From: Kris Date: Mon, 22 Nov 1999 23:22:01 GMT Subject: Rhythm (1/1) - Kris Mackenzie Rhythm Kris Mackenzie Rated G Category: Vignette Spoilers: Hungry I get annoyed when we don't see enough of M & S in an episode and I have to make up things they might be doing "behind the scenes." Chris Carter & Co. still own 'em. *Rhythm* Mulder is bored and restless. I can't blame him; I'm feeling a little cooped-up myself, but I've promised myself that I would not let him push the limits of his recovering body and mind. I dredged up this case only to prevent him from finding something possibly more taxing - this one seemed, well, tame. Brain-sucking monsters are tame. I've long since come to terms with what that statement says about our lives and careers, but I still don't like it. Sometimes I long for a nice, normal serial killer who does it because his mommy didn't love him. Our master investigator and former golden boy of the BSU is playing a calypso riff on the table with the chopsticks from our Chinese takeout. He's still pale and sleepy-eyed from weeks spent recuperating; he tires easily and gets really grumpy if I mention it to him. There's a six-inch scar under the half-inch of hair on top of his head. But his mind is going a hundred and ten percent, and I often feel a kind of hollow-chested joy at the knowledge of it, so I let him continue his impromptu concert. "The Roberts kid did it, Scully," he says in time to the beat. "I'm telling you - we can wrap this one up and go home. Find ourselves a real case." I'm inclined to agree with him, but have every intention of dragging this one out for three or four days if we can manage it. I'll do anything necessary to buy him some more rest time. I take off my glasses and look at him. "Mulder, we have absolutely no evidence to support that theory. Unless your super mind-reading powers have come back, we're going to have to have a little more to go on than your hunch." He grins and relaxes, slowing the chopstick serenade to a tango. Normal, I see in his eyes, and nod back at him, returning the grin. Normal. Sooner or later we're going to have to deal with the upheaval of the last few months, but for right now, everything is normal and we fit back into our accustomed roles with ease. "What if I *can* still read minds, Scully? Useful investigative tool, wouldn't you say? What if I was reading your mind at this moment . . ." "Then you'd know what I want right now more than anything in the world." That gets me a wider grin. "Hmmm, let me see. A backrub, sans clothing? A steamy bubble bath for two?" That's a path we're working on, but not something I'm interested in pursuing in a two-bit motel in the tackiest part of Orange County. "Wrong again, G-man," I say repressively. "How about a Diet Coke from the machine down the hall?" He chuckles, and the chopsticks stop their rhythm. "You got it, Scully. I'll even buy." He picks some quarters out of the small pile of change emptied from his pocket earlier and is gone, whistling the melody to whatever song he's been playing on the table. I turn my attention back to my laptop, wanting to finish typing up my case notes so we can both relax. Mulder's been "helping" - offering a comment here and there - but the case is so routine that we're both just going through the motions. The only question is *how* the killer managed to extract the victim's brain (I refuse to put 'brain-sucking' in my report) and while I'm sure the answer will be fairly horrifying (especially if Mulder's theory about a talented probiscus proves correct), it won't be life-changing. Thank God for that. I'm contemplating the mysteries of brain-sucking organisms when I feel something cold and wet at the base of my skull, and I jerk out of the chair before I can stop myself. Mulder's standing behind me, two condensation-covered cans of soda in his hand, still grinning. I snatch one of the sodas away from him. "Very funny, Mulder. Look, it's going to be your job tomorrow to follow up with the Rob Roberts. You need to find something more concrete than a hunch if we're going to bring him up on charges." "Yes ma'am," Mulder retorts, snapping off a salute my father would have admired. "I assume you'll be spending your day in the fragrant surroundings of the autopsy bay?" "You assume correctly." "And what about Derwood? I thought he was your prime suspect." Busted. "Yes. He is. But his list of priors is enough reason to bring him in for questioning - you won't need to go see him." Good save, Dana. I pop open the cold soda and take a good, long gulp. "If you think Roberts is the right guy, it's up to you to prove it." Mulder makes a face at me. "Scully, you sound like my fourth grade teacher. Could you please remove the sanctimony from your tone?" He fakes a punch at my shoulder, guy-style, to soften the words, and then opens his hand and reaches around to cradle the back of my neck. His touch is warm against my skin. With his other hand, he takes the soda away from me and sets it on the table. "Done with your case notes?" he asks, in an entirely different tone. I nod, my eyes never leaving his. He's watching me, reading, assessing. The thump of my heart is loud in my own ears and I imagine that he can hear it, too. I wonder then if maybe he does still read minds, because his hand guides me gently forward, pressing my ear against his chest so I can hear his own heart beating as quickly and loudly as mine. I close my eyes and listen to the two rhythms, his and mine, and wrap my arms snug around his waist. Normalcy is nice, but there are a few old habits we need to break. *End* Feedback is fun! Write and tell me what you're doing for the holidays. kristinx99@aol.com