Subject: TESTING THE WWATER by Mary Greten From: mary greten Date: Wed, 09 Jul 1997 21:24:05 -0700 disclaimer: the X-files belong to its originator, cris carter and his associate producers and directors, and to the writers who sculpt his concept so that the actors can animate its spirit and elevate ours. NO infringement on anyone's copyrights is intended. loc's appreciated; post and re-archive with my name; spoilers abound Scully needs an escort to a social obligation. MS(R?H? "I walk the fine line others cross over") story pg IN OTHER CONTEXT: TESTING THE WATER ISMS ARRANGED by Mary Greten. ORIGINAL MATERIAL by Mary Greten. It was late. Dana Scully M.D., physicist and ex post facto ever efficient amanuensis of the FBI's version of Dungeons and Dragons, was damned angry at herself. She was procrastinating, stalling and delaying. She sorely needed this hot bath to melt the aches from her muscles and her spirit. But that did not alter the aggravating fact that she was compelled by circumstances, she could have controlled long before now, to call upon the last person in the world she would want to help her discharge this particular obligation. Well, fourth from the last anyway, Fox Mulder, her tall, not unhandsome (with or without glasses), darkhaired partner in the investigations, which she could literarily describe as the grisly amusements of ghoulish gods, but were documented as the X-files. Though she'd never tell him that. Once, she yelled a warning of danger in close proximity above him that "There's something up there, Mulder!". His triumphant retort, " Oooh, I've been saying that for years", tersely re-iterated the entire explanation for his existence. He needed no encouragement to seek esoteric causes for casual events. She reached for her cel phone. When Mulder had waxed bucolically at the prospect of having found the perfect American town to raise a family, she informed him that if he had to do without a cel phone for two minutes he'd lapse into catatonic schizophrenia. But for her, it only meant she could call him from her tub which fit her length perfectly from her toes to the edges of her auburn hair and more than ample room for her slender width. She could spin a 360 and not break surface. She pondered Mulder's proclivities: Was he watching one of those tapes that aren't his or a Fox network's hoky UFO/alien pseudo-documentaries that have been airing lately on her beloved Learning Channel? Reading a Jose Chung book she had recommended to him.? Hah!. (But Mulder's estimation of Chung's newly created genre was far from accurate; 'From Outer Space' was probably the single cause of those hoky programs being upgraded to worthy of TLC). With a date? Unlikely, not because he couldn't command one at any time; his charm had elicited more information from reluctant female witnesses than any threat of jail time for obstruction of justice she could issue; but because when they had gotten back he had looked as bedraggled as she felt. She pressed memory 1. "Mulder. I need your help. I..." He bounded off his sofa. "I'll be right there. Where are you?" "Not Now!" She added swiftly and firmly. He sat back down slowly and, with remote already in hand, muted the television. She continued. "I know I said I can't take you anywhere..." "You said you needed me, Scully." Did he sound disappointed? Annoyed? Was she still wired and imagining? "Mulder, let me finish eating crow. The assistance I require is an escort to a friend's imminent wedding reception. I forgot about it until I turned the page in my weekly date book." "Small wonder with our recent wanderings. He sympathized. "How imminent is it?" "Tomorrow evening. So, unless you're expecting the latest issue of 'Celebrity Skin'...". "Evening?" Again, a twinge. She was sure. But of what? She waited for some response. Of course... "If you have a other plans.." offering him a way out. "No. No other plans." He replied but proffered nothing. What's with him??? She concluded that he had had enough of her these past few weeks and was disinclined to add one more day to his time served. Why didn't he tell her so? "Nevermind, Mulder, I'll go alone. I'm not sure your social demeanor unlike your genetic makeup would pass civilized muster. The thought of you grabbing the garter makes me....", she trailed off. "Quiver?" He suggested. "Shudder." "Are you going to catch the bouquet?" "Maybe." "I'll take my chances" he said. An unbidden "to touch your skin." finished the statement in his mind. Where the the duece did that come from? But before he could recover from the first psyche emanated intent, he blurted, "Scully? What are you wearing.?" "I beg your pardon." fussed a flustered Scully. He finally performed a reality check. I can't even pass mental muster tonight. Me has got to rescue Myself from I. "To the wedding. Stay with me, Scully. If you want, we'll talk about what you're wearing now, later." He is bantering, she reasoned. Perhaps he had been dozing and she had caught him off his guard. "Later is good. Later, I can put something on; so later I can tell you what it is that I am wearing later. Because now I'm luxuriating in a hot bath." She playfully kicked up a splash for him. Mulder smiled at a memory. "With lots of bubbles, I bet, Samantha liked...". "Actually, no. I don't lather until the water is tepid then shower off. First, I like to imagine myself in a clear hot spring on a sunny island. It's a relaxation and therapeutic technique called guided imagery. You should try it." Silence. "Mulder, are you there??" "Yeah, I'm trying not to breathe heavily." "Oh, I thought you had stopped breathing....." She was immediately penitent. "I am sorry. I don't think I really meant to tease you. I only wanted to describe how GOO-OOD it feels". She drawled like mythical Mayberry's Sheriff Andy Taylor. "SHUT UP!, SCULLY". Silence. He waited. Silence. His shoulders sagged. And his thoughts became jagged. "Now I've done it. She'll transfer from the x-files. She'll ditch me. She has more than enough reasons. Hold on.. Hang on ... Wait... wait.. no click.... no dial tone, no irritating buzz or busy signal" He leaned forward. "BREATHE, Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully!! " Silence. "Sculleee!!!". He recalled that inflection. He hadn't used it since the last time his sister Samatha had annoyed him... just minutes before her abduction that affected his life forever. Silence. "Scully, Now I am lathered. If you don't talk to me, I will fax myself into that tub with you!." His voice more threatened than promised. Scully contemplated the image of Mulder sliding via cel phone into her sunny island hot tub made even more inane because it was a complete confabulation. She is a medical doctor, teaches at the academy, did her undergraduate degree in physics... Einstein's Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation...Dana Scully's senior thesis. Now that's a credential -- rewriting Einstein. Earlier in her career she wouldn't have considered this silly notion laughable; she wouldn't have considered it at all. It's just that in most of her work now, the laws of physics rarely seem to apply. It flashed through her synapses ever so briefly what might he be wearing to this fax-in. But the unintended pun passed incognito into her subconscious. "You told me to 'shut up', Mulder, Make up your mind". Having two brothers, older and younger, she knew instinctively and intuitively how to play him. "Since when do you listen to me?" He relaxed. "I won't wait for you in a parking lot anytime soon", alluding to a request of his she had honored that resulted in her kidnapping and attempted murder by lobotomy. The effect of which subliminally initiated her re-evaluation of her life in the two person x-file department. He gulped. "Besides that?" was all he could verbalize. "I wanted to prove that the improbable is possible." "Oooh, I gotcha!!" Mulder exclaimed. "Nooo, You want to prove that the impossible is probable." "You're exaggerating." "Am I? You are worse than Alice's Red Queen who every day believed six impossible things before breakfast. Mulder chortled. There was no winning this round. And isn't it a writer's dictum that the best conflicts are between equals? "So, what color dress will you be wearing? I wouldn't want to clash. Although it's hard to clash with anything in a black tux and white shirt." She could hear him grin. "I'm not sure its a color. Well. maybe it is. Remember the 64 colors in the large Crayola box of Crayons?." "Hmmm. I can smell them as you speak". "'Olfactor' back to 'flesh'". "Long or short?" "Crayons? My nephew has some wider, but shorter.." "The dress, Scully.". He tried hard not to sound menacing. "Floor length" "High neck or low cut." "Depends." "On what?" "Is it a condition for going with me or do you need help finding me in my apartment.?" "No conditions. I've got to go with you." "Why?" "To take my chances." "Knowing your penchant for anti-gravitational unencumbrances, I'd say not low enough." "Will you dance with me, Scully?" "You dance?" She resonated genuine surprise. "Mulder, you keep unfolding like a flower." "In the manner of the Fonz, I do." He said abashedly. "Not a specter between us?" "Not even Casper". "Nor the Holy Spirit" whispered Scully recalling her Irish Catholic School of Social Graces." "It will be good to put my arms around you again." "Both of them?" She bantered. "I never thought I'd envy a centipede." Aware of his aversion to crawling insects, Scully stifled a giggle. When did she last feel like giggling? Not since before her own abduction by entities unknown and her sister was murdered in her stead. "God, Melissa," she prayed, "I really do need to party." "Tomorrow then, around six...." She understood him now. He had... grown accustomed to her... And she had delayed finding another escort... Were problems or pleasantries percolating here?... did she care? "P.M." The need for rest and other responsibilities precluded any further rumination and any earlier availability. "Use your key. I'll be almost ready. But you'll have to finish zipping up the back of my dress and when we return unzip me...it ... at least..so I can reach the latch." Barely catching herself, she over compensated. She was sufficiently unwound to be getting drowsy. "Did I say that right?" "I'll consider it only a potential bonus. Six it is. Is the water still hot?" "Not as. But I would like to savor some images awhile longer. Thank you, Mulder. Good dreams". "Sleep well, Scully". Both folded their phones. Mulder stretched his long limbs out on his sofa, picked up the remote from where he had placed it after its last use and turned off the television. But he was not ready to sleep yet either. His degree in psychology was in his mind as well as on his wall. He sensed a new personal abnormality and he needed to quantify it. His actions and reactions, just a few hours away from his partner and after a long and infuriating investigation eventually, and as usual, resolved to neither's satisfaction, were tainted by anomalous irritability and restlessness which abated almost immediately upon hearing her voice. Why? Scully's actions were also an aberration. If he had to use his special talent to work up a profile on his partner, he would definitely include her tendency to never not attend to a potential problem thus to prevent it. A product of her genetic structure and enhanced by her medical training. So?? Together and apart, as partners, they've been near, through, and beyond hell. They've disagreed often but rarely acrimoniously and there was something about a desk which he hadn't figured out yet. They've not hesitated to switch philosophies wherein the skeptic became the believer and the adherant became the doubter. Albeit to each in varying degree of credibility as to the scource being re-incarnation, they were soulmates. Trust had become tacit. Their friendship had become a driving force of itself. What??? Partners, soulmates, friends. Funny, for the life of him he... FUN. Partners, soulmates, friends. All intangible, but heavy weights to bear. When in all the times they've been together did they frolic about, revel in, or celebrate life? He couldn't remember. A Wedding. Scully had probably berated herself for not planning ahead. But how could she when we are required to respond to every investigation re-directed to them as too weird, troublesome, career damaging or doomed to failure? Were they in danger of becoming automatons going through the motions of living, but not alive? "HA!" he bellowed. A full bodied guffhaw at himself scarcely recognizing his own voice. Their psyches having enough of pain and angst were using the wedding as a stimulus for them to complete themselves again. The regenerative qualities of the human mind and spirit continually awed him and appropriately so. Guided Imagery. "I know that." Directed Dreaming. "I can do that." He shifted his body until his head rested on the sofa's arm and slipped into a reverie which he fully expected would be a wish his heart made and not a nightmare-ish answer to a question he hadn't thought of yet. At least, he had a direction.