TITLE: "That Tower of Furniture" BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: MSR, A, H, V RATING: high R for adult situations SUMMARY: During Detours, Mulder made Scully a certain promise... TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set after "Detours". DEDICATION: To Macspooky. Thanks, Mac, for replying, the encouragement, spoilers, laughter and those wonderful stories. THANKS: to Aj, Frog, Crash, Gerry, Debbie, Jaime, Ainon, Tina, Ngaire and Lisa! (You all know what you did...) DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. The X-Files: "That Tower of Furniture" by Ten, April/May, posted June 1998 It's not until I finish towelling myself off that I realise I'm still treating this shoulder with caution. I stop the careful pats and defog the mirror to examine my scars. Then give my left arm a few experimental rolls. No aches or pains. It's healed well. Pretty lucky, because I doubt 400 year old mothmen are in the habit of washing their hands in the fountain of youth before they go a- huntin'. And considering my plans for tonight, the last thing I need is to be already hampered by injury. Though I'm not likely to come through unscathed. This is gonna be my most audacious break-in yet. Time to dress in casual, dark clothing. Well, except for my lucky pair of silk boxers. Give the staff in the ER a chuckle when they strip me. Soon I move out into the motel bedroom and eye the wall to the next room. Movement. This is going to be tricky. But I have to try. I keep working, quietly bringing out the tools needed to accomplish this mission. It's a hell of a fortification, but I'm determined to get in. State of the art security. Planning and analysing have taken weeks. And waiting for this shoulder to be A-1 has been an annoying setback. Given more time for the defenses to strengthen. But my resolve has strengthened too. Excuse? Check. Decoy? Check. It's time. I don't want to wait for dusk to fully hit. I gather my equipment and quietly leave the room. My pulse sprints ahead of me. I knock on the door of the next motel room. "It's open," Scully says. Not everything is, partner. I fumble slightly with the knob, then carry the carefully prepared tray of wine and cheese into her room. She is, to put it bluntly, stunned. "Mulder...what is this?" Everything. My heart on a tray. Somehow I manage that stupid shallow grin. "We've closed our case. We're not going back until the morning. We'll give Skinner conflicting opinions on the lights at Bakely Field and how we lost all that expensive FBI equipment." She is not amused. Yep, she'll shoot me or crack the tray over my head. Then take me to the ER. I plough on. "I never promised you a rose garden, did I? But I did make a promise over a month ago to come back and build a tower of furniture. So here I am." Staring. The wall has come up again on her face. The distance at my flippancy. I'm determined to get past it to find her. "Um, that didn't come out right. I've been feeling guilty about racing off that day in Florida when you came into my room with -" I gesture to the tray and set it down on the dresser. "I thought I had a lead on the case. I didn't realise how it must have seemed to you until later on." A shrug of the shoulders as she sits at the desk, laptop glowing, notes carefully arranged. "You had better things to do. And the boy was in danger, as you thought." I'm making a real effort to listen - that's one reason why I waited for my shoulder to heal, no distractions, no pain making me even more self-absorbed than usual - so I pick up the hint of slipped feelings she immediately tried to cover. "It wasn't 'better things' at all. The case did hook me in, but I really regret not staying there to sit and talk and laugh. Just to be there together." "We did talk later on in the woods. Or rather, I tried. I tried to tell you about my cancer, but you just joked." The pressure is intense on my tongue to make a joke now, to brush aside this route we're about to embark on. My hands shake as I try to pour the drinks. I will not joke. I won't avoid this if it's what she wants to talk about. But this effort at self-control has stretched the silence too far. Scully turns to her computer screen. Her voice is defeated. "Then again, you were injured and in shock. But you're *always* injured or in shock or indifferent or joking. So why try talking? As you said, we have 'silent communication'." "I-i-i-f you want -" Damn that stutter! Go away! Always pops up when she cuts too close. Like when I tried to be sincere about my reasons for searching out the truth, and she compared me to Ahab. Her father. Thanks a lot, Scully. Gave me some frightening nightmares, that one. Time to push further along the path. No guideposts here. Overgrowth. "If you want...we could talk about it now. Whatever you want. It's just...jokes are my defense mechanism. And when you had the cancer, you didn't want to talk about it. I did. The 100th 'I'm fine' kinda wore me down. Then you were cured and you did want to talk about it. But I didn't. I couldn't get that topic and those memories far enough away." Oh God, my voice. I'm losing it. Automatically I switch to defense mechanism #2 - a showy grin. Damn. "We're the perfect dysfunctional couple, Scully. When one's ready, the other isn't. Cheers." Up with my glass. A half-hearted sip. She fiddles with a piece of cheese on the tray. I wonder if she wishes it was my neck. The last time I saw her scrutinise something that intensely, it was a dead rose petal. NOW I'm scared. "You seemed so happy when you got your life back, but now...you're shut away again. I have my jokes. You have your 'I'm fines'. Can we both try to get past that?" She shrugs. We're not worth a try? There's nothing to come out for? I try again to make a crack in the wall. "Thank you for singing to me. I tried to stay awake to hear you, but I was so tired. My Mom never sung, not even before Sam disappeared." "Are you comparing me to your mother?" "Were you comparing me to your father back on that rock in the middle of the lake?" I try to keep a sting out of my voice. She frowns, then remembers. "No." "There's your answer." I put the glass down, still largely untouched. One last try for tonight. One last beating of my head against the wall. The wall I'm just as guilty of bringing into existence. "If you had disappeared in the forest instead of Michelle, I NEVER would have left until I'd found you. Every leaf, every rock. I'd have torn the place apart. You know that, don't you?" Seconds slip by noisily. I get up to leave. Time will tell if I've made any progress. This will have to do for now. "Yes." I turn. "Yes, I do know. But it was nice to hear." I smile a genuine smile. I still think I should leave. "Sleeping bags..." Her voice is quiet. She is gazing out the window. I don't reply, not daring to joke. She meets my gaze and smiles. She remarks flippantly, "Flannelette nighties are much warmer." I do believe that was voluntarily removal of a brick. I grin in relief. She stands. "How about we sit down on the bed and attempt a conversation?" Soon we're propped up on pillows against the headboard. Our barely touched snack remains on the dresser. She makes the first move. "You know, don't you, that I would never have sung like that for anyone else? Only because you asked. At Christmas time I've always just mouthed along while the rest of the family sings..." I take her hand, not wanting any clumsy words from me to ruin what she's just said. I let my eyes give my gratitude. Our hands clasp and do not let go as we begin to talk and listen and support and ask. I find I'm stammering a lot, but she understands and gives me the strength to face the memories and get the words out. I explain what went through my mind in the woods when she asked: "Have you ever thought seriously about dying?" My first thought was "Depends whose death I'm considering." Second thought: "Have I ever thought seriously about being happy?" Third: "Have I ever thought seriously?" Fourth: "Have I ever THOUGHT?" Nothing like denial, huh? Great river. Scully chuckles to cover her concern. "No wonder you went for the Ice Capades," she murmurs. We progress through the pain to share our feelings on the cancer period, the remission, general talk, what my beliefs are now. I admit my reunion with 'Samantha'. "Why didn't you tell me?" Again I struggle to find the words. She softens. "You're telling me now. We are quite a pair. Have you heard from her again?" "No. I don't know for sure that it was her." Our bodies are close. We are silent for a while. I think of Michelle - well, not of her, just her long, ringleted red hair. "Scully, you remember how long your hair was when we first met?" "Yeah." "You've never had it that long since." "It's easier to manage short." She sees the way I'm scrutinising her. "Would you like me to grow it out? If I do, you don't get the buzz cut again!" "Deal. But what difference will it make if I go bald anyway?" Not much chance of that happening - baldness doesn't run in my family. Dad died in my arms with a headful of hair and drink and blood... - but I want to keep this banter going. We've had enough heavy stuff for now. "Mulder, you won't go bald. I did a little experiment out in the woods that night. I kept stroking your hair over and over, and it didn't fall out." "Oh. I'm sorry I missed that." I wonder if I was restless in my sleep, or had she just felt the urge to keep touching me? "Thanks for being the best pillow I've ever had." "So I outrank your couch?" "Oh, yeah." I feel very tired. We've only talked for a few hours, but it has been draining. And wonderful. "There's so much more I want to tell you. But...more conversing tomorrow. I'd better let you get some more work done." Reluctantly I get up to leave. The bedspread is a mess. I give it a few ineffectual pats. Scully gets up too as I am doing this. She seizes the chair and lifts it, taking it away from the desk. What on Earth? Towards the door. To the door. She places it down firmly. A barrier. I gape. She gives me a look. "Are you reneging on your promise?" She sounds...husky. And suddenly parts of me are very much awake. "What next?" she asks. We look around. Me from near the bed, her leaning against the door. There isn't much in a motel room to pick up and utilise. So I grab her pen as an excuse and carry it over to drop on the chair. Scully has her back to the door and looks up at me with a smile I pray will become habitual. I stand over her, very close. She doesn't even make a pretext of looking around. Nowhere but at me. Our breathing synchronises, quick and ready. "Your turn." "Is there any rule that says the tower has to be made of furniture?" she enquires. Within three seconds our bodies are stacked together, stacked against the door. And these two bodies are most definitely alive. Oh yeah, I want to wrestle. I blow air across her neck. Don't have to huff and puff - yet. The rest of Scully's brick wall comes crashing down. We're kissing and holding and yanking at each other's buttons - a neat trick seeing as we're so close together that nothing could get between us... This feels so...her hands, her mouth, her body... At last. Her fingers slide through my chest hair - hell, if her stroking the hair on my head felt even half this good, how did I sleep through it?! Scully is gazing at me. "Your chest is your most attractive feature - although that statement warrants further research into body parts yet unseen... Well, under these circumstances anyway." A tower of clothes is rapidly growing beside us, some dropping to drape over the chair. At last I get to see what's beyond that underwear. Then it hits me. Ohmigod...we're really going to... I honestly didn't come in here expecting to get laid. I wanted to open up a dialogue, not her legs! I mean, yes, I've always *dreamed*... For five years I've been in the habit of carrying some protection around in my wallet in the crazy hope that one day she'd suddenly turn to me and say: "Mulder, NOW." Pregnancy isn't an issue - no, I hope that guy lied...I must tell her about that when we have another conversation, but perhaps the radiotherapy made her sterile anyway...she hasn't said...perhaps she doesn't know... Anyway, we'd better discuss protection in a minute, see what she says. I'm rambling... God, focus! A hard thing to do when the love of your life is getting your black 501's off you. Dana stops and stares. I'm in black silk boxers...with big red hearts on them. I see a connection. "Black was for Phoebe...but not you. Never you. You mean more -" "You have good taste in boxers. And as for in the *in* of the boxers..." Soon I'm lifting her up carefully, the chair providing a convenient place for her to plant a foot and rest some weight on. This is gonna build muscles I never knew I had. * * * * Robert McGraw watched in amusement as five year old Christopher scurried out the door ahead of him. He remembered his own son being an identical bundle of impatient energy. "Come ON, Grandpa!" Chris bounded up and down on the motel walkway. "The cinema isn't going anywhere. We'll get there in plenty of time. Just let me lock the door." Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Chris swivelled towards the room next to theirs. He cocked his head. "What's that, Grandpa?" "Um..." Thud. Thud thud thud. Thud. The door was shaking. "A carpenter doing woodwork, or something. A guy repairing the door -" "Oh, yes..." a female voice groaned. Robert nearly swallowed his false teeth. "- or a woman." He hurried to finish locking his door. Flustered, he dropped the keys. "Scully, God, Dana!" Male voice. Chris was staring in fascination. "Two people - um...playing darts! Come on, we'll miss the movie." Thud thud thud thud thud. Various moans and gasps could be heard, increasing in excitement. A "Go, girl!" "Must be a good game!" Chris enthused. "And quick!" "Er, yeah, you can really get into a game of darts..." Robert seized his grandson's arm and bundled him to their car. His blush would still be in place in the movie theatre. "There! Oh - there, there!" the woman cried. ThudthudthudTHUD THUD THUD. Two screams of joy and victory. Bullseye. * * * * We certainly didn't do that much screaming in the woods... But we got thoroughly lost in each other. Thoughts surge through me. Team builders...go team! I don't know if that was two minutes or two hours, but boy - it was fantastic! Not a negative word used. Joy to the world indeed... "You're putting me on" now has new meaning. And that wasn't nature that was pushing back... Nosiree... I feel Scully's hand fall limply from the back of the chair. Her unconscious pounding of it against the door had told me how fast she wanted me to go. I didn't hesitate to deliver. She's a brainy doctor and an insatiable patient. Her legs are tight around me and her head is tucked against my shoulder. She's still gasping with pleasure. My forehead is resting against the door. "Thank you, Jesus..." The most devout prayer of my life. I weakly raise my head enough to kiss her cheek. All remaining strength is directed at holding her up. Luckily this motel puts its little sign on the wall next to the door instead of on it, or we'd really have messed up Scully's back... Hope she didn't get splinters or friction burn. I'm afraid I have, or am, squashing her. "Are you okay?" A breathless "I'm fine..." is issued. "A reallyfine or a Scullyfine?" "Beyond fine. I've NEVER been this fine...and I want to be again - very soon." Scully wriggles on me, and I moan. She giggles. "This beats standing on your shoulders." "Never could have done it alone. I think I got lucky." Who needs a sleeping bag? And screw bureau policy about consorting. In fact, we just did. "Can we have more of these conferences?" "My body is all in favour. Or will be after a good rest. Lucky the door was here to keep us up." "You managed the 'up' fine on your own. But thank God the hinges were secure. Were we trying to blockade the door or knock it down?" "If we'd humped out into the parking lot and ended up sprawled out over the hood of the Taurus, I wouldn't have noticed!" I confess. She's not offended. "I can't wait for you to make me sing again, Mulder. You put me perfectly in tune." Her voice is definitely not that defeated monotone anymore. She runs her hands over my rear. "It's hard not to think of sentences involving your butt..." "I can see you're gonna keep me on my toes." Suddenly I think of the mothmen tracks. The balls of the feet only. Were they trying to kill us or mate with us? Some foreplay, but after 400 years I guess they got a bit desperate! My attention goes back to the important stuff. "On your toes, absolutely," she agrees, then sees how tired I am and that my arms are close to giving out. I'm in good physical shape, but I'm no Kevin Sorbo, as much as I hate to admit it. We'll end up in a heap on the floor in a minute. "Right now let's try flat on your back!" She's gonna kill me. The ER will get my body after all. The drained husk. Dana laughs. "I want to hold you like in the woods," she reassures. "Time enough to give the bed a pounding in the morning." Fine by me. I'm so tired and satisfied and this will be just perfect. I grin and we shift and adjust carefully and I carry her over to lower her onto the bed. I lean down for a kiss, then duck to the bathroom. When I come out she is under the covers and holding her arms out to me. I nearly pass out. We curl up together. Naked, but no sleeping bag. Her chest proves to be an even nicer pillow than her lap. "Ahhh, communication..." I sigh. "I gather it cleared your 'haemorrhoids'?" she asks. I explode with laughter and tickle her. She squeals. We settle down. Stroking gently, whispering the occasional words. Our love. We drift. Then I begin thinking. "You remember how you said about fighting the cancer...that it seemed so meaningless, but the struggle gave it meaning?" "Yeah?" "Perhaps that's the same with us. Our relationship. All the awful stuff we went through to get to this point." She considers this, then nods. "This time the house didn't win." She kisses me and closes her eyes. "If you get non-tired, you wake me..." "I will." She sleeps, content. I stay awake, content. Now I'll get to be with her through the night again; wake up in her arms properly. Warm. I'll get to hear all of Joy to the World. My shaving kit can share space with her body lotion. I can gunk up her sink in her apartment - no other guy's clutter will fight with hers. She is my fountain of youth, though I'm feeling pretty drained at the moment. I'm sure I'll perk up again. Scully. My meaning. THE END. To my delight, Macspooky has written a sequel from Scully's POV, called "The Tower Has Two Faces", and it will be posted soon.