Disclaimer, etc. in Part 1
Miraculous Manifestation (2/3)
by mountainphile
Ten minutes grow to twenty-five before Mulder appears. The reason for the delay is obvious when she opens the back door of the car to deposit her suitcase and coat on the seat; the air is pungent with the odor of fast-food grease. She spots a telltale white bag at his elbow and feels her stomach twinge again.
"Anything edible in there?" she asks, sliding into the front seat and fastening her seat belt. Angling her body towards him, she realizes a whole day has elapsed since they've seen one another. He's wearing the light blue shirt that contrasts so well against his dark hair, and the dark gray suit. The sleeves are rolled and pushed up his forearms, his collar button undone. The tie is gone, tossed into the back with his jacket. He's ready for a long drive. Wary and expectant, she looks up at him.
"Believe it or not, I remembered that you'd risk starvation rather than eat anything deep-fried," he says, munching on a French fry. With a knowing smile he carefully works a square plastic container out of the bag, handing it to her, his expression smug. "Garden salad du jour. With chicken and low fat ranch dressing, I think."
His thoughtfulness touches her. So often she forgets that his concerns encompass more than research and solve percentage. In a surge of gratitude she smiles and looks into his eyes. "Mulder, this is perfect. Thank you... "
The recognition her words spark is undeniable. She sees how they affect him, making his eyes and face go tender, and suddenly she realizes the parallel in time and word and circumstance. He's not forgotten what transpired only nights ago. The night when he, for the second time, tested the waters between them...
She remembers standing in the chill evening breeze, waiting for the ride that would not come. This was one of those infrequent times when they were associated with another pair of agents. It was the Sullivan murder case, involving extensive background work. And the agents were the over- zealous Lester Bain and Herb Fagadau, who irritated the hell out of Mulder and who, regrettably, were driving.
Mulder grumbled at the inconvenience. He hated being dependent upon others for transportation, but at least he came prepared.
It was Bain who decided they could best utilize their time if he was dropped off alone to check out a lead. Mulder, Scully, and Fagadau proceeded across town to a remotely situated antique shop to question the owner and gather evidence. Only minutes into their inquiry, Fagadau's cell phone rang and he excused himself to retrieve his partner. He had not returned when the questioning was finished after closing hours. When the owner locked the door and also departed from the isolated shop.
The early spring night darkened, the air grew colder and windier. Too late Scully realized she underdressed, wearing only her light pantsuit as protection. She stood next to him, shivering despite futile attempts to hide shaking arms and quivering lips. Still no car approached and her teeth were on the verge of chattering...
Mulder, in his long, over-sized coat, loose and unbuttoned, cast guilty looks of concern at her state of exposure. The few, brisk rubs he gave her arms did very little to alleviate her misery or protect her from the cold, and she felt his frustration. It was not an unheard of thing for him to share clothing with her on occasion -- a tee shirt or a scarf -- but that was done in private and friend-to-friend. So she arched her brow in surprise when he muttered, "C'mere, Scully."
Before she could move or make a reply, he stepped forward, wrapping the open edges of the garment around her like a windbreak.
Enveloped in the depths of the coat, she absorbed the waves of heat generated from his body. Toasty and comforted, she huddled against him, her frigid hands creeping along his sides to burrow up near his armpits. Each nuance and movement evoked memories, precious souvenirs of times and cases and files long past. Late night winter stakeouts. His hand molding hers around a cup of hot coffee. Huddling together on cement-hard snowpack in the middle of a frozen wasteland, her hands and face shoved into the folds of his parka...
She murmured, from within this haven, the same appreciative words: "Mulder, this is perfect. Thank you... "
With her ear against his chest, she heard his deep, answering hum, felt protective arms tighten around her. His hands, grasping the edges of the coat, began tentative strokes along her back and shoulders, in a massage designed to stir both blood and body. She closed her eyes, lulled and warmed. Sheathed within his coat, their individual scents co-mingled to produce a heady fragrance.
Mulder whispered her name. His voice seemed unexpectedly close to her ear, and turning her face upward to him, she found his mouth poised to cover hers. She was ready, this time, to return his serve, to play the game. Warmth, gratitude, and the steady caress of his hands urged her forward to meet him.
Without hesitation their mouths melted together in a simple fluid motion, lips opening, sliding in languorous abandon. He tasted both sweet and salty, and she relished the warm thickness of his tongue searching her mouth, slow and deep. Yes, much better than that New Year's peck. So *this* is Mulder, she thought, her heart pounding. This is Mulder... And for a few moments nothing mattered except the feverish need to know this part of him, to experience him through his kiss.
They stepped away from one other when the car finally made its belated approach, headlights bouncing over the rutted road. Bain apologized profusely for the delay. Fagadau, behind the wheel, cast suspicious glances at them in the rearview mirror. Sharing the back seat once again for the return trip, they were quiet and content to let the other two agents carry the conversation.
But as she gazed out the night-dimmed window, she felt Mulder's hand creep into her lap to capture hers. The remainder of the drive back was an awkward, titillating game of holding her partner's restless hand in the darkened car while appearing innocuous before their colleagues. Her face burned like a teenager's; his intent was to make her feel like one.
For the next day or two they saw little of each other. No reference has been given to the incident until now, as she takes the fast-food salad and conveys her thanks. Mulder's expression makes it clear he's not forgotten the excitement of what transpired between them.
"You know what I like... " she murmurs, meaning his choice of dinner, before considering how these words can now be misconstrued. Her regret obvious, she feels her face color when he glances at her with a knowing grin. She gets down to the business of eating her salad, while he nibbles fries and maneuvers the car onto the road.
"Shots in the dark, Scully. If I'm lucky, more hits than misses." He pokes another fry into his mouth and smirks. "I can recall one very successful hit."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Come on, you liked it, too... "
Her head tilts sideways, considering. A small, pesky lock of hair obscures her eye, and she takes cover behind it. Yes, she likes the taste of his mouth, the bullish way he parts her lips with his tongue, feeling his hands pull her body tight against him. The memory, so fresh, evokes a shy smile.
"Yesss... " she says softly, drawing out the sibilance even more than usual, "Yes, I did, Mulder."
"Then you won't mind sharing a Biggie coke and the same straw with me... "
They eat in silence, darkness falling with the miles. When she deposits her empty container into the paper bag and takes another swig of soda, Mulder reaches into the back seat to grab a file folder. He hands it to her with a flourish.
"Here, Scully, chew on this."
She snaps on the overhead light and slides out a photograph of a stone statue. It appears to be the Virgin Mary, surrounded by sparse foliage, ablaze in the bright light caused by the camera's flash. Typical Catholic statue, unremarkable...
"Now that I'm *finally* privy to this information," she quips dryly, "What am I looking for?"
"Take a *closer* look."
Tilting the photo upward, into the light, she can see that the statue's face is wet, the stony surface glazed from eyes to chin. This is not what she expects. No... this is classic Mulder. Even computer-generated crop circles seem more plausible than this dampened piece of religious sculpture. Her lips, at first pursed with skepticism, now bow into an amused smile, but she says nothing more. She knows he's serious about this. It wouldn't do to offend him further and be forced to share the front seat with an irritated Mulder for an extended period of time.
When she glances back at him, she sees she's too late; his sharp eyes notice her grin and he shakes his head.
"I swear, Scully, you're battin' a thousand..." he mutters.
He's already irked with her. What the hell. She decides she won't allow herself to be intimidated by his gruffness. She's had a long day too, a long week in fact, of work and lab reports -- and soul-searching.
"You're the one who taught me to bat, so you have only yourself to blame."
Mulder lifts a hand from the steering wheel and points a forefinger at her, his thumb extended upward like the hammer of a gun. "Touche."
"And I'm counting on the fact that you've already checked to see that this thing wasn't sitting next to the sprinkler head or any other water source... like, like... " She motions with her hand, "... a swimming pool or maybe a fountain... "
He purses his mouth to the side and glances at her suspiciously. "Fine. Its precise location happens to be next to a natural hot springs, hidden on the owner's property. It's a thermal area. In the lower right of the picture you can see some of the mist." He reaches over, taps the picture she's holding with an authoritative finger.
"Why am I not surprised, Mulder?"
"The same reason your damned predictable skepticism doesn't surprise me. If you'll make the effort to notice, the statue is wet only on the lower half of its face, under the eyes. By all accounts, and according to the eyewitnesses, it's a genuine weeping icon, a miraculous manifestation, and the owner has asked that it be verified privately and discreetly, by our office."
His fervor subdues her response. "I see. Do you have a picture of the hot spring itself?"
"Underneath."
Slipping a photo from under the pages on her lap, she sees a rustic, but well-maintained pool site, surrounded by rocks and vegetation. It's small, steamy, and the statue is positioned several yards away from the water.
"Who are the eyewitnesses?"
"A niece of the owner, who happens to be a fairly wealthy man in those parts. Moved there over a year ago with his extended family, not realizing his property had its own natural wonder, which is kind of unusual for the general area. Thermal phenomena here in Virginia is actually closer to the western, Blue Ridge, Appalachian side of the state. The patriarch of the family contacted me through an undisclosed source."
"And they're Catholic?"
"Uh... yes, devotedly so. Big Italian family."
Scully grips the file and looks out the dark window for a moment, before snapping off the overhead light and plunging the front seat into darkness again. She steals a furtive glance at Mulder. He has that look again, the one that undoes her every time -- avid, intense, and rabid for a new discovery. All she's usually able to do is hang on for the ride and hope to keep him grounded. She watches the bright bands from headlight and highway flash across his face, illuminating his eyes, the determined line of his chin, and feels a deep twinge of love for this man. She hates to play devil's advocate, to be the one who pulls him back to earth one more time.
"So let's hear it, Scully. Drag your foot and then let me have it right in the balls."
She holds the file in her lap and angles sideways against the seatbelt, to face him with the inevitable.
"Since you insist... this sounds like a typical confirmation bias. A -- a type of selective thinking, whereby one tends to notice and look for what confirms one's beliefs, and to ignore or undervalue the relevance of what contradicts those same beliefs."
His teeth, she notices, are beginning a slow drag and chew on his lower lip as he listens.
"Also, people who put forth such fantastic claims are often suffering from self-deception. They mislead themselves by accepting as true or valid what is obviously fakery. It's a convenient way to justify false beliefs -- "
"I know what it is."
She looks down and sighs, looks up again. "Are you sure you want me to continue?"
"By all means."
"All right, then. It also sounds very similar to communal reinforcement -- which I know you're familiar with -- when a claim becomes a strong belief through repeated assertion by members of the community. In this case, the niece and her family. The process is independent of whether or not the claim has been properly and thoroughly researched or is supported by empirical data significant enough... " Her voice grows quiet as she hesitates.
"Don't slow down now, Scully. You've neglected to mention collective hallucinations, which occur especially among the religiously devoted who hope to witness a miracle. Or, hey - - let's not forget confabulation, when fantasy unconsciously replaces fact in memory -- "
"Mulder... "
"Now I know why you like to wear those high heels... "
Snapping the file shut, she tosses it into the back seat with a sharp, terse twist of her wrist. "Let me know when you want to discuss this with any kind of seriousness."
"After all you've seen you *still* hold back. After experiencing the unexplainable countless times over and coming face to face with the unknown... Whatever happened to faith, Scully? Hume said, 'To believe in a miracle is not an act of reason, but of faith.' I won't dispute the man."
"Then don't confuse the issues... "
"And don't deny them. Let's talk about that vision you saw in front of the statue of Buddha, shall we? And what about the woman with the hat? Go ahead and explain all that away. Recant your heresy, Scully. It won't be the first time -- "
She averts her face, trying to control the emotions surging within her. He's not playing fair, making everything she says sound like betrayal or patronization or bitchiness. She doesn't want to fight with him... she was, in fact, feeling rather tender towards him a few minutes ago, remembering his sweetness and the romantic Mulder hiding beneath the barbs he's displaying now.
His next words startle her.
"I wasn't *jealously guarding* this investigation, as you so adroitly put it on the phone. Has it even occurred to you that I might want to be relatively sure about what I'm investigating, before I decide to spill it to you?"
In the semi-darkness, Scully notices his hands, long and expressive. Right now they clench the steering wheel and his knuckles pale. He's fighting the trickle of confession that flows within its banks of reserve and threatens to become a river. He's afraid to fail again, after the trip to England, and doesn't want to look like a fool in front of her. Mulder's covering his ass, she realizes, with a dull ache.
She swallows and closes her eyes for a moment. And decides to risk a shot of her own into the dark. "Are you still angry I didn't go with you?"
His smile mocks her. "Not at all. I'm pissed you stayed behind. There's a big difference."
It all comes back to those few days of separation. Mulder goes in search of the supernatural and comes up empty. She remains home and the unexplainable falls headlong into her lap. Moreover, she touches it, engages it, in a way that opens up a whole new realm of possibility uncharacteristic of her. Without Mulder's presence and influence, her belief system takes an awesome stretch.
And so he returns. Listening with understanding and curiosity, he is mildly taken aback at her tale of moral indiscretion with a married man. He grows quiet when she regales him with accounts of Daniel's brilliance and charisma, leaves him with the bitter image of Daniel touching her youth, fingering her naivete. All the while, he smarts from his own disappointment and failure. Now, reflecting back, she sees that Mulder was too quiet, almost non-communicative, when she left to visit with Maggie several times after Daniel's discharge. He hides his feelings so well. With a shock, she realizes he's jealous of the man, plain and simple. Perhaps, she wonders, he's even jealous of me...
"If it makes it any more palatable, Mulder... I missed you then."
Even in the darkness of the car, she sees the corner of his mouth soften, his eyes flicker and then look her way for a moment, before jerking back to the blackness ahead. His hands knead the wheel in a tortured grip and long minutes of silence lengthen between them. She's almost given up on getting a response, when Mulder suddenly blurts, "You know what I regret, Scully?"
Mute, she shakes her head.
"Not being in that Buddhist temple with you. Not being there when you had your vision. Just listening to you tell me about it the day I got back -- you marveled at what you'd seen and heard, when you felt you'd been given some sort of message. Dammit, you even had the motivation and faith to call in that sage-burning asshole to chant a public ritual for -- " He bites his lower lip and exhales. "I guess I feel cheated that I missed it... that I missed seeing *you* move so confidently and freely in that sphere of the supernatural... "
Lifting her brows, Scully feels his sadness, can almost touch his disappointment, it's so tangible. She wants to tell him how much her thoughts went out to him during those moments of transcendence and vision. That throughout each step of her supernatural journey, it seemed like he was there with her...
" ...I wanted to share that with you, Scully. And then, the night I returned... "
His voice is slippery, eluding her conscious awareness, until his words penetrate the haze. She blinks her eyes and looks up at him.
"... I covered you up. Left you asleep on the couch... but if I had any sense at all, I would've -- " He's pinching his lips together, unwilling to finish.
"What would you have done, Mulder?" She hesitates a long moment before whispering, "Taken me to bed with you?"
He swallows, driving headlong into the night. "Would you have come?"
"That's a very good question," she says gently, giving her head a thoughtful tilt. "Then... I'm not sure *how* I would have reacted, or what I would have done. Maybe I would've considered it. But now... "
With deliberate fingers she unclasps the seatbelt and slides closer to him. Looking up at his clenched jaw and leaning a silky head against his shoulder, she whispers, "I'd probably have to answer *yes* twice to the same question."
"Shit, Scully... "
"That one slipped right by you," she murmurs, suppressing a tiny smile of triumph. The car has just come to a gradual halt at a stop sign, and she takes the opportunity to reach her hand up and stroke his cheek. Mulder turns toward her in wonder; she lifts her chin to kiss him. It's a slow, exploratory meeting of lips that deepens when he groans into her mouth, when he moves his hand from the steering wheel to slide over and leisurely capture her breast as they kiss. She feels determined fingertips searching out a nipple when a car horn honks behind them.
The fragile mood breaks like glass. Mulder curses and guns the engine to put distance between their car and the other, while Scully settles back onto her side of the vehicle, reattaching the seatbelt. After several miles of driving, the tension abates enough for them to look at one another again.
With tenderness he reaches out to take her hand into his large, warm one and her heart skips a beat at this gesture. His eye, however, shows a mischievous sparkle. "There's something very important I neglected to tell you about this investigation."
Scully matches his expression, her own eyes teasing. "You don't scare me, Mulder."
Grinning, he gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "The niece also claims that the hot spring itself has miraculous healing properties. In fact, the whole family believes it."
"How do they substantiate *that* claim?"
"By how it makes them feel after bathing in it. They use it for physical healing. Aches and pains disappear, they report feelings of youth and energy. Even, uh... greater sexual prowess, I'm told."
Scully opens her lips in amazement, shaking her head at the twinkling eyes of the man next to her. "And when were you planning to share *this* little tidbit of information with me?"
"Oh... probably after we both got naked and climbed in... "
End Part 2/3