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From: punkm@earthling.net (Punk Maneuverability)
Date: Wed, 02 Jul 1997 06:30:52 GMT
Subject: %New% The Jukebox (1/1) Punk M

Disclaimer:  I'm shameless.  I don't own Mulder *or* Scully.  I stole
them.   Shhhhhh!  Not so loud.  Their rightful owners, Chris Carter,
10-13 Productions and Fox, aren't even looking for them.  I
substituted some cheap clones for the real things--I'm very cunning. 
No infringement intended.

Rating:  G

Classification:  S

Keywords:  Mulder/Scully UST

Spoilers:  Natch

Summary:  Mulder and Scully make a stop on their way to the
middle of nowhere.  Not too much conversation, but a lot of
airborne UST.

Punk Notes:  The song at the end of this is as sung by Etta James, a
marvelous black vocalist.  It's called "At Last" and can be found on
the "Rainman" soundtrack or on Etta James' "At Last."  And of
course, I don't own the rights to it.

And, also, I'm going to claim whatever part of this story that belongs
to me.  So--Copyright me--Punk M / R. Mason (c) 1997. . .no
funky poaching, guys. . .I love this one, but I'm still not making any
money off of it.  No forwarding or archiving without my permission.
Gossamer archiving is okay.

--The Jukebox at Fall Arrow Inn--(1/1)
Posted:  1. July 1997

I love your feedback; it's what keeps me writing.  Send praise,
complaints, suggestions, requests, bribes and/or socks to:

punkm@earthling.net

===============================
The Jukebox at Fall Arrow Inn
by    Punk Maneuverability        
===============================

        Mulder and Scully sat in a lonely roadside diner in
Washington.  It was a simple Monday night, and their only
companion was the jukebox in the corner, humming as it flipped
through its records.  It had been searching ever since they had
arrived and was obviously dissatisfied with what it was finding.  It
clicked and whirred deliberately.

        The diner was on the way to the middle of nowhere but was
placed conveniently on the highway.  If you followed the road as it
curled around mountains and over rivers, if you followed it past the
dams and the falling rocks--you ended up here.

        Tonight, Mulder and Scully were the only ones that had
bothered.  Their diligence was rewarded by the Fall Arrow Inn.  

        The diner was surrounded by asphalt and trees.  A familiar
combination to those who lived in the Pacific Northwest.  To those
who lived anywhere else it might be disturbing--too much nature in
your freeway. . .too much freeway in your nature.

        From the parking lot of the Fall Arrow, the sideways smile of
the moon could be seen peeking over the tops of evergreens.  Its
white grin was thin and stretched--its light no match for the diner's
brightly lit facade.

        The neon arrow on the diner's sign flickered off and on at
spastic intervals.  Its orange and pink light swam through the drops
of rain that rested on the windshield of a Ford Explorer--the only car
in the lot.  The light skimmed over the white paint and reflected off
the chrome.

        A raccoon slunk across the parking lot in an awkward lope,
one paw drawn to its chest.  It skirted the puddles that lay in the
low spots of the asphalt and paused to look behind it.  It wobbled to
the edge of the lot then ducked under a bush and disappeared.

        It was raining in that leisurely way that suggested it might
stop at any moment.  It had been raining like that for hours.  Raining
like it only could if you were on your way to the middle of nowhere.

        The rain had made Mulder pleasantly sleepy, and Scully had
suggested that they pull over and get some coffee before he drove
them into the great beyond.  

        Mulder and Scully sat across from each other in a booth by the
window.  Their trench coats hung on the coat tree by the door.  

        They were the only ones inside the diner.  A waitress had
manifested herself once to take their orders and then again to bring
Scully's food and Mulder's coffee.  They hadn't seen her since.

        Mulder watched Scully as she gnawed at a fat French fry.  She
was going over the file for their new case, making notes with one
hand, and eating with the other.  

        As he watched, Scully pushed a page toward him, pointing at a
section with the tip of her fountain pen.  He skimmed over the
words, committing them to memory before even understanding what
they meant.  

        He was far more interested in her.

        Mulder abandoned the paper and instead contemplated the
angular black smudges of ink on the tip of her index finger.  Scully
the scientist and skeptic wrote with a fountain pen.  Highly illogical
and very messy.  

        It had to do with touch.  There was nothing like the scrape of
a fountain pen across a page--the ink running through the fibers of
the paper.  Scully reveled in the connection.  

        At is happened, so did Mulder.

        Scully's hand reached out for the paper blindly.  She made a
slight clawing motion, eager to have the page returned.  

        Mulder nodded even though he knew she was not watching
him and pushed the information back toward her.  They would have
to look into that when they got where they were going.  But for right
now, they were still on their way there.

        Scully took back the paper wordlessly and picked up another
French fry.  

        Mulder got up to pour himself more coffee.  He debated
picking the orange-necked pot over the black-necked pot, but
decided against it; they still had a while to drive.  It wouldn't do
to wrap a tree around the car.

        Mulder carried the pot back to the booth and poured himself
more coffee, sloshing some onto the table.  

        Scully nudged a few napkins his way without even taking her
eyes from the report.

        Mulder mopped up the spilled coffee and then headed back to
the counter to put the pot back on the warmer.  He tossed the
stained paper napkins into the trash.

        Mulder looked around the diner, experiencing how it felt to be
behind the counter, seeing what it would be like to be on the other
side.  It was isolated, sectioned off.  It was us against them.
Except there was no us, nor a them.  There was only Mulder and Scully.

        The glowing jukebox caught his attention, and he wandered
over to where it crouched against the wall.  The machine paused in
its shuffling, flashed its lights and then resumed its muttering.

        Mulder bent down to read the menu, but it was blank.  The
jukebox clacked.  Mulder pressed a random combination of
numbers and letters and waited.  

        The jukebox stopped again as if insulted.  It sat quiet.

        Mulder walked away in defeat.  The jukebox clanked and then
started flipping through its music once again.

        He returned to the booth, but instead of taking his seat
across from his partner, Mulder slid in next to her, hovering at her
left side.  

        Scully sat with her elbows propped on the table top, leaning
forward to read her file.  In her left hand she held half a French fry
near her mouth.

        In one smooth motion, Mulder leaned into her and next to her
ear whispered, "Can I have a French fry?"  Whispering in her ear
was his favorite thing to do, and he did it well.

        Scully didn't even flinch.  Not reacting was what she did
best.

        In answer, she swiveled her left hand a bit.  Bringing it
closer to her shoulder and his mouth, she offered him her half-eaten
French fry to deter any further begging.  

        It didn't work.  

        Mulder leaned forward and took the potato between his teeth. 
Careful not to touch his lips to her fingers, he tugged the fry out of
her grip.

        Scully flexed her fingers, testing this new feeling.  It
didn't have to mean anything.

        She could hear Mulder next to her, chewing.  She constantly
underestimated him.  It was getting to be dangerous.

        Somehow he managed to scoot closer to her.  She had been
certain there was no space left between them.

        Scully picked up another French fry.  Mulder's head came
down to rest on her shoulder.  He nestled in closer, wrapping his
right arm around her waist.

        Scully dared to look at him.  His eyelids drooped.  After
having three cups of coffee, Mulder was still ready to fall asleep.  

        She should have known he was abnormal.  That much caffeine
would have her scaling walls and talking like an auctioneer.

        Scully went back to her French fries and her report.

        "Scully," Mulder whispered from her shoulder like an
overgrown conscience.

        "What is it, Mulder?" she asked.

        "I like it here.  It's easy."

        Scully picked up another French fry and bit into it.  She made
some notes in the margins of her notes.

        "Do you like it here, Scully?" Mulder whispered, slouched so
close to her that his lips almost touched the collar of her blouse.

        Scully answered before she could censor herself.  "Yes, it's
uncomplicated," she said, betraying her needs.

        She sighed and leaned back against the booth.  Mulder moved
with her, his head not even lifting from her shoulder.  

        Scully looked out the window.  The rain sparkled in the light
of the neon sign like shards of falling glass.  If only life were as
uncomplicated as the rain.

        "I don't ever want to leave," Mulder said sleepily, his eyes
fixed on the French fry in Scully's left hand.  "Are you going to
finish that fry?"

        Scully pushed the French fry in his mouth.  Mulder licked her
thumb briefly.  

        "We can't stay, Mulder.  You know we have work to do."  She
wiped her wet thumb on his shirt.

        "But maybe we could come back?" Mulder asked, a slight note
of pleading invading his voice.

        "Maybe," Scully said, humoring him, knowing how unlikely it
was that they would ever be in this same place again. 

        "Maybe on our way back, when we're done with our work?"
Mulder suggested, growing hopeful.

        "Maybe," Scully said again, putting her pen down and touching
her ink-stained hand to his left cheek.  "Maybe on our way back."

        "Maybe," Mulder repeated, taking that small word from her.  It
was a small word, but it held a lot.  

===============

        As Mulder and Scully left the diner, the door swinging shut
behind them, the jukebox ceased its shuffling.  The arm came out
and snatched an album, setting it on the tiny turntable.  The needle
lowered down to rest on the vinyl, and a strong female voice filled
the diner.  Apparently the jukebox had finally found what it was
looking for.  

        Outside, Mulder and Scully ran to their car while the rain
took its time in falling.  Inside, Etta James sang to herself. . . 

        "At last. . .my love has come along. . .my lonely days are
over, and life is like a song.  Oh yeah yeah, at last. . .the skies
above are blue.  My heart was wrapped up in clover. . .the night I
looked at you. . . 

        "I found a dream. . .that I could speak to. . .a dream that I.
. . can call my own.  I found a thrill. . .to press my cheek to. . .a
thrill that I. . .have never known.  And oh yeah yeah. . .you smiled,
you smiled, oh and then, the spell was cast.  And here we are. . .in
heaven, for you are mine. . .at last. . . ."

===============


Thanks--Lock the door on your way out
punk m
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