TITLE:   SO MUCH DEPENDS ON THE WEATHER
AUTHOR:  THE IDIOSYNCRATIC STANWYK
E-MAIL:  theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com
CATEGORY:  MSR
CLASSIFICATION:  A Rain King post-ep for the Fandomonium VSS 
Season 6 Challenge
DISLCLAIMER:  All X-Files characters are the property of Chris Carter, 
Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting.  No copyright 
infringement intended.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Scully?" Mulder's voice was groggy and muffled by the warm, downy 
blanket of sleep. "Scully, c'n you turn off the light?"

Only the dedicated hum of the air conditioner answered him. Mulder 
tried to burrow into the flimsy motel pillow, which had obviously not 
been designed with burrowing in mind, and crankily mused that one of 
the drawbacks of sharing a room, and a bed, with your partner was that 
she woke you up whenever she got up and turned on the damn bathroom 
light.

But wait a minute. Why would Scully be in the bathroom in the middle of 
the night with the door open? Mulder, ever the crack FBI agent, 
industriously peeled one eyelid open to investigate the situation.

His partner was silhouetted against the window as light streamed in 
around her from outside. Damn. Was it morning already? Mulder felt as 
if he'd barely slid between the scratchy white sheets. Maybe someone 
had spiked the punch at the high school reunion. But the bedside clock 
read 1:16.

As he watched blearily, the light seemed to turn pink, then softly 
blue. He blinked. Still blue.

"Scully?"

"Some look, Mulder," she said to the window. "Come look, it's 
beautiful."

More awake now, Mulder got out of bed, stubbed his toe on the night 
stand, and shuffled over to stand behind his partner.

Maybe she was sharing his hallucination, because the night sky appeared 
to be bathed in rainbow hues - blue, pink, orange, gold. Fireworks and 
laser light shows paled drastically in comparison.

Mulder gaped. "I don't believe it," he said.

"Of course you do," Scully replied, gazing out and up. "Aurora 
borealis."

Mulder slowly broke into a delighted grin. "Aurora borealis in Kansas - 
and in August. Way to go, Holman."

"Way to go," echoed Scully, and he could tell that she was also 
smiling.

Mulder felt the colored lights dance across his face and looked down to 
watch them play on Scully's alabaster skin. She gasped, and he looked 
up to see a shower of shooting stars.

"Well," murmured Scully, "I don't guess we have to wonder what Holman 
and Sheila are doing now."

Mulder chuckled and brought his hand up to rest on Scully's shoulder. 
The silky material of her pajamas was cool over her warm skin.

They watched the glorious spectacle in silence until the lights faded 
away. Scully closed the blinds and Mulder sat down on the edge of the 
bed, which creaked under his weight.

"Hey," he said, "is the aurora a meteorological phenomenon? How is 
Holman controlling that?"

Facing him, Scully shrugged philosophically. "Well you have to achieve 
the right atmospheric conditions in order to be able to see the aurora 
borealis," she said. "That's close enough, I guess, and it seems to be 
a special occasion."

Mulder raised his eyebrows and his grin widened triumphantly. "Ah-hah!" 
he exclaimed. "So now you believe he *can* control the weather?"

She smiled slightly, just the barest quirk of her lips. "Honestly, 
Mulder, I think that's the preferable solution at this point."

He leaned back, and Scully lay down and curled onto her side. "It's 
kind of sweet," she reflected softly to the darkness. "Imagine having 
someone feel passionately enough about you that his feelings are 
powerful enough to manufacture the weather."

Mulder pouted as if she could see him. "You never make weather for me, 
Scully."

She snorted with laughter. "You never even make coffee for me," she 
retorted. "Go to sleep, Mulder."

***

Holman Hart might be able to change the weather, but he couldn't 
reverse the damage the storm had done. The runway at the tiny Kroner 
Airport had been washed away entirely, and the rain had been so violent 
that two thirds of the state of Kansas was under water. Flights into 
and out of all major airports were grounded, which meant that Mulder 
and Scully were enjoying lovely and scenic Kroner until the water 
receded.

Looking out across the sodden farmland surrounding the motel the 
morning after Holman and Sheila's high school reunion, Mulder 
deadpanned, "You build the ark, I'll gather the animals."

Behind him Scully shrugged into her blazer and secretly wished for a 
pair of waders. "There's no place like home. Let's go get breakfast, 
Mulder. Your snoring kept me awake again and I need coffee."

"I don't snore, and you stole all the covers again. Pancakes are on 
you."

By early afternoon Mulder had emailed their report to Skinner and 
Scully had talked to someone in Topeka who said the airport would be 
operational late the following morning and the two agents should be 
able to get a flight back to D.C. around noon. The partners had run out 
of productive things to do and were both lounging on the motel bed, 
gazing listlessly at the guide channel.

"Storm Chasers is on," said Mulder.

"Hmm," said Scully, wiggling her toes in their gray socks. She had a 
great deal to think about and process. This had, she reflected, been an 
odd several days. The case had certainly ended better than most of 
theirs did. Other than cranky air travelers, no real harm had been 
done, and Sheila and Holman had gotten, presumably, their happily ever 
after. No, none of that particularly preoccupied Scully.

Perhaps it was nothing more than the small-town, Midwestern prerogative 
of the locals, but *how* many times had she and Mulder been taken for a 
married couple? Even Holman and Sheila had assumed they were a farm 
couple - *a farm couple?* Scully was outraged on behalf of her 
wardrobe. "Like looking in a mirror," Mulder had said. Now Scully 
chuckled. She certainly hoped not.

Then after the flying cow incident, the owner of the motel had assumed 
Mulder was Scully's boyfriend and had simply moved his luggage into her 
room. Scully had to admit that this particular situation was turning 
out better than she had expected. It was surprisingly comfortable to 
share a room with Mulder, even a room with only one bed. It wasn't all 
that different than hanging out at one of their apartments, sprawling 
on the sofa while they ate dinner and watched television or worked. 

Mulder had tacitly indicated to her that even after Holman found out 
they were FBI agents, he'd thought they were involved, and what had he 
finally said to both of them? "You ought to try it some time"? 

Apparently she wasn't immune either. Scully recalled the little speech 
she'd made to Sheila the night before. Yes, she was trying to convince 
the other woman to give Holman a chance, but where had all of that 
switch-flipping stuff come from?

She knew, of course. Somehow a circuit had been closed this week after 
five years of build-up, and Dana Scully was electrified. It had all 
become clear, suddenly, flying cows and all. Mulder was it. Scully had 
finally admitted to himself that she wanted him desperately, that she 
was in love with him, and that her situation was really no better than 
Holman's. She suspected that Mulder might feel the same way, but wasn't 
sure if he'd realized it yet. So she should try to make him realize, 
right? Wasn't that better than maintaining the status quo?

Oh, yes, intellectually it all sounded perfectly reasonable and 
feasible, but the reality could become a terrifying disaster. What to 
do?

"Hey, Scully," said Mulder, nudging her with his foot. "Do you think I 
gaze at you?"

A few days ago Scully would have pointed out what an odd question that 
was to ask. Now she only turned to look at her partner, maintaining a 
neutral expression. I hope so, Mulder, she thought. I certainly hope 
so.

***

Mulder and Scully did get safely back to Washington the next day, and, 
to all outward appearances, life returned to normal. They groused to 
one another about not having had a real weekend, but worked quietly 
through the ensuing week. No new cases sparked their interest, which 
made work dull but virtually guaranteed them a full, unadulterated 
weekend.

On Friday afternoon, shortly after she and Mulder had returned from 
lunch, Scully idly tapped a pencil against her half-empty mug of cold 
coffee. "Hey, Mulder," she said, and stopped.

He glanced up from whatever he was doing - rummaging in his desk 
drawers, apparently. His tie was tossed over one shoulder for 
convenience and his hair was sticking straight up, and looking at him 
made Scully break into a huge smile and forget to be nervous.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking slightly dazed. She hoped he was dazzled by 
her smile, and not by the contents of one of those drawers.

"If you don't have plans tonight, do you want to come over and hang 
out?" He nodded, smiling, and she continued. "Good. I'll stop by and 
get Thai food. What do you want - the panang curry and coconut shrimp 
soup?" Mulder nodded eagerly. "Okay. But don't come until around eight. 
I have some errands to do."

With that, Scully went back to her typing.

As she drove home, Scully reminded herself that she could still back 
out gracefully; that was one of the reasons she'd chosen this set-up. 
Mulder wouldn't think there was anything strange about coming over to 
her apartment to eat take-out and watch a video, or just to chat. He'd 
never know the difference.

But no. If she wavered now, Scully knew she'd lose her courage for 
good, and the chance would be gone. The window of opportunity would 
close, and she'd turn into Holman Hart, pining away for her best 
friend, only without his special talent. And channeling your anger into 
law enforcement, into high-speed chases and nasty interrogations, was 
*such* a cliche.

No, it was much better to go through with the plan she had so carefully 
concocted. She had to keep telling herself that she had no reason to 
believe that Mulder would reject her. Things between them had been 
going so well recently. They had their old, easy camaraderie back, and 
Scully was almost positive that she wasn't imagining the spark doing a 
long, slow burn just beneath the surface.

Determined, she turned into the parking lot of an enormous craft store 
to buy the supplies she would need for the evening ahead.

***

Scully answered Mulder's knock wearing jeans, a snug black t-shirt, and 
no shoes. In fact, the two of them matched - except Mulder was properly 
shod. 

"Hi," she said and smiled, but didn't open the door wide enough for him 
to come inside. Behind her the apartment appeared to be in a state of 
total darkness.

"Hi," he echoed, peering curiously over her shoulder into the void.

"I have a surprise for you," Scully said mysteriously, feeling both shy 
and daring. "Come in, and be careful not to trip." She took his hand 
firmly in hers and tugged him into the apartment, then held him in 
place as she closed the door behind them.

Her apartment was cool, almost cold, and smelled of - cedar, was it?

"Stay here," Scully instructed, guiding Mulder to a chair and squeezing 
his hand.

Mulder heard her footsteps pad across the hardwood floor, accompanied 
by a crinkling sound, and then the room was illuminated by a soft glow 
- Scully had strung white Christmas lights all around the living room. 
He saw her standing by the window, smiling at him, her pink cheeks 
evident even in the dimness.

His eyes left Scully and toured the room, and Mulder felt the 
expression of confused surprise overwhelming his face. The floor was 
covered with something that looked like ice, as if he were sitting on 
the surface of a frozen pond. The furniture was covered with realistic-
looking snow, with snowdrifts heaped against the walls. A small fan at 
Scully's feet moved the snowflakes, making them dance and gambol. The 
Christmas lights were shaped like icicles.

Scully searched Mulder's face intently. "Welcome to winter wonderland," 
she said, her voice pitched low. Hesitantly she took a few steps toward 
him. "Do you like it?"

Mulder looked from Scully to the snow and ice and back. She stood a few 
feet from him, her hands folded in front of her, her expression both 
anxious and eager. In th ehalf light her eyes looked midnight blue.

"Uh, yeah, Scully, it's great." He smiled, still unsure. "What's going 
on? Is it Christmas in August?"

Scully stood a little straighter, as if an invisible wire had pulled 
her up from her toes, and regarded Mulder evenly. He wasn't crazy: his 
partner really was blushing. "It's a snow storm," she said simply. "I 
made the weather for you."

Mulder's first impulse was to chuckle, then realization hit and he 
froze, a response befitting the simulated atmospheric conditions. He 
gazed into Scully's eyes, *gazed* with all his might and prayed to 
Mother Nature that she intended what he thought she did.

"For me?" he echoed, playing it safe for the moment. "Thank-you, 
Scully. But -"

She smiled slightly and held her hands out to him. "But why?"

He stood and joined her, taking her hands. He twined her fingers with 
his and stroked his thumb over her wrist. They faced one another, and 
Scully still smiled, although her eyes were serious. "I hoped you'd 
know why."

"I think I do," he confessed.

"Holman really made me think, Mulder. He was so desperate, so afraid to 
tell Sheila how he felt, that he lived twenty years of unrequited 
passion. At first that seemed unfathomable to me, but somewhere along 
the way I realized that if anyone should understand that man, I should 
- we should."

She gently emphasized the we, and Mulder squeezed her hands.

"In Kansas I felt something had changed - and people saw it, Mulder. 
And then you made that remark about me making the weather for you, and 
I thought you were tacitly acknowledging something. I wasn't wrong, was 
I?"

"Of course you weren't." Mulder touched the crown of Scully's head with 
his whole open palm, feeling her cool, smooth hair, and shaped his hand 
to support her skull. 

"You understand that I love you," she continued, almost 
conversationally, her confidence growing rapidly, "and you love me?"

Mulder became aware that he was wearing a cheek-cracking smile as he 
confirmed, "I love you, Scully."

They stood and smiled at one another, completely happy. Surely they 
deserved to be happy, although Mulder had never pictured it happening 
this way. He'd thought one of them would finally break down and confess 
under the stress of trauma, illness, conspiracy or bureaucracy, and 
he'd thought it would be him. That it would be Scully, and that she'd 
do it in such a direct, charming manner - well, she was full of 
surprises tonight.

"What do I have to do to get you to kiss me," she asked, "turn this 
place into a blizzard?"

The last syllable was absorbed by his mouth on hers, firm but not 
demanding. Scully closed her eyes and relaxed into his embrace as one 
hand splayed across her spine. She gripped his upper arm, fingers 
curling into the fabric of his t-shirt as they explored, as they let 
their bodies begin to get acquainted with one another. After several 
minute Scully backed over to the sofa and tugged Mulder down with her, 
on top of her. He hesitated, and she rocked the cradle of her hips up 
toward him. He groaned, making her smile triumphantly, and transferred 
his mouth to her neck as his hand traveled up her stomach, pushing her 
shirt up with it. When she was exposed to his sight, he simply stroked 
his fingertips over the blue silk of her bra, watching her chest rise 
and fall as she breathed. Suddenly he stretched out above her again and 
kissed her soundly on the mouth. 

"You're so pretty, Scully," he said, telling her something he'd known 
for a long time. They were partners, after all, and after almost six 
years on the road together, they'd seen one another in various states 
of undress; besides, he wasn't a fool: he'd had a damn good idea of 
what she looked like under those suits, anyway. But seeing her up 
close, like this, because she wanted him to, not to mention touching 
her, was an experience that could send him into the stratosphere. 

She was smiling, and her eyes were tender, liquid, as he'd never seen 
them before. Her hair curled over her ear and around her jaw, and she 
was unbearably sexy, lying there with her t-shirt under her arms, her 
beautiful breasts and the expanse of her abdomen almost gleaming in the 
half light, her mouth curved upward with joy and just a dash of 
wickedness. 

Before he touched, he wanted to see all of her. He sat up again and 
went to work on the button of her jeans, then efficiently lowered the 
zipper. He was industriously working both jeans and panties over her 
hips, which she had obligingly lifted, when he stopped abruptly.

"Is this too much?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow. "Am I complaining?" she returned. "Don't stop, 
Mulder. And then take off your clothes."

Her precisely stated instructions and the edge of flame in her tone 
worked wonders for Mulder's ego and his anatomy. He'd divested her of 
all her garments and had shed his before he had time to form a coherent 
thought, then he rocked back to admire her. 

Scully groaned impatiently, possessive fingers curling around his 
penis. "Mulder," she protested.

He hissed at the contact and covered her hand with his, as if to ease 
the pressure, then let his fingers skate up her body to caress one firm 
nipple. "I want to look at you," he argued, but as he spoke he settled 
himself over her, aware that he had already lost. His erection brushed 
against her soft, damp pubic hair and she sighed on a soft, breathy 
note; a knee hooked around his flank, and the heel planted in the 
middle of his back urged Mulder forward.

"We should slow down," muttered Mulder, whose body didn't want to 
slow 
down at all, but he felt sure that he should say it. Certainly Scully 
didn't want a fast, hard fuck on the sofa - which, by the way, was 
covered with the snow-like substance, which felt a little like 
styrafoam as it touched his skin. And really, he hadn't even touched 
Scully; he hadn't kissed her breasts and her belly button and the crook 
of her knee, and his fingers hadn't wandered over the hot, wet place 
between her legs, learning exactly how she felt and what made her 
squeeze her eyes closed.

At the moment Scully didn't seem to care. In fact she was twisting 
beneath him, exerting all the pressure she could muster with her arms 
and legs to pull him down and into her. "Now, Mulder," she insisted. 
"You can look at me later, I promise. I won't be shy. But now -"

She didn't have to finish. Hearing her ask him to make love to her now 
had done it. 

He tried to begin slowly, but she wanted it fast and urgent and sweaty. 
Their bodies were in perfect accord in this. They crashed against one 
another, driving Scully's body into the sofa cushions; snowflakes clung 
to both of them. Mulder braced his arms beside her head to keep from 
suffocating her completely, and Scully slipped one hand between their 
bodies as their pace became frantic. He pushed as deeply into her as he 
could, grinding against her, and her fingers clutched at his shoulder 
and his hip, and then it was over. Mulder might have been embarrassed 
if anyone had timed him, but Scully wasn't complaining. He ascertained 
that her eyes were closed and she was panting, and then he dropped his 
head onto her chest and focused on breathing.

When they had calmed down, Scully made a token, fitful effort to remove 
some of the fake snow from their bodies and the sofa. "This stuff is 
going to be hell to clean up," she commented, and again he could hear 
her smiling, although he couldn't see her face.

"I'll help," he said. "Thank you for the snow, Scully. It was 
wonderful."

"Any time, Mulder," she replied, "by which I mean never again. Next 
time, weather's on you." Her partner, whose cheek was now smashed 
against the sofa cushion, began to laugh. "What's so funny?"

He twisted around to look at her, wearing a goofy grin. "I just never 
realized meteorology could be so sexy."

She giggled, and her eyes sparkled mischievously as she removed bits of 
styrofoam from his face. "Well, you know what they say. So much 
depends 
upon the weather."

The End

theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com