Date sent: Mon, 14 Jul 1997 12:42:54 -0400 (EDT) From: JohnieRed@aol.com Adagio by Johnie Disclaimer: All characters within are figments of my imagination or the much more profitable imaginations of Chris Carter and the writers at the Fox Network. No profit is being made from the distribution of this story, it was written solely for it's entertainment value. (Sounds of sobbing) Rating: NC-17 Smut warning. I sure hope my mother doesn't read this stuff. Category: MSR Spoilers: Season Four Finale Summary: What happens between Mulder and Scully after Mulder "dies". Comments: To JohnieRed@aol.com This was a little break from other stuff I've been writing so if you what me to continue with this story line you'll have to let me know. "Dana, come here," he called. "What is it Fox?" she asked drifting out of the kitchen, where she had spent the last half hour trying to make a dent in the mess he had made. "You know, I'm beginning to think this cooking class you're taking isn't such a good idea after all." "Oh, come on, Dana," he beseeched, "you have to admit that was the best ravioli you've ever eaten. Besides, you're the one who insisted on cleaning up because I cooked." "Maybe so, but there's vegetable pesto and flour stuck to everything in there," she complained. She sat down next to him on the couch, "What did you want?" "I got the author's copy of my book today. I wanted to show it to you," he explained. Since his "death" and subsequent resignation from the Bureau four years ago, he had contributed to the writing of several psychology texts, acted as a consultant to the L.A. County District Court doing several psychological evaluations on accused murderers, taught classes at various police academies across the county, and had just finished a psychological thriller that his publisher was sure would be a bestseller. In between working he did 'fun things' he felt he missed out on in life, including coaching the local high school swim team and taking the cooking lessons that inspired the mess in her kitchen. He and Scully didn't see much of each other anymore. Mulder had moved out of Washington shortly after his resignation and the death of the man they still knew only as "Cancerman". He had reportedly committed suicide two days after Mulder's suicide charade but Scully wasn't sure if she believed it. The body had been cremated before she could examine it. Mulder thought it was all a moot point since all traces of his "program" had disappeared with him but somehow it left Scully feeling unsatisfied. Mulder now lived on Martha's Vineyard most of the time, in the house he grew up in. Scully still lived in Maryland, and although she seldom saw Mulder, they exchanged e-mail on a weekly and sometimes daily basis. Scully found she missed him but since he seemed satisfied with things the way they were she was reluctant to mention it. Mulder had visited this weekend to see the house Scully had just purchased and celebrate her new job. Dana Scully had just been appointed the youngest Chief State Medical Examiner the state of Maryland had ever had. "So do I finally get to read it? I can't believe how secretive you've been about it," she told him. "Yes, you finally get to read it," said Mulder, "In fact, consider this copy my gift to you to celebrate your new job." He paused. "I'm very proud of you Dana" "Fox, you sound like my mother and Director Skinner," she scolded. "Besides, I can't take your author's copy." He laughed, "Don't worry Dana, in a week they'll send me an entire crate to hand out to those near and dear to me. I don't know even what I'm going to do with them all, my mother only reads non-fiction, all my cop friends hate reading mystery novels after living it all day, I've been on Skinner's shit list for years, and I can't exactly hand them out to the swim team." "Why not?" she asked. "Well, there's a couple of... scenes that high school would probably object to if they found out the students were reading it," he finished uncomfortably. "Oh, it's a little bloody you mean?" she asked with a perplexed look, "Really, Mulder high school kids are some of Stephen King's biggest fans and I doubt you've written anything gorier than him." "It's not exactly the violence in it that the school principal would object to," he said. "What else could possibly..." she trailed off as she saw the color rise in his face. She tried looking him in the eye and he avoided her gaze. Suddenly it dawned on her. "Why Fox Mulder you've written a book with smut in it," she crowed. He shot her a dirty look. She laughed, "I hope you didn't get the inspiration from those movies of yours." "Dana," he warned, "be nice or I'll go into the kitchen and try to make dessert." "I thought you only learned to make pasta and pizza so far, I didn't think you could bake," she said, remembering his e-mail. "I can't," he said, grinning evilly, "but I could try to get a head start on meringue." She shuddered, mentally picture the state her kitchen was already in. "No, no that's quite all right. I'm still full from that delicious dinner." He laughed, "You are so transparent Dana. You just fear for your Cuisinart." "Maybe, Fox, maybe, but I'll think I'll turn in early and read a little of your book." "Read the flap and the inscription first," he urged. She took the book from him and began reading the synopsis out loud, "Extreme Possibilities is a thriller that, nice title Fox," she said pausing to arch her eyebrow at him, "brings the reader on a wild ride through the English countryside to the streets of Los Angelos in search of the killer in a series of ten year old unsolved child murder cases. The trail has become cold but when a similar murder takes place only twenty miles from where the first victim was found a decade ago, Interpol detective Fern Keighley becomes determined to solve the cases. Keighley tracks the murderer to the United States and falls into the seemingly unrelated investigation of a the death of a California housewife. But LA homicide detective, Robert Scanlan and the VICAP database both see odd parallels between the killers. When another body is found and the two discover bizarre evidence at the scene they enlist the help of forensic naturalist Owen David, and the story spirals into a whirlwind sweeping the reader up into it. And when it touches down..." she finished as it trailed off tantalizingly. "Read the dedication," he urged softly. She flipped open to the first page and read, "For D. S. How full of true compassion was she who aided me- Fox." She was surprised at the use of his name, she knew he was publishing under his pen name M. Luder. She paused, unsure what to say. "I wouldn't have made it through my years with the Bureau without you covering my back," he said, "I didn't think I had ever thanked you for it." He spread his hands in an all encompassing gesture and shrugged, "So... thanks." She smiled, touched the sentiment, "You're welcome, Fox, but it was my job, you really didn't have to-" "Dana, it was never your job to be my friend. And it wasn't your job to talk me through fits of periodic writer's block, either." "That wasn't easy considering you refused to tell me anymore than the barest details of the book," she said ruefully, remembering all the e-mails she had sent first hinting and then demanding he stop the sweet torture of telling her only the tiniest, most bizarre details he was researching for the book. He had driven her crazy by asking her for odd, completely unrelated forensic information, and several weird questions including whether or not real women would wear espadrilles. He had told her he was researching the blooming times of various Pacific Northwest wildflowers, what tools might be used to clean fish, techniques used at anthropological dig sites, and the club scene of LA. In short, he used innuendo to bring her -a woman normally uninterested in this type of book- to the edge, ready to beg just to hear the plot outline. "Well, it got your attention didn't it?" he asked with a completely innocent face, well aware how crazy he had made her. "Good night, Fox," she answered, picking up the book and sweeping from the room regally, "Just for that you get to finish loading the dishwasher." She ran up the stairs, feeling slightly satisfied when she heard him groan in response. Dana couldn't put the book down. The characters were compelling, the story so full of plot twists she found herself gasping as she turned pages. She had briefly shut out the light when she heard Mulder come up the stairs at midnight. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was keeping her up all night with his book, but the the second she heard him leave the shower and pad down the hall to the guest room, she flipped the bedside lamp back on and began tearing through the book again. Her eyes were burning, it was two a.m., but she still couldn't stop. Watch out Sanford, Cornwell, and Grisham, you've gotten competition for the NY Times Top Ten list now, she thought. She was three-fourths of the way through when it happened: Fern Keighley and Owen David did it. She hadn't seen it coming. Sure, there was a healthy amount of sexual bantering occurring between the two but nothing that, to her anyway, indicated the wild, abandoned sex that was coming. Keighley and David were searching an open field in an area north of San Fransico. Scanlan had suspected the latest body found outside of LA, had been moved, put in their path to taunt them so he had called David in two weeks ago, to try to determine where the body had been buried originally. David had examined the delicate root tendrils wrapped around the ulna and pelvic bone of the skeletal remains. The roots entwined in the broken ulna were rosemary and the ones around the pelvis were to a tree native to the area. According to David's analysis the tree was suffering from shoe-string root rot but had still had a good grip on the body, it had obviously been buried beneath the tree for some time. The murderer had had to do some serious digging and hacking to free it; soil samples scraped from the joints and inside the skull contained the types of chemicals associated with pesticide and fertilizer run off from grape orchards. So now here they were searching the area surrounding the ninth vineyard in two days looking for diseased trees, when it happened. Standing in a virtually frenzied, wind beaten field of towering, wild rosemary shrubs, Keighley kissed David. Keighley's actions so shocked Scully that she pulled her hand away from the book, as though burned. She sat in stunned silence until she noticed the bead of blood welling up on her index finger, in her surprise she had accidentally run her finger down the sharp edge of the newly cut page. She grimaced in annoyance, and eagerly picking the book back up to read David's reaction, she put her finger in her mouth to avoid having to get up and rinse it off in the bathroom sink. There was a tiny blot of blood on the page where David returns Keighley's passion, the two investigators making wild love in the pine scented rosemary, the delicate blue flowers catching in Keighley's long brown hair as it becomes unbound. Dana found herself actually breathing hard as she read how David's long fingers explored Keighley's body, teasing her nipples and stroking her thighs, and how Fern kissed his chest and bit his left shoulder as he teased her. She had never been so turned on by a book before. Without thinking Dana began touching herself while she read and she shuddered along with Keighley as David entered her, his hazel eyes staring into hers as he coaxed her to orgasm with his hands while moving inside her. She lay back against the pillows with her eyes closed. Oh my god, thought Dana, no wonder why he didn't want the swim team to read this. She was suddenly very tired and put the light out to sleep. She dreamed of hazel eyes and the scent of crushed rosemary. She awoke at nine and began reading again. She ignored the plot, no longer interested in the designs of the murderer. She was now only interested in the developing relationship between Keighley and David. She was beginning to see startling similarities between Keighley and herself that she hadn't noticed before because she was caught up in the intensity of the plot. Keighley was a woman in a traditionally male world, fighting her way to the top, determined never to be personally involved, never show to weakness or emotion -until Owen David appears and knocks her feet out from under her. David tells her how she took his breath away with her steely resolution, quick thinking, and beautiful eyes but that he never would have made the first move, not in today's world where unreturned affection could be twisted quickly into harassment and where women's careers were so easily destroyed by mixing romance and work. No, he tells her, it was her decision to make, she who had the most to lose, at least outwardly. Dana felt something inside her head pop. David's little speech wasn't somehow... no, no it wasn't, she thought shaking her head and walking across to the bathroom door. No, take a cold shower and stop thinking about Owen and Fern, and the feeling of warm California sunshine on bare skin... Ok, stop it! Enough, she told herself. She walked downstairs an hour later to find Mulder in the kitchen toasting bagels and slicing strawberries. "Fox, you shouldn't be making breakfast," she scolded. "Dana, I assure you, I'm allowed to use sharp knives now, I'm a big boy," he quipped, handing her a bowl of sliced fruit. "You know what I mean, you're supposed to be my guest," she said giving him her patented look as she sat down on a stool at the over-sized butcher's block in the center of the kitchen, "I'm supposed to be entertaining you." "By all means, who am to interfere with the rules of hospitality, entertain me," he leered. "Fox," she laughed, enjoying the old feeling of being the object of his demented sense of humor, "there are some things e-mail just can't transmit effectively. I've missed you." "Have you?" he asked lightly, but his eyes studied her with an intensity that made her suddenly uncomfortable. "Of course I have, Fox, you're my closest friend. I miss your companionship," she explained carefully, not sure what he wanted her to say. She wasn't sure what she thought, never mind wanted to voice. After all this time her mind was only now forming conscious into thought what had only been unformed musings of attraction in her subconscious during their partnership and the past several years. She waited to hear his response, unwilling to go out on a limb. "I've missed seeing you too, Dana," he said, turning away to fill two coffee cups. When he turned back to face her his expression was blank. They ate in silence for several moments until Scully asked, "Speaking of poor hospitality, can you occupy yourself for a few hours? I have some errands to run and I have to sign some papers for the state before I start so there's no interruption in my health insurance. Although I seem to need to visit the ER a lot less since-" "Hey, you're the one who shot me," he reminded her with a smile. "No problem, I promised the Gunmen I'd stop by the next time I was in the area." "Okay, I'll meet you back here for dinner. I'll pick up Thai, that way neither of us will have to clean up the kitchen." "That sounds good. I'll see you around six," he said grabbing the keys to his rental car and draining the last of the coffee in his cup and getting up. "See you later then," she called as he disappeared down the hallway. Five hours later she sat in traffic and prayed for six o'clock to get there faster. So far the dry cleaner had lost the belt to her trench coat, the ATM ate her card forcing her to spend an hour in line to replace it, her VCR wasn't ready at the repair shop, and she had had to wade through a mountain of paperwork for her new job. She stopped at the local natural foods market. She had discovered the place shortly after moving a month ago and quick became addicted to the place. They displayed vegetables like jewels, offered forty five different kinds of herbal tea, regularly had mahi-mahi on special, and sold cut wildflowers. She had never enjoyed the normally mundane task of grocery shopping so much. She paused to pick up a red pepper and froze. Next to the peppers was a display of fresh herbs, just a half a foot from her hand were several large branches of rosemary. Before she could even stop to think about it, she reached out and broke a sprig off, bringing it up to her face. She inhaled deeply, her nipples hardening in response to the scent. She blushed, she had certainly smelled rosemary before but suddenly it was exotic, intoxicating and... her thoughts trailed off into a sensual mishmash. What was she doing? She was in the middle of the grocery store for God's sake. What was wrong with her? She was still caught up in what the fantasy of what Keighley and David might mean and Fox hadn't even mentioned the book this morning. For all she knew the scene was only in the book because his publisher had insisted the novel needed a little spicing up. Then she thought about the blush on his face the night before and the intense look on his face when he asked her if she missed him. Suddenly the title of his book popped into her mind, 'Extreme Possibilities'. There was no extreme possibility -at least by Fox Mulder's usual definition- in the novel, no mutants, psychics, astral projection, no aliens, clones, or ghosts. Then what was the title for? Unless... no, the idea of the relationship couldn't be the extreme possibility, could it? Her pulse picked up pace. She heard his voice, "Dana, why can't you open yourself to extreme possibilities?" He had asked her that question soon after her father died. Outwardly, he was referring to her inability to believe her father could be contacting her from beyond the grave. He knew she believed in some sort of life after death so on a more basic level he was really asking why she couldn't believe love could surmount barriers -seen and unseen. Was he asking her again? She closed her eyes, calmly counted to ten, and began walking swiftly up and down the aisles. She had two hours until she was supposed to meet Fox. "Hi, honey, I'm home!" Mulder called, as he slammed thought the front door, "I hope the VCR's fixed Frohike gave me a great tape of-" "Fox, I have no intention of watching 'Debbie Does Dallas' in 3D," she joked, "besides the VCR wasn't ready, the repair shop still has it." "Oh, it's just as well, Frohike only had one pair of 3D glasses, I wouldn't want you to miss out," he bantered back at her. She rolled her eyes at him. "I didn't order the food yet, I figured I'd wait until you got back." "You know I love Thai, whatever you want to get is fine with me," he replied. "Do you mind if I take a shower first? The guys and I-" "Spare me the details," she interrupted, raising a hand, trying not to laugh. She could just imagine what they had been up to all afternoon. She followed him up the stairs. "That's fine with me I want to change anyway. It's hot. I watched the news, there are thunderstorm warnings for the area tonight so it should cool off by morning," she commented. She watched him walk down the hall to the guest bathroom and took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. She went into her room and was changing into cut-offs and a white silk, button-down shirt, when he knocked on the door. "Yes, Fox?" she asked, opening the door, knowing why he was there. He was wearing a pair of unbuttoned jeans, his hair only towel-dried. He didn't answer her, instead stared at her with an intense, expressionless gaze. For a moment she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing, imagined he was trying to tell her something in the book, imagined that he was somehow asking her that question again. But then a hand snaked out grabbing her wrist and he dragged her down the hallway, pushing her roughly through the open doorway of the guest room. She hadn't had the time to decorate so there were only sparse furnishings- a bed, nightstand and armoire all in yellow pine. The room was dimly lit by the late afternoon sun, the clouds from the approaching storm filtering through only a soft grey light which gave her the impression she was standing in mist. Mulder stood silently in the doorway, still staring. He had thrown the windows open and the wind played with the sheer white curtains. The room had the overwhelming scent of rosemary from the dozens of sprigs she had strewn across the bed. She walked over to the bed and sat down, holding out one hand to him. He crossed the room in two great strides, falling to his knees in front of her and wrapping his arms around her legs. He buried his face in her lap. After listening to his ragged breathing for a few moments, she felt his tongue slide over the inside of her thigh. "Fox," she breathed, as his tongue circled in ever increasing arcs across the inside of her leg. He moaned softly as he inhaled her scent and the unmistakable odor of the rosemary oil she had rubbed into her skin. He licked around the edge of the denim that was creeping up her legs, his hands caressing her calves. He pushed her back on the bed, unbuttoning and unzipping her shorts, then quickly pulled them off; she wasn't wearing anything under them. "Fox, I-" whatever she intended to say disappeared onto the haze that enfolded her as she felt his tongue slide inside her. Rosemary needles were digging into her back, coherent thought was disappearing into words... want, more, how, Fox, extreme, mouth. Then the words disappeared into mere letters as she felt the haze collect into storm clouds, his mouth was so hot and insistent as- oh, god, he was kissing her, kissing her lips there as his tongue darted in and out of her- with that realization the thunderheads in her broke open. When her vision began to come back into focus she saw that it was raining outside as well. The rain was blowing in the window, tiny droplets pushing through the screen, whispering against her face and chest, making the silk of her shirt cling to her. Mulder stood up, reaching out but before he could touch her, she slid to the floor. Kneeling in front of him, she began tugging his jeans off; he quickly stepped out of them to stand naked and fully aroused before her. She took him in her mouth, delighting in the strangled murmur of her name that slipped from him as her lips caressed the length of him. "Scully, Scully I-", whatever else he was going to say lost as her hands began trailing behind her mouth, fingers touching everywhere her tongue had. He tangled his hands into her hair to steady himself, his legs trembling, knees buckling slightly. He felt himself losing control and reached down to pull her up to him. She rose on unsteady legs, gripping his arm to steady herself. "Lose the shirt, Scully." he ordered, staring at her again but this time with a look that made her feel as though she was being devoured, his look dissecting her cell by cell, dissolving membranes and leaving naked protein strands delicately unraveling to spool at his feet. She began unbuttoning the shirt, issuing an order of her own, "Get on the bed, Fox." "Mulder," he corrected, moving forward to slide the shirt down her arms and onto the floor. "Call me Mulder again, Scully," he repeated wrapping his arms around her and falling back onto the bed. The room was deepening into shades of night. The thunder storm outside had abated into heavy rain, leaving behind the faint whiff of ozone from lightening strikes neither of them had heard. The bed's white sheets were damp, tangled around bits of herb and the limbs of the former partners. "Slow," Mulder whispered to Scully, kissing her neck, his mouth trailing down to the cleft between her breasts. She pushed him away, bracing against the bed to hold herself over him. "No, Mulder, not this time, no more waiting," she commanded, running her tongue over a flattened nipple to make a case for urgent need. He pulled her back down to him and rolled so they were both on their sides, face to face. "Condom, night table," he muttered. She yanked the drawer of the small night stand open, pulling the small packet out of his shaving kit, succeeding in jarring the lamp and knocking it to the floor in the process. She ignored the crash and ripped the packet open, quickly sliding the sheath over him. He inhaled sharply as her hands worked the condom down. "Put your leg around me," he said thickly. She complied. He slid part way inside her, feeling her thigh tighten around his hip and her heel in the small of his back. "Look at me Scully. I want to see your face." She opened her eyes and tilted her head to meet his gaze. At the same she tilted her hips up to take all of him in. He groaned, reflexively closing his eyes. Her hand randomly plucked at the sheet behind his back, picking up a piece of rosemary and grasping it so tightly it bit into her palm. "Open your eyes Mulder," she purred. Lids drifted up and hazel eyes gazed into hers with lazy sensuality. Hazel eyes and the scent of crushed rosemary. Oh, god, she thought he had seduced her with a book, first with the process of writing it and then the words themselves. "Scully, slower," he pleaded. Her hips had increased in pace with her thoughts. "Shut up, Mulder," she ordered. "Shut up, not slow, not this time," she repeated. She snaked her hand around and rubbed the fistful of herb against his chest releasing it's scent. He pulled her closer trapping the tiny branch between them. She closed her eyes as she felt the needles scratch over her heart. He kissed her forehead, his hips picking up pace to match the rhythm of hers. He could feel her nails digging into his back and knew she was close. "Look at me," he entreated, "look at me, I want to watch you this time." She opened her eyes to him once more, her face flush. "More," she whispered. He began driving into her and as she convulsed around him, he slowed to feel the tremors inside her. She waited until her voice worked again, "Now. Again. Let me watch you." The sound of her voice, breathless and husky, pushed him to the edge. He could feel the wind driven rain drops biting into his neck and back with the sting of a hundred tiny whips, he could feel the rosemary needles clinging to their sweat drenched skin and smelled their citrus, Christmas tree scent but the only thing he heard as he came was her voice demanding, "More, Mulder, more." She awoke with her hair a wild, disheveled mess, Mulder's fingers and bits of rosemary still tangled in it. She extracted the strands from his grasp and slipped down the hall to the shower. She had just stepped under the steamy spray when she felt hands around her waist. "More?" he whispered teasingly in her ear. "I'll always want more," she answered, turning to face him. His smile disappeared. "I'm leaving, you know," he said. It was a statement not a question. "I have to." "I do know. I know you need to look for Samantha. You've waited, the consortium has disbanded and she hasn't returned," she stated referring to the last several years. "Yes, but can you handle this? Do you need- " "Mulder, I don't *need* anything except water and oxygen. I *want* you. Don't cheapen this down to basic necessity." He was silent for several moments watching the water cascade across her shoulders and down her breasts with fascination. Then he spoke, "Are you sure?" She pushed him against the back wall of the shower, running her hands over his chest, "Yes, I'm sure but don't make me wait forever, Mulder because I want-" "More," he finished for her. END