, and special, though those hadn’t been her exact words, Rocky had cut right to the heart of them—her heart. Yes, I did ‘argue way too much.’ And if she had even an inkling of what was making Mulder act weirder than usual, then Rocky had probably jolted him out of emotional stasis, too. Obviously, it was going to be up to her to coax Mulder into admitting—what, she still didn’t know, and was not quite sure herself, except she did know that there was a change in the air that they had to clear. How many times—about other subjects—had one tried to reassure the other enough to share whatever was bothering them, and they’d refused, for whatever reason: self-defense, mutual protection, fear of being too close. They both could use a dose of Rocky’s unabashed, and unthinking, enthusiasm, and just for once, damn the consequences.
Scully looked at Mulder; his jacket and tie must have been discarded before he’d come into her room, his white shirt and light colored pants glowed in the muted illumination coming in through the window. He was still perched on the edge of the dresser, hands at his sides, and trying to look patient—only a lightly tapping finger gave him away. Then suddenly, he moved, a swift, smooth crouch, then a hop up more fully onto the dresser, and he was still again. In that moment, he’d had every bit of grace that Rocky had shown—how had she never seen it before? What else was waiting to be known, significant, or minor detail, about her partner? I want to know. Does he want to know about me? Maybe not, but as of tonight the wondering will be over. You’re taking quite a chance here, Dana—this is personal, with a capital ‘P’, and if things don’t go as planned—as I hope, she corrected, this is emotional, not predictable. Is the foundation of your relationship strong enough to put aside this discussion and continue as efficiently as before, or will I have ruined a good thing? But if I don’t ask, I may be missing a ‘good thing’—the best thing that can happen to anyone. At least I’ll know I tried, and that regret, at least, will not be one of mine. I will trust Mulder to meet my challenge, and I will have the faith in our relationship. At least he hasn’t tried to leave, or refused to listen. Buoyed by even that faint affirmation, she took a deep breath, and pushed together enough of her scattered courage to keep going. “…and you kept looking at me strangely, all day. Will you tell me what was in those looks? Please, I really need to know…”
“If you will tell me why you would hardly look at me at all…”
She’d sensed Mulder’s hesitation before he answered; and his response was a difficult question, but fair, considering the circumstances, and a perfect counterpoint to hers. She knew then they were both dancing on the same obtuse path. Scully decided to set a good example with a straight answer, otherwise this could go on all night with no progress. I don’t need to know the destination yet, but we’ve got to get somewhere with this!
“Because you’ve taken on a whole new dimension for me, Mulder, and it’s one that I think I want to explore. Frankly, it scares me—uncharted territory, having no idea of what my reception will be—but if I’ve learned one thing from you, it’s that my fears will never be worth not taking the chance to discover something new and valuable…so here goes: I want more than a working relationship—I want another kind of partnership besides the one we have. I…want to know how you feel about me, honestly, and if it’s not the same, it’s…okay.” It’s not okay, but I would work at making it okay—I don’t want to lose him completely, I’ll take what I can get. She swallowed hard, apprehension making her throat even drier than the Vegas heat could have affected it. “I want to know that the Phoebes, and the Bambis and the Detective Whites of the world don’t stand a chance against me.”
“I…didn’t know you cared, or even noticed any of them, beyond the cases they were involved in.” There was a look of wonderment on Mulder’s face as he spoke. “But, I’m really glad that you do…I…was thinking that I’d give anything to have you look at me the way you looked at Rocky after he’d picked you up and…kissed you. Scully, I feel…that we’ve been more than working partners for a long time, but we just didn’t see it, until today.”
Scully had to strain to hear him, his voice was practically a whisper. She leaned forward, staring fiercely at his face, willing him to look back at her with the same intensity. She could hear the sense of time lost in his choice of words, and she wasn’t going to let him look back. The implications hadn’t fully registered yet, but she knew that he at least shared enough of her feelings to look to the future with her. It was time to go forward, and there was only one way to do that, for both of them… “Let me in, Mulder…and I’m yours, if you want me….”
“I’ll try…and I do….very much.”
It was a start, and Scully smiled at her partner, putting as much encouragement and love in the gesture as she possibly could. He smiled back, shyly, but there was an amazing light of beginning joy in his eyes, and she figured if he felt half the emotion she did right now, his heart was probably ready to leap out of his chest. Mulder slid off the dresser, more slowly than he’d hopped on earlier, and stood up straight. He made a slight, uncertain gesture with his hands, and took a hesitant step towards her. It was enough—she pushed herself up off the bed and was at his side instantly, wrapping her arms around his waist. She held him so tightly, Scully thought sure he was going to tell her he couldn’t breathe and to let go, but he didn’t. Mulder pulled her even closer, and laid his cheek on the top of her head. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest, belying the stillness of the moment. Her heart was keeping time with his, and that was the way she always wanted it to be.
“Scully?” He murmured into her hair.
“Mm-hmm?”
“May I pick you up and kiss you?”
She felt him lift his head, and she turned her face up to his. Mulder’s expression was serious, but the joy was burning steadily now in the hazel eyes, and a flicker of desire had joined forces with the first emotion. She tangled her fingers in his shirt, feeling his back muscles tense at their touch. Scully smiled at him, and tilted her head enticingly. “I thought you’d never ask…”
Mulder let go of her with one arm, bending down to slide it under Scully’s knees and lift her up; she’d released his waist, moving her hands to gently encircle his neck, her eyes never leaving his face. He carried her over to the chair by the window and sat down carefully. She’d lifted her feet to let them hang over the arm of the chair, and when they were seated, she leaned in close enough for him to lower his head to easily touch his lips to hers.
He kissed her gently, slowly; her mouth was soft and full, and he just wanted to feel it next to his own for awhile. He did take his arm from under her knees and shift it to cross her waist, pulling her even closer. Now that he had her so near to him, knowing the depth of caring and courage and maybe love? that it had taken to speak of her true feelings—and that was something neither one of them did easily—he wasn’t going to let go.
Mulder had hardly dared hope—in fact, hadn’t even considered—that when she’d told him she wanted to talk, that this would be their destination. He’d been thinking that he was going to have to figure out a way to keep how he felt about her to himself, to not even give her a hint, because she would have come up with all the reasons why they shouldn’t be together, and never mind how she actually felt. And at the end of her cool, logical argument, he still wouldn’t have known if she’d agreed with his feelings or not.
The thought of going back to Washington, seeing her every day and having to remember the moment when he’d realized exactly how special she was to him—and had said and done nothing about it, had been killing him. He’d had the best of intentions for not speaking up—working partners shouldn’t have an intimate relationship, it would affect their careers, and so on—but now he could finally admit to himself that he’d been just plain scared to ask her. I’ve been hurt, so many times, but I think Scully rejecting me would have been the worst…but to never know at all, when there could even be a breath of a tiny chance that she might have some kind of feeling for me…and just when I thought, ‘I don’t give a damn if she laughs all the way back to the Bureau, I’ve got to try… she beat me to it. And what do you know, she didn’t laugh at all. My luck’s changing for the better all the time.
Mulder pulled away from their kiss, carefully, but only the briefest of distances, and didn’t open his eyes. He could feel his partner’s puzzlement, and whispered her name reassuringly. “Scully…”
“Yes?”
From her answer he could tell she hadn’t moved at all, and he could feel the warmth of her face close to his. “You are the bravest human being I know, and I am the luckiest, because you care for me.” He opened his eyes, and looked into hers; a beam of light edging through the window made them crystal blue, and they were locked on to his own. Her auburn hair was spilling down her forehead, and he reached up to stroke it with one finger, then push it tenderly back into place. She smiled up at him, and he didn’t think anything could be more beautiful. This time, when he leaned down to kiss her, he let the power of his feelings express itself in his intensity.
Appreciative, but not satisfied with just kissing her lips, he teased her mouth open with his tongue, and when she let him in, he touched, then tangled his tongue with hers. He felt her hands ease up his neck and clasp the back of his head, pulling him down even closer. Mulder caressed her cheek, and he felt her lean into the gesture, even though her lips never left his. They kissed for a long time, finally parting lips to explore other areas of each other’s faces; Mulder discovered that kissing her eyes made her sigh happily, and when Scully had reached to kiss just beneath his ear, it made him shiver with enjoyment. But not once did they go any farther below than under the other’s chin.
When there wasn’t another unkissed inch on Scully’s face, Mulder pushed back a bit, regretfully, but it was time for one more question. His body was starting to send him a very distinct message, and it was getting too difficult to ignore. He wanted more, he wanted to kiss the rest of her, and make love to her, and even though his brain was telling him to take it easy, this was still so new, so fragile, and (he wanted to do this right, didn’t he?) his body was starting to win the battle. It was the measure of his respect for his partner (in all, now) above anything else he was feeling, that he told his body to shut up, and though he would venture to ask Scully about the next step, (he could hope, couldn’t he?) he would abide by her answer. I don’t want to do anything to make her regret tonight…it’s whatever I can do for her that’s important.
“Scully?” His voice was firm, and she sat up a bit, a faint frown of confusion flickering over her features. He smiled, and used the gesture to hide his sudden apprehension. “I want…I want you. And need you, but if you aren’t sure, about something, anything, this is the time to say so. I really want to show you how I feel, and I love kissing you, but I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss your throat, your shoulders, your arms, your…”
Here he paused; his eyes had slowly trailed down each part of her body as he’d mentioned it, and he made himself stop. Scully hadn’t said anything; granted he hadn’t let her get a word in edgewise, and it was time for her to speak. He took a deep breath, and it left him shaky instead of being a calming effect. “Tell me, Scully, I have to know. We’re going to do this however you want.”
She shook her head, and his chest tightened. Was she upset? Oh no, already? Mulder, you jerk, get in there and fix it, no matter what… Her voice suddenly registered, and he forced himself to relax and listen.
“No, Mulder…it’s however we want. I would never want you to do something you didn’t want to, and…” she suddenly looked away, and he could see her face color slightly. “I want to kiss your shoulders, too….and other…places.” She covered her face with her hands, and he leaned forward to kiss the fingers on each hand tenderly. She’d as much as said she wanted what he did, and he found her embarrassed but decisive statement of her needs just one more reason to fill him with admiration. “You’re right, we’re in this together…”
Scully reached up and took his face in her small hands. “And don’t you forget it.”
He shook his head. “Never.” He mouthed the word, and that made it all the more powerful. She nodded in understanding.
“Now that that’s settled, may I offer you a shoulder?” She sat up slightly, and shifted her left shoulder toward him. It was smooth, and pale, and covered only by the narrow strap of her silk tank top.
He wanted nothing more than to wander over it with his mouth, tasting her skin, slipping under the silk shirt…but…. “Scully, what about the Bureau…this isn’t even vaguely policy…” He stopped abruptly, silenced by her finger on his lips. She had a mildly exasperated look on her face, but there was a smile, too.
“Mulder, I’m beginning to think that you don’t really want to do this. If you’ve changed your mind, just say so, it’s okay, we can slow down. And if you’re afraid, of me, or doing something wrong, don’t be—I’ll be with you, just like always. As far as work goes—” She shrugged. “We’ll figure that out when we have to. I know I usually analyze everything, but not this time. This is the best thing that could have happened to me, too, and I’m not going to give you up. You make me happy, and I deserve it. And I’m going to make you glad to be with me, too. Of course it’s going to be a gamble, but if Las Vegas isn’t the place to take your best shot, nowhere else is!”
She finally finished speaking, and sat looking at him, one eyebrow raised, her mouth quirked in a smile, and best of all, love in her eyes. Mulder grinned back. “Well, G-woman, when you’re right, you’re right.” His eyes narrowed, a wicked gleam in them. “If I lean this way to kiss your shoulder, you should be just about able to reach my throat. Will that do?”
Scully grinned back. “For now….”
Once satisfied that they’d considered the other’s feelings and thoughts—for this new aspect to their relationship, for what they were about to do—and were at least on the same wavelength, she was ready to set about making her first sexual encounter with Mulder a memorable experience—for both of them, she hoped. As far as she was concerned, her partner had a talent for kissing that even his prowess at solving cases for the FBI couldn’t match. Talk about ‘investigative services’! So far, so good. And she was looking forward to finding out what other talents he’d been hiding behind and with those baggy suits and loose jeans he always wore and she’d only had a promising glimpse of in grey spandex…
Right now, though, she was still in her partner’s lap, her head was tilted backwards and he was alternately kissing her shoulder and nibbling at her earlobe. It was a delightful sensation, and she could’ve sat there for another hour at least, but in this particular position, there just wasn’t enough for her to do, and since she was feeling so wonderful because of Mulder, it made her want to start showing her appreciation.
Scully brought her head forward (Mulder didn’t miss a nibble) so she could stretch her arms out and wrap them around his shoulders and back. Now that she was even closer, he moved on to planting tiny, moist kisses along the bit of back he could now reach. This too, was very pleasant, but Scully had an ulterior motive.
She slid her right hand all the way down his side, feeling the warmth of his skin under the linen, until she reached his waist. Then she took firm hold of his shirt and pulled it just free enough of his pants so she could slip her hand inside. Scully’s left hand gently cupped the back of his neck, letting it follow the movements of his head as he continued kissing her. She began exploring his back with her other hand, running her fingers up and down soft skin that covered long, lean muscles, massaging gently now, then raking her nails lightly along his spine. This made him arch up and away from her, and a soft gasp escaped his lips. He paused, panting slightly as he shook his finger at her.
“That…was not fair…you moved on, without telling me.”
“I just wanted to let you know how wonderful you’re making me feel…” Scully smiled at him, but her hand hadn’t stopped its survey of her partner’s back, and every circle she made went lower down, culminating with one finger easing itself under the waistband of his trousers and sliding all the way around to his hip. There she paused, and looked into a pair of very curious, very anticipatory, hazel eyes very close to her own; Scully could feel him quivering, probably wondering where she was going to go from here, but letting her decide in her own time. Well, Dana, don’t just sit there—he’s willing to let you make the next move. Weren’t you wondering something earlier? Time to find out!
“Okay, Mulder—just so there’s no confusion—” Scully grinned, then began disentangling herself from her partner’s clothing and grip. He tried to hold on, but she was just as determined, and wiggled out of his clinging arms. She stood up, then motioned for him to do the same. She sat back in the chair, her posture very straight, but legs crossed invitingly at the knee. “—here’s the next step. I would very much…very much like to see you out of those clothes. I told you I wanted to kiss you other places, and what’s left of your suit is still too confining for that…and I know I have seen you mostly naked before, but never with this particular goal in mind…” She nodded encouragingly, hopefully, at him, as he stood there looking down at her, an expression of both consternation and delight on his face. “Please…?” She murmured softly, putting as much promise and anticipation into that one word as she possibly could.
Mulder didn’t speak, merely took hold of his shirt with both hands and pulled it apart, buttons flying in both directions. He flipped it back over his shoulders and down his arms, then it was on the floor. He kicked his shoes off, and the socks followed right behind. Next, he undid the top button of his pants, unzipped them, and let them drop to his ankles; he hitched his fingers in the waistband of his knit boxers, easing them down on top of his pants, then yanking them both off first one leg, then the other. Never once did his eyes leave hers. Then he straightened up to his full height, arms at his sides. Scully just sat there, and took her time admiring the view.
Swimming must be good exercise… she mused, letting her eyes sweep over Mulder from the ground up—long legs sloped into lean hips, his chest was defined, but not over developed, with just the right amount of hair. Speaking of hair, a dark brown mass curled gently around his groin to frame the top of what the grey lycra leggings had only outlined: a rather impressive length of penis and set of testicles. Well, Mulder, I’ve always known you were a handful…
“Turn around?” She smiled, and made a twirling motion with her hand. He rolled his eyes, but obliged. Mulder couldn’t see her nod appreciatively—he had one of the nicest butts she’d ever seen, and she’d already had the pleasure of running her hand over his broad back. “Okay, face me again?”
When she didn’t speak right away, he made a slight ‘well?’ gesture with his hands, face serious. She waited just one more moment; wanting to savor the play of light and shadow along the planes and curves of her partner’s body a little longer, enjoying this new perspective of desire and attraction. But it wasn’t fair to keep him waiting. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t approve of what she was seeing; this soon he could be thinking anything—was he what she expected, what she wanted? Oh, yes…
“Mulder, if I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me…?” It was an old line, but in this case, a very serious one. “Because you do…and I want it near mine…”
She held out her hands, and he was in front of her with one step. Scully uncrossed her legs so he could stand even closer, then hugged his waist, kissing him on the belly, then both hips. He buried both hands in her hair, ruffling it very gently, then it was his turn to pull away. Mulder knelt down, then framed her face with his hands. He looked intensely into her eyes, asking without words as he dropped his hands to her knees, pressing them apart.
She gasped softly, his touch was like fire, and she nodded. He leaned forward, kissing her fiercely as he pushed her back against the chair. His hands reached to push her skirt up, and she lifted her hips to make it easier for him to reach her stockings and underwear. She figured when he slipped them off her, they went somewhere in the same direction as his clothes had gone, but she didn’t really care.
Mulder moved his mouth to her chest, then he eased back on his heels to make his face level with her lap. He looked up at her just once, and his eyes shone with the pleasure he wanted to give her. This was just for her, and Scully’s heart was full from his generosity—she’d felt his own hardening desire when she’d hugged him, and putting his own satisfaction off for hers couldn’t be easy for him…
Then he bent forward to kiss her tummy, gently swirling his tongue in her belly button; his chin rubbed the tender skin just above her pubic hair and she squirmed with ticklish delight. He moved to kiss her there, too, as he began stroking her thighs, easing them open farther, then tilted his face to gently nip at the outer lips of her vagina.
It was an exquisitely delightful pain, and she felt herself grow warm and damp. Then his mouth and tongue teased her even more, kissing and tapping every sensitive millimeter of labia and clitoris. Her blood rushed through her veins, pounding to the beat of her passion, and she gripped the arms of the chair.
His tongue dipped deep inside, tasting her, then suddenly his face was right in front of hers, mouth reaching to kiss her, and she had the incredible experience of savoring Mulder and her own juices in the same breath. At the same time, one finger glided into her vagina, then another as far inside as he comfortably could, then just a bit farther; she thrust her hips against his hand, at his mercy as he brought her closer and closer to orgasm. Then he slowly, agonizingly, drew them out, pressing down as he did so, and Scully moaned through his kiss, eyes closed as she came against him, unable to focus on anything but the intense pleasure centered in her groin.
She felt his hand leave her, her breath slowed, and she opened her eyes in time to see Mulder licking his fingers; he smiled at her, his eyelids drooping with self-satisfied sensuality. He knew that had been good, and Scully couldn’t argue with him—didn’t want to. It had been a wonderful gift to her, but now it was his turn.
She stood up, happily shaky, and stripped off the rest of her clothes. When they were part of the room’s decor, Scully, smiling, held out her hands to her partner. He took them, and pulled her to him in a massive hug that his whole body participated in—arms wrapped around her as far as they would go, his knees bent slightly and spread apart so her body would fit in between and he could hold her tightly. It was the best hug she’d ever had, full of warmth and emotion, and she sighed softly against Mulder’s chest. He kissed the top of her head, then bent to press his mouth to hers. Mid-kiss, he murmured exactly what she’d been waiting to hear:
“Make love with me, Scully….”
Well, she can’t say I didn’t make my intentions fully known… Mulder mused to himself as he continued kissing his partner on the cheek, her ear, the tip of her nose, the smooth curve of her neck. In fact, he was so busy with lifting her hair so he could reach the back of her shoulder that he almost missed her whispered response…
“Yes…please…?
He didn’t speak…his mouth was still occupied…but he skimmed his fingers over her back, down to cup her rounded bottom in both hands; it was smooth and firm and he hoped to add it to his kissing agenda very soon… His partner suddenly let go of him, and before he had a chance to wonder…
Aah…he caught his breath, concentration gone, as he felt the effects of Scully’s arms leaving his waist and moving several inches lower…and to the front. Fingers tangled themselves in his pubic hair, and her other hand gently massaged his testicles, all the while never missing a chance to thoroughly kiss him…Scully was…amazing.
He felt his desire began to harden into an erection, and she slipped her hand along its length encouragingly. He took hold of her hair, pulling it back so her chin tipped upward; he opened his mouth to kiss her and she met his tongue with hers for a mid-air French caress. Her fingers never stopped coaxing his sex right to the edge of his control, his muscles were trembling and he was dizzy from the thrill of the chase—
“Not yet,” Scully murmured. “Don’t… take me with you…”
Mulder clasped her firmly, fully intending to scoop her up and finish what they’d started, when a tiny voice (which had probably been struggling to be heard for a while now) sounded in his brain. You can’t take her anywhere yet…what about the safe part of this sex?! He froze, mid-scoop, and looked down into Scully’s breathless, puzzled expression. Her hair was a glorious confusion of red-gold, lips full and pink and half-open to speak. She’s so beautiful. He began easing her backwards, in the direction of where he thought he’d dropped his trousers.
“Mulder? I meant, you know, take me with you…”
Scully was trying to explain, move with him, and keep up her stimulating activity in his pelvic area. So far, her juggling act was working…it was getting more difficult to remember why he wanted to reach his pants, but somehow he knew it was important… “Scully…I need to get something out of my wallet…” he gasped, as he knelt down, keeping one arm around her and, finally locating the article of clothing that may as well have been the Grail at this moment…began searching in his pockets for the all-important leather billfold.
She’d knelt down beside him, still stroking him, slowly, and he could tell she was confused, but trusted him that this interruption was important. He finally jerked the wallet out of his back pants pocket, passed it to the hand that was cradling his partner’s torso and rummaged through it in record time with the other. They better be here…they better be here…became his mantra, and Mulder had to resist the temptation to shout ‘eureka!’ as the small foil packets tumbled out onto the carpet.
Scully interrupted his thoughts with an incredible kiss. “Mulder—thank God, at least one of us was thinking!”
Her eyes shown with admiration at what she saw as the ultimate gesture of respect for her…and it was. Never mind that there had been just barely enough blood left in his brain to generate that vital thought for protection.
“I want to keep you safe, Scully…always.” He smiled at her, and she kissed him again, this time on the tip of his nose. Then she grinned at him, a naughty gleam in her eye, and she began to plant a circuitous route of kisses down his chest, stopping only to tease his nipples with her tongue.
The sensation of her soft breasts sliding down his torso as she continued kissing him was too much to bear, and he was only sorry that he couldn’t return the favor to her right at the same moment. He made good use of his time and his hands to tear open the condom package, though when Scully’s mouth reached the base of his penis and she bared her teeth to carefully nip at where it curved away from his body, he almost lost it—and the Trojan.
“Here, Mulder…” Scully must’ve seen him in trouble, and as usual, was there to rescue him. Though my having trouble in the first place is her fault! Mulder thought as she carefully took the condom out of his hand, and reached to ease the it over his still swollen member, “…let me…I am a doctor, and latex is in my area of expertise…” She flicked a glance at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
He couldn’t help it, he began to laugh, and he was still laughing when she finished, and then leaned forward to throw her arms around his neck and fall over backwards, pulling him with her. Her breasts were practically under his nose, and he couldn’t resist nuzzling first one, then the other, before sucking them gently.
She gasped, and spread her legs, her hands grasping at his hips to guide him toward her. He felt her nails dig in, and her urgency matched his own. Mulder stroked her vagina briefly; his fingers slipped through her ready dampness, and he lifted her up from the small of her back to meet the first thrust of his penis, wanting just the perfect angle.
He entered slowly; it was a tight fit, and though the sensation was deliriously wonderful to him, he did not want to cause his partner any discomfort or pain.
He tilted his head down to kiss her, then asked, even as he eased up on his hands to support his next thrust, “Scully, am I hurting you…?”
She wrapped her legs and arms around his body, using her feet to push him closer. “Not nearly enough…”
Her answer cleared away the last bit of hesitation Mulder might have been entertaining, and he let his movements get wilder, rocking back and forth, thrusting in and easing out of her. She grabbed his hair with both hands, and made him look into her eyes; they mesmerized him and he couldn’t look away, didn’t want to.
At the height of their passion, everything seemed to stop just for one breath, and Mulder could see the room as if he were above it: he saw the city lights filtering in the window, their illumination just reaching where he and Scully lay on the floor, their bodies mostly in shadow. He saw them in the midst of an act of love, and he wanted to make sure she knew that was how he meant it, how important she was to him.
Mulder had no words, and he put his soul into his own eyes, pleading silently with her to read everything he felt about her in them. Scully seemed to understand, mouthing the words, ‘I love you, Mulder…’ even as she moaned with pleasure.
He felt his orgasm reach just that moment where you hovered tortuously on the brink, then spilled over, the rhythm of his blood singing with release and joy… He whispered in his partner’s ear, “I love you, too…”
Room 6226, MGM Grand Hotel
6:24 a.m.
Agent Dana Scully slowly opened her eyes, awake, but not fully cognizant of her immediate surroundings. She blinked once, and concentrated—she knew she was in her bed in the hotel in Las Vegas, she remembered the case she and Mulder were on, and she was exactly sure of the previous night’s (and morning’s) activities.
She stretched a bit, and smiled as the delightful montage of memories drifted through her mind. But still, something was slightly…off, and part of it was that she couldn’t feel her partner’s arms around her any more.
They’d eventually moved into her bed and fallen asleep that way, and somehow even in her dreams she could feel his loving, protecting embrace. Where was Mulder?
She rolled over, and came face to face with the missing agent. He was lying right next to her, wide awake, head up and supported by his left hand; the other arm lay slightly in front of him, but nowhere near her. She was slightly startled; he’d been so quiet and still that she’d thought he must’ve gotten up, but instead he was staring at her, a rather worried look in his eyes.
Of all the expressions that Scully might have guessed Mulder to have, in light of recent events, ‘worry’ wasn’t one of them. She sat up a bit, and reached over to gently stroke his cheek, feeling the tension in the muscles along his jaw.
“Mulder, what’s wrong?” She was mystified at this sudden change of attitude, and concerned. “Tell me?”
He sighed heavily. “What happens when we go back to Washington, Scully?”
“We’ll have to wear warmer clothes?”
He just stared at her.
Okay, our sense of humor isn’t up yet. “I’m sorry. Could you narrow it down a little for me? It’s very early, and it was quite a night….” She smiled knowingly, but he ignored that gesture, too.
“Everything’s changed with us. There’s so many issues we didn’t talk about—the repercussions from Skinner alone, never mind the OPC, and if they transfer you, or me—”
I thought we’d covered this last night, right before, but I guess not enough, especially now that it’s right after.
“Mulder.” Scully interrupted in a very firm voice. “That’s enough. You are, to quote my mother, ‘just borrowing trouble.’”
She scooted back until she was sitting upright with the headboard for support. Mulder sat up, too, cross-legged, and close enough for her to put a hand on his knee, which she did. A tingle went through her, and it was so nice to still feel that spark as she touched her partner’s body, though her mind was now focused on resolving his fears.
“Those are all legitimate questions, but quite frankly, if you think about it, our relationship is not going to change that much.”
Mulder looked at her like she’d lost her mind, and Scully tried to explain. “Yes, I know sex is a big step, but we’re hardly casual acquaintances, and neither one of us made this decision lightly. It may have looked like we hurried into it, but we’ve actually been building the foundation for this for quite a while. When two people work out a relationship, they consider all the things we’ve been dealing with already—likes, dislikes, differences of opinion, emotions and so on. Why do the best relationships work? Because the couple were friends first—and we’ve not only been friends, but partners. I know it will take some extra effort—there are FBI regulations that we can’t change—but no one pays much attention to us, Mulder—just to our work. Now that it’s ‘personal’ could you get any more protective of me? I doubt it. If someone finds out about our relationship, could they get to you through me? Or to me because of you? That’s already been tried, and I came back to you, and you returned to me.” Scully shook her head. “No, Mulder. There’s nothing new to worry about, unless you’re using all this to tell me that you regret last night, and want to just be working partners, and no more…?” She held her breath at this last revelation; she hadn’t even considered it earlier, but it was possible…
This time it was Mulder who shook his head, smiling tenderly down at her. “No hidden agenda, Scully. Just some angst over the future. I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but there’s been a distinct trend in my life towards ‘loving’ and ‘losing.’” The smile turned a little sad.
Scully leaned forward to kiss her partner, no words could bring her close enough to the understanding and sympathy she felt for him at that moment. Finally breaking the kiss, she had to say it, too, just so there was no confusion. “I told you before, Mulder, I love you. You will not lose me by my choice. You’ve taught me that no matter what, you carry on—you back up, change, take a different angle, but you carry on. Whatever comes up, we’ll work it out. I like this new aspect to ‘us,’ and I want to take very good care of it—and I expect you to do your part.” She raised her eyebrows as if to say ‘well?’ and Mulder didn’t disappoint her.
He nodded, his eyes very bright, and spoke very softly, but with the strength of her convictions. “I will.”
She grinned, and held out her arms. “Come on, it’s still too early to get up. Let’s go back to sleep until at least a decadent seven am.” Mulder grinned back and lay down next to her, letting her hug him close. She planted a kiss on the top of his head, then lay her cheek against his hair and closed her eyes. She felt him relax, and she dozed off to the cadence of his breathing, steady and slow.
Las Vegas Police Station
August 23, 9:21 a.m.
Special Agent Fox Mulder deftly backed the rental car into a free space fairly close to the front doors of the Vegas police station, put it into park, and turned the key off. He sat for a moment, just the slightest hint of a smile on his face, and then turned to look at his partner, who was seated next to him in the car and had the same smile touching her beautiful features. They’d woken up together, taken a shower together, then after getting ready, had gone downstairs to breakfast together. It had been a really nice morning, after a really nice night.
In the light of day, it was officially, professionally, back to work, and Mulder knew that they would continue their usual methods of handling the X files cases that came their way. No one would be able to guess what changes had occurred; he (and Scully) would protect their newfound emotional relationship and each other with the usual ferocity. But he also knew that this sitting and smiling to himself every now and then, would probably be a regular, albeit private, event. It made the work just that little bit easier.
“Mulder? Are we getting out of the car? Or are they bringing Mr. O’Malley out here?” Scully interrupted his reverie with gentle sarcasm.
“Not unless you can do those medical exams in the back seat.” He returned dryly, as he unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door. He got out of the car, catching only half of her reply as he shut the door behind him.
“Sure, just get me—”
As he walked around the car and stepped up onto the sidewalk, Scully opened her door, slipping out of the car and moving to stand next to him. “What was that, Scully?” He glanced down at her as they starting walking towards the station, a teasing glint in his eye.
She shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s just get started, Detective Wagner is expecting us at nine thirty, and I hope everything’s in order to transport Mr. O’Malley to the hospital so I can finish those tests.”
They walked up to the front door of the police station, Mulder held the door open for her, and his other hand touched her lightly on the shoulder (he couldn’t help himself, and besides he should just act naturally, right?) as she stepped in ahead of him. Scully turned around and favored him with one of her dazzling smiles that only he could see as they went inside the building. Right, he thought, pleased. The agents walked straight up to the front desk; it was the same officer as the other day, but he reintroduced himself and Scully, and they perfunctorily flashed their badges. The sergeant nodded his thanks, and reached for his phone to call in their arrival to Andy Wagner. They accepted their visitor tags, and headed for the detective’s office. Mulder figured they’d probably run into him somewhere along their route. Sure enough, halfway there, Scully spotted him and waved at the other man as he came toward them down the hall.
“Good morning, Agent Scully. Mulder.” The detective nodded pleasantly at both of them. “You’re a bit early, so we haven’t had a chance to bring up O’Malley, yet. You want to wait up here, or come down to lock-up with me?”
Mulder shrugged, and glanced at Scully, who nodded. “We’ll go along.”
“Suit yourselves.” Wagner responded, and motioned for them to follow as he turned around and headed back the way he’d come.
“Anything new since we were last here, Detective Wagner?” Scully inquired.
“If you mean, has O’Malley changed his spacemen story, and made a full confession—no such luck. And I don’t see how humoring him with all these tests is going to serve justice any better.”
“Then humor us, Detective Wagner, and anything we find out in the course of our investigation, we’ll be happy to share with you.” Mulder was used to having his methods questioned, he fielded the detective’s obvious protest over what he considered a waste of time with practiced ease, and wasn’t even offended. Scully hadn’t commented either, she probably didn’t consider arguing with Wagner an efficient use of her time and energy.
“Whatever. Thanks, I guess.” The detective continued leading the way down the stairs, the FBI agents following right behind.
Guess he can’t be bothered to argue with us, either, Mulder mused to himself as they reached the basement level of the police station, set up for use as temporary prisoner detainment, and for those perpetrators who had a busy investigation schedule, like Shaun Patrick O’Malley. There was a good sized room at the bottom of the steps, crowded with file cabinets, a couple of desks, security camera monitors, all surrounded by a tall counter that was meant to give a sense of significance to the legal proceedings that were going on around it. There were two officers on duty, one at the desk and the other watching the monitors. The one at the desk looked up at their approach, and grinned.
Wagner grinned back. “Hey, O’Reilly—keeping’ the halls of justice safe for our citizens?”
“If I was, you’d be in there.” The other man, older than Wagner, cheerfully insulted the detective and gestured towards the solid metal door on the opposite side of the room. Mulder ignored the cop by-play, and instead considered the door O’Reilly had pointed at.
“That’s one hell of a door.” He commented aloud.
“It’s new—best security access the LVPD could afford. It’s got—” O’Reilly remarked proudly.
“Well, let’s show him how it works, O’Reilly, instead of talking his ear off. These are the FBI agents I told you were coming to take O’Malley into custody for the day.” The detective interrupted what Mulder figured was probably a well-worn spiel with the other police officer.
Scully chimed in. “Yes, Officer O’Reilly, we’re here to pick up Shaun Patrick O’Malley.”
“You’re gonna have to wake him up.” The cop watching the monitors didn’t turn around, but added his observation over his shoulder. “He hasn’t moved since I got back from the john half an hour ago, breakfast is still sitting there.”
Mulder’s instinct for trouble started to buzz, quietly. “Hasn’t moved?”
“Yeah, he’s sleeping in this morning. Not surprised, the night duty said he was awake and pacing his cell ‘til four a.m.” The monitor watcher responded to his question.
Scully frowned at him. “Did anyone go check on him?”
“I was just about to, but since you guys are at least twenty minutes early—”
Wagner interrupted O’Reilly’s defensive explanation. “They were only five minutes early, and by the time we got down here, it would have been past nine thirty.”
‘But it’s nine fifteen,” the cop glanced down at his watch, then held it out to show them. Mulder leaned forward to see better; sure enough, his wristwatch read ‘9:16’
“I don’t care about the time, Detective Wagner. I think we really need to get in there and check on O’Malley.” He strode over to the security door, and he could tell Scully was right behind him. He reached out to touch the thick steel handle; since there were no obvious buttons or switches on the door itself, he assumed that O’Reilly performed whatever necessary actions to open it from behind his desk. Mulder glanced over his shoulder. “Open this door, Officer O’Reilly, please.” He was polite but firm.
“But what’s the problem?” O’Reilly sounded annoyed at what he was starting to see what could be trouble for him.
“Just open the door, man.” This time it was Detective Wagner who spoke, and he hadn’t bothered to even to try to sound polite.
The door suddenly buzzed and loosened under his grip, and he didn’t waste time in pulling it open and hurrying through. From his earlier look at the monitors (which had planted their images into his photographic memory) he knew exactly where O’Malley’s cell was located. Mulder heard steps behind him; he assumed it was the detective on his way to join him and Scully, who was close behind his left shoulder. Her presence, as always, was reassuring, and he was glad she was there, as his instinct for trouble was clanging loudly now.
He ignored the uproar their swift passage was causing among the other prisoners, finally coming to a halt just outside O’Malley’s cell. It looked like the short Irishman was curled up on his bunk, sound asleep, but Mulder could tell something wasn’t right. Wagner shouldered him aside, keys jangling in his hand as he reached to unlock the door. The second it swung open Mulder was inside, the others right at his heels. He was at the edge of the narrow bunk instantly, and he reached down to touch O’Malley on the shoulder.
“Damn.” He whispered explosively, and took hold of the blanket, sweeping it off in one quick motion. He heard Scully gasp and Wagner swear ‘Shit!’ in the same tone Mulder had just used, it was quiet but effective—none of them wanted the other cells’ members to hear about this: there was no one under the blanket. Shaun Patrick O’Malley was no longer a member of the Las Vegas jail community.
Wagner swung around and stomped out, headed to report the missing prisoner and start a search, probably. What good it would do, Mulder wasn’t sure, O’Malley had at least several minutes’ head start. Scully promptly began pushing aside the top blanket and ruffling through the rest of the bed covers that had been used to make O’Malley’s sleeping “body.” Mulder sighed, and turned slowly around, scanning the rest of the cell. How the hell did he get out of here? No windows, the only ways out are past a multitude of law enforcement officers, and in broad daylight….
“Mulder, how did he escape?” Scully broke into his thoughts, voicing the same question that had been going through his mind. “The cell door was locked, there’s that security door, the cameras and monitors, the officers were on duty, and even if he got past all that, there’s a building full of police just above us.”
Mulder turned to look at his partner, who was standing there with a very annoyed look on her face. “He had help from Siegfried and Roy?” the agent offered absently, as he put his full concentration on the recent happenings and filed through what had been said and done by all the parties involved. Something was starting to click, and Mulder reshuffled the pieces, trying to put some kind of sensible order to them. Security cameras—check the tapes. We were on time, in fact a little late down here—O’Reilly said we were early. His was watch wrong. It had stopped. He…lost time…. “I’ve got an idea, Scully, but you’re not gonna like it.” He looked at her, eyebrows up. She stared at him for a long moment, then began to shake her head.
“No, Mulder. No way.”
“I told you, you weren’t going to like it.”
“Are you trying to tell me that O’Malley’s gambling, alien friends came back to pick him up?” Scully was her usual incredulous self.
“Have you thought of any other way that he could have gotten out of here, for all the reasons you just stated not a minute ago?”
“We just found him missing, Mulder. He could have been falsely released, someone from one of the casinos could have had him kidnapped, and they’re using questionable methods to get his cheating secrets out of him, he could’ve been taken to the hospital already, and he’s there waiting for us right now.”
Mulder shook his head. “If he’d been falsely released, O’Reilly and the other cop would’ve known, because they were watching an empty cell. Mistakes can happen, but they both thought he was still in there. If the hotel was going to kidnap and question him, why turn him to the police in the first place? True, this is just a preliminary theory, but I know when I ask O’Reilly about it further, I’ll bet he can’t remember what he was doing when his co-worker went to the restroom—and I can’t wait to look at the camera tapes for that time.”
“So why would these aliens want him back now?”
Mulder gestured with his hands. “Why do they ever want anyone they abduct? If we understood that question, we could probably head off most of the abductions. Maybe he didn’t keep up his end of the bargain by getting caught, and they’re afraid he’ll give away their secrets, too.”
“I think you’re right, Mulder—”
“You do?!’
Scully finished her statement as she turned to walk away from him. “—the answer to a lot of these questions is on those tapes. Let’s go look.” She motioned for him to come with her.
Mulder looked crestfallen. “I knew you gave in too easily!” He sighed and followed his partner out of the cell and back to the lock-up office. It was in the midst of controlled chaos; more officers had come downstairs and they were all yelling for one reason or another. Mulder disregarded most of it, and made a beeline for O’Reilly and Wagner, the center of the hurricane.
“Excuse me, Detective O’Reilly? Agent Scully and I would like to view the security monitor tapes for the half an hour before we arrived.” He stepped in front of both of them, his physical presence demanding attention. With half an eye he did notice that the other cop who was always watching the monitors, hadn’t let any of the flurry of activity dissuade him from his assignment. Except he said he’d gone to the bathroom, which means if O’Reilly was distracted, then the tapes were possibly unobserved for at least a few minutes.
“You and me, both.” Wagner responded, sounding the very annoyed cop that he was. “Come on O’Reilly, stop making excuses—no one’s accused you of anything—yet—and back up that tape so we can all take a look.”
The other officer sighed angrily, and turned away to fiddle with one of the monitors. Mulder crowded in with Wagner and O’Reilly, though he drew Scully over in front of him so she could see easily. And I get to have her closer to me, for all the right reasons. She pressed a bit nearer to him than necessary, but he didn’t pull away, and he was pleased to see that they were on the same personal wavelength.
“Okay—here’s the time down in the corner—” O’Reilly pointed to the lower left of the screen. “It’s 8:58 this morning. See, there he is.”
“Okay, let it run a little—”
O’Reilly reached to fast forward the tape, and both Wagner and Scully gestured for him not too, which started a fresh onslaught of self-defensive remarks by O’Reilly, which both Wagner and Scully got caught up into responding to. But before he stopped fast forwarding, some of the tape fluttered quickly by, Mulder’s eyes fastened securely on the flashing black and white images. Something blipped oddly, just in his line of sight. “There.” He broke into his partner’s and Wagner’s debate with O’Reilly. “Go back a bit. Then slow it down.”
His tone was so adamant that O’Reilly didn’t even protest, just did as he was told.
“Mulder, did you see something?” Scully asked curiously.
“Maybe.” He didn’t look at her, but watched the tape. “Stop. Back up, yes, there. Now freeze it, can you?”
“Sure, these things are pretty sophisticated. I can even enhance the image right here.”
“Good. Do it.” Mulder ordered. He suddenly pointed to the screen. “That’s it—focus a little better?” He squinted, and it made him regret leaving his glasses at home. Scully leaned in so she could look more closely. On the screen was what looked like some numbers and letters.
“Is it some kind of tape marking system?” His partner asked, glancing up at the police officers. Now Wagner and O’Reilly canted forward, to better see the monitor screen. They both frowned.
“No, it’s not identified that way—they’re not written right.” O’Reilly shook his head. “I’m not sure what that is. Here, I’ll make it a little bigger.” He tinkered with a couple more knobs, and the brief notation on the screen became slightly enlarged.
Wagner looked up at Mulder. “Rachel….375?”
Scully nodded agreement. “That’s what it looks like to me. But what does it mean, if anything?”
“The woman who helped him? She couldn’t resist leaving a calling card?” Wagner ventured.
“But if he had help, why isn’t she on the tape?” Scully protested. “Could she had altered the tapes from an outside help, through a computer, maybe?”
Mulder stared at it, not really listening to the possible explanations that any of the others came up with; there was something very familiar about that name and number together. He turned around, hadn’t he seen a map of the state down here, somewhere? It was on the opposite wall, and he walked quickly over there. He found Las Vegas, and worked his way up the state from that point. Mulder found what he was looking for fairly quickly.
“Scully? I don’t think there’s much more we can do here. Detective Wagner, I don’t think you’re going to find Shaun Patrick O’Malley any where around Las Vegas.” He turned around, to be met by three very surprised faces. “If you happen to hear anything, let me know. I assume you have my card and how to contact me at the Bureau directly? With O’Malley gone, this case is no longer the concern of my division. Since he’s so well known, if he ever did return here, every casino alarm would go off and he’d be back in jail before he could place a bet, right?”
“Uh, yeah, but why are you giving up?” Wagner sounded as confused as he looked.
“I’m not giving up; I’ve accepting what I’ve come to believe as inevitable. I suggest that you get O’Malley’s picture and statistics to all the Nevada law departments, maybe you’ll hear something.” But I doubt it will be anything useful. Mulder added silently. “Come on, Scully, let’s go.” He gave his partner a telling look, and her protest died on her lips.
“Are you even going to give us a hint?” Wagner asked, annoyed.
“My explanation involves an area that you give no credence to, Detective Wagner, therefore I’m not going to waste your time, or mine.” Mulder pronounced as he turned to leave.
“Thank you for your cooperation while we were here, Detective Wagner.” Scully attempted the usual pleasantries—she was so much better at Bureau policy than he.
“Yeah, sure.” Wagner was just barely polite.
His partner caught up with him on the stairs, and together they walked all the way out of the police station in silence. Once back at their rental car, he unlocked Scully’s door, then walked around to his side and did the same. Seated inside, Scully barely let him fasten his seatbelt before she began her interrogation.
“Okay, Mulder, out with it: what is ‘Rachel 375?’” Scully crossed her arms and stared at him.
He couldn’t resist just sitting and grinning at her for a moment before he replied. “Four months ago, in April of this year, a busload of Nevada officials, various Hollywood celebrities, the usual assortment of media and the typical group of curiosity seekers, drove out to a minor entry in the Nevada highway system to preside over a renaming and dedication ceremony there. Route 375, which runs through the town of Rachel, Nevada, is now known as the ‘Extraterrestrial Highway.’ It’s called that because of the very high incidence of UFO sightings along that stretch of road. I believe that Shaun Patrick O’Malley’s captors have a sense of humor, and could very well be the first aliens to exhibit an understanding of that difficult concept of what makes us laugh. I think they took him back because he didn’t keep his part of the bargain—they may never return him, but if they do, he won’t remember a thing—and who knows, maybe they’ll drop him somewhere on the ET highway. Apparently, it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.” Mulder paused, and looked at Scully expectantly. She didn’t disappoint him.
“You got all that from ‘Rachel 375’ on the security tape? It’s a stretch, Mulder, even for you. I do remember reading about that highway renaming ceremony, but I saw it as the simple publicity ploy that it was. Silly me, I should have pasted it into the X-files scrapbook.” Scully spoke wryly. “I still think it’s something else, like maybe the person who inspected the tape before it was shipped, or O’Malley’s egotistical partner in crime, who just had to sign their handiwork.”
Mulder started the car up, and checked the mirrors for oncoming traffic. Finding a break in the flow of cars, he pulled out, and headed down the street to catch the expressway back to the MGM Grand Hotel. “No matter the reason, Scully, our time is over here. This one goes into the files as ‘temporarily suspended,’ and we go back to Washington as soon as we can catch a flight. I’m looking forward to working with you every day, and spending as many nights with you, as you’ll have me.” He smiled at her, eyes full of promise.
Scully reached over to gently rub his thigh, and he almost lost control of the car at her lightning touch. “Keep that up, and this rental car is history, and so are we if I wreck it,” Mulder pointed out as calmly as he could.
“I just wanted you to know that I agree with you, and I’m looking forward to trying out your couch.” Scully answered provocatively.
“Scully, for you, the couch isn’t good enough—it’s straight to my bedroom!”
They both laughed; Mulder’s bed gathered dust waiting for its owner to use it, but he figured Scully was the best reason he could have to actually sleep (and other things) in it… “Do you like satin sheets, Scully?” He teased.
“Too slippery…” Scully observed.
“That’s the idea, sweetheart.” Mulder pointed out.
“Oh…” Scully colored slightly, and her partner chuckled fondly as he drove onto the highway, hitting the accelerator to speed them both back to the hotel, to pack for home.
Lobby, MGM Grand Hotel
9:20 p.m.
Agent Fox Mulder finished signing the final bill from the hotel and handed it to the clerk on the other side of the counter. She smiled at him, then looked down at her computer keyboard.
“I’ll be done in just a moment, sir.” She told him in a brisk, efficient tone of voice, and Mulder nodded.
“Thank you.” He and Scully had a plane to catch; it departed at 11:21 p.m., and he had no intention of being late for it. His partner was waiting in pretty much the same spot she’d waited for him to check in three days ago, guarding their luggage and people-watching. They’d gotten back to the hotel and felt obliged to report in to Mr. Callahan, who had been disappointed, to say the least, that O’Malley had disappeared. Mulder had not told him about his ‘Rachel 375’ theory (he thought he’d seen Scully breathe a sigh of relief at that omission), but it hadn’t really been necessary to tell the head of hotel security that particular point. The man didn’t care how he was gone, it just mattered that he was on the loose and free to cheat at someone else’s casino—what was bad for one, was bad for all of them.
The next available flight back east had been the redeye, so he and Scully had amused themselves for the afternoon (he’d even gotten her to take a swim with him) and had dinner in one of the nicer restaurants—one that he could not explain to the expense account bean counters. Now it was time to leave, and he was glad when the clerk finally smiled up at him.
“That’s it, sir. Thank you very much for staying with us, and please do come again.”
Our first time together was here… “I think you can count on that, miss.” Mulder smiled back at her, then turned to look for his partner. She was right where he’d left her, but—Mulder’s eyes narrowed suddenly—she wasn’t alone.
If anyone was watching, they would have thought he was in two places at once, instead, Mulder knew that he was here, and Rocky Hardin was over there talking animatedly with his partner. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Hardin, he didn’t know him well enough to feel any kind of kinship with him, though he’d been nice enough in the time they’d spoken. It was just the fact that it was like looking into a disconcerting mirror, someone who looked like himself, but was just different enough to be bothersome.
And though he was indirectly responsible for him and Scully finally realizing their feelings for each other, Mulder was of the opinion that Hardin was a little too fond of his partner. In fact, she was smiling up at the adult movie actor right now; Mulder frowned, and headed over to Scully as quickly as he could and not look obvious. As he got closer, he had to shake his head at the other man’s outfit; no wonder he was getting numerous second glances, and Scully was letting her eyes drop a bit every now and then. She was only human, but he didn’t have to like it.
Hardin was wearing a long sleeved shirt in a dark red crushed velvet material, black leather cowboy boots and a pair of black leather pants that laced up the front. One more casual glance and Scully could probably tell him what religion Rocky Hardin was… At least it kept people from immediately seeing the resemblance between the two of them. He wiped the frown from his face, (he hoped) and went to stand next to his partner, and was proud that he only managed to touch her shoulder possessively, instead of putting both arms around her and pulling her away from the other man.
“All checked out, Mulder?” Scully patted his hand on her shoulder reassuringly, but only he would’ve known that. He relaxed enough to nod at Hardin, who grinned back at him.
“Guess you’re leaving, huh?” Rocky gestured to the surrounding luggage. “It was pretty cool, meeting you two—” He tilted his head, and halted in mid-sentence. He looked from Scully to Mulder, then leaned over to whisper in Scully’s ear.
Mulder saw her left eyebrow go up abruptly, but she merely nodded at Hardin as he backed away to look at her.
The adult movie actor nodded, too. “Good deal. Well, I gotta go—going to have some fun in the casino before tomorrow’s publicity sessions.” He held out his hand to Mulder, who shook it, but the agent was only interested in finding out what Rocky had said to his partner. Move along, boy toy…
“So long, Miss Scully,” Hardin turned to her and leaned down to kiss her cheek. Scully didn’t protest, but bestowed a fond smile on the other man.
Mulder felt his fists clench reflexively, and Rocky Hardin was very lucky that with a final wave for both of them, he turned and walked towards the casino, leather creaking and attracting a small cadre of fans along the way.
“What did he say to you, Scully?” Mulder tried to sound casual.
She looked at him thoughtfully. “He wanted to know if I ‘scored.’ Meant in the nicest possible way, of course.”
“I’ll kill him.” Mulder had never been so pissed. He turned towards the casino, hand reaching to pat his gun.
“Mulder, please, don’t make me sorry I told you. That’s just his vocabulary—I think he’s known all along what you mean to me—he knew when I talked to him about you. He’s glad for us—he just didn’t say ‘congratulations’ the way most people would.” She reached out to take hold of his arm, squeezing it gently. “Besides, he’s right, in a way—I have ‘scored’ with you—I’ve won the love of the one man I’ve been looking for, for a long time. It’s you, Mulder, no one else.”
He felt all the anger drain out of him, and he put his hand over hers on his arm. Rocky Hardin didn’t matter any more. He looked down at her, and his eyes said I love you, even as he spoke. “Let’s go home, Scully.” He bent to pick up their suitcases. She smiled back, as she gathered her share of the load.
“Let’s go home.” She repeated softly, and was right beside him as they exited the glass lobby doors, and let the valet motion a taxi over to them. Mulder didn’t even look over his shoulder as they rode away, headed for the airport.
Epilogue
Scully’s apartment, address unknown
Washington, DC
September 4, 10:13 p.m.
“Mulder?”
His partner and lover called out to him from the bathroom, and he glanced in her direction as he answered. “Yes?” He was lying in her bed, on top of the covers and still mostly dressed in his suit. Probably not for much longer, though, since Scully was changing into what she described as ‘something that would make Victoria want her secret…” He smiled in anticipation.
“I got a very interesting package at the office today—”
“Aren’t you putting it on now?” Mulder interrupted.
“No, I picked this up myself. This package is from Germany, and you’ll never believe who sent it—”
He frowned in thought. Who did they know in Germany? “Who?”
“Rocky Hardin—you remember him, don’t you?”
“How could I forget?” Mulder rolled his eyes in mild disgust, but it didn’t really bother him to hear the other man’s name. Scully made him feel so secure and cared for, one porn movie actor who lived in a far away place couldn’t even begin to shake his confidence in her and himself.
“Does he really bother you?” Scully came into the bedroom, and Mulder forgot to answer, too busy staring at her beautiful body as it was now encased in sheer gold lace. “Mulder, does him sending me a package bother you?” She repeated her question in another form.
“Uh, no.” Mulder finally found his voice, and answered her honestly. “He did back in Vegas, but I know he’s no threat, and I should probably thank him for what he did for us.”
Scully smiled at him. “Good, I’m glad to hear you say that—”
Sitting up in bed, he reached for her, but she avoided him skillfully as she walked by him on the way to her nightstand. She opened the bottom drawer, and took out a large, plain brown envelope. Scully straightened, still holding the envelope, then sat down beside him in bed.
“Because he sent me something, and even though it’s addressed to me, and it’s for me, it’s really meant for you.”
“Me?” Mulder was genuinely curious. She nodded, and handed him the envelope. He opened it, peering inside before reaching a hand in and pulling out the contents. He glanced at Scully, who was looking at him with a mixture of laughter and anticipation on her face. He looked down, then back up at her.
“He sent me the outfit from that photo shoot at the convention?” Mulder didn’t know what to think as he held up the pair of grey lycra leggings that he’d worn as Rocky’s stand-in.
Scully nodded. “His note said that he wanted you to have something that meant good memories to you, and he remembered the look on my face when I saw you in them…”
“I don’t even want to know what the Bureau’s mail room x-ray techs thought of this—” Mulder shook his head.
“It was addressed to me, it could have been workout clothes,” Scully explained quite rationally.
He brightened. “Yeah, that’s as good a justification as any.” He suddenly smiled slyly at her. “So, how did you look when you saw me in them…?”
Scully leaned forward, very close to his face and whispered, “Why don’t you put them on and find out?”
Mulder swung his legs around to the side of her and got up off the bed, carrying the leggings with him. He began unbuckling his belt, and Scully leaned back on the pillows to watch.
“Of course for the full effect, there needs to be an adoring crowd, and lots of cameras…” he announced airily, and just laughed when Scully cheerfully reached forward and smacked him on the behind.
“Don’t keep your fans waiting…” She advised him with a smile.
He finished undressing, and after pulling on the leggings executed a slow turn for her perusal. “Well?”
Mulder grinned…somewhere between the happiness, love and expectation, Scully looked…impressed.
END
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