From: M Heikkinen Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Hospitality (NC-17) Date: Thu, 28 Dec 1995 20:58:45 -0600 I've been lurking here for quite a while and finally decided to send this before I lost my nerve and never sent it! Please be kind; this is my first attempt at fanfic. All comments should be sent to Kim Heikkinen at mirri@csd.uwm.edu. DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Cancer Man, the X Files, etc., are the property of Chris Carter and Fox Broadcasting Network. The use of them implies no copyright infringement. All other characters belong to me. This story is rated NC-17 for graphic sex and some violence. If you have a problem with either of these, please don't read it. If you read it anyway, don't flame me because I warned you! I realise that I know nothing about FBI protocol and procedures and therefore this story is full of errors, but I think the basic premise is sorta interesting--so be kind, please! The story takes place after Scully's abduction. "Hospitality" by Kim Heikkinen Fox Mulder rubbed his eyes and stretched. Another night of wiretapping and he'd never need to worry about insomnia again; all he'd have to do is think about the endless listening to tedious conversations that were only rarely spiced with something relating to the case and he'd be off like the proverbial baby. Funny, how most of human conversations were mundane when you stopped to consider them. Or maybe they were boring only when they didn't relate to you--aaahhh, quit analyzing everything, he told himself. You know why you hate this--it's not the X-Files. He quickly tuned back into the work at hand. He looked up from the transcripts on his desk as Skinner walked into his office. "Well, Mulder, I hate to tear you away from all this, but I have a new assignment for you," the older man said. "What kind of assignment this time, sir?" "You're going to be guarding a Federal witness. Twenty-four hour stuff, you and Agent Briggs. You remember that money-laundering case Thompson was on? Well, a Ms. Delevan has agreed to testify in exchange for being put in the Witness Protection program. She's not implicated--she works in another division of the same company and was checking the books for a completely different reason when she noticed they literally didn't add up. But since the Mafia is involved, they aren't exactly eager to see her get up and tell all." Witness Protection...a whole new identity in a strange place, always looking over your shoulder anyway...Mulder shuddered. "When do we start?" "The agents who met Ms. Delevan at the airport will be escorting her to the Hyatt this afternoon. Two suites, adjoining. You take the first shift, Briggs the second, then you're with her tomorrow till the marshalls escort her to the courthouse in the afternoon. OK?" "Yes, sir." Oh god, cooped up with a terrified woman who either babbled on and on out of near-hysteria, or else cringed in a corner, starting at every sound. Why me? ******************* Mulder made a quick trip to his apartment and stuffed a few things in a duffle bag before going over to the Hyatt. He went to his suite and settled down to await the arrival of Ms. Delevan. To pass the time, he speculated on her age and appearance. His kindest estimate was 50 years and the kind of woman who gave "old maid" its true meaning. She'd probably be scandalized by the fact that he'd have to keep the door that separated them unlocked in case something happened... The phone broke into his thoughts. "Mulder, it's Briggs. I'm sick as a dog. I'm throwing up constantly and my head feels like someone's trying to pound his way out. I'm sorry, man, but I can't possibly take the second shift. Do you want me to have Skinner try to get someone else? I know it's awfully late, but I'm pretty sure Randolph is free. I could tell Skinner to try him." The last person Mulder wanted to be beholden to was Randolph, not after the way he'd always bugged Mulder about that unfortunate crush Anita Lascelles from Paycheck had had on him. She had quite literally flung her- self at him one afternoon when he had dropped by to straighten out a glitch in a paycheck, and Randolph, damn the bastard, had walked in just as Mulder was peeling her off. "Uh, thanks Briggs, but that's OK. It's only till tomorrow afternoon; I can manage." "Thanks Mulder, I owe you one," Briggs gratefully replied. "Yeah, sure. Feel better." Mulder hung up the phone. Fantastic! Not only was he in charge of a paranoid woman, he was stuck with her without a break! Mulder, you need to have your head examined, he told himself as he picked up one of the courtesy magazines and began to flip through it. ************************ A few minutes later, the phone rang again. It was the front desk informing him that Ms. Delevan had arrived. "Be right down," Mulder said, hastily shrugging his suit jacket on again and straightening his tie. When he reached the lobby, he walked to the front desk. The concierge waved at a group of persons standing at the fountain. "Ms. Delevan is over there." Mulder recognized the two agents, but that...woman certainly couldn't be Ms. Delevan. For one thing, she was a good twenty years younger than he had pegged her. And for another... A tall woman walked toward him, smiling. Sun splashing through the glass skylight turned pale blonde hair to silver and momentarily blinded him. He caught a whiff of some sweet flowery perfume he didn't recognize. A soft hand took his. "You're Agent Mulder. I'm so grateful to you and the other agents--you're all so kind." Mulder mumbled something he hoped was polite and relevant to the situation. This was no cringing, cowering victim! This was a confident, self-assured woman--who was also one of the loveliest women he'd ever seen. some small part of his brain asserted. Mulder pushed the thought to one side and concentrated on the here and now. "Would you like to go to your room now?" he asked. "You're in 616 and I have the adjoining suite, 618." "That would be very nice," Ms. Delevan smiled. "I think I need to sit down a while and just think of nothing--the last few days have been very intense." They made their farewells to the other agents and went to suite 616. "Would you like to eat dinner with me, Agent Mulder? I've been talking shop with the other agents who've been with me and it's been very interesting, even though I don't comprehend the half of it, I'm sure." "Sure," Mulder muttered. He still found himself at a loss for words, and he didn't know why. Damned irritating! "I'll be back in a few minutes." ************************* A large pizza (mushroom and onion, extra cheese) lay half-eaten on the coffee table. The second bottle of Chablis was almost empty, and a third waited for them in the minibar's refrigerator. Mulder hadn't had so much fun in far too long. Everything was funny, and it wasn't just the wine that made it seem so. He poured the last of it into their glasses. "Shall I open the last bottle of wine, Ms. Delevan?" "Oh please, call me Angela. And yes, do open the wine. Even though I probably shouldn't; I'm feeling the effects of what we've already drunk!" Angela's eyes shone with laughter. She was curled up on the sofa in Mulder's suite. She had changed into casual clothes--an oversized V-necked sweater and leggings in a dark grey-green that matched her eyes, and she was barefoot. "You're safe with me--I'm FBI," Mulder answered, and realized that he wasn't exactly stone-cold sober himself. But he wasn't blitzed by any means, and he didn't have to drive anywhere, so--so what? He wrestled successfully with the corkscrew and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa from Angela. Leaning over, he topped up their glasses. "There!" He took a sip. Angela raised her glass to drink also, and as she did, Mulder noticed a bit of cork floating in the wine. "Wait a minute--there's cork in your glass," he said, and reached a finger to scoop it out. Somehow, the glass tipped over and sent its contents cascading down the front of Angela's sweater, into the V-neck and down her front. A single drop, separate from the rest, rolled down her chin and along her neck. Of its own volition, Mulder's finger reached out and caught the drop of wine just above the lowest point of the V. He raised his finger to his lips and his eyes to Angela's. Her pupils were enormous with desire and her lips were parted, and he knew his must be too. "I had better go back to my own room," she said shakily. "Yes," Mulder answered, not meeting her eyes. She rose and walked to the door. Mulder watched her, brooding. As she put a hand on the knob, he heard himself say almost in a whisper, "Don't go." She turned to look at him, and in a few steps he was next to her. His arms went around her, pulling her to him. She tilted her face to his, a question- ing expression in her eyes, and he answered by firmly pressing his mouth to hers. *********************** =========================================================================== From: M Heikkinen Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Hospitality (NC-17) 2/2 Date: Tue, 2 Jan 1996 09:39:32 -0600 Ok, here's part two. Same disclaimer as before. This is the NC-17 part, so if you have any problems with explicit sex or a bit of violence (brief), STOP READING NOW! "Hospitality" (NC-17) by Kim Heikkinen As Mulder's mouth covered Angela's, a myriad of thoughts passed through his mind. He was breaking several rules he could think of, and he was probably breaking ones he didn't even know existed. He chose to ignore the warning small voice, and he knew why very well. He wanted to forget for a while, even though there would be hell to pay if anyone found out just what happened. But who would tell, anyway? He'd keep his mouth shut; Angela would be sequestered while testifying and then she would be going away to only God knew where. He parted her soft lips and gently probed her mouth. She responded eagerly, sliding her arms around his neck and drawing him closer. Her warmth and softness reminded him just how long it had been, and his resolve to consciously cast aside the rules hardened...along with other parts of him. He slid his hands under the loose sweater she wore and along her back, stroking the soft skin. Angela murmured low in her throat and he rubbed against her, then broke their kiss and led her over to the bed. They undressed each other slowly, like two lovers who have known each other a long time. When Angela was down to her underwear, Mulder stopped and looked at her admiringly. The pale swells of her breasts rising from the rosepink lace cups of her bra, the incredibly long and slender legs...she was lovely...but thoughts of another lovely woman kept intruding. He forced them down, which became easier when she reached for him and ran her hands down his body to unfasten his trousers. She slid her hands inside, into his boxers, and then his thoughts stopped altogether. He divested her of her underwear and bent his head to draw a pale pink nipple into his mouth, smiling to himself as she groaned, fondling her other breast at the same time. He took his time, working his way down her torso to the froth of blonde curls. When he pressed his mouth to her warm center, she cried out and arched her back, and he rapidly flicked his tongue over the sensitive flesh, drawing her closer to her climax. Angela's thighs stiffened, her back arched again, and she came in a series of pulses Mulder rode out with her, pushing his tongue firmly against her till the last tremor left her. She raised her head to look at him, her eyes heavy with satisfied passion. Mulder drew himself up to her and they kissed again. "Thank you," Angela sighed, stretching herself. "Can't you think of a better way to thank me?" Mulder grinned. "Oh, I think so," she replied, and began exploring his body, running her lips and hands along his lean form. Her pale hair brushed his skin, and the sensation sent shivers through him as her head went lower and lower. She finally took him into her mouth and caressed him with her tongue till he thought he would lose all control and pulled her away. Grabbing his wallet from the nightstand, he found the foil packet, ripped it open and swiftly readied himself. He poised himself a moment and entered her in one decisive thrust. Her moans drove him on, his movements growing more frantic, and she came again, her rhythmic contractions triggering his own release. He slumped against her a moment, then withdrew and pulled her into his arms. The two of them lay entwined, sated, till sleep overcame them both. ************************* The dim room was filled with cigarette smoke, adding to the discomfort of the young agent. He faced the older man, shifting his weight from foot to foot, waiting for his assignment. The older man smiled--if you used the term loosely. "Assistant Director Skinner has inadvertently provided us with an ideal situation in which to deal with Agent Mulder. He's guarding a Federal witness who has already received several death threats. What better way to resolve this problem than by making it seem he took a shot meant for someone else?" The young man twitched a little. "How is this going to be arranged? What exactly do I have to do?" The smile again, then the older man began to speak. ************************** It was the same nightmare, only Sam's face kept changing to Scully's, stricken with anguish. Mulder suddenly came awake; someone was shaking his shoulder and saying something-- "--Mulder!" He realized where he was, and recognized the blonde woman who was looking anxiously at him. "That was some nightmare. You were shouting in your sleep," Angela said, gently stroking the hair off his sweaty forehead. "Sorry to wake you. I have it--that dream--pretty often." She was still smoothing his hair, and the repetitive action was soothing. The sweet fragrance of her perfume wafted over him as she shifted in bed, and he took a deep breath. "What perfume is that? I don't recognize it--not that I'm a great connoisseur of women's perfumes," he asked, smiling weakly in an attempt at levity. "Actually, it's not perfume, it's Parma violet essential oil. It's kind of old-fashioned, but I like it better than most of the scents on the market nowadays." "Smells good." He reached up for her. "Come here..." And for a while, he was again able to forget, to tamp the memories and nightmares down. ************************ The next day, Mulder expected things between them to be strained and awkward, but Angela was abstracted and almost distant. "Are you ready? They'll be sending a car for you soon," he said to Angela, who was standing at the window looking down at the street. A second later, the phone rang; it was the front desk calling to tell them the ride had arrived. She turned to him and gave him what was obviously a forced smile. She was dressed in a severe grey suit with her pretty hair pinioned into a French twist, and her mouth was lipsticked a brave bright red. "Yes, I am," she visibly braced herself. "Let's go." They walked out the main entrance and were crossing the pavement to the waiting car when Angela suddenly turned to Mulder and spoke. "I want to thank you, Agent Mulder. For just a while, I was able to for--" she broke off and looked sharply at something over his shoulder-- --everything was happening at once. Angela was shoving him and moving in front of him in what seemed to be one motion. There were definitely gunshots and a sudden pain in his right arm, and then he found himself on the pavement with her on top of him. "Angela! Angela, are you all right?" His arm was numb, but he knew that in a few minutes the feeling would come surging back along with the pain. Gently he slid out from under her. The wound was small--a bullet hole in her temple, just in front of the ear, but when he moved her a great gout of blood spilled out of her mouth. He knew it was useless, but he called her name again. No response. Then someone was gently helping him up, saying, "Sir, please don't touch her. She mustn't be moved. And we need to get you to the hospital. Please, let go of her." The chalkmarks. This was real, then. People seemed to have sprung from the ground, both officials and ghoulish onlookers. And the pain in his arm was burning its way to his consciousness. He gave in and let himself be led to an ambulance. ************************* Mulder was kept in the hospital longer than was necessary for the simple flesh wound from the bullet that had grazed him. The doctors called it "posttraumatic stress syndrome", a term he was familiar with from his psychology background, but he knew it wasn't that. He was literally ill with grief. He kept replaying the tragedies--all three of them--over and over in his mind. Samantha's screams, Scully's frantic cries for help, the look on Angela's face as she pushed past him, all spun in a dark whirlpool that sucked him under and would not let go. He welcomed the sedation the doctors reluctantly gave him; it was the only thing that silenced the taunting demons. Skinner stopped by several times, finally with the official report. "It wasn't your fault, Mulder," he told the drawnfaced Mulder in the hopes it would stir the once vital agent to his former self. "It's pretty cut-and- dried, really. She had received several death threats already, and the report from Ballistics, the M.O., were all indicative of a Mafia hit." "NO!" Skinner looked in surprise at Mulder. This was the most emotion he'd displayed since the incident. "Cancer Man--it was Cancer Man and you know it. That was meant for me, and they got her instead. Oh god!" Mulder pressed his hands to his face and made a choking sound. "Mulder, no. It was Mafia. The evidence is too strong in favor of it being them. You have to realize that, and quit beating yourself up," Skinner said in his gentlest voice. "They wanted her dead, and they succeeded." But Mulder had again sunk into his private hell, and after a few minutes, the AD left, shaking his head. Mulder lay in bed, the depression lying in a thick fog on his brain. A weak sun that had been hiding all morning suddenly broke through in full force and fell through the window, highlighing a bright green book on the nightstand. Then he recalled that some Gideons had been through, giving away Bibles, and he had been too apathetic to tell them he believed in no organized religion. He looked away, but the bright green book seemed to beckon. He picked it up and noticed that the spine appeared to be broken. The book fell open to the page the binding was cracked at, and his eyes were drawn to the print in spite of himself. He read the verse twice, incredulous. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." And suddenly the room was filled with the scent of violets. THE END ************************** Well, how was it? Ok, or just too stupidly romantic? Let me know. Kim Heikkinen mirri@csd.uwm.edu