NEW: "Room Service" by Juliettt
Juliettt
by Juli...@aol.com (Revised and completed February 8, 1996)
This is an idea I've had for awhile but just never got around to writing
until now. All the characters you recognize belong to Chris Carter
and Ten-Thirteen Productions and FOX Broadcasting or some
amalgamation of the three, as well as to the wonderful actors who
develop them every week: Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny, Sheila
Larken, Melinda McGraw, and Mitch Pileggi. Great work, guys.
Now that I've acknowledged to whom these fabulous characters
belong, let me say that I'm using them without permission but with
a great deal of love and that I intend absolutely no toe-treading,
creative or otherwise. This story and the alternate universe to which
it belongs, however, is mine. And it's just for fun -- no gunznbomz
or muderangst or scullyangst for those of you who want that sort of
thing. . . .
This one is for Macspooky.
**************************
"Room Service"
by Juli...@aol.com
**************************
Dana Scully sat on her bed, staring unhappily at the blank
television screen. She had been in Chicago a week and she was
going slowly but most certainly insane. Cabin fever, except that in
this case the so-called "cabin" was actually a very nice hotel room
in the Sheraton which the Bureau had, for once and for a wonder,
decided to provide for her.
That was all well and good, except that she was alone --
and lonely. And the pathology conference was scheduled to last
two more days. This being Friday evening and the rest of the world
evidently not being used to pulling the eight-days-a-week schedule
under which she and Mulder routinely operated, this meant that the
conference would reconvene on Monday morning and close after
lunch on Tuesday. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was absolutely
amazed that the finest minds in Washington did not realize that this
schedule meant they would be paying for expensive room service
and extensive bar tabs for some of the more world-weary agents.
<Your tax dollars at work, folks.> Not to mention that a few of the
conference delegates might actually have a *life* at home that they
were missing.
<Do you believe in an afterlife, Scully?>
<I'd settle for a life in this one.>
She sighed again, wishing that Mulder, at least, had been
able to accompany her. She thought of how much fun he would
have had in a place like this -- a place nicer than *any* place they
had *ever* stayed while on a case. But the large television was no
distraction since he was not here to tease her by threatening to order
one of the "special" movies and put it on her room bill. She thought
that they would have splurged at least once and ordered late-night
room service while they were up working on files. Instead, the tiny
kitchenette was really getting a workout. She had rediscovered
within just a few hours exactly why she hated these conferences and
why she had gone out of her way to duck them every other time
Skinner had mentioned them. The other delegates, especially the
other law-enforcement officers, all seemed so -- shallow, somehow.
Definitely *not* Truth-seekers.
But then this time was admittedly different. She, Dr. Dana
Scully, had been asked to read a paper before the conference. At
first she had been flattered but she still had not wanted to go.
"Sir, I really would rather not."
"I know you *really* would rather not, Agent Scully." Skinner
had eyed her appraisingly. Most younger agents would have jumped
at the chance to speak at such a large and important gathering of
their peers; pathologists would be flying in from other parts of the
world for this conference. Being asked to read was quite a plum and
could lead to an advancement in the ranks of the Bureau.
But then Scully did not *want* to advance. She was quite
happy where she was, thank you very much, and would rather just
sink back into the shadows of obscurity in hopes that the powers
that be would just forget all about her. Hah. Fat chance when she
was working with Mulder. Half the time she was afraid that They --
funny, even after all this time it was still a habit to think of them as
Them, thanks to Mulder -- would decide They had made a grievous
error in allowing these two particular thorns in Their flesh to continue
working together and would split them up. Again. It would be just
like Them to do it under the guise of offering her a promotion.
The Assistant Director had sighed. "Agent Scully, you are
the admitted expert in this field; if you don't give this report it won't
be given at all. I would send Cunningham but he's still not ready."
She had nodded and given in, reluctantly. Skinner had been
very good about this in the past, working with her to ensure that she
could be home when she needed to be. But he was right. This was
important. That didn't mean she had to like it, but she *was* grateful
to the man. . . .
Now, looking around the plush room, she wondered whether
Skinner had arranged for the unusually lavish accomodations to
compensate for forcing this assignment on her. She resignedly
reached for the room service menu. Maybe she would make it
worth their while. . . .
Then she stopped. No. That wasn't what she really wanted.
What she really wanted was to be home, sleeping in her
own bed, puttering around in her own kitchen in her pajamas. Even
taking a two A.M. emergency autopsy call was beginning to sound
good to her right now. At least it smacked of normalcy, instead of
this -- this artificial comfort. She had never liked hotel rooms, even
though it seemed that most of her adult life had been spent traveling
from one seedy dive to another in the pursuit of the Truth. That was
another noun she always saw with a capital "T." Again, thanks to
Mulder. And all the champagne and filet mignon they could deliver
to this plush room could not change the fact that she would be
eating and drinking alone. And sleeping alone. At this moment
she would have given anything to be in one of those awful motels
eating greasy takeout and laughing at old B-grade horror movies
with Mulder.
She bit her lip and looked at the phone.
She had already given her paper, on Tuesday. It had been
well received, too, as she had told Mulder on the phone that night
when he called. They had called one another every night that week.
It was the first time they had been separated in years, and she had
known she would miss him, but. . . .
"Wish I could have been there for you, Scully," he had said
sincerely. "I would have started a standing ovation for you."
She had grinned. "Remind me to thank Skinner for not
letting you come, then," she had teased. He had made some
remark designed to let her hear the mock hurt in his voice.
<You may need my help.>
<Always.>
How far -- how very far they had come since the Pfaster
case!
And now she was alone and she missed him. She picked
up the phone book, selected a number from the yellow pages, and
dialed.
"Thank you for calling Northern Air. We are sorry, but all
of our agents are busy at the moment. Please remain on the line
and your call will be answered in the order in which it is receieved."
She lay back and waited. An instrumental version of "Can't Hurry
Love" came on. She gritted her teeth. By the time the orchestra
reached the point where Diana Ross *should* have been asking
"How many heartaches must I stand/Before I find a love to let me
live again?" she had had enough and hung up. Evidently it wasn't
bad enough to make customers wait -- the airlines had to subject
them to a desecration of classic R&B as well.
Some things in life were just a shame.
And then her cel phone rang.
She snatched it up. "Scully."
"Hey there."
A slow smile spread across her face like sunshine breaking
through the storm clouds. "Hey, yourself."
"I tried to call your hotel phone but it was busy."
"Yeah." She sighed. "I was trying to call the airline."
"Really?" She could hear the excitement in his voice. "Did
the conference finish early?"
She snorted. "I wish. No, I was just -- thinking about
maybe flying home for the weekend. I have enough frequent flyer
miles and. . . ." She broke off, biting her lip.
There was a brief silence. "Scully, are you really that
lonely?" he asked softly.
She didn't answer.
"Well, then, I'm glad I called when I did. I have something
that just might make you feel better," he said with a smile in his
voice.
"Mel Gibson's phone number?" she asked hopefully.
He laughed. "Better -- I hope. What are you wearing?"
Her eyebrows climbed up toward her hairline. He had asked
her that once before, but not *quite* in this tone of voice. "Mulder, if
you have phone sex in mind it might be a good idea to call back on
a non-celluar line," she teased him.
"Good point." There was a click. She stared at the phone
with her mouth open.
The room's phone rang. She sighed in exasperation and
picked it up.
"Now where were we?"
"Mulder, you are nuts."
"About some things I am. . . ."
She flushed faintly and smiled. "You were asking me what
I was wearing," she said in answer to his question.
"And. . . ?"
"Khaki pants and a dark red sweater," she informed him.
"Sorry if it's not all you hoped and dreamed, but. . . ."
There was a dry chuckle. "Check your suitcase. There
should be. . . ."
"I already found it," she interrupted him. "I *knew* I hadn't
packed a nightgown."
"What, planning on sleeping in the nude?"
"Not by myself," she said throatily, then laughed. "I take
it that for some reason you want me to change."
"You, never. Your clothes, yes."
She smiled into the phone.
"Do they have robes there?"
"Ye-ees. Why?"
"Because room service is going to be coming to your door
very shortly and unless you want to give the waiter a thrill. . . ."
She laughed, awkwardly holding the phone to her face with
one shoulder as she attempted to change. It seemed wildly erotic
to be talking to her Mulder on the phone about flashing the waiter
while in various stages of undress. She wondered just what he had
in mind. "Depends on how cute he is."
"Sorry, I didn't ask."
"Just what did you do, Fox Mulder?"
"Mmm -- called the front desk to make sure you were in,
then tried to call you. The phone was busy so I went ahead and
placed an order."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Am I allowed to know what it is?"
"Soon. Something that should make your night a little less
boring, I hope. You changed yet? Room service should be there
soo. . . ."
*Knock, knock.*
"They're at the door, Mulder. Coming!" she called, tying the
belt on her robe.
"Just go to the door. It's already paid for."
"What about a tip?" she teased. "Okay. Hang on." She
laid the receiver down on the bed and crossed the room to the door.
She peeked out. A gleam of silver caught her eye and she unlocked
the door and opened it.
"Thank. . . ." She looked at him.
He *was* cute.
And he was smiling at her over a salver of strawberries and
whipped cream.
Without stopping to think she reached out, grabbed him by
the tie, and hauled him into the room. . . .
*****
She leaned up from his shoulder to take the strawberry he
held out to her by its stem, eating it right from his fingers. He
followed it up with a kiss.
"So. Bored now?" he teased.
She favored him with a sexy smile. "If I were any *less*
bored I think I'd be dead."
"So, was I right?"
"About?"
"Better than Mel Gibson?"
"Mel who?"
"Good answer."
She fed him a strawberry and then frowned. "Why did you
come out here?"
He frowned back. "Do you even have to ask?"
She sighed. "Mulder, you know what I mean. I guess a
better question is *how*. And don't give me any lines about your
arms being tired, either."
He grinned. After all these years she really *did* know him
too well. "Well, you know the old saying . . . 'If Mohammed won't
come to the mountain. . . .'"
"Well, Mt. Mulder, you still haven't really answered my
question."
"You wouldn't believe it."
She eyed him warily. "Just how extreme a possibility is
this?"
"Very. Skinner called me in this afternoon," he explained.
"Told me he had an assignment for me."
"Did you tell him. . . ?"
"I did. He simply said it was something that couldn't wait.
Guess he noticed I wasn't getting all that much done with you gone,"
he finished wryly. He *had* been a little distracted of late.
Scully raised an eyebrow.
"He handed me a file," Mulder continued. "I opened it and
-- well, see for yourself." He sat up and slid out of bed. She
protested slightly but let him go, and he walked over to the door
where his clothes and briefcase were lying in a heap. He opened
the latter and fished out a manila file, returned to the bed, and
handed it to her, sliding back under the covers as she took it from
him.
She flipped it open and lifted her eyebrows at him. He
smiled, shrugged, and ate another strawberry.
Inside the file was an airline ticket envelope and a summary
of a case in Springfield. She opened the envelope. The contents
made her jaw drop. There were three tickets a round-trip in Mulder's
name from D.C. to Springfield, a one-way in her name from Chicago
to Springfield, and another one-way for her from Springfield back to
D.C. Mulder's flight plan specified a twelve-hour layover in Chicago.
She flipped the envelope over. On the back was a yellow sticky note
that said simply, "Go get that redheaded wife of yours and bring her
home."
"You're kidding me."
"Nope."
She shook her head, amazed. "That man never ceases to
surprise me." Then she turned and looked at her husband. "That
makes two of you."
He grinned at her and she dropped the file over the side of
the mattress where it wafted gently to the floor. He scooped up a
huge amount of whipped cream on a strawberry and held it out for
her to take a bite.
"Despite what you say, Fox Mulder, I do believe you really
*are* a romantic at heart."
"Nope," he corrected her with a lascivious grin, "I just want
your body." She had accused him of being a closet romantic
several times during their marriage and he always answered the
same way. Over time she had begun to see that they were both
right.
She leaned over to kiss him, then stopped. "So where. . . ?"
"At your mother's," he murmured against her mouth. "They
were especially excited because 'Aunt Mel' was also visiting for the
weekend.So you see, they're in very good hands."
"They're not the only ones," she sighed, kissing him
thoroughly.
"Well, you know what they say, ma'am," he chuckled, rolling
her beneath him, "service with a smile. . . ."
*END*
Yes, as you've probably already deduced, this one belongs in the
Marriage series. Time? About three years after "Epithalamion" --
probably (that would make it sometime in 2002).
The Marriage Series:
"Longing"
-----------------------------------------
"Epithalamion"
"Wonders Wrought" (2 parts)
"The Last of the Chambord"
"Waking"
"On the Road"
"Girls' Day Out"
"Old Habits Die Hard"
"Watching the Storm"
"The Madness of an Hour" [*]
"Life Changes" (2 parts)
"Mother's Day" [*]
"Success"
"Nursemaid" [*]
"Cherish"
"Childhood Lullabies" [*]
"Everything I Want for Christmas" [*]
"Lullaby For a New Generation"
"Lipstick"
"Room Service"
[*] These stories are still in the editing process; the others may be
found on the world wide web and ftp sites.
Juli...@mail.aol.com
Troupe Leader, Dragon Posse, Lone Gunwoman #7, Eden Agent,
Clan McBride, Wolfpack, DDEB 3, Extreme Possibilities,
Faultliner, WWtBJLSWWGU, SKKS co-founder, BBTG!