The Whole Catastrophe
Chapter 5
By Diehard and Dryad

Scully slid into the passenger's seat, and sat
up as straight as possible, they'd just done an
interview, and it was time to compare notes.
Surprisingly, Mulder hadn't taken the lead in
pulling together their observations.

She took a deep breath, brushing away an errant 
strandof hair from her eyes.  "You know, Mulder,
Cardenas shouldn't still be bandaging a cut that's
over two weeks old. I'm thinking it's more recent."

'And that would mean..?"

"That she's had some injury, possibly in the last
day or so, one that she didn't want to tell us about.

"I'd say that sounds right. And I'm not sure I buy her
story as to why she has those paintings."

"Why am I not surprised to hear you say that?
There's a lot that doesn't add up. Overall, her
behavior was odd." Scully paused, looking over
at her partner, whose eyes were on the road.

"Very. No love of the Irish, either." He could hear
a chuff coming from the passenger's side.

"Mulder, you still haven't told me." She knew Alex
was a stunningly beautiful woman, an enigma, and if
she knew anything at all about her partner, he'd
already assumed there was some paranormal 
connection to all this. 

"Told you what?"

"What you think of Alex Cardenas."

"Aside from the obvious facts that she's a snobbish
wealthy intellectual, with more than a passing interest
in Santeria? That she's displaying some seriously 
incongruent behavior after witnessing the shooting
death of her lover?...You mean beyond that?"

"I guess she didn't make much of an impression, then."

"I'm trying to withhold judgement."

She cut him a look, and saw him biting his lip, trying
to smother a laugh. "Right. Well, I guess we should
review the rest of the visit with our lovely host
once we get to the hotel."

"Well, actually, I'm relegating my impressions to my
unconscious mind. Using the occult process of discovery
that such a tactic offers, I'm sure further light will
be shed on the situation by morning."

"What?" She twisted herself around and leaned against
the window. She wanted to get a good look at this.
"Explain."

He turned a gave her a squinty look, "In laymen's terms,
I'm giving it a rest until tomorrow. And so should you.
Go on, Scully, assume the position."

"Excuse me?"

"Lay that head back down, close your eyes and let me
shuttle you in my golden chariot."

"Chariot?'

"Taurus. Whatever." Much to his satisfaction, a second
later she was head against the head rest, eyelids
fluttering shut. He went for her hand, and lacing her
fingers in his, she drew them both against her chest.
The Drive rolled on before them, purple in the dusk, 
with Lake Michigan darkening in the fading light.

"Mulder, you know I know."

"Know what?"

"Alex Ruiz-Cardenas is a gorgeous woman."

"Really? I hadn't noticed. Besides, I've got this thing
for redheads."

"That was the right response. Smart man."

~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X

She rode the rest of the whole way with her eyes closed,
sinking back into the passenger's seat of their Taurus.
What she wanted was a clean, quiet place to lay her head,
a hot bath, and she hoped to God Mulder hadn't gotten them
rooms in the worst fleabag in town.

She was tired physically, but no more than what she'd expect 
her first day back. What she felt was a kind of mental 
exhaustion, the cost of containing this morning's episode. 
What she'd flashed on at the morgue took its toll-- deeply 
disturbing her, even though it'd only lasted a second. 
Afterwards, it had taken a tremendous amount of psychic 
energy to stay detached and keep back the ghosts. 
The last six months had been a reprieve from defenses 
that were second nature to her, defenses she'd built up from 
the moment she'd sliced open her first cadaver.

But Mulder had pulled back the layers one by one with
a lover's infinite care. It was just what she'd needed,
for all the obvious reasons, but it had opened up those
parts of her she'd kept sealed tight. The grief and pain
and terror of her life were hers alone to bear, or so
she thought. Her survival plan had worked pretty well,
too. The only problem was that it'd kept anyone from being 
able to touch her.

All that had changed. And slowly, slowly, she was learning
to let down her guard. But now she'd have to to flex some 
of those protective those muscles again, too much 
depended on her resolve for her to weaken, too many souls 
who needed her to put the pieces together. Her little side trip 
to Jorgensen's house hadn't helped her equilibrium either.
It had pushed old grief into the foreground, and a new
assignment in the field was not the place to visit
memories of what she'd lost.

Lulled by the motion of the car as they cruised the Drive, 
she remembered a night months ago, sated and lazy in 
each other's arms. He'd told her they were a force of nature, 
unstoppable together. 

She'd laughed then, but now she just wanted him to be right.

~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X

He found the local jazz station and Mc Coy Tyner's piano
soothed her spirit. The shimmering notes filled the car
as they cruised south on Lake Shore Drive. His right hand
was still on hers as it now lay on her lap, cupping it
loosely as the car spanned the long blue stretch of road
in the settling twilight. She let her mind wander, not
thinking about anything except the feel of his palm on the
back of her hand. Minutes passed, she wasn't sure how long,
she wasjust glad to be able to wind down, at peace in the
wordless comfort between them.

"Hey Scully, you asleep?"

"No, just resting my eyes."

He'd been watching her from the rearview mirror,
letting the music weave its way around them. It was some
kind of coda to their first day in the field, something
bringing them home to each other.

"How was the first day back?" He was asking about a
day that included corpses, latex and morbid lividity, 
women who could have children, and wanted to know if
there was a slow bleed in his partner's heart.

"Long. Hard. Harder than I thought it would be. But I
ended up spending time with a guy who's so crazy, it was
just the distraction I needed."

"Lucky you. The only thing I had to keep me going was
knowing I'd end the day in the arms of a woman who lives
to keep my ego in check."

"Anyone I know?"

"Behold, the rapier wit of my beloved." He cut a glance
toward her and saw her smiling slightly, eyes still shut. 
His hold on her hand tightened.

As they pulled off the exit ramp, he thought about Shinoda
and the interrogation leading to nowhere. His old self would
have made the man one more obsession. In the past, he 
needed his obsessions, his frantic searches, brandishing 
them like a badge of courage. His relentlessness was in part, 
a way to not feel the pain of Sam's disappearance. 

Scully'd taught him other things could soothe that loss.

He was not the man to unravel Shinoda's secret, not this
time. He could live with that. And if their paths crossed
again, if it was his task to capture his man, he could
live with that, too. She'd also taught him acceptance,
strengthened his belief in fate.

Meanwhile, Naftali Gonzales was dead, and there were
plenty more of the dead whose bodies held the truth,
waiting for him, waiting for Scully and the questions
only they could ask. Somehow, Santeria or the community
of believers in Santeria were a part of this. How,
exactly, he didn't know. Tomorrow, they would
do more investigation, review the lab results, debrief,
reconstruct, deconstruct. Mulder was going to get
answers, he'd find a way to stem to the chaos and
brutality that had killed a good cop and left a trail
of bodies in its wake.

But Scully had finally brought him to the place where
he could value having his own life, where he could fight
each battle, one skirmish at a time, one day at a time.

"Mulder, are we there yet?"

"Agent Scully, we are approaching our destination.
Get ready to feast those baby blues on our refuge from
the storm."

~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X

Scully did some light reconnaissance of the building's
entrance as he pulled up to the curb. It was smooth granite
and carved cupolas, cornices that spoke of Louis Sullivan,
and bronze letters spelling out their destination. She was
hit with the dazzle of levered glass and the entrance of
clearly one of the better hotels in town. Before she could
say anything,a valet hustled over to the driver's side and
welcomed both of them.

The Burnham.

Her personal deliverance from seven years of variations
on the Bates Motel.

Mulder. He did this.

When he slid out out their rental to retrieve their
luggage, she took in the full effect of the phalanx of
red-coated doormen, bellhops, and car parkers swirling
around the terazzo walkway. Out of the rear view mirror,
she saw him slip one of the troops a couple of bills,
and the luggage was whisked away. She craned her neck
to take in her partner as he sauntered toward her, hands
shoved in his pockets. He seemed more than amused,
judging by the smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

He opened the passenger door and gestured toward the
entrance with a flourish. "I know you're used to some
place with more character, but duty calls. We'll just have
to make the best of it."

"Oh my God...How can we...?," peering up at him over
the bridge of her nose, still partially under the influence
of a temporary haze. She didn't resist when he helped her
out of the passenger's seat with his hand on her elbow,
or utter a single word as their chariot was whisked to
the netherworld.

Mulder thought he was home free, slipping his hand to
its familiar spot at the small of her back as he steered
her toward the door.But by the time they'd made it through
the threshold, whatever she was feeling had morphed into
full-out resistance. Digging her heels into the lush
Persian carpet that spanned a third of the lobby, it was
time for an explanation. Visions of expense reports, audits
and Kersh's office flashed before her eyes. How was her
brilliant, albeit crackpot partner going to justify this
in their report?

"You better explain how we ended up here, because I don't
plan on taking another step until you do." She reached
behind her,took his hand and drew him in front of her. 
"I mean it, I want to hear it, all of it, and it'd better
be good."

His eyes shifted from gray to green, barely containing his
enjoyment." Well, one explanation is that the CPD so
appreciates our time and expertise that they made
sure we were well taken care of."

"Right. So they booked us accommodations at a luxury
hotel. Just because no one else who's requested us on a
consult has done anything remotely like this in all the
time we've been in the Bureau shouldn't make me suspicious.
How about we try this again, with you telling me the truth
this time?" Fingering his lapels, she pinned him where he
stood with a look that told him she was worried, and not
about to back down, either.

He raised his hands above his head in surrender.
"I give up, Scully." He tried looking sheepish, but
felt way too self-congratulatory to pull it off. 
"I was me, G-woman, I'm the guilty party. Lazarov told me
this was the best small hotel downtown, so I booked the
reservation after the interrogation this afternoon."

Now she was tapping his shoulder, "That much I already
figured out. Listen, this kind of unwarranted expense could
get us a reprimand, if not a suspension. Jesus, Mulder....
Kersh could transfer us to Cornhole, Kansas for this.
Seriously, we just got the X-Files back..."

"Scully, The Burnham is close to the Field Office, the 11th
and State lockup, and City Hall, so we can safely make the
case there's a practical reason this is a good choice.
And there is nothing about this hotel stay that Skinner,
Kersh or any bean-counting geek in Cost Override Control
will take issue with. The Bureau's Amex gets a charge for
the per diem rate, and I had the rest put on my Visa."

"Why are you doing this ?"

"I figure I needed to make amends for all the times you
stuck itout with me in rat traps, forests, caves, you know,
our usual accommodations." His voice softened, and he took
her by the hand, "I thought...I thought it might be hard
to plunge back into all the slicing and dicing...I wanted
to make it a little easier."

"You know you don't have to."

"But I want to Scully. I want to because I finally can."
He smiled, his vulnerability so transparent, it made her
heart clench in her chest to see it. "Because...because
you've let me in. Maybe it'll help with the rest of the
day, too"

She took both his hands in hers, her fingers stroking his
knuckles, She could accept this attention, this care,
but as his equal, always his equal. "Just so we're clear,
we take care of each other, Mulder."  She held his gaze
in hers, "Right?"

"Always, Scully. Always."

The earlier smile has been replaced with a full-tilt
shit-eating grin. "You know, sometimes I'm so clever
I scare myself."

"And is this where I offer to console you?" The level of
intimacy receded with that little boast and she was
now brushing away some imaginary lint from his sleeve.

"Actually, since I've been a bad, bad, boy by keeping this
from you, maybe you just better take me to bed without
any supper."

"Isn't that 'send' you to bed without any supper?"

"I won't argue with you over semantics. You can explain
the difference to me in a tutorial. That's what I need,
Scully, a little one-on-one." He was going to steer her
toward the registration desk, but she'd already eased past
him, heading in that direction.

Over her shoulder she teased, "C'mon Mulder,
play your cards right and maybe you'll get that private
instruction."

"Promises, promises." He stood there for a second
enjoying that stride of hers, that glorious rear view,
and then decided he'd appreciate it more once they were
behind closed doors, and sprinted to her side.

They strolled under a vaulted tin ceiling toward the
curvedbrass reservation desk, complete with a pair a
bright, young clerks poised at the ready. Huge potted
palms flanked a nearby alcove flagged with a placard
which read, 'The Redoubt', the hotel's bar, she guessed.
Passing paisley covered wing chairs, they spied another
couple having what appeared to be Cosmopolitans. She
sighed with satisfaction, something not lost on Mulder.

His popularity quotient was soaring as her heels
clicked on the maple parquet floor. Once they'd
made it to the desk, she noticed he got them registered
in record time. Leaning in as he finished signing,
she whispered, "You're going to spoil me."

He tossed the pen aside and turned to face her.
"That's the plan, Scully, that's the plan. Unless of
course, you think this place is overkill...'cause we
could always hit The Pacific Garden Mission. I hear
there's at at least 100 beds, and a soup line
to die for. "

"The only place I'm going with you tonight is
upstairs," as they made their way toward the elevator, 
"After all, Agent, Mulder, it's in your best interests
to get us to our rooms as soon as possible."

"Why is that, Agent Scully?"

"Where else would I be able to properly thank you?"

He had plenty of suggestions, but didn't say a word
as the elevator doors slid shut.

~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~

She was sure she'd been speaking English, and he'd
given the impression that he'd been paying attention
to what she'd been saying. Mind you, it wasn't
particularly brilliant or complicated, but it would do
the trick. They'd both go into their separate rooms--
adjoining ones, of course--unpack, make an effort to
have their rooms looked used and reconnoiture in his
room in about an hour.

These basic steps would be repeated every night, while
alternating the finale destination.

Simple.  Right.

He'd given her the room key in the elevator, number
1008--hewas in 1010. She'd outlined the plan of action,
and should be opening the door right now. So why was he
planted in her doorway, not going into his room, not
unpacking, and looking sly, sexy and immovable?

"You look a little tired Scully, why don't I help
you unpack?"

"I think I 've got that covered."

"Really? I can be very helpful. You know, lay out your
clothes, draw your bath, help you undress..." He started
worrying his lower lip with the tip of his tongue and
she was aware of the blush creeping up her neck.

"No thanks, your concern is touching, though." Snaking her
arm around his waist, she began to fiddle with the lock.
She had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep
from laughing.

"C'mon, let's play bellboy and business traveller. Or you
could take me into protective custody. That's it...I'm
a man with a terrible secret and you have to keep an eye

on me at all times. Especially when I take off my clothes,
moving slowly, very slowly. "

Now she was chuckling, and the lock wasn't opening any
more easily. She kept trying to get a clear shot at it,
but he kept darting in front, blocking all her efforts. 
She was really laughing now. 

"Step away from the door. Really, I'm serious."

"You don't seem all that serious." He was laughing now.
He was pushing it, definitely pushing it.

"I am." She stopped struggling with the lock, and in one
swift, decisive move, pulled back and pinched him hard
around the middle.

He leapt back, yelping, and she moved with a purpose.
Key in lock. Lock turning, door opening.  Scully on
the other side of the threshold. Blowing away a strand
of auburn hair that had gotten mussed in all the exertion,
she took in the sight of him rubbing his side, mouth open
in shock. Victory.

He started toward her and she shut and locked the door,
peeking at him through the peephole. He was still standing
there, waving at her.

"Mulder?," she yelled through a couple of inches of
solid oak.

As soon as her heard her, he turned on his heel and
let him himself in next door.

A split second later she heard the ring of the phone
by the nightstand. She went over and picked up, fairly
sure who was on the other end.

A sultry drawl, "Unpack. Make the room look lived in.
Then get that beautiful ass in here."

Click.

"I'm on it, partner," she said to no one in particular
as she pulled her suitcase onto the bed.

~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~

This was risky for her, she knew it. She'd plumbed Mulder's
hidden depths as his lover, coming to understand his need
to be touched, for tenderness, for simple reassurance.
And he's tapped into something the others never found,
something she'd kept buried even from herself. Desire. 
Not just that feeling of wanting, but the need to see it
reflected in the eyes of your lover, the power of it.

And so here she is, standing at the connecting door of
their rooms with a tray, two glasses, two bottles of Scotch
from the minibar. She has on her blouse, her skirt, her
heels, and nothing else. This isn't anything like her and
it's everything like her. None of few and far between men
from her past ever suspected her capable of this. She'd
spent years telling herself she didn't have that kind of
hunger, but it was Mulder who proved her wrong, with
his hands stroking her skin, whispering in her ear,
whispering things she wanted to believe.

That she owned him body and soul. That she wasn't some Ice
Queen, but just the opposite. That she was a match for him
inevery way. That after everything they'd been through,
they were meant for this. And like a great many things that
had come to pass in seven years, he told her she had to trust
that he was right.

But there are still shreds of doubt that still her hand
before she can knock. She is Ahab's daughter, and there is
part of her that feels embarrassed to be so bold. She lets
herself imagine him lying naked in the next room, touching
himself, calling her name.

She knocks, and in a heartbeat Mulder's thrown open 
the door. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, 
tie loosened. His eyes rove over her body, but he's silent.
Instead of inviting her in, he's frozen in place.

Her worst fear is coming true, she thinks. "I know..." 
Instead of looking at him, she stares down at the carpet. 
"This is so unlike me... I..."

Mulder doesn't move because the blood in his head is
rushing to his groin, his heart is pounding and he's
telling himself he's not dreaming. The second he opened
the door he could see her nipples pressing against the silk
of her blouse, the bare, smooth skin of her legs. That,
plus the idea that she might have no panties on, 
literally makes him speechless.

She tries to smile, "I guess you didn't order room
service." She starts to turn away, and before she knows
what's hit her, Mulder has her in his room, the tray's
out of her hands, and he's kissing her, kissing her,
kissing her.

Then he's laughing and groaning and pressing her against
the door with his body, fumbling for the lock until it clicks
behind her. His hands weave through her hair, and he's biting
her earlobe,then his mouth becomes one long, hot drag until
he reaches the hollow of her throat. She can feel his cock
through his dress slacks, through her skirt, pressing against
her thigh. Now one hand is over her heart, and the other
is sliding underneath her skirt.

She's breathing heavily, she wants this, all of this, and the
look in his eyes as he finds her, sends of shock of heat right
through her. No else ever looked at her that way, and it's
almost too much. She takes his hand from her chest, kissing
the knuckles, biting the soft pad of his thumb. He slides his
hand between her legs, tracing the outside of her labia,
feathery touches. He shudders as she grows more and more wet. 
She stills his hand, and they're both suspended as the room
spins around them.

"Mulder...I need..."

"Anything, just tell me...Tell me, Scully."

For a second, she's Ahab's daughter again and remembers
that actions speak louder than words. With his hand warm
inhers, she walks him to the chair across from the foot
of the bed.

It's dark in the room, except for the light from the bathroom
and the skyline spanning in front of them. She guides him down
and straddles his lap, foreheads touching. Working his tie
free, she lets herself caress his beautiful throat. She
unbuttons his cuffs and the front of his shirt. She revels in
the smooth planes ofhis chest, the tips of her fingers sliding down,
down. Her handsfind their way to undo his belt, unzip his pants.
Lifting up just enough, she finds hard length of his shaft and pulls
him free. She traces the veins that run up and down, feels every 
pulse as she does. Licking her thumb, she circles and strokes 
the head of his cock

Now he stops her, takes his time following her lead. The cuffs
of her blouse are undone and he strokes figure eights on her 
wrists with his thumb. One by one, his fingers undo her buttons, 
andhe makes an 'X' on each spot he exposes. Bending his head
down, his kisses the rise of her breasts, nips and suckles on her 
nipples. She feels dizzy, but doesn't want to stop, can't imagine 
stopping.Then he eases his hands under her skirt, working it up 
toward her hips. Sliding them under her ass, he lifts her up,
and she braces herself with her hands on his shoulders.
They look at each other, they're at the deepest part of the river
here. There's a smile in the recesses of her eyes, and he knows.
He eases her down over his cock, and she's a delta--lush,
wet, ready.

He thrusts up and into her and she moves into him, sliding up
and down, up and down. Tightening and pulling him deeper
and deeper, she knows by his breathing he's close. His eyes
are shut, but a single tear runs the length of his jaw.

"Only you," he rasps, and her hand's already
brushed it away. "Always...you."

Then he unfurls against her, slowly, intensely.
Once. Then again. And again. A rapid final release
and he's spent, his head on her shoulder, and
she can feel the wetness again.

"Shhh,'' she tries to calm him.

"Don't." He raises his head and kisses her with such
tenderness that she thinks her heart might break.
"I'm good."

Now she feels tears on her own face. "Yes.
Yes, we are."

They hold each other for a long time, motionless, and
then Mulder stirs. Taking her hand in his, he brings both
hands to the place where they're joined. He's softened,
but he's still inside her. She looks up at him, and he
nods. Circling her clit with her own fingertips, his palms
cupping the back of her hand, they travel around and 
around her perfect knot. Then his hand slides underneath 
hers, and its him touching her there, his fingertips moving 
in perfect rhythm. She swells against his strokes, burgeoning, 
blossoming, and she watches him watching her--his gaze 
fixed on that auburn swipe of hair, mesmerized by the flash 
of pink flesh beneath. 

"This is beautiful," he whispers.

She wants to say he is beautiful, that they're beautiful
together, but it's hit her and she trembles and grinds
into his lap. She can't stop herself, not even to tell him
how precious he is to her, how necessary. Rippling,
rippling, flowing in and away and to him, always to him.

~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~

A couple of hours have come and gone and they've showered,
ordered room service, eaten their fill and toasted each other
with the Glenlivet she'd snagged earlier. Right now, they're lying
face to face in his king-size sleigh bed. He's got his long thigh
draped over her hip, and her head is nestled against his chest.
They're having a conversation, sort of, the kind that's a hazy
trail leading nowhere in particular. It's the kind you have with
the trace of your lover still on your lips.

Every once and a while, post-orgasmic Mulder waxes literary.
He has a range that spans quantum physics to bad puns, but
tonight it's Irish poetry. Scully's always a good audience,
and tonight's no different. She loves the sound of his voice,
especially in bed, when it's rough and slurry and sweet beyond
belief. So she plays on his eidetic memory, asking him to name
his favorite Irish bard and recite his favorite poem.

"Easy. W B. Yeats. 'When you Are Old and Full of Sleep.' "

"Go on, I'm waiting."

And he does, and it's lovely. His voice does the poem
justice--gravelly, slow and sensual. But one line throws off
his recitation.

"But one man loved the pilgrim's soul in you, and loved
the sorrows of your changing face." His voice quavered
on that one, and she stopped him with her fingers on
his lips.

"My pilgrim," she whispers, and they watch the skyline,
the lights of the buildings, and she tells him there's no room
for sorrows in their bed.

~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~

It's later, much later. They've both drifted in and out of sleep,
but now they're awake. She knows he's thinking about something,
she can sense it.

"Mulder?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Liar." She stifles a yawn, she wants to know, but
Morpheus is beckoning. "Tell me."

"Nothing...everything." He shifts from where he"s rolled away
while asleep and draws her close. Now she's lying her back to
his front, and he runs his fingers through her hair.

"You better tell me." She's breathing a little more slowly.

"Wolves.  I was thinking about wolves.  And geese. 
That's what I was thinking about."

"Why?" Sleep calls and she's hovering, back and forth,
but she's trying to rouse herself.

"Because they mate for life."

"Ah...I see..." The bed is so soft, his arms around her feel
so right, and her eyes flutter shut.

"Scully?" He wasn't going to wait. They'd waited too long
and lost too much time.

"Hmmm?"

"Marry me."

There is only the sound of her snuffling into the pillow.
He raises himself up and leans over to see the long,
slow pulls of her breath.

"Don't worry," his whispers into her ear, into her dreams.
"I won't take no for an answer," and settles down next to her.

Morpheus finds him, too.

~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~