EPISODE 1: Lux et Veritas Chapter 2: Red, Red Wine ******************************************** Date: 08-14-00, 00:11:46 GMT RP: CSM Subject: {RP} CSM 08-13-00 From: SummerSnows Some American Indian tribes believe that when someone saves your life, you carry a little piece of their soul with you forever. The Cigarette Smoking Man drove, hearing the song Red, Red Wine on the radio, smoking a Morley, thinking of the previous day's events, thinking of Scully who had saved his life. "Stay close to me..." The radio sang. So that's why Scully had the reputation of a saint. There were others, he knew, who would have rejoiced at the chance to watch him die, had they been there in Scully's stead. "Don't let me be alone..." Like the headaches, the telepathy was gone. At every traffic light he looked hard at the pedestrians and the drivers around him, trying to read their minds, but he couldn't. "My blue red wine..." Not that the telepathy had ever been that reliable, but now he was getting no sounds, no screechy electronic-feedback-type noises, absolutely nothing. ******************************************** Date: 08-14-00, 06:35:57 GMT RP: Scully Subject: {RP} (Scully) 8-14-00 From: Brandi ~the minx~ ---"It is a light like no other,"--- she found herself musing, gazing at the setting sun with an unlikely whimsy. Its searing bronze light bathed her skin, her hair, losing its pigment to the kinship of its hue. She was awash in a sea of liquid gold, if only for a precious moment. A horn blazed abusively from behind. "Hey sweetheart, you moving today or what?!" Scully stole a glimpse in her rearview mirror at a decidedly angry man hanging half out the window, yelling obscenities that would make a drunken sailor blush. Suddenly she realized she had been holding up a long line of not-so-cheery drivers, probably on their way home from work. She hadn't remembered the light turning green, but it didn't seem to matter to her now. Mildly amused, she even managed a smile as she complied with their insistence. The car was just cooling off, having sat in the blazing sun all day at the brewery. Global Warming may be the most vastly overrated environmental concern since flatulating cows, but the premise remains unchallenged--The Greenhouse Effect is a force to be reckoned with, especially when you first tango with a hot leather car seat. Her thoughts turned to CSM, the corners of her mouth softening as she thought of him and the day's events. He seemed in perfect health when he dropped her off at her car, and in high spirits. The miracle he ingested in the lab had procured a miracle of its own, and thank God for it. The traffic lightened, and thankfully so. The brazen eye that had bathed her in such golden light for the duration of the drive hung drowsily on the horizon now, threatening any moment to take the plunge, off to light another hemisphere. The thought of it made her smile. Scully slid her Taurus neatly into a spot and stepped out of the vehicle, briefly stretching her arms above her head to work out the kinks. The air was charged with an almost sexual verve, propelled by that utter most secret and mysterious happenstance people have dubbed "twilight." It is a transition, a slow and slick conversion into the dark veil of the next phase of the earth's revolution on its axis. "And to think this happens twice a day," she said, a hint of wonderment tinging the phrase. At that moment, Scully found it to be the most beautiful thing in the world. ******************************************** Date: 11-07-00, 16:15:30 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part I From: Brandi ~the minx~ < voiceover > Previously in a RPG < / voiceover > "Inside the silver box is an example of alien technology." --- "You swallow it, just like an aspirin, and whatever's wrong at the time goes away" --- "Yes, I want to get started as soon as possible," she said, with a quick smile. Her salad lay untouched in front of her, but she didn't seem to mind. Leaving the brewery with CSM, Scully regretted having had only water--she had a feeling she was going to need something a bit stronger after this was said and done. --- Turning back to the cashier quickly, CSM grabbed his own cell phone out of her hand with some vigor. He squinted at her, disbelieving. "What are you doing?" --- "You are right about one thing you know," she said, casually continuing her work, "...it does last longer if you suck it." With that, she looked up and stuck her tongue out, revealing a near-dissolved disk of peppermint. --- "I'm all right," he said. But the room seemed to have spun, changed angles. The light seemed dimmer. CSM started to reach in his pocket for a Morley and watched the gloves that he'd still been holding fall to the floor, before everything went black. --- With surprising strength, Scully propped his upper body against her own, supporting his dead weight. Reaching into her pocket she withdrew the shining blue ball. It seemed to illuminate the two of them with an other-worldly beauty... an iridescent, almost God-like presence playing along the lines of their bodies, absorbing ambient energy. Scully convinced CSM to support himself, if only briefly while she moved to the side of him. She put her knee under his weak form before he hit the floor again. Propping his head up, she offered him the shimmering orb, holding her breath in anticipation. --- He sat up quickly. "What happened?" -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 {RP} Red, Red Wine Scully - played by Brandi CSM - played by SummerSnows < X-Files font > St. Augustine, Florida < X-Files font > It was a hot and humid night. She'd saved his life, but he'd saved her life, too, once. So they were even, weren't they? Yet, the Cigarette Smoking Man walked through High Spirits, wondering what the hell he was doing. The store, which specialized in good wines and champagnes, was tiny and hard to find, even though it was just outside St. Augustine's Spanish Quarter. The walls looked like wooden trellises, the tops of the bottles peeking out from among the leaves of live vines. He was only showing his gratitude, right? Just a small token of his appreciation. He looked at a couple Retsinas, but thought Scully might not have a taste for the pine undertones. A Riesling - she might not like sweet. Though California wines were supposed to be up to par by now, he still couldn't bring himself to change his mind about them. Just a thank you, that's all this was. Just good manners. Someone saves your life, you thank them, right? He found a Beaujolais which met with his approval. Walking towards his car, something in the window of the new age shop next door caught his attention. It was a wall hanging, bright sky-blue letters (the same color as the orb with which Scully had saved his life) on a reddish background: . Last night . Full of longing . Asking the wine woman for more and then more . She teased me so lovingly I fell into her and disappeared. . Then she was there alone. . In the wineshop, I drank a little wine and threw off the . robe of this body. . I knew, drunk on love, this world is harmony. . - creation, destruction - . I am dancing for them both. . -Rumi Whoever Rumi is, he thought. He got in his car and drove towards the hotel where she was staying. No dishonorable intentions, he told himself. It occurred to him that a bottle of wine might make her feel cornered, obligated to invite him in. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He should have got flowers - no wait, not flowers, she might think them inappropriate. He could have got - He was there. He'd been so absorbed in his own thoughts, it seemed the car had magically parked itself in front of her hotel. A fluttery wave rose in his chest like the sparklies that had risen from the blue orb. As he walked towards her room, he thought. He would just hand her the bottle, say a few polite words, and leave before she felt imposed upon. Comply with a small social obligation. Just a few minutes. He put on a cool calm half-amused expression, and knocked on the door. (Continued in Part II of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-07-00, 16:16:51 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part II From: Brandi ~the minx~ The brief evening drizzle had done nothing to lessen the day's heat. Musty steam from the rain-slicked pavement curled around Scully's ankles as she shouldered her overnight bag across the parking lot of The Wayward Palms Inn in St. Augustine. Its neon sign of palm trees swaying in the wind shown clearly from the Interstate, beckoning to the weary traveler with deceptive cheeriness. In reality, The Wayward Palms Inn had all the charm of the Bates Motel. She decided half jokingly that if the desk man handed her the key to cabin number one she was getting the hell out of there. The little bell attached to the doorframe of the Manager's Office announced Scully's arrival. Almost instantly, the man in the back room hunched over a small TV and turned the sound down a bit, quieting but not completely muting a spirited Ben Matlock arguing his case. The manager sauntered in to greet his new guest. He was a balding, fifty-ish man with a pleasant smile. The nameplate on the desk indicated his name was Tom Wattly. "Good evening ma'am, what can I do for you?" Scully smiled at him, despite her fatigue. In the background, Andy Griffith approached the bench. "I need a room please, but I don't know for how long. Can I pay for each night separately?" "Oh yes ma'am, most certainly," he said with a smile. Grabbing a tiny golf pencil, Mr. Wattly opened his reservation book and began scribbling. "You need a single or double?" "Single." Wattly nodded. "Mmm k. Name please." Scully nearly replied with the obvious, but stopped herself. "Can't take any chances," she thought cautiously. Taking less than a moment, she replied, "Margaret. Margaret Ruse." She smiled to herself, hoping her little play on words wasn't too obvious. Scully continued. "I'd like a non-smoking room if there is one available," she asked. Wattly frowned. "Ma'am they're all the same. Some have been smoked in and some haven't. Sometimes you get lucky, depending on what you're looking for. Do you want me to check ahead for you?" "No, that's quite alright," Scully conceded. In the dimly lit room behind Mr. Wattly on a snowy, fifteen-inch black and white TV, lovable-lawyer Matlock addressed the jury. Wattly considered her with a smile. "Are you just passing through Ms. Ruse? Business or pleasure?" Scully almost laughed. Come here on a pleasure trip? Willingly embrace this heat? Yeah, right. Despite the discomfort though, it had been a most remarkable day, almost unbelievable to consider it now in retrospect. "I suppose it's a little of both," she said thoughtfully, and accepted the key to room 42 with a smile. As Scully left the office, she heard Mr. Wattly call after her: "If you need anything Ms. Ruse you just give me a ring!" Scully nodded but it's doubtful he saw it. The room wasn't nearly as bad as she had feared. In fact, it was quite pleasant, lacking the usual Spartan generics of the major hotel chains. She looked at everything closely, very ready to take advantage of Mr. Wattly's hospitality if something was amiss. It wasn't. Everything appeared impeccably clean and orderly. Tossing her overnight bag onto the bed, Scully unpacked only what she needed and proceeded to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Scully heard what sounded like a knock at the door. She turned off the water in the sink long enough to listen, soap bubbles drying on her face. A few auburn strands escaped her loose half-pony tail but she promptly blew them out of her way. [Another knock.] "It's probably Mr. Wattly," she thought, mildly amused. Scully acknowledged her visitor with a hurried "Just a minute!," rinsed her face and padded to the door in her pj's. Unbolting the door with infinite care, Scully prepared to allay Mr. Wattly's fears about her discomfort. But the man behind the door was not Tom Wattly. Standing at the door of Scully's room, bathed in pale moonlight, Smoking Man commanded the air around him with characteristic grace. He held a bottle of wine, tucked the appropriate way, base to neck. Scully looked up at him and smiled, in spite of herself. (Continued in Part III of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-08-00, 13:53:38 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part III From: Brandi ~the minx~ Scully's face looked fresh and clean, honest, no makeup. An almost welcoming expression, her lips slightly parted, as though her mother had never told her about the flies flying in. Cool air-conditioning escaped through the open door and competed with the steamy atmosphere surrounding CSM. "Hope I'm not interrupting," he said. "I won't take up much of your time." He looked away. In spite of the hotel's apparent upkeep, green stuff, algae or mold, grew along the base of the wall, thriving on the warm wet air. Looking up at him, Scully suddenly became aware of her present appearance. Had she known he were coming she might have at least fingered through her hair, but there was no time for that now. A slight rash of embarrassment peppered her cheeks, threatening to tip her chin toward the floor had she given in to it. "No, I was just, um, I was just getting ready for bed," she said with a smile. As he stood there rather awkwardly in the doorway, the night's thick haze rushed in and licked the corners of her room, threatening the cool comfort therein. "I want to thank you for your medical help, he said. "Seems like the right thing to do." Scully swallowed. Standing there with his offering in his hand, Smoking Man shimmered like an apparition, emitting an other worldly elegance and grace... tinted with the humility of a child. Sincerity played along the lines of his face, dwelling there as she opened her mouth to protest. He handed her the bottle of wine. "Here. A small token. It doesn't seem like enough, a beverage in exchange for a cure." She wrapped her hands around the bottle, smiling not only at the gesture but at his impeccable taste. "1998 Dom. Calot Morgon, Vieilles Vignes, Cru Beaujolais," she read silently, a very astute choice. Not too frou-frou, but hardly Boone's Farm. He tilted his head, winked with his eyebrows, and grinned. "But then, there are those who will say the bottle's worth more than my life." Scully looked up at CSM, her eyes softening along with her voice. His words were wrought with honesty and pain. She felt them as sharply as he did. "You don't have to thank me," she said, her voice thick with emotion. She almost wanted to say it was her job, but that seemed a bit trite. She opted not to. "You owe me nothing," she finally said, smiling her thanks. He looked back at the mold, illuminated by dim incandescent fixtures. The salty air tried to settle on his skin, wreathing into his shirt like a vapor. Nodding, he wished her a good evening and turned towards the parking lot. Scully caught his arm. She turned to face him, his skin dewy in the moonlight, his dark blue eyes glimmering in the eerie whitewash of the light fixture above the door. "Why don't you come in and share this with me?" "I wouldn't want to impose - " Her eyes smiled, her face, her very aura welcomed him in. "You wouldn't want me to drink alone would you?" -------- Scully set the bottle on the little table near her bed, illuminating its sleek contour with the lamplight above. CSM seated himself at the table, looking around her room with intent. "It's not exactly the Ritz," she quipped, "but it'll do." Briefly she considered the posh arrangements that no doubt awaited CSM--more than likely a beach house not far from here. He would settle in between soft cotton sheets tonight, and be lulled to sleep by the waves outside. She would bury her face in a pillow to escape the retina-scorching light of the palm tree sign outside her window. "No place is ever as comfortable as home," he said, observing his surroundings. A print of the open sea hung above the bed. The bedspread had a navy blue background with a golden rope design that reminded him of his uniform insignia back when he'd been in the military. Scully smiled knowingly at CSM, briefly wondering where he called "home." She had never considered it before. "That's so true," she said finally. "It's the one place where you feel totally at ease--Well, most of the time," and flashed a lazy grin at her late-night guest. "And with that comfort of home comes the inconvenience of being away from it," she said, only slightly annoyed. "I unpacked but I can't seem to find a damn thing." She padded around the room, gathering a few things here and there. The bottom cuff of her pajamas danced around her bare feet like a satin Slinky. Sitting at the table, CSM took in the scene, watching Scully doing the little domestic thing. He liked neatness. Being neat himself, he could appreciate that trait in others. Remembering her present would taste best lightly chilled, (not to mention in a glass) she excused herself and started down the dimly lit sidewalk, ice bucket in hand. (Continued in Part IV of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-09-00, 13:28:28 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part IV From: Brandi ~the minx~ Instead of taking a right at the ice machine, Scully walked on until she reached the Manager's Office. Mr. Wattly was writing in his books, and, noticing her, rose to unlock the door. He seemed a bit alarmed at the late night visitor. "There's nothing wrong is there Ms. Ruse? That pesky ice machine isn't broken again is it," he asked, apparently noticing her still-empty ice bucket. Scully laughed. "No, no sir everything is just fine. I was just wondering if you had any cups here, my room doesn't have any." The kindly man seemed slightly embarrassed at this oversight, and scrambled for rectification. "Oh of course, Ms. Ruse, I'm so sorry. I'll take something off your bill," he said as he rushed off into the back room. Scully almost laughed. "No, there's no need for any of that," she said kindly. Her eyes fell on the ample fruit bowl on the table in the back room. "But," she continued, "I would like some of your fruit, if you don't mind." When Scully had left the room, CSM turned on the television. A still shot of Ben Matlock, rolling credits. Then previews for another show, a classroom scene, the teacher facing the camera. He turned the volume down, and looked out the window. That didn't last; neon palm trees rather overwhelmed what view there was. He decided to take advantage of the opportunity to go outside and smoke a Morley. The damp air was so still, the smoke rose up in a straight line. Only in Florida could you make perfectly round smoke rings outdoors. He put out his cigarette, went back inside, and sat down in the same chair. Waiting for her, like he had so many times before, sitting in her apartment in the dark. Except this time he wouldn't be surprising her by lighting a cigarette as she entered. After about ten minutes Scully returned, filled ice bucket in hand. She seemed alive with childlike delight. "Look what I have," she said brightly, as she produced a small canvas bag and placed it on the table. Searching the contents within, she produced a few apples, a good many fresh cherries, two bottles of Perrier and a modest block of parmesan cheese. Finally, she retrieved two wineglasses wrapped very carefully in cloth. God love Mr. Wattly, she thought. "You're pretty resourceful." He reached for a cherry. Smiling, she buried the Beaujolais primly in the nest of ice and began to unwrap the glasses, one at a time, her eyes frequenting CSM when he wasn't looking. Finishing her work, she folded herself into one of the uncomfortable chairs across from CSM and cracked the top of her Perrier. "You're going to have to excuse me," she began, "I'm not exactly dressed for wining and dining." She tried unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh, but finally relented. The air seemed light and friendly, and the baggage she usually slept with was nowhere in sight. At the present time, she felt more like a girl at summer camp, rather than a thirty-something FBI agent cooped up in yet another whistle stop motel; just another pit stop on her way to the Truth. She wasn't even really sure what the Truth was any more, and she doubted her partner knew either, at least not now--yet here she was, dancing the perfunctory dance... or was she? No, this was different, this felt different. It was work but it wasn't. She had made choices today, choices she couldn't take back. She didn't think she wanted to. Looking at CSM looking back at her, she couldn't resist--she lifted the Perrier to her lips again before asking, "What's on your mind?" "Nothing's on my mind-I don't even have a headache," he said lightly, opening his own Perrier, then looking at it, the thought striking him that it wasn't Ponce de Leon bottled water. He picked at the Perrier label, watching his fingernail scraping at the paper, trying to escape Scully's piercing gaze. "Recent events have been a bit unbelievable, even for me." The corner peeled away from the glass. "How many people have held alien technology in a bag, then been pickpocketed by a punk rocker, then had a beautiful woman save their life?" He smiled. "And the day's not over, yet." Scully laughed, the melodic quality of her voice resonated through the little room, finally melding with the background noise of the television. It would have sounded hollow had someone else not heard it. "You were pickpocketed?! When?" She was more amused than shocked, smiling brightly, almost playfully at the beautifully composed creature not two feet from her. She opted for her water again, uncapping its bubbly goodness with cool intent. "Why do I always miss everything?" she remarked offhand. "I had hoped for a little more sympathy," he said jokingly, "I was the victim of a crime, here." He took another cherry. "Seriously, at the restaurant. You were outside. It was nothing, just a prank." "I know what you mean though, about not believing this day is real. I don't believe it myself, but I was there, and to be fully correct, I am HERE, because, as you so aptly put it, 'the day isn't over yet.'" (Continued in Part V of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-10-00, 17:36:17 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part V From: Brandi ~the minx~ Settling back into her chair with an apple, she considered the skin, which sported a considerable bruise along one side, not to mention the heavy paraffin glaze most fruit must endure before hitting the stores. She scraped at it disapprovingly with her nail. "Just a minute," she said quickly, "don't bite into it yet." She excused herself from the table to get her purse from the dresser and returned to her seat in one fluid action. "This," she said as she searched through the little compartments, "is something I never leave home without. You'd be surprised how many sticky situations it's gotten me out of." From where Scully sat, Smoking Man looked rather intrigued. From the side pocket she produced a pearl-handled switchblade knife. Almost sensing CSM's dubiousness, she felt she should explain herself. "It was a present," she said pleasantly, "from my troop leader. I was a Girl Scout. And don't you dare laugh either," she said, shaking a finger at CSM, but nearly laughing herself. "Moi?" "You wouldn't know it, but I'm a virtual MaGyver," she boasted, overdoing it to the hilt. "Why, if I had some duct tape and a fine tooth comb I'd build us a computer." Scully winked at him, enjoying her newly displayed wit. She wondered briefly what he might be thinking of her, jaunting around like this. Although his eyes were warm and inviting, she found them very hard to read. "Anyway, I think you get the point. And if you will just give me those apples, and the cheese, I might prepare our little picnic more appropriately." With that, Scully set to work in her preferred bossy fashion, doing this and that, slicing off lacy-thin slices of parmesan and apple, hoping against hope that she wouldn't eat it all before the wine was chilled. As her thought train derailed, she placed her palm against the bucket, testing the temperature. "It's almost ready," she said brightly. "The chill will linger for a while after it is opened. Do you want some now?" Without waiting for an answer, Scully took the initiative, as she is known to do. She hoped he didn't mind, and she definitely didn't do it on purpose, but in some form or another, she naturally slipped into the role of leader in almost every situation. Popping the cork was gratifying, as it always is, hearing that unassuming "fwhop" of air rushing forth. It always meant you were getting something good. CSM sat back in the chair, watching Scully take control, enjoying this, someone else taking charge. A rare treat for him, being usually in the position of having to control things, to sit back and enjoy the fruits, as they say, of someone else's labor. Taking a glass in each hand she poured carefully, filling it only half full to let it breath around the rim. She handed a glass to CSM and raised hers in a toast. "To the future," and taking care not to trivialize such a tender moment, she added, "May it be all that you could ever hope for." Finishing her sweet repose, Scully tipped the glass and immediately fell in love. It was bright but muted, with scarce hints of cherry and vanilla. Such a tease of a wine. He swirled the glass (only this once, to make it breathe), took a little sniff, a taste. It was fruity, yet dry, almost purple in the light of the lamp. Smiling, he said, "I only have a future because of what you did." A rush of blood flooded her cheeks, tinting them rosy pink. It took everything she had not to look down at her hands like a scolded schoolgirl. No words came, and it was just as well. She wouldn't want to offend CSM by opting for humility and denying the obvious. "You have impeccable taste," she finally said, smiling appreciatively at CSM. "Thank you again... I think this is just what I needed." "I'm glad you like it," he said. He took another sniff at the wine, another sip. A little time passed when neither said anything. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just time passing, sipping on wine, CSM nibbling on apple slices to keep the nicotine cravings at bay. Time passed... Something very poignant occurred to Scully--too ordinary to be an epiphany, but notable enough to make her draw a breath in thought. Scully felt completely happy; and it wasn't just the wine working its magic. Somehow the amusing scene of her sitting in a two-star motel in her pj's splitting a bottle of wine with her former arch-nemesis made an odd sort of sense. Her mind began to wonder, searching out with unseen fingers, venues and scenarios she had never considered before. It is strange what things come to view when your mind is quiet, and there's nothing outside but the rumble of the Interstate. Scully put her hand in her hair and brought it down again, feeling her eyes trail away in thought. After a moment of quiet reflection, she thought the words but was shocked to hear herself say them out loud-- "Why did you follow me so closely all those years?" (Continued in Part VI of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-11-00, 15:58:17 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part VI From: Brandi ~the minx~" Scully had slid down a bit, leaning to the right ever so slightly on the arm of the awkward chair, her eyes steady as she peered at CSM. The question she had posed was off-hand and languidly delivered, but no less deliberate. She expected an answer, but wouldn't die if she didn't get one. She reached across the table and snagged a bit more cheese, not exactly as precise as she had been earlier, but effective in her haste. She chased the bite with a sip of wine, flooding her palate with its bright intensity. Then, she felt it. There was a charge between them, crackling when their eyes met but otherwise buzzing like white noise; a low nuclear snore in the moments of utter quiet. Something told her it wasn't the wine. CSM seemed to sense it too... or feel it coming, for he had trained an eye on her in anticipation. His finally honed intuition was working overtime. He looked at her, wondering why she was now asking a question she had not asked before. How long had she been curious? She seemed totally at ease, like a chick in its parents' nest, perhaps the comfort that comes with knowing someone you thought a cold-blooded killer and pop psychologist wasn't going to kill you. "It was my job," was his answer. He inhaled, found a more comfortable position in his chair, ran a finger along the base of the wineglass. Scully considered saying something, a rebuttal, perhaps, but decided against it. He had done her the courtesy of allowing her little spiels, and she would do the same for him by allowing him to continue. "When you were assigned to be Mulder's partner," he said, "it was hoped that your devotion to science would keep him from getting any closer to the truth." He helped himself to a slice of cheese, toying with it, avoiding her eyes. "We thought your hard-science ways might clash with his New Age ways, creating a power struggle. Both of you would be busy proving yourself right and the other wrong." She was listening now, having never before considered this viewpoint of her and Mulder's relationship. She hadn't taken her eyes off of Smoking Man since he began speaking. The last statement of his was particularly true, and she smiled at its validity, acknowledging CSM with soundless affirmation. A look, a sigh... it was all in the body language--and all that was necessary. Those eyes had a gravitational pull like a black hole. For a moment he remembered the blond kid at the restaurant, and felt a childish pride; wherever the kid was, he wasn't here drinking wine with Scully. "We expected you'd overlook some of the out-of-this-world things the two of you might come across." It felt like peeling a snail off a rock, pulling his eyes away from her, settling them on the television instead. "Please don't take offense, but it was thought that at the very least, your gender and beauty might provide Mulder with enough distraction to make him ineffective at his work." He paused. "We seem to have failed at that." Scully drew a breath and took another sip of wine. Believe it or not, she had considered this prospect before, being that Agent Mulder had incurred quite the track record for "love 'em and leave 'em" antics at the Academy. She had hoped her being partnered with him hadn't been a counterpoint to that, but it looks like it was. It was a small relief when CSM looked away, allowing Scully a brief moment of weakness; of insecurity. She had built walls around walls, but why were her defenses crumbling? Especially tonight? [This wine must be better than I thought,] she considered jokingly. "It was a risk, of course," he continued. "You might have given Mulder the proof he needed before we were ready. So I was assigned to watch you just like I kept tabs on the rest of the FBI problems. It was my job." He put down the cheese and took a sip of wine. "But it wasn't work. You're a very interesting person. And like I said before," he added, tilting his head, "I have a special affection for you since I held your life in my hands." Scully looked up at him with intrigue. She moistened her lips thoughtfully, and in a flash of bravery, asked him something she had been wondering for quite some time: "Is that the only reason for your affection?" Her voice was husky and self-assured; her words honey-smooth from the good wine. Sure, she was taking a risk, but hadn't she taken enough risks to warrant one more? Of course she had, and her eyes begged it out of him --the answer--whatever it might be. (Continued in Part VII of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-12-00, 12:55:55 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part VII From: Brandi ~the minx~ CSM kept his frozen composure, not letting it show that her question surprised him. Looking at her wineglass, he noted how much she had consumed - not enough to be drunk. He looked into her eyes and they seemed clear enough. And the question was there, in the eyes, too, as though a real answer was required. But what was the answer? What minefield was she making him walk in? He sipped on the wine, weighing the safety of stepping here, stepping there. Like playing Minesweeper, trying to foresee what happens depending on where you click, trying to calculate the effects of each tile, choosing whether to step on a bomb. Maybe get out of this game altogether and play something else. Like Solitaire. Or Hearts. He put the glass down. "Like I said before [En Ami], my intentions are honorable. I don't need a reason to like you. I liked Mulder once, too. Shame he was so busy looking for a dead loved one, he never saw the live ones right under his nose." Scully reached for the wine again, pouring just enough in her glass to compliment the apple slices she chewed. She topped off Smoking Man's glass as well, without asking his permission. Maybe the game was hot potato. "And you?" he asked vaguely, watching her pour. "That's quite an inquiry," she remarked quietly, knowing full-well how CSM was aware of her disdain for talking about herself. She owed him an answer, though. Quid Pro Quo. She leaned forward, pushing her satin sleeves to her elbows as to not soil them with the apple peelings and assorted other trappings from their little picnic. She met his gaze with ease, and silently cursed the man for being so damned composed. "When I first came to know of you, not when we first met, mind you, but when I first came to know of your part in all of THIS... I thought you the Devil," she said rather matter-of-factly. Smoking Man didn't blink as she continued, lacing her fingers together restlessly. When she spoke it was slow and determined, as to not have her statements misconstrued. "I was very young... and very threatened by the environment I suddenly found myself in. The 'boy's club' of the FBI is not an ideal place to thrive if you are a woman." "I think you've done well," he said approvingly. "You made the grade." Scully glanced down momentarily, considering the validity of his statement. After a moment she continued. "As I adjusted... and came to find my niche, if you will, I came to see you more clearly, and not just through Mulder's eyes." Quickly she grabbed a cherry and put in her mouth, hoping against hope that the tiny piece of fruit would act as a filter for the words she found herself about to speak. "When I came home that night... to my apartment, [her voice lowered] and found you... sitting there in the dark--I was terrified... at first. But after the initial meeting... I..." [He was looking at her, God was he looking at her now! Her heart was in her throat.] "What I mean is that being in someone's bedroom... in the dark... is a very... it's a very intimate thing. And after that night, I found myself wondering if you would be there every time I unlocked my door." She looked as though she wanted to say more, so he decided to let her finish. Scully became slightly embarrassed and abruptly stopped. "I think you know what I'm saying," she said finally, not really knowing what else to say without completely melting into the floor. She couldn't imagine what Smoking Man thought of her now, or what he was thinking at that moment. She could only drink her wine and offer a shy smile as punctuation. Softly, calmly, in a voice only slightly louder than the hum of the air conditioner in the wall below the window, he said, "With everything you've been through and everything you've seen, that affected you? Am I the only one who ever broke into your apartment?" Scully fidgeted. "Um, no but you see, your position," she began, "... what you are to Mulder and I... that's what has made it different. You're not just anyone else, you know. And the role you've played in my career... my life... for so long weighs heavily on that. You understand don't you? I came to see you as more than an enemy a long time ago." (Continued in Part VIII of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-13-00, 13:53:09 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part VIII From: Brandi ~the minx~ The turn of the conversation confused him. Though he was gifted at reading people in a work situation, he was unused to social discourse. "More than an enemy?" He picked up his wine glass. The television images sent blurry lights flickering in its direction. They reflected on one side of the glass, and the light of the neon palm tree reflected on the other. "I've never thought of you as an enemy." She was quick to reply, afraid of the air taking on any misunderstanding that might mar her meaning. "It wasn't you as a person, for I knew little of you then. In reality, it is everything; you included, that seems to represent the dark and omnipresent force at work in Mulder's life. As brilliant and intuitive as Mulder is, the threat he rails against can most often lumped into one unit. You, the Syndicate, little green men, viruses, clones, drones and honing devices--*that* is Mulder's enemy. That is his crusade, what he would give his life for. Being his partner, it naturally became mine as well... in the beginning. When you presented yourself to me in the flesh, I saw you as a person and not as an unseen evil. I'm very glad that I did that," she said finally. Taking a moment to appreciate the purple hue of the wine, he lifted his glass to the lamp. Could it be, he thought, that she didn't see him as a one-dimensional cartoon villain like everyone else did? "I'm in your room, now. Maybe it's not totally dark, but you're wearing pajamas. Are you afraid right now?" She smiled, laughing to herself and at the realization that she was indeed in her pj's. She looked up at him, fingering the stem of her wineglass with a careless hand. She matched his gaze... trusting, comfortable and totally at ease. "No," she said confidently. She was telling herself as much as she was telling him. "Good." "I'm not afraid of you. I trust you, or you wouldn't be here with me now." She smiled again, perhaps a little sadly. "It's very hard for me to trust, for so much of my life has been founded on mistrust... dubiousness and constant second-guessing. I won't trust until I'm given a reason." She looked down her arrangement of goodies--apples and cheese and her bottle of water. "I find that reason in you," she said finally, eyes glittering wet but kept in check with impeccable composure. Her tears disconcerted him; someone who'd just saved your life shouldn't be crying. He put his wineglass to the side then rested his arms on the table, matching her gesture. The wood grain looked like waves parting around a grenade-shaped knot. "You do this often, don't you, Dana? Tear yourself up like this. You want to say what's on your mind, yet it hurts you to talk. You don't want to be alone, but you build walls no one can break through." "You know the Fort here? The Castillo de San Marcos? You may have seen it from the microbrewery. The fort is made out of crushed seashells - I forget what they're called, coquina, maybe? They're so strong that no matter how many cannon balls the enemy tossed at the fort, they bounced off leaving no damage. The walls don't burn. They don't erode. The fort has been there for many years. "Nowadays they tell the tourists not to touch the walls. You know why? It turns out the seashells crumble under human touch. You pass your fingers over it and tiny granules come off on your hand." Scully smiled, knowing what direction this beautiful discourse was taking. She allowed him to continue. "Here's this magnificent substance, seemingly indestructible, as long as no one touches it." He put his hand lightly on hers for just a moment. "What must it be like, Dana, going through life like that, no one being able to touch you?" (Continued in Part IX of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-14-00, 14:01:29 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part IX From: Brandi ~the minx~ Her hand burned with his touch, eyes stinging with unshed tears. She blinked them away, but even in the low light it was evident. The sentiment was made and it hit alarmingly close to home. Her voice was thick with emotion when she continued. "It is hard," she conceded, taking the rhetoric out of the question and personalizing it. "It's very hard, but you program yourself not to require that closeness." He nodded. He knew what it was like to tell yourself you didn't need that closeness. "The want of it never goes away, though," she said matter-of-factly. Settling into her chair she continued. "I can remember nights, long and tiresome nights spent hunched over a microscope or elbow deep in a cold stiff, when I just thought of giving up. It would have been so perfect just to lock the morgue and never look back. But that's not me." She sighed and reached for her wineglass. "Mulder once said to me, 'If you quit now, they win.' I believe that, more than anything else he's ever said, but I believe it in a different way. To me, that means something more personal. If I were to walk away from my life and fall into the cushy creature comforts of middle class suburbia, all the people who thought I couldn't cut it would win. All I've worked for would be lost, and they would win. Do you know where I'm coming from? Haven't you ever wanted to just get away?" "Yes," he said, "I tried it once. [The Red and the Black] I lived off the land in a cabin in Quebec. At the time, I didn't care who won, who had been right in thinking I couldn't cut it. I just wanted to go AWOL. The Syndicate found me, though." The thermostat on the air conditioner made a noise as the compressor cycled. "But anyway, go on." Scully tucked a rebellious strand behind her ear and sighed. There was a sadness in her voice, strained and out of tune with her usual self-assured confidence. She spoke with finality. Folding her legs under her, she remembered a night not too long ago when she considered leaving it all behind. "I was out the door once, you know," she said casually, but with real seriousness. CSM looked intrigued. "It was late one night, and I had autopsies stacked a mile high, mostly ordered by Mulder, WITHOUT my permission, I might add." Scully's mention of Mulder made CSM wonder what her partner would say if he knew who was in her hotel room. "Anyway, my mother had called that day, giving me one of those "Dana, when are you ever going to do something with your life other than work" lectures. It was a collaboration of things. I was thinking about my life and how much it lacked in comparison to other people's my age. I began thinking of how I would never have someone to love me for me, and not who I am expected to be. How I would never have a future other than the big hunk of death in front of me, and the next hunk, and the next, and whatever Mulder sent me. And I thought of how I am 'Mulder's partner.' Not Dr. Dana Scully, not Special Agent Dana Scully, not even Dana... but Spooky Mulder's Right Hand." She stopped, observing Smoking Man. He didn't look that surprised at her frankness. Perhaps he had known of her displeasure before she had. "Well, to make a long story short, something inside me snapped that night. The scream was so loud the watchman downstairs called up to ask if anything was wrong. It felt so good that I didn't even apologize for scaring him. I closed the flaps on Mr. Mysterious Circumstances John Doe Number 5 and glanced at the clock. It was 3am, and I hadn't slept, or eaten for that matter, in quite awhile. I hit the lights and was out the door." "At three in the morning? Where did you go?" "I ended up in a diner somewhere downtown near the train station. I suppose I just wanted a life. I wanted to be happy. I was tired of being straight-laced and reliable--'Good ole Scully, you can count on her! Count on her for a cool-headed scientific response devoid of all emotion. She'll come through every time.'" Scully paused for a moment. She couldn't believe she was telling him this, or telling anyone for that matter. She didn't feel bad about it though, and it felt so good to be able to actually talk to someone. (Continued in Part X of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-15-00, 14:11:58 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part X ("X," hehe!) From: Brandi ~the minx~ To have her say she trusted him, relating to him a personal story, was as intoxicating as the wine. Rarely did people tell him anything, unless he was pumping them for information, and he found himself waiting for her to continue like a junkie waits for his next hit. "I ordered breakfast there... a big breakfast... it was wonderful." Her eyes lit up in remembrance of it as she demonstrated the size of the plate, her hands hovering over the table in an imperfect oval. "Ah, food. Always makes everything better." Scully laughed in agreement. "I think I ordered everything on the menu," she said brightly. Eggs, bacon, pancakes with extra butter covered in maple syrup. I was so sick of being careful about EVERYTHING. So I ate there that morning, alone, thinking of buying a ticket to somewhere far away... somewhere with a lot of sun and blue skies." She looked up at CSM, for a moment, noticing he was listening intently. Something about that amazed her, and flattered her, but she didn't let it show. She just liked watching him watch her. "But I didn't buy that ticket," she said in resolve. I didn't go anywhere, and I'm actually not sorry. I walked home, went to bed and called in sick for the day. I don't regret not having done it, because I believe I'm here for a reason. I'm here in this hotel room, with you, for a reason. I've never given much credence to Deontology, but I do believe things arrange themselves in this universe accordingly. We have to do the rest, though. That night wasn't a complete waste. I found out a lot about myself, about what I need and want from life. My work is important, but so am I. I just have to make room in my life for me." My, our characters have amazing bladders, don't they? Scully watched quietly as CSM graciously excused himself and walked toward her bathroom. Briefly she glanced at the smeary LCD of the alarm clock by her bed. 2:15 am. "Has he really been here that long? How long is he staying," she found herself thinking as she watched the lamplight dance on the sleek surface of his offering. She didn't care if he stayed until morning, next week, forever... she just didn't want this night to end. Her second-rate motel room had become a pocket universe, where the outside rules don't apply. In here she could be Dana, rather than Scully, and be listened to for the first time in what seemed like forever. To have him here, in her room, to talk with was something rare, indeed, something to be savored; much like the wine he brought to her table. Holding her glass to the dim lamplight she marveled at its beauty. Washing his hands, Scully's words came back to him: "But I didn't buy that ticket." He wondered why not. In the mirror he saw one of the side effects of the blue orb Scully had cured him with: his skin looked clearer, healthy, as though rid of poisons underneath. He looked years younger. Perhaps it was the tight quarters, or perhaps it was the effects of the wine, but when CSM exited, he bumped into the dresser. Scully's purse fell over, its contents spilling on the carpet. A disturbance behind her pulled her from her thoughts fast enough to see CSM stooping over her purse on the floor. He clamored to rectify the mishap, as if it were some covert operation gone horribly wrong and he was about to blow his cover. She rose and crossed to help him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's ok, it's ok," she assured him, placing her hand on his arm as if he needed deep consolation. "I do it all the time." CSM had done a good job of spilling her personal affects all over the thick beige carpet, but it was nothing that couldn't be cleaned up. Her wallet had opened to a photograph of a man dressed in formal US Navy uniform, holding his hat at his side. Behind him were visible the furnishings of a living room. In his research, CSM had seen pictures of Scully's father, and so recognized him here. As he put the wallet in her purse, he said, "I was in the military too." [Musings of a CSM] "I never knew that," she said thoughtfully. Scully smiled gently, remembering the night the photo was taken. Her voice softened as she spoke, shaky and a little sad but still composed. "I remember when that was taken," she said quietly. "I was little, but it was a night Daddy was shipping out. Mom has a thing for pictures, they're everywhere, and he did look handsome in his uniform." She paused. Wistfully she looked away but only briefly. "Mom made him stand there while Bill packed the car." Shiny tears threatened to spill over her lashes and down her cheek as she continued, a little resigned but not defeated. "She kept getting the flash wrong, it... it was the funniest thing..." She trailed off, not really needing to go further. Further down the road there's only heartache. (Continued in Part XI of XII) ******************************************** Date: 11-16-00, 13:09:45 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine Part XI From: Brandi ~the minx~ He studied her features as though for a pop quiz. Her wet blue eyes. Her nose, almost too small for the task of drawing in air. Her lips looked soft and sweet, and he found himself wondering if they might taste like wine. He caught himself and looked away, down. In his line of sight rose the top button of her pajamas. He breathed in deeply, visualizing the lily-white skin beneath -- Scully blushed, and in spite of herself felt a flush of heat beneath his gaze, warm and inviting like the first thaw of winter. She felt no unease under is scrutiny, and the delight she allowed herself was dangerous. Abruptly he stood up. He cleared his throat. "I'll let you get the rest. I don't want to go through your things." He hoped it didn't sound as lame and false to her as it did to him. Surprised at himself, he stepped over to the table where she wouldn't see him gasping for air like an A-student late for class. Scully felt both disappointment and relief when he broke away, not because she wanted him too, but for fear of what might happen if he didn't. It had been so long since a man looked at her like that, and she felt as though she could burst into song and/or be sick at any moment. Although he had walked away, the impression of him hovered warm in the air around her, the memory of his presence dancing brightly in the back of her mind as she clumsily scooped up the rest of things and crammed them back into the purse. She put it on the bed this time, to avoid any other mishaps. It was the wine, he told himself, it was his earlier bout with nostalgia, it was the infernal Florida heat, an allergy to the local plant life. It was a momentary loss of control because it was late and he was tired. It was nothing to worry about, it would be gone tomorrow. "But I didn't buy that ticket," she had said. Sometimes a ticket didn't get you where you wanted to go. CSM appeared deep in thought, his breathing heavy as he faced the window. He stood with the grace of a dancer, but his presence was imposing... a marble column in the lamplight dim. He flinched as the weight of her hand settled on his arm. "C.G.," Scully said, so softly it was almost an exhalation. She urged him to face her, steering his arm in her direction as though it were a luxury liner on a forgotten sea. "Are you ok?" "I'm fine." Scully reached up to feel his pulse, but her palm chose the contour of his face instead. "Perhaps you should lie down. You aren't feeling any ill affects from the orb are you?" He blew out a breath. "The orb! Yes, that's it," he said. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, ignoring her proximity, her hand which seemed to carry voltage. Short-circuiting his head. "Must be a side effect or something. Yes, that's it, that explains it." Her palm grew warm under his face. When she drew her hand away the skin was flushed beneath it. "Here," Scully said, wrapping her hands around the ice bucket only briefly. She shook off the condensation with a flick of her wrists and cupped his face in her hands. "Is that better?" she said brightly. He wouldn't close his eyes. Wouldn't look at her either. He concentrated on his wet cool face. Played an association game he'd learned long ago. Wet and cool. The hands of a corpse. The corpses would fill this planet if he lost sight of the mission. He reigned in his breathing, controlling it like a Yogi. Okay, not corpses, not exactly, more like slaves. His body returned to his mind's influence, and he was himself again. Satisfied with CSM's temperature change, she settled back into the chair, her fingers still tingling from their contact. Probably the cold-to-hot conversion, she told herself. There was a brief silence, punctuated by the low din of the air conditioner and the heavy roar of a lumbering 18-wheeler passing by. Scully could almost hear Hank Williams moaning on its radio. (Last Part Coming Up!) ******************************************** Date: 11-17-00, 13:33:12 GMT RP: Scully / CSM Subject: {RP} Red, Red Wine (Conclusion) From: Brandi ~the minx~ She looked back at CSM. His "miracle cure" really was a miracle, she thought, as she observed his newly taut face and twinkling eyes. She had never seen him look more alive... so bright a countenance for a man who lives in shadows. He was beautiful to her, and she instinctively flexed her fingers, remembering what it felt like to cradle his face only moments before. He watched her hand move, as though the feel of his face might still be on it. But was she savoring that, or trying to shake it off? He couldn't read her. He shouldn't even be trying. Trusting himself in this room about as much as he trusted Krycek with a staircase nearby, he searched for a plausible excuse to leave. He looked at the clock on the bedside table, and it was later - much later - than he'd realized. Scully noticed CSM glance nervously at the clock and wondered wickedly if he had noticed that electric hum that had resonated through the room these past few moments. From the look on his face, she knew he had. Where had the hours gone? How polite of her not to have thrown him out. Or maybe she'd enjoyed his company, he thought, and a twinkle of hope bubbled in him that made him think 'oh brother.' Back to the task at hand. The clock would do for an excuse, it would have to. "My, uh, look at the time," he said. "It's getting late. I should go." Briefly and indiscernibly the corners of her mouth begged downward, and she suddenly found herself feeling like a love-struck teen with an early curfew before "grown-up" Scully took charge. Looking at the clock, she realized the hour and assured herself it was nothing she had done. "Yes, I suppose so," she said meaningfully. "The hours slip away, don't they," she added. Looking at the table, he thought it might be rude to leave that mess for her. It would only delay him a few minutes, then he would be outside, safe from his emotions. He inhaled and swallowed before saying, "Do you want help cleaning up?" She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, mostly out of habit, and waved away his offer. "No, don't be silly. I'll take care of everything here. It's probably not as bad as it looks," she observed with a small laugh. Outside a car zipped by, heading full-long into the inky blackness of early morning Florida. The traffic had waned considerably; a car passing every five or so minutes. Scully nearly laughed when she felt herself feeling sorry for the driver, probably some college kid with clothes in the back, pumped on caffeine and trying to get home before sweet Uncle Wally dies. She blinked away such a mindless thought. Wow, I guess it is late, she thought. True, she was tired, but her mind was teeming. She half-wished she could let her thoughts do their work while she slept, instead of slipping into a safe-haven of pink cloud dreams. Last night she dreamt of Melissa and a giant rabbit skipping through a field of patchouli. It had made her laugh upon waking, but now it seemed creepy and wrong. She rubbed the back of her neck and looked at CSM. He looked tired too, but behind his eyes was something else. She wouldn't detain him any longer. As they rose and crossed to the door she paused and smiled at him almost gratefully, until she realized it was all right to feel that way. She was grateful he had paid her a visit. They had talked and laughed and he had listened to her speak of things she hadn't thought of in years. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you for tonight," she said, and meant every word. The dim light on the wall outside her door cast his face in shadows, but she could see his smile. She watched him walk to the car and drive away; standing there long after his taillights had disappeared along the dark ribbon of highway. THE END ~*~*~*~*~ ********************************************