Date: Wed, 17 Jun 1998 10:56:20 +1000 (EST) From: Ten Subject: "The Tower Has Two Faces" (1/1) by Macspooky and Ten We would love feedback on our work! TITLE: "The Tower Has Two Faces" (1/1) BY: Macspooky and Ten CATEGORY: MSR, A, H, V RATING: high R for adult situations SUMMARY: Scully's POV of "That Tower of Furniture", and her transformation into a very fulfilled woman. TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set after "Detours". Can be read as a standalone, but a few jokes might not make sense (and we worked REALLY hard on them...), so reading "Tower of Furniture" first is advised. THANKS: To Jaime and Gerry for editing. And everyone else who previewed it. "Joy to the World" is copyright Three Dog Night. DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. The X-Files: "The Tower Has Two Faces" (1/1) by Macspooky and Ten, written May, posted June 1998 I didn't know what the hell to make of it when Mulder appeared at my motel room door with a tray of wine and cheese. I was busy writing up my report trying to explain to Skinner how we had lost one of the Bureau's $1500 video cameras - and other various and sundry expensive paraphernalia that Mulder had requisitioned to investigate lights in the sky - in such a way that he wouldn't look like a complete idiot. I had grown rather adept at doing that over the last five years. See, the thing is, Mulder is not an idiot. He just seems like one sometimes. But I was just going through the motions this time. I really wasn't into it; didn't feel much like working at all. I hadn't felt like this just over a month ago. I was high on the fact that I was in remission, alive. Before that, before I knew the treatment was working, I'd made up my mind to tell Mulder I loved him. But instead of being on my deathbed, I was reborn. Mulder was ecstatic at my recovery, but he didn't stay in the room long. My family was there and I could tell he was uncomfortable. I let him go because I knew I now had the time to talk properly with him, us alone somewhere, instead of just dropping my feelings on him. One month ago, I made my first move in that direction. And crashed. Now here he was. I saw right away that it was good wine. The man hadn't spared any expense. But when I was the tray-bearer, the way he'd acted certainly hadn't given me any joy, so why should I do him a favour? He told me that he was keeping his promise to come back and build a tower of furniture with me. Oh. I had been about ready to strangle Mulder the night he had run out on me in search of a "mothman". See what I mean about Mulder sounding like an idiot? In truth though, it was a damned good thing he had. It had ended up saving a child's life. Of course, I hadn't known that at the time. All I knew was that I'd spent a lot of money on a very small bottle of wine. I was nervous as hell to begin with because my father always raised me to follow the rules and I was about to break the cardinal one. I was about to ignore the regulation about not fraternizing in motel rooms with one's partner. To be quite honest, after five years I was also horny as hell and just couldn't get off on the idea of chasing monsters. Heck, if I could do that, I'd be the happiest woman in the FBI! I was still pretty damned cynical about mothmen or monsters or whatever until we ended up out in the forest, in what of course had to be the coldest Florida night in a century, alone with a wounded Mulder. Why did Mulder always have to be wounded? He was at my mercy though; he couldn't flee, so I tried talking again. I wanted to and needed to. He couldn't distance himself by running out, but he could deflect - by joking. I didn't want humour, I wanted substance. Anyway, he had convinced me to sing to him because he thought it would keep me awake, and it was a testament to his exhaustion that he had managed to fall asleep right in the middle of "Joy to the World". Naturally, this was after making a remark about getting naked in sleeping bags that had reawakened the libido I had put back in mothballs after he had run out of the room chasing mothmen. I didn't want to discuss the Flintstones - I wanted to Yabba Dabba Do! Let me tell you, even with him in my arms, it was damned damp and chilly on the ground, and after a while not even the pleasure of stroking his hair made up for the discomfort of the fact that my bladder felt like it was going to break. Well, this was my life with Mulder. I swear, that man must have a bladder the size of an elephant. He never seems to have to go. In those woods, lost, I lost my delight and exhilaration. I came. I communicated. I failed. Well, I didn't end up coming... Life quickly became something to plod through. I had known that my high would dull eventually, but not this quickly. Thank you, Mulder. Thank you for taking it. Four weeks passed, thick with mundaneness. Resentment underpinning my efficient facade. But last night, Mulder surprised me. He was so sincere. He wanted to talk - or to listen while I did. I was bitter and suspicious though, so I gave him a good taste of his own medicines: disinterest and silence. To my surprise, he hung in there. No retreat. Every flippant remark he made, he backtracked and became serious about. He told me things, inner Mulder thoughts I would have swapped my teeth for not long ago. Things I suspected, hoped for, but now I KNEW for sure. He kept trying long after he would usually have given up. And he stuttered in his nervousness. I found myself melting and forgiving him. Anyhow, we ended up stretching out on the bed with wine glasses in hand that night and talking. You know, as well as we communicate in the field, I hadn't realised how much our personal communications, if we ever had any, had deteriorated stemming from the time I began to suspect I had cancer. I suppose I should have been more open with him, but I have always been independent and it was hard for me. It doesn't make sense that I should have been able to discuss everything with Karen Kossoff and not my very best friend. Well, my daddy wasn't much for communicating his fears and feelings either except with the family. Maybe I learned too well from him. I hadn't realised just how badly I'd hurt Mulder that night we were stuck on a rock in the middle of a lake after I ran our rented boat aground in Mulder's hunt for Big Blue. I compared him to Ahab, which is what I called my father. He thought I was putting him down. In fact, maybe a part of me was, because I was cold and wet and pretty damned pissed at him at that moment, especially since I did not believe in dinosaurs living in a lake, but there was another part of me that also admired him. Well, in all honesty, maybe I meant to hurt him a little. My dog was dead and he didn't seem to give a damn. He might have detested Queegqueg, but I loved the little guy and I was taking the loss pretty hard. When Mulder shot that big alligator that had been killing people though, I was so proud of him. I don't know why I couldn't have just told him that either. Maybe it was for the same reason that my daddy could never tell me he was proud of me. We lay there on the bed for a long time, holding hands, getting all of this out in the open and it felt good, really good to finally communicate with him and straighten out so many things that had been bothering us both. We didn't eat anything or drink much of the wine. We didn't need to. Just being together was enough. Then Mulder got up and told me he had better let me get back to work. Don't ask what came over me, but I put a chair in front of the door to block his egress and told him he had promised to help build a tower of furniture. As things would have it, the tower quickly ended up consisting of the chair, a pen and my body - yes, my body. I think I made the first grab, but the next thing we both knew, clothes were coming off at a phenomenal rate, which was amazing considering what else was going on at the same time. The stutter was back when he asked about protection. God, I love him... Somehow I had always pictured sex with my partner in a bed, at least the first time. Well, it didn't work out exactly that way. I'm a hell of a lot shorter than he is but that didn't stop him from keeping things vertical. I planted my foot on that chair, but I was still too damn short. Next thing I knew I was off my feet and being pounded into the door. And I do mean pounded. I hoped there were no kids staying in the room on the other side who might ask for explanations...then I didn't think at all... It was thud...thud...thud...and don't let me forget the screaming. I think I did more screaming in that...well, what the hell was it...three minutes...five minutes...than I had done in my entire year with Jack Willis. He only ever 'inspired' some gasps and moans - I wuz shortchanged. But now...payment in full! I know I got the pitch just right too. Mulder wasn't doing a bad job either. He was having a heck of a good time shoving me into that door. Next thing I knew, I was one hell of a happy woman and Mulder pressed my back into the wall and shuddered so hard I was afraid we were both going to end up in a heap on the floor. Somehow he managed to keep his feet under him though and we both ended up just kind of standing there unable to move. According to the books, encounters like that don't happen. Well, the books lie. Of course, my partner is very well endowed, and as I say, I am not a large woman. There's nothing like an ultra tight fit to insure close encounters of a pleasurable kind. Hail, Mulder! No more numbness or despondency - it has been hammered out of me, permanently. I don't need a monster a day now... A dose of Mulder will do just fine. One dose at least. Two definitely. Three, if insisted... Four, if I make sure he's nourished enough in between. I know the value of humour now, and Mulder has learned that a bit of communication doesn't hurt. In fact, the more thorough, the better. Sleeping with him was a joy for me, especially since he did not dream that night, or if he did, the dreams were sweet. We lay curled in each other's arms and felt safe and content. I didn't sleep right away. I lay awake thinking about how Mulder was going to trash my apartment from now on and how much I was going to like it. He had whispered beautiful things to me, about me. All the more beautiful because he did mean them. That turned me on even more, but Mulder was exhausted. He'd earned his rest - I mean, he not only had to keep himself up, he had to keep me up as well - so I curbed my desire for seconds. I'd been patient for five years, surely I could luxuriate in what had just happened and the encore performance to come. Soon, huh, Mulder? Very soon, right? I really wanted to try his horizontal hold. I killed time by planning on taking him into my apartment when we dropped our luggage off and seeing just what sort of quickie tower we could make on my dining room table...then on to deliver our report to Skinner. If, of course, I could walk. A few hours before dawn I had to get up to visit the bathroom. At least the facilities were better here than in the forest. To be able to climb back into bed with him and snuggle down was wonderful - he's right, skin to skin is much warmer than flannelette nighties - though I did turn on the lamp, make noise and wriggle more than necessary in the hope he'd wake up. Nothing. I sighed and turned so my back was spooned against him. That way I'd pick up any stirrings but not be tempted to go wandering with my own hands. I told myself to sleep. I saw the silk boxers on the floor. Black with red hearts. Hey, Phoebe, I'm up on you. I got the hearts and boy did I get - Then a lovely large hand ran purposefully along my thigh. A shiver-inducing, thorough set of lips attached to my neck. I arched back against him. "Chorus," he whispered. This time he definitely stayed awake for the 'make sweet love to you' part - and the bed was in dire need of a workout. I mean, after all, what the heck are motel room beds for right? Well, it got it. The springs sang. The headboard thumped. I made enough noise for an entire choir. And Mulder... Could he ever conduct with that baton! Apparently my partner had been living like a monk nearly as long as I had. He had a lot of stamina built up and boy did he use it. I think I must have lost five pounds in the workout he gave me and found muscles I never knew I owned in spite of being physically fit. Remind me to retire the exercycle. After that virtuoso performance we held each other tightly, and Mulder rolled us onto our sides. We were trying to catch our breath - our ribcages were thudding together like our lower bodies had been moments before - when we heard noises in the next room... Through the wall came thudding and banging - of drawers and such, not a headboard - and hasty footsteps. A man said, "Get dressed, NOW." "But, Grandpa -!" a sleepy young voice replied, right near our heads. Mulder and I froze. Oh Lord. "Don't argue, Chris. We're leaving. Right now!" "But -" "We'll get home earlier and get some SLEEP! Those people are just too damn loud when they play darts!" I lay there, appalled. Corrupting minors...and the elderly... I didn't dare look at Mulder. From the noise, I pictured poor Grandpa picking up both luggage and child - who wouldn't have had time to get changed - at once and making for the door. The kid wasn't finished. "Why'd they move the dartboard from the door to the wall, Grandpa? And why're they playing so early? And why were they so close to it?" The door opened and slammed shut. Footsteps. Car doors. Engine starting. Car leaving. Silence. I breathed. My partner was shaking. I raised my head from Mulder's chest. He was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down his face through the sweat. "It's not funny!" I wailed, mortified. He gave me that wiseass grin. "I don't know what it's like to be the board, but I sure as hell like being the dart!" Okay, that made me crack up too. We laughed until we were even more out of breath, while I planned that one of the next games in our tournament would definitely have me on top to thump HIM. Then he clutched his side. "Ouch, I think I pulled a muscle!" I hoped he was just joking. "Better not be my favourite one!" Fortunately he proved to be fine. I woke again when it was light. He was still sleeping, which was just as well or I never would have made it out of bed. I took the opportunity to get up and start packing, only wearing my cross and a smile. I stared at myself in the mirror. I think I was glowing so much I could see my aura - Missy would have loved that. Mulder's relaxed voice came from the bed. "What are you looking at, babe?" "I wanted to see what a very happy woman looks like." "Can I see too?" he asked, sexy and soft. My dilemma is this. We missed our flight. Now just how the hell am I supposed to explain that fact to Skinner? I mean I can't exactly tell him that we missed our flight because I was bent over the dresser with Mulder behind me...so he could...while we were looking in the mirror. Oh hell, never mind. I'll think of something that won't make my partner seem like too much of an idiot. After all, he really isn't. He just seems that way to people at times. THE END.