From: Lilith <ladylilith@geocities.com> Date: Mon, 19 Oct 1998 16:22:02 -0500 Subject: RuminationsOnDeadCows.Lilith Title: Rumination on Dead Cows Author: Lilith Rating: PG-13 (Lang, dead animal ooginess) Category: SR Keywords: M/S Romance Spoilers: None Filed: 8/5/98 Feedback: ladylilith@geocities.com Disclaimer, etc.: Below Dead cows. Twenty dead cows. I just spent my day doing autopsies on dead cows. I just spent my day doing autopsies on twenty dead cows. Dead fucking cows. Twenty dead fucking cows. I like that. I think I'll scream it out loud. "Twenty fucking dead cows!" You know what, he's not even here. He's at dinner. Oh, would I like to join them, they are going out for burgers, and they would just love to have me tag along. As though I'll be able to eat a steak or a burger or even a roast beef sandwich for at least a month. Twenty fucking cows, thank you. I spent my day up to my shoulders in festering, rotting, dead cows and they have the gall to ask me if I want a burger. "Twenty cows!" I scream again. It echoes off the shower walls where I am desperately scratching phantom bovine guts out of my hair. I wonder if it was her idea. Mulder knows I have a strong stomach though. Eating fried chicken while staring at dead bodies has never been a problem, but this was a bit extreme. Might I remind you, twenty fucking dead rotting malodorous cows. Malodorous. Understatement of the century. I don't think I'll ever stop smelling it. Expelled organs left to bake in the August sunshine. Worse than the alternative waste plant that exploded. And I didn't think anything could smell worse. This is the third pass with the soap and I think I can still smell it. He didn't say anything when he picked me up. He knew better. She just wrinkled her nose. She hates having me around. That's fine, I detest having her around. She's breaking all the lines of communication. She's usurping my place at his right elbow. She's getting the room with the adjoining door. I don't even want to know if he locks it at night or not. Okay, actually that's not true. Last night, I leaned against it while he was talking and checked. It was locked. Where the hell was she anyway? Doesn't he drag her out of bed at three am to discuss his absurd brilliant deduction on why the afore mentioned twenty dead putrid cows were that way? Should I be pissed off or thrilled? Right now, I'm just hungry. Yes, I spent all day looking at dead mutilated animals, but I'm am a human being, despite all theories to the contrary, and I'm hungry. Just not for anything that remotely resembles beef. I slip on a pair of jeans and my `Maine' shirt and jog to the Baskin Robbins two doors down. Butter Pecan to the rescue again. Oh, there is nothing like ice cream to make me feel alive again. Cold, thick, creamy sweet. I could live off of ice cream. It's hotter than hell here too. Have you ever been in Oklahoma in August? One hundred eleven degrees today. I thought I was going to faint, or worse, have my pint of ice cream melt in the three minutes it took to walk back to the hotel. As it is, I will probably take another shower before I got to bed tonight. Whenever that will be, considering Mulder and I will probably spend a few hours arguing about the damn cows. Or worse, she'll sit there and support his argument about the dead cows. Then, of course, she'll tell the section chief how full of shit he is. Why hasn't Mulder figured this out yet? The X-Files are an indulgence? Yes, nothing as indulgent as doing autopsies on twenty fucking dead fucking cows. Oh, you want to know whether I found anything interesting in the sixteen hours I spent exploring the innards of cows whose insides exploded. Okay, so the cows didn't explode. It looked like they did, and God knows it smelled like they did. What there were is slashed open by someone, or *something* as he keeps reminding me. Now where was I? Oh, did I find something? Why, indeed I did. Chips. Yes, chips. Little chips in the backs of their necks. I sent them off to the sci-crime lab. After all, it's pretty obvious how they died. The question is why someone would kill them, why they all ran through barbed wire fences to their deaths, and why anyone or *anything* would want to put something in the backs of their necks. At least sci-crime can tell me whether the chips are like the one that was in me. On days like this, I really miss Pendrall. He really was a sweet guy. Sure, he had a tendency to be annoying, but his crush was rather flattering and he certainly got results for me quicker than I had any right to expect. Poor kid. Half of my pint is gone already. That just isn't fair. I'm still hungry and this is going to cost me three extra miles at the track. I often think I should run at the track in my heels. After all, I outrun Mulder in those things all the time. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I ever wore tennis shoes while chasing Mighty morphing Bounty Hunters, or crazed `abductees', or my obnoxious partner, I'd twist my ankle, fall spalt on the concrete and black out entirely. It is absurdly hot here. I'm eating ice cream and sweating. This bra has got to go. I rub myself down with a damp wash cloth, stand in front of the air conditioner for a few minutes, and put on my last sweat-free t-shirt, the NICAP shirt that Mulder got me for my birthday last year. Maybe I should have kept a few of the chips and had them set for earrings. For about five minutes, I'm really comfortable again. Then I hear it. Ka-thunk, Ka-chug, ka-thunk-thunk. Yes, the air conditioner just died. Lovely. The front desk tells me it will be a few hours before they can get someone up to fix it. So, I demand that they let me into my partner's room so I can wait somewhere relatively cool. Gathering up my files and my ice cream, I make myself comfortable on his unmade bed and attack the remaining half of my dinner. I must be hallucinating, because I think I just walked in on one of my own fantasies, already in progress. Scully is stretched out on my bed with her calves and feet hidden by the blankets. She's got her arms wrapped firmly around one of my pillows, and I know from the detail I can see under that shirt that it's all she's wearing on top. She must have been working, because there are papers and photographs spread out around her. Those cute over-sized owl eye glasses are resting one of the stacks of paper. There's also a puddle of condensation seeping into my sheets under a tub of ice cream. Christ, was that her dinner? Oh, I am such an asshole. I take the car and go get burgers, burgers of all things. God, I am such a jerk sometimes. I mean there's a strong stomach and then there's being immortal. Sometimes, I just forget, you know, that she's mortal. She shifts slightly and I can feel Diana's eyes on my back. I wonder if she's noticed that I'm practically devouring Scully with my eyes. I wonder if she's noticed my reaction to this tableau. I wonder if she knows how much I wish she would leave right now so I can stare at my sleeping Scully some more. Instead I say, "I don't remember ordering room service." "AC died," she murmurs softly, not moving. She stretches one arm out and points at the scattered papers. "You'll want to look at this, Mulder." "You found something interesting, Agent Scully?" Scully lifts her head and frowns. "Chips," she says. "Where?" I ask. "Back of the neck. Well, at least nineteen of them had it in the back of their necks. Cow number 8 didn't really have a neck anymore. I think we can safely assume the other's was there originally." "Where did you find it?" "The rumen." "The what?" asks Diana. Scully looks at her like this is the stupidest question she's ever heard. "One of the stomachs. The largest one actually, from which the cow draws her cud. I'm not really sure how it got there, or why they removed her head. However, compared to the others, this cow was...highly compromised." "Fascinating," says Diana, yawning. Was there really a time when she shared my passion for this work? "I'm going to bed." She waltzes over the adjoining door and seems surprised to find it locked. "Good night," I throw over my shoulder as I perch on the bed beside Scully. "Chips." She yawns thunderously. "Yeah, chips Mulder. Looks like our friends aren't too exclusive." She sounds so grumpy. She looks so sexy. She sits up reluctantly and stares forlornly at the remnants of her ice cream. It's soupy now, and from the expression on her face as she tastes it, a little warm. With a sigh, she dumps it in the bedside trashcan and falls back against the pillows. "So why did they slash them open, Scully?" She opens one eye. "I don't know, Mulder. What time is it?" "It's about ten-thirty. You don't know? Was there anything that indicates that these cows are special, besides the chips?" She groans and closes her eye. "Mulder, I've been up since the cows were prepped at 3 am. I can't discuss this right now." "Scully, come-on, I need some help interpreting this stuff." She groans again and sits up. "Tomorrow, Mulder." "I have a theory forming," I sing-song. "Tell me about it in the morning." "Scully, I want to get this thing solved." "Mulder, I'm too tired to argue with you." I grin maniacally at her. "Good." She smoothes her hand through her hair. "Mulder..." "Were the cows pregnant?" "No, Mulder. The cows were not pregnant." "Had they ever been pregnant?" She frowns at me. "No, Mulder." "Are you sure?" She is baring her teeth now. "Yes, I'm sure Mulder. If you'd like to check the uterine lining, feel free to trot on down there yourself." "No, I trust you, Scully." Did I really think that statement was going to soften her. She still looks grouchier than Oscar. "Mulder, I'll summarize my findings and we can talk about it tomorrow." "But..." "But why were the slashed open? I don't know, Mulder. Why did they have chips in there necks? I don't know. Was something removed from them? Not that I can tell. So why slash them? I don't know. And I really don't give a damn right now Mulder. If you want to talk about it so much, go talk to Agent Fowley." "She's tired." Oh fuck me. I am a complete and utter dick. She's wide awake now. Scully sits straight up, starts grabbing papers and shoving them in the file. The frightening thing is, she doesn't sound angry at all, just resigned. "Of course, Mulder, by all means, I'll go translate this for you right now. Then I'll form a theory and we can discuss this right away. After all, if your precious Diana is too tired, you certainly can't disturb her." Shit shit shit! "My what?" "Look Mulder, it's none of my business," she replies, her face and voice complete stone. Okay, now I'm getting pissed off. This has been hanging there between us for months, and if this is what it takes to clear the air, so be it. "No, I want to know what the hell you're talking about, Scully." "Forget it, Mulder." "Don't walk away from me, Scully." "I said forget it, Mulder." She's off the bed now, moving toward the door. I follow her and snatch the file out of her hand. She turns on me, her eyes absolutely molten with rage. "Give me the damn folder, Mulder." "Make me." Oh, I did not just say that. Scully lashes out with her hand to whisk the file away from me. She succeeds, but I grasp her wrist, swing her around and slam her into the door, taking the file back from her. That little involuntary gasp slips out. When was the last time I heard it? That case in the ice? God, did it turn me on this much then? It certainly turned me on enough for me to lose my grip this time. Now I'm holding the file over her head like an obnoxious bully. She just shoved me hard. I can't believe this. Scully and I are fighting, really truly fighting, over some fucking file. My knees catch on the bed and she follows me to the mattress. Her hands go for my outstretched arm, reaching for the file as I grab her shoulder and trap her underneath me, looming over her. Her face is millimeters from mine. She blinks at me in sudden realization of what we've been doing for the last five minutes. I can't believe we just did this either. At the same time, I'm surprised she hasn't thrown me a right hook yet in all the years I've tortured her. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Scully. I'm so sorry," I'm muttering stupidly. "Shut-up, Mulder," she says flatly, a wave of her hand sending the file crashing to the floor. She turns her head to the side and sighs. Then , she starts laughing under her breath. I can feel the muffled shaking of her body under mine. I don't think I can properly convey how sexy that feels. "Cows," she murmurs. I rub my thumbs about her hairline. "Cows?" "We nearly came to blows over a bunch of stupid cows, Mulder." She's still chuckling lightly. "It wasn't about the cows, Scully," I say solemnly and kiss her forehead. I can't seem to stop touching her. Her hand moves down from my hair to my check, rubbing her thumb slowly over my jaw. "I know that Mulder," she sighs. She staring at me now. It occurs to me that I should probably let go of her. Considering that I weight about 100 times what she does, she likely doesn't appreciate me crushing her into the bed. I blow air through my lips and roll off her. Now we're just laying there, across the bed, trying to slow our breathing. "I didn't send all the chips to the lab," she blurts out. I roll on one shoulder and she turns her head to face me. "I sent them one," she elaborates. I know who she's talking about. "Byers will have a field day," I quip, grinning at her. Something niggles at the back of my mind. "Scully...you told Diana you found all the chips," I say, drawing my brows together. That eyebrow arches gracefully. "I don't trust her, Scully," I admit. "Wouldn't she expect that though? She knows them." What! "Uh, Scully..." She stares up at the ceiling. "I asked them," she reveals. Holy... "Uh, Scully..." "They explained the nature of your previous association." Great. I'd love to know what Frohike's analysis of my `association' with Diana is. Now I know why Scully finds the ceiling so appealing. Without even realizing it, I've claimed her hand again. "It's still just you and me, Scully," I whisper. Scully props herself up on one elbow, but doesn't release my hand. She stares down at my face. I stare back. I probably look pathetic. Now I know I do, because she almost-smiles and ruffles my hair. I like the way her hand feels in my hair and I rub my head against her palm. She trails it down to my cheek. "Still my one in five billion, Scully," I murmur into her hand. I press my lips against her palm and she brushes her thumb against my bottom lip. I can feel my mouth open slightly. She stops abruptly, withdraws her hand and rolls over on her side, away from me. Yes, we have definitely reached the touching threshold. She yawns ferociously, and I remember suddenly that she has been up for twenty hours now. I place my hand on her shoulder, closing the circuit again so the electricity can flow. "Scully, I think it's past our bedtime," I announce. She huffs a laugh and then grunts her agreement. I reluctantly sit up and draw the covers down the bed. Wrapping one arm around her, I draw her up the bed and smooth the blankets over her. Scully sighs, then moves her hand to her waist and starts writhing. Oh..my...then her jeans smack against the chair next to the bed and I remember that blue jeans do not make for comfortable pajamas. Then I realize that I probably don't want to sleep in my slacks either, for that matter. I shuck them, and my shirt too. I locate my sweatpants and clamber into bed beside her. Some misguided gentlemanly instinct prompts me to arrange the blankets around her shoulders and my hand ends up in her hair, smoothes it away from her face. One hand closes around my bicep and I know it just happened. We just crossed the touching threshold. The tug on my arm is almost a phantom of a gesture. This time, I bridge the brief space between our faces and meet her open mouth. Lungs pumping in a painful reminder of the need to respirate pull me away. Only her eyes are smiling but I can almost see my idiotic grin reflected there. "It's your turn to sing, Mulder," she cracks. I laugh at her, and her sleepy face, at my own almost absurd giddiness. I pull her body closer to me and she turns so that her back is pressed against my chest. "No, I seem to recall you reporting my involuntary performance in Texas." "Oh yeah," she yawns. "I guess we're even then." "Not even close," I whisper, kissing her right below her ear. She hums a bit and I can feel her smile. "Go to sleep Scully." `M'k, Mulder," she replies. I know I should be reviewing the farmer's testimony, but I just can't do it. "This is nice, Scully," I say as I feel exhaustion sweeping over me. She hums again and takes my hand. The warmth of her hand seems to trickle through me and I fall irrevocably into sleep. What the hell is this? She's laying there, in the middle of his bed. She's laying there with a tub of ice cream, with no bra on. In the middle of his bed. "I don't remember ordering room service," he cracks. She pretends not to react, but she's smirking. He blatantly stares at her chest and she ignores it. They are so cute I think I'll throw up now. Three hours later, I can still see it. I had to get away from that. They were both so engrossed in their discussion of cow chips, and their furtive little glances at each other. And then that damn door was locked. He doesn't trust me. This stuck me suddenly when I tried the door. I hadn't noticed it before then. He doesn't trust me anymore. In fact, I think he hardly noticed my presence in the room. I mean, his body is obviously most incredibly aware of her presence, but he didn't even look at me. Now they are curled up on the bed together, with the file spilled all over the floor beside it. I know they didn't copulate. Granted it's been several years, but I have some recollection of sex with Fox Mulder and I can promise you, I would have heard something. No, they are just sleeping together, though her lips looks a bit swollen. His head is curled up on her chest and he's got his hand and hers clamped over one breast. Her other hand is in his hair. This time I think I will vomit. I wish I knew why I'm here this time. The first time I was assigned to Fox Mulder, my goal was clear. I was to get his interest in the x-files piqued, and then leave when he finally opened them. Did they think he wouldn't last without a partner? Or was I pushed aside so that could insert the intrepid Ms. Scully into the picture? And why am I here now? Should I be pushing them closer together or coming between them? Which one do I wish I was doing? The problem is that I rather like her. Plus, she is quite possibly, along with his long-lost sister, one of the only women who hasn't seemed to make a concerted effort to screw him over. Thanks to his mother, he has a guilt complex that his other emotions have a rough time competing with. That Phoebe women at Oxford turned his sexuality on its ear, saving them the trouble I suppose. Then I betrayed him professionally, taught him that you can't even trust your partner. She seems to be fixing all that, without even trying. Is that why they sent her? Who is she? Do they need him now? Did they always know they would? And her? Is she an accident, or did they find her for him? What do they want from them and from me? Who are they? All these questions. I have a headache, and now the nausea. That's why I came in here in the first place, I know he used to carry aspirin in his briefcase. Moving as quietly as possible, I traverse the room, open the case and fish out the bottle of Tylenol. I cringe as the cap pops loudly. I swallow the pills dry and close the briefcase. Just as I reach the door, her head turns and her eyes open right into mine. How does anyone ever think with those ice blue searchlights trained on them. Her voice holds no evidence of sleep as she declares, "I know what you do." She holds my gaze for a moment and runs her hand through Fox's hair possessively. Her eyes close again though, and I wonder whether she was really awake. I wonder how many questions I can possibly ask in one night. Tomorrow I will make the phone call. I need answers. To every thing there is a season. It's time for them to tell me. Spring or fall Disclaimer: Not mine. Just on loan. Fox, 1013, Carter, etc. They own them. Notes: This was supposed to be my `why they no touchy' story. Sorry BamaX, it just didn't happen. I assure everyone, I will emerge from PG land soon, I promise. Big thanks to Suzanna for once again editing for me, and for giving it to me straight :) Thanks to Claudia for the use of her machine and email until I got mine. And of course, big thanks to all the ladies at the Haven, for inspiration and ambiance.