TITLE: Dark and Dangerous:
AUTHOR: MustangSally
RWBOWMAN@erols.com 
SYNOPSIS: Major ScullyAngst. Cars, coffee, tears, and sex.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: ATX, Whatever
SPOILER WARNING: Gethsemene
CONTENT WARNING: Rated NC-17 for your titillation.
CLASSIFICATION: MSR/Song Story (and I actually had the lyric sheet so
the words should be right!)
The Disclaimer: If you don't know the song, I suggest that you check
out the album Rites of Passage from the Indigo Girls


Dark and Dangerous

There's a letter on the desktop
That I dug out of a drawer
The last truce we ever came to
>From our adolescent war
And I start to feel a fever
>From the warm air through the screen
You come regular like seasons
Shadowing my dreams


Night.
Highway running like a black silken ribbon through the darkness,
punctuated by the leviathans of the roadway, the trucks, passing through
like mechanized whales on endless rounds back and forth from one coast
to the other. Eyes raw with tiredness, Dana Scully took another sip of
the now-cold cup of truck stop coffee and tried to keep her mind on the
road. It had been a hell. Sheer hell. Mulder's mother sobbing into
her shoulder, the rabbi chanting the kaddish over the urn of cremains
that were scattered through the oily late-winter black sea off the coast
of Martha's Vineyard. No music this time and the memory of the
scattering of her father's ashes made the lump in Dana's throat feel as
though it was crushing her trachea.
The tea and cookies back at the house, the teacup held by a woman who
had lost a daughter, a son, and a husband, the pale pink of her
fingernails as thin as the bone china. All alone again. Alone in the
big house with the white lace curtains.
Dana had beaten a hasty retreat, humiliated by the woman's pain.
Guilty.
So guilty.
What, after all had she done? What had Dana done? She'd stood up and
maligned his memory in front of those he had most wanted approval from.
Skinner may have called her Judas, but she felt Peter as well.
Denounced and betrayed, he had died with his face splattered all over
the mellow leather of his sofa.
His face.
God, she'd never see it again.
The plummeting in her abdomen made Dana grab the steering wheel tighter
in her clammy hands.
What was the world going to be like without him? She'd seen that face
nearly every day for the past - what? Five years, and now to be without
it? Without the funny lopsided smirk, the coolness and clarity of his
camouflage eyes? The rare, brilliant smile that flattened his
much-hated nose like a happy puppy's?
Her eyes burned.
She swallowed.
Hard.

And the Mississippi's mighty
It starts in Minnesota
At a place that you would walk across
With five steps down
I guess that's how you started
Like a pinprick to my heart
But at this point you rush right through me
And I start to drown

What the hell was it going to be like now? No late night calls, no rude
jokes, nasty puns and an end to the endless stream of coffee with sugar
(the man could never learn, so she'd learned to drink the sickly-sweet
mess)?
And the final possibility was gone.
Yes, the final possibility. Gone forever. Something she could barely
admit to herself.
She'd wanted him.
Bad.
There. She had thought it. Finally let the darkest thought out her head
like the bat-like creatures which had flown from Pandora's box. There
had been the possibility, that someday, when things were different, when
the past finally lay quiet that they would come together in some quiet
way in the oldest deepest relationship of all. Make the beast with two
backs; melt together in a ball of sweaty sweetness.
She'd thought about it.
Dreamed about it.
Wished for it.
Now?
Never.
Weak and battered, Dana finally relented, found the first hotel on the
highway, turned into the parking lot, never seeing the headlights
following her through the darkness.


And there's not enough room in this world for my pain
Signals cross
And love gets lost
And times passed makes it plain
Of all my demon spirits
I need you the most
I'm in love with your ghost


The d‚cor was tawdry and tired as Dana felt. Sitting on the edge of the
bed, listening to the rain against the dirty windowpanes, she sipped at
the vodka she had been keeping in her overnight case for the past three
days. Half a glass of Stoli and a Xanax was the only combination that
would finally switch off the gasoline generator horror show that flitted
through her mind each night. At this rate she was going to end up in
Fed Detox for alcoholism and addiction to self-prescribed medication.
Fuck em all.
She should just drink the entire bottle of Stoli to wash down the pills
and let the housekeeper find her body in the morning when she came to
change the towels. Was that how he had felt? Too bone-tired in both his
body and his soul. How could he leave her like this?
Rage bubbled under the warm sting of the vodka.
After everything. After cockroaches, shape-shifting mutants,
semi-conjoined twins, alligators and the endless nights away from the
comfort of their own homes.
How many hotels?
How many nights had she lain in bleach-reeking sheets, touching herself
and wishing that the hands that touched her belonged to the mercurial
man sleeping in the next room. How many times had she imagined him
lying in that other room, stroking his own heated flesh thinking of
her? She could feel herself beginning to dampen just thinking about
it. His breath against her hair as he slept in passenger seats,
airplanes, lobbies? She'd never hear that again, the funny whistling
from his nose as he exhaled.
Outside, lightning started to flash through the night-swollen sky.
She put her face down on the pillow and imagined that she smelled the
crisp musk of man body and Joop.
Tears ran through her sepia mascara.


I'm in love with your ghost


Tap tapping at my chamber door.
Sitting bolt upright, she wiped at her face with one hand while the
other drew her sidearm from the holster that dug into her hip. It was
probably nothing; the desk clerk come to tell her that she'd left the
lights on in car. Nothing important. No one knew she was here. Unless
one of those black-hearted bastards had been watching her at the
scattering of the ashes, had followed her here to finish the job that
the cancer had started. What was the rush anyway? She'd be dead within
the year, and there was no reason to waste a bullet.
God, she should just leave the gun on the bed and go to meet her fate.
There was little point to putting up a fight anymore.
The gun, familiar and heavy in her hand.
She ejected the ammunition clip and put it on the bedside table, put the
gun on the pillow, and went to the door.
Embracing my fate, she thought and yanked the door open.
The lightning flashed.
"Scully?"
Moments later, after the stunned silence of the cold night, the thunder
rippled through the mountains.
Dana's mouth opened and shut like that of a fish flipping on the sea-wet
deck of a boat, the hook drawing blood.
"Can I come in?"
Rent in two by the equally strong desire to either knock his teeth down
his throat or throw herself on him in sobbing gratitude, Dana settled
for nodding and opening the door a little wider to admit him.
"Wet out." she said as though this was any other night in any other
place in the continental United States instead of a visit from the dead.
"Raining."
He took off his sodden leather jacket and hung it on the hook on the
back of the door.

Dark and dangerous like a secret
That gets whispered in a hush
When I wake the things I dreamt about you last night make me blush
When you kiss me like a lover
You sting me like a viper
I go follow to the river
Play your memory like a piper


No conscious thought, it never made it to the higher centers. She saw
magenta, heard her heartbeat in her ears, Then he was staggering
backwards, coat dropped wet on the floor, hand clasped to his infamous
glass jaw. She struck him again, fear, rage, and sorrow exploding into
the urge to kill. She wanted to crush him like the tick that he was and
make him as dead as he should have been Stunned and wide-eyed, he
stumbled backwards from her assault, holding a forearm over his face,
while she flailed away at him with both fists. Pounding his chest, his
arms, and shoulders.
Real.
Corporeal.
Alive.
The wail that crashed from her throat could have come from a bird of
prey rather than a human being, the high keening sound cutting across
the wasteland of her heart. More tears idle tears ran down her neck to
soak the collar of her black dress. Her black funeral dress. Her black
funeral dress for his funeral.
"motherfuckercocksuckerbastardlyingcheatingbastardhowdareyoudothistomeyousonofabitch."

Catching her wrists, he squeezed the thin skin and tender bones in an
implacable grip. Jerking her over to him, crushing her to his paper
white shirtfront. The smell and warmth of his body was as familiar as
her house. A languor replaced the anger, the shaking, the vivid rage,
and she was golden, melting within. Taking a deep breath of him, she
buried her face in the shirt crackling over the hard narrowness of his
chest.
"imsorryitsokaynoweverythingsgoingtobeallright." he chanted over and
over, repeating the sutra of comfort.
"You were going to leave me to die alone."
Weak, I am so weak, so tired, so sick, and tired of fighting.
"I'm not here now. Not yet. I have to hide, and six feet under is a
good place to hide."
"I never wanted to hurt you."
Bastard.
Fucking selfish bastard.
She breathed him in like perfume.


And I feel it like a sickness
How this love is killing me
But I'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly
And dance the edge of sanity
I've never been this close
In love with your ghost

Closer to dying with every beat of her heart, she stood on her toes and
captured his mouth with her own. Rules, regulations, professionalism
set themselves aflame in their dull gray suits in the parking lot and
roasted to death. Hands cupped her wet face, drawing her in closer,
drinking the pain, hurt and anger from her lips, sucking out he poison.
Almost screaming, falling, sweeter than she had imagined hard lipped and
darting tongue. She dug her fingers into the meat of his shoulders
through he cotton of the short, holding on for dear life, sweet death

Trembling shaking fear and awestruck she watched the lone line of his
arm snake out and douse the ugly brass lamp by the bedside. She kicked
off her soaking pumps, reached up to unbutton the front of her black
funeral dress, but he pushed her hands out of the way with a question in
the amber flecks of his eyes. Begging her in the strobing dark from the
lightning flashes bursting in through the partly opened. Crackling and
booming outside like a celestial 1812 Overture.
Hands shaking like a virgin teenager, he fumbled with the jet buttons of
her dress front. Fought the buttons free of their holes and revealed an
expanse of ivory skin cut in twain by the black lace of her bra.
Touching the glowing skin, his hand was as cold as a corpse.
Impatient, hungrier than he, she jerked the dress from her shoulder,
letting it cascade from her hips into a puddle of oil on the floor. Bra
and panties followed until she was standing before him in her vanilla
skin, the glowing flame at the apex of her thighs and the black shadow
of her thigh-high nylons. Appreciation flashed across his face with the
lightning. Shirt socks and the ubiquitous black silk boxers piled atop
the inky dress and they tumbled onto the dun colored bedspread. Hands
everywhere, stroking expanses of skin, muscle and bone. She dragged her
fingernails down the hard plane of his back as he devoured her mouth,
throat, and breasts with his sticky sweet mouth. Undulating beneath
him, gasping into his mouth as his hand cupped and squeezed the steamy
mass of her mound, Dana Scully was beyond herself. She gasped when his
fingers penetrated into the deep core of her wetness, sending rivers of
flame along her body and limbs. Sucked his earlobes, the hard, flat
pebbled of his functionless male nipples, and tasted the sweat beneath
his arms. He groaned.
Sliding his lips down the heated heavy curves of her breasts, drawing
each tight coral nipple into his moth and raking the sensitive peaks
with the sharp edges of his teeth, he continued. Down, down to where
her thighs split from their sticky union and opened under his touch. He
lapped at her like a thirsty dog, sucking at the tight bud between the
inner secret folds. Suckled, lapped and teased with his stinging tongue
until she arched, maddened, and frenzied underneath his mouth. A wail
escaped from her dry mouth as the violence of her climax raced like
black powder trial to the powder keg in her brain.


Unknowing captor
You'll never know
How much you
Pierce my spirit
But I can't touch you
Can you hear it?
A cry to be free
I'm forever under lock and key
As you pass through me

Spreading her creamy sweet emission over the soft and hot crannies and
folds of her, with his hard fingers, he glanced up from over the length
of her body. His eyes were those of a man who has stared too long into
the sun.
Raising himself up he fell forward into her hot body, their skins
sticking together. Wet noises of flesh on flesh, mouth o mouth, almost
audible over the tumult of the storm outside,
Finally, when Dana felt hat she could no longer stand the absence, of
him, her found the entrance of her passage with the blind head of his
shaft and drove into her. Completing her. Filling her to the throat
stretching her muscles to the farthest limits of their ability.
He moaned into the strawberry morass of her hair and she nearly climaxed
again from the helpless sound.
Stroking into her, wild and desperate as through his sanity was
connected to her by the bit of flesh insinuated into her body he plunged
within her, hips bucking, She looked up into the hard angle sand bones
of his face and saw the helplessness and the hunger there.
A thin stream of tears ran down from her cheekbones and into the cups of
her ears. Rising tides of golden heap spread in waves up from her
pelvis, like the ripples of a stone-pierced pond. She clutched at his
ass, pulling him deeper and harder into her. His movements were nothing
more than the animal need to be within her wetness. She clenched around
him, her entire body growing rigid between his hot, wet skin and the
cold polyester of the bedspread.
Dan screamed,
Lightning flashed, thunder rattled the windows in their channels, and
Mulder shot into her like and arterial hemorrhage. He spilled out his
life and soul into the depths of her, crying out as he died.
Falling into the softness of her, spent, he nestled between her breasts
and breathed as through he had run a marathon. Sweat and tears flowing
from his face onto the cooling skin of her breasts,
The storm rolled off into the mountains.
"I can't stay," he said.
"I know." she said.
They lay and listened to the rain.

And now I see your face before me
I would launch a thousand ships
To bring your heart back to my island
As the sand beneath me slips
As I burn up in you presence
And I know how it feels
To be weakened like Achilles with you always at my heels

In the end, she awakened alone.
Alone in yet another anonymous hotel room in an armpit of a town off the
highway. Alone and naked under the bleachy sheets. She stared at the
thin gray light coming from the gap between the curtains, feeling the
pounding of the vodka headache behind her cancer. What the hell had
happened? She took stock of her situation, inventorying the contents of
the room and her own body.
She had memories, good memories of Mulder coming in and the impossible,
and the improbable happening in the worn sheets of the double bed. But
there was no sign of him other than the faint impressions of fingers on
her thighs, a pleasant soreness between her legs, and the lingering
aroma of his sweat on her skin and the sheets.
Shaking, in the cold room, she got out of bed and looked down at the
dull beige carpet.
Footprints of dried mud, a small set and a larger set.
Smiling, she crouched down and touched the stiff mud on the cheap, thin
carpet.
Real.

And my bitter pill to swallow
Is the silence that I keep poisons me
I can't swim free
The river is too deep
Though I'm baptized by your touch
I am no worse at most
In love with your ghost.

After dawn, before checkout, Dana Scully paid her bill, got into her
car, and drove off into the cold, gray morning.

--
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"The stars have finally run their fiery routes to the proper
places, positioned with elegant cunning, possessed of
noble portent." Roger Zelazny
The Garage is open for business!
http://www.geocities.com./Area51/Zone/9110/
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