text file (18k)

So much for no ifs, ands, or bees.



RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: V
KEYWORDS: MT, MSR, UST, and a partridge in a pear tree
SPOILERS: Hollywood A.D., Jose Chung's From Outer Space
DISCLAIMER: Not mine; they belong to CC, FOX, etc.

Notes: For banlu and Obfusc8er, in honor of their almost-joint birthday. Thanks to Mimic for the helpful beta and for organizing the party favors.

* * *

"Champagne, Mulder?"

Scully stopped just inside the doorway and eyed the perspiring bottle nestled in a bucket of ice.

"I think that comes standard with every room," Mulder's voice rumbled just behind her.

She didn't buy it. Tipping her head back, she met his eyes with a smirk. "Hoping to get me drunk?"

He chuckled quietly and placed a hand on her back to gently propel her further into the room. "Not drunk. Maybe a little tipsy." The door clicked shut behind him.

Tossing her handbag on the king size bed that dominated the room, she slowly pivoted to take in the luxurious suite. The layout was the same as her own, but the decor was tropical rather than sedate seaside, giving each room its own character. She felt the need to absorb every detail because she doubted she'd ever see the inside of another room like this--unless Wayne Federman decided to do a sequel. In which case, she'd be happy never to see another hotel like this.

Returning her gaze to her partner, she found him standing across the room, staring at her with a hunger that was usually reserved for juicy cases. An involuntary shiver tickled her spine. Whether it was anxiety or anticipation, she wasn't sure. Her eyes dropped to evade his intensity and came to settle on the hand that rested in his pocket.

Already uninhibited by the glass of wine she'd had with dinner, she yielded to the temptation that seized her: "Is that a flashlight in your pocket, Mulder, or are you just hoping to be lying on top of me?" She managed to deliver the line with a straight face but punctuated it with an unexpected giggle. Maybe she should reconsider dipping into the champagne.

Mulder groaned, emitting a sound close to a growl. "Don't you dare start quoting from that movie again."

The subtle threat in his tone excited her, provoking her to up the ante. "Oh? And what if I do? What are you going to do about it?"

Meeting her challenge without hesitation, he stalked towards her, his hands landing on her hips and pulling her close as he spoke. "I'll have to find a way to shut you up. No ifs, ands, or bees."

Before she could summon a response, his lips descended upon hers, hard. They wasted no time with formalities. Their tongues soon engaged in a game of cat and mouse, teasing and taunting like the innuendoes they had been flinging all evening.

A muffled ring sounded from the vicinity of Scully's handbag, but neither made a move to pursue it. She pulled away just long enough to declare, "No phone calls either."

Silence returned after the fourth ring--not that either of them were paying much attention. Scully's fingers were twined in Mulder's hair, massaging his scalp in rhythm to their kisses. His hands were equally active, wandering from her hips around to her backside, up her spine, and trailing down her sides. Suddenly, he broke away from her lips.

"Where the hell's the zipper on this thing?"

Rather amused and just a little disappointed, she realized that the groping had only been a fortunate by-product of his single-minded pursuit.

"There is no zipper. You just undo the button at the back of the neck"--she reached around and undid it while she explained--"and then it slips off."

He took a step back, not letting go of her, and looked her up and down. He seemed to consider the logistics of this, then came to a decision and reached for her shoulder straps.

"No." She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I need to pull it off over my head."

So Mulder bent down to reach for her hemline, this time groping quite intentionally as his hands trailed up her thighs, her hips, her waist, bunching the fabric ahead of him. His hands paused there, and he met her gaze with twinkling eyes and a smile that promised trouble. "Arms up."

Scully hesitated. His command made her feel a bit silly, like a little girl, but it really was the most practical way to accomplish this. She finally complied.

Whereas the skirt had slid up easily, the torso was much tighter and offered more resistance around the girth of her shoulders. The dress was up to her biceps, and completely blocking her vision, when a phone rang again.

His hands immediately halted. "Damn it, that's mine. It's got to be work. I'd better get it."

"Mulder--"

"If it's Skinner and we don't answer, he might come looking for us. Personally, I'd prefer to avoid that right now. Hello?"

Scully huffed in frustration. She attempted to finish what her partner had abandoned and pull her arms out of the dress, but they were practically locked in place by the taut satin.

"This is he."

She heard Mulder's voice move as he paced away from her, but she had no idea whether he was aware of her struggle.

"Roky Crikenson? My partner and I have an appointment with him tomorrow morning. He was a witness in a case we worked a few years back. Why? What's this about?"

Finally managing to wriggle one arm free, she grabbed hold of the dress and tugged it completely off, flinging it with exasperation in Mulder's direction. It fluttered unceremoniously to the floor a few inches shy of him, just as he pivoted away from her again.

"He contacted us a few days ago. I'm not really sure what he wanted to talk to us about. I know he suspected he was in danger because of what he previously witnessed, but I have my doubts about its veracity. The man had quite an overactive imagination. Do you suspect foul play?"

Foul play. Scully knew those two little words had the potential to ruin her entire evening. Her eyes flicked to the champagne bottle as it shifted in the melting ice, mocking the dregs of her optimism.

"Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can."

She dropped to the mattress in defeat, suddenly feeling much too sober. Mulder punched the off button and tossed the phone onto the bed next to her.

"Roky Crikenson was found dead tonight."

She leaned back on her hands and made no effort to mute the irritation in her tone. "I gathered that. But why call us?"

Mulder tripped over the black garment crumpled at his feet and stooped to pick it up. "Apparently, he left a note on his latest screenplay: 'In the event of my untimely demise, send this to Fox.'"

Her brow crinkled. "Since when are you two on a first name basis?"

Coming to stand in front of her, he absently pulled the discarded dress through his fingers. "Actually, I think he was referring to the studio. But they found a copy of the ad for tonight's premier sitting next to it, with our names circled."

"The poor sap probably mistook us for celebrities."

Mulder's attention had wandered from the silky fabric and was now fixed due south of Scully's eyes. She mused that she should be feeling self-conscious about sitting there wearing nothing more than her bra and panties in what could be mistaken for an inviting pose, but instead she was amused by her partner's preoccupation.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?" He met her eyes, bringing him from his trance and back on track. "I told the detective I'd meet him at the crime scene. The body's already on the way to the morgue, so you might as well just head there."

Scully sighed. So much for no ifs, ands, or bees. The champagne bottle sounded its agreement with a clank and a dull thud.

* * *

Pulling the tape recorder out of the pocket of her lab coat, Scully shouldered open the swinging door leading to the autopsy bay. She honestly had no idea why she'd packed the device for this trip, other than habit. Probably the same reason she never left home without her service weapon and an extra pair of latex gloves.

At the center of the nondescript room lay Roky Crikenson, his body already prepared for her arrival. She wasn't accustomed to this kind of efficiency, but she figured that in a city the size of Los Angeles, they were used to receiving bodies at all hours of the night. Although, the fact that she'd taken her time getting over here, grumbling under her breath the entire way, might also have been a factor.

The swish of the doors drew her attention, and she looked over to see a young woman entering, apparently the diener. The name tag pinned to her lapel came into focus as she drew closer. It read "Pathologist's Ass."

Scully couldn't help but comment. "That's a rather unfortunate label."

But the woman broke out into a grin. "Actually, there used to be a 't' on the end, but I scratched it out."

Scully just blinked at her. She had no idea how to respond to that, so she chose to ignore it. "Uh, it looks like you've got everything ready to go here, so I'll just get started."

Snapping on a pair of gloves, Scully then turned toward the body and recited the necessary preliminaries into the recorder. She was tempted to lapse into "yada, yada, yada," not an uncommon practice for autopsies she was less than thrilled to be performing, but chose to remain professional in front of her limited audience.

Scully pulled back the sheet to allow access to the man's torso and reported on the unusual distension and bloating. "Subject appears to have extreme fluid retention, suggesting extended exposure in a body of liquid. Note: compare post-mortem weight to driver's license and doctors' records." She paused to consider this anomaly and then picked up a scalpel. "I'll begin with the Y incision."

Stifling a sigh, she let her hands fall to the instinctive motion of poising the sharp blade over the chest and applying pressure. But her apathy was soon pierced; the response of the flesh beneath her hands was anything but routine. No sooner had she punctured the epidermis than the entire body burst like a water balloon, exploding viscous fluid in every direction.

Scully froze, standing there in shock and dripping a substance that she didn't want to identify. The thick liquid continued to ooze from what remained of the body, now just a gooey skeleton, and seeped across the floor.

"Oh, my God."

The assistant moved up next to her for a closer look. "Heh, cool."

Scully raised an eyebrow and looked over at the young woman, who was apparently enraptured by the sight before her. Glancing down at the mess on the floor, the agent noticed the footsteps leading over to the body.

"Be careful where you step. We'll have to collect as much as we can for evidence."

As she finished speaking, Scully registered the sound of the door opening behind her. Turning to address this new variable, she noted several things at once: it was her partner pushing his way through the doors, he was entering at full stride, and the messy substance had already spread to just inside the doorway. Like a premonition, she saw the inevitable event before it unfolded.

"Mulder, don't--!"

But by the time the words left her mouth, it was already too late. As his first step hit the liquid, his foot slid out from under him, carrying him forward and down while the other foot lingered behind. He landed hard on the linoleum, his tailbone catching the brunt of the impact, followed by the back of his head. For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath, and he lay motionless, spread eagle with one knee still bent in mid-stride.

"Ah!"

Forgetting her admonition about preserving evidence, Scully rushed over and knelt by his side. "Mulder, are you okay?"

He groaned in pain, lifting a hand to his head before opening his eyes. He blinked up at Scully, then at the assistant leaning over him on the other side. "I think I'm seeing double."

Scully looked at the other woman in confusion, only then realizing that with her red hair and matching lab coat, she presented a very similar image.

She quickly dismissed his concern, running her hands over his body in a cursory inspection. "Mulder, you're not seeing double. Does your head hurt? Did you break anything?"

He pushed her hands away and struggled to stand, allowing her to help support his weight. As he came erect, he winced. "No, but I think I pulled a muscle."

"Where?"

"In my groin."

When Scully's helping hands headed for this new target, he took a step back out of her reach. She rolled her eyes at his evasion and turned to the assistant. "Do you have any ice packs around here?"

"Probably in the break room freezer." Without any further ado, she was out the door.

"That's not really what a guy wants down there," Mulder objected.

Tired of his bad patient routine, Scully glared at him. "How about a sling?"

He took another small step back, a hand settling over his groin either in protection or in response to the pain of his movement. "The ice pack will be just fine, thank you. So, what happened here? It looks like you got slimed."

She wearily scanned the mess. "I can't even begin to explain this. When I started to do the autopsy, he just sort of popped."

"Popped? Is that the technical term for it?"

She leveled another glare at him. "Popped like a water balloon. Burst like a giant bubble. Exploded like a--"

"Jeez! Are you saying this stuff is...?"

"Roky Crikenson."

He grimaced and tried to shake off the globs that were still clinging to him, but he was covered in far too much of the goo for it to make any difference.

The assistant returned, sidestepping just in time to avoid a blob that was flying from Mulder's sleeve toward the door. She held up the ice pack. "Here. Want me to hold it for you?"

At the eager gleam in her eye, he quickly grabbed the bag from her hand and stepped out of her reach. "No thanks. I can handle it by myself."

She just shrugged and watched while he gingerly applied the cold pack to his afflicted region. He looked a little concerned that the gleam hadn't faded.

Scully intervened and addressed the young woman. "Um, why don't you get a container? We need to get a sample of this...." She waved a hand around at the floor, not quite sure what to call it.

"Ectoplasm?" Mulder helpfully supplied.

"Organic substance," Scully pronounced. "We should rush it to the lab."

The assistant nodded, taking one more lingering glance toward where Mulder's chilled hand rested before turning to her task. Scully amusedly watched his worried eyes follow the young woman across the room, only to find her own gaze attracted to the same prominent spot.

"Mulder, we need to get you to the--"

"No emergency room."

She looked toward heaven in a silent plea for patience. It was going to be a long night--and not in the way she had been hoping.

* * *

"All right, thank you." Scully ended the call and closed her phone. Slowly opening the bathroom door, trying in vain not to aggravate the squeaky hinges, she emerged back into the room with hopes that the call hadn't woken her partner. She found him still lying on the double bed, a large bulge at his crotch where they had gently secured the bag of ice.

Scully walked over to the other bed and set her phone down next to her laptop. Looking at the dingy bedspread beneath it, she lamented their change of hotel rooms, but they were on a case now and back on the Bureau's dime--without the luxury of their boss's credit card and good humor.

"Was that Skinner?"

Glancing over at Mulder, she found his eyes still closed. "No, it was the lab. They rushed the results for me."

His eyes popped open and his head tilted so he could meet her gaze. "What'd they find?"

"Well, among the typical components of human tissue, they found large quantities of a synthetic botox."

"Botox? L.A.'s fountain of youth?"

"Apparently, the synthetic compound reacted with something in his body and began to break down the tissues, reducing them to their most basic elements."

He gave her an incredulous look.

Scully sat heavily on the near side of the mattress and let her shoulders droop. "Well, that's the best explanation I have for now." She decided to change the subject before he had a chance to offer any alternative suggestions. "How's the groin?"

He grunted softly. "Completely numb, and for entirely the wrong reason."

"You're not getting much sympathy here, Mulder. I believe I said something about not answering any phone calls?"

"I must not have heard you. I think somebody had their tongue in my ear."

Scully sat up primly. "My tongue was nowhere near your ear. It was firmly entrenched somewhere between your velum and your glottis."

A broad grin slowly blossomed on Mulder's lips. "The sprain hasn't spread to my velum if you'd like to come over here and keep it company."

"We're on a case," she protested. But she rose from the bed and took a step toward him.

"The case is solved. He OD'd on botox." The innocent expression and simple delivery were belied by the mischief in his eyes.

"The Bureau's paying for the room." She already had one knee on his bed and was discarding her shoes behind her.

"They can send me the bill."

She was now fully reclined next to him. "Then it's a good thing you didn't injure your tongue, because every part of my body is still fully functional. Although I am experiencing a particular ache that you could help me take care of."

Mulder's eyes went wide and dropped to her lips before his hand reached behind her neck and pulled her down hard for a kiss.

Somewhere, Scully thought she heard a champagne cork pop.

* * * * *
* * * * *

Author's notes: Since Obfusc8er always offers such helpful title suggestions, I thought that in honor of her I'd name this "The Case of the Pathological Smart Ass." But I decided against it. Also, in case you didn't catch it, there are subtle allusions here to banlu's "Soft," written for my joint birthday with Mimic last year, along with Obfusc8er's "Differential Diagnosis." Happy Birthday, ladies!



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