Kinesthesia

by Amy

PART FOUR

2:39 AM

"No man, I'm serious. If I couldn't stay where I was, then I didn't care. Santa Fe, Helena, Fort Knox, whatever." Peake sat in lotus position on the sofa with Mandy astride him. "Hang on, baby. Let me get a hit." She shifted while he lit a small pipe and passed it to Frye, who was lounging in an armchair next to him. "I mean, how they show the army on TV. Jump outta bed, grab your gun, be a hero. I might've bought that shit when I was seventeen, but damn, I found out better."

Frye smoked. "Shit. They'll just have to shoot me. I won't ever go back to prison again."

"Dude," Peake grunted, holding his smoke while Mandy re-settled herself and began kissing his neck. She'd been in his lap for at least the last half-hour. "I hear you about that. Three-time loser. We'd have to kick ass and drive to Mexico."

Mandy's dress had begun riding up her torso, exposing pale, round buttocks and red thong underwear. She was apparently so absorbed in the taste of Peake's neck that she didn't notice she was exposing herself to the rest of the room. Scully shifted in her armchair. "You never told me you'd been to prison, Tim."

"Well, it was a while back, darlin'. I've put it pretty far behind me."

"All that shit's the same, see," Peake continued. "School, sucker job, army, prison. You got the man in charge, you got all those suckers trying to fuck you."

"Everything's the same," Mandy murmured into his neck.

"Yeah, baby," he answered, his voice dropping lower. "I hear you."

Scully finished her drink. How many had she had, by now?

Frye stretched. "You two are a riot."

Peake closed his eyes so Mandy could kiss his lids. "Yeah?"

"You are so wasted."

"You think?" The younger man's eyes were still closed. He grinned, raised his voice. "Are we wasted, Donnie?"

"Not me, man."

The man from the Haunted House was straddling April in the middle of the floor. She'd taken her top off and he was massaging her, making slow circles around her vertebrae with his thumbs. The other young man lay on a cushion nearby, kibitzing the action with a lazy smile.

Frye offered the pipe to Scully. She shook her head. He set it on the table. "I'm serious, man. You should hear yourself."

Peake slipped his tongue between Mandy's lips before he answered. "Dude. I'm not just running my mouth. The point is there's no such thing as 'better' or 'worse.'" He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. "People are suckers, though." Here he paused to kiss her again. "They get hung up thinking good/bad, black/white." He sucked her lower lip. "But all that stuff's a grift."

"Yeah," Mandy purred. "A grift."

"What I'm saying," Peake continued, lips brushing Mandy's throat, "is that, like, good and bad, clean and dirty are opposite sides of the same damned thing." He raised his head from her cleavage and smiled. "Truth isn't what you think it is. When you figure that out, you're free."

"Truth." Shaking his head, Frye watched them for a moment, then glanced at the dregs in his plastic cup. "Well, dirty, clean, clean, dirty - whatever. My mama always taught me you take your licks and clean up your own messes." He got to his feet, picked up his cup and the ashtray. "You want another one, Bren?"

Scully offered up her cup. "I better not."

Frye's socks made swishing sounds on the carpet. Scully sank into her chair, watching Mandy's ass move up and down. Too tired to be mortified any more, she yawned.

When she got to the office tomorrow, she thought, she would check around, see if she could find out more about Rob Peake. Stretching wearily, she looked longingly toward the door.

Suddenly Frye's face appeared, hanging inches from her own. She had not noticed his return.

"You're tired," he rumbled, squatting down in front of her chair. The smell of alcohol was overpowering.

"Yeah, I am," she answered.

"Come here," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of her seat. "Sit down here."

"Why?" She knelt on the floor next to him.

He settled himself around her, then, one leg on either side of her body. "Let me work some of the kinks out."

"Um, I think I - "

"Timothy Frye has got fabulous hands." Mandy's voice was muffled. "Warm you up on a cold night."

Frye snorted. "Not warm enough, though. Ain't me she's over there rubbing on, is it?"

"You had your chance," Mandy giggled, and went back to kissing Peake.

Scully knew she should say no, but Frye's fingertips were trailing across her shoulders. They were squeezing. They were kneading.

"Oh," she heard herself say. "Oh."

"Yeah, I know," Frye said. "It's been a long day."

Working his hands lower, he slipped his thumbs under the waistband of her jeans and rotated them in her sciatic region, gradually liberating an astonishing collection of knots. Scully sighed in spite of herself. Mandy was right. His hands were incredibly warm.

"Tomorrow's gonna be crazy," he said, in a soothing voice. "Circus jump."

He snaked his hand under her t-shirt and worked the heel up her spine, one vertebrae at a time. Scully moaned softly. She hated to admit it, but he *was* good. Really good.

"What's that?" she asked. She was so sleepy.

"They need us open Monday night in Pueblo. So we got to tear down right after closing tomorrow, drive to Pueblo, set up and open the show. Straight shot, no sleep." Frye's voice seemed to be floating somewhere just inside her forehead. It sounded sweet. She trusted it.

"Mmmm," she heard her voice say.

"See? You're more relaxed already." Frye's fingers feathered down her forearms, once, twice, then three times, the motion slower and softer each time he repeated it.

Caressing.

He was caressing her.

"Baby, open your eyes," he murmured. "Look at April over there."

Scully looked. "She's...wow."

"Doesn't she look happy?"

At the office, Scully often thought April looked a lot like a lizard on a rock, one eye perpetually open, always poised to catch the next meal. Tonight, though, something seemed to have changed. Donnie had stopped rubbing April's back and rolled her over. Lee joined them, began kissing April's breasts, his tongue circling first one pink nipple, then the other. April exclaimed softly, buried her fingers in his hair, pulled him closer. Her face was glowing.

Scully experienced a surge of adrenaline as Donnie unzipped April's jeans and peeled them away. She felt her heart beat faster as he began to lap gently at one of April's newly bare thighs. She felt heat between her own legs, then, and fought back a sudden wave of nausea.

She should be ashamed of herself for watching this.

Frye reached up and drew a callused finger down her cheek, turning her face toward his. His gaze was soft.

"I can make you smile like that, Bren, if you'll let me."

Oh Holy Christ.

"Um..." She made herself look away from Frye and saw that Peake had fallen back on the couch, Mandy draped over him. She was dry-humping him like an over-sexed chimpanzee.

The room took a slow quarter-turn. Suddenly it occurred to Scully that her drink could have been drugged. She closed her eyes, fighting the nausea.

Frye's finger traced her lower lip. "Let me, baby," he breathed. He bent, then, and followed the same path with the tip of his tongue. His mustache tickled her nose.

"Oh my god..." Horrified, Scully realized she was actually getting turned on. How? Why? God, she had to get away. "Tim, no."

He nuzzled her cheek. "Your man treats you bad, but I know how to make you happy."

"My man?" The room revolved. She struggled to keep her eyes open.

Before she knew what was happening, a second pair of hands began to touch her. Starting, she looked around and found Mandy hovering behind her. Mandy's fingertips followed the line of Scully's shoulders, stroked down her spinal column and back up again, tracing a capital 'T.'

"Wait..." she murmured, but Mandy kept stroking.

Peake had left the sofa and now he dropped to his knees beside them, his gaze like a shadow, cool and dark. "They call it Sthula Maithuna," he murmured. "Want to learn a thing or two, guys?"

"Let's use the bedroom," Mandy whispered.

Scully felt a rush of heat to her sex.

Then it seemed someone had taken her by the hands and pulled her to her feet. She was walking, drifting, with bodies in front of her, bodies behind her, a pair of male arms slipping around her, lifting her to a bed, rolling her out like a bolt of silk. Then she found her head pillowed in Peake's lap and he was touching her forehead, tracing a tiny circle just above the bridge of her nose. She felt herself spreading, warm as a tropical sea.

Then a half-clad body was above her, the flesh hot, solid. Frye brushed his lips against hers, lapped at her earlobe, whispered something that she couldn't understand.

"Slow down," she heard Peake say. "This is all about taking your time, big guy. And it's going to change you - you won't fucking believe it."

"Touching is everything," Mandy whispered in her ear. "It's all you need, hon."

What the hell did they mean?

Fingers traced the curve of her inner thigh. She burned inside her jeans. Warm breath crept through her shirt, soaked into her bra, raised her nipples against the cotton. Frye nuzzled her hair, pressed his long sex against her loins. She heard herself moan.

"Please..."

Frye's mouth was on hers, his tongue nudging her lips apart. She could taste the vodka, the orange juice. Hands tugged at her t-shirt, began to peel it up.

And she was smiling. Why the hell was she smiling?

"Wait," she said.

Frye's eyes flew open. "Hm - ?"

"I don't feel well," she murmured.

"Huh?"

"Tim, stop. I don't feel well..." Pulling away from Mandy, she placed her hands against Frye's chest and pushed. "Please, I have to go..."

Frye moved aside, looking bewildered.

Mandy cooed sympathetically. "Brenda, honey. Try to relax..."

"No. I have to go back."

Peake helped her sit. "Give her a minute," he said calmly.

"I...I don't..." Why did she feel this way, like she'd failed some kind of test? "I can't do this."

She rose swiftly, unsteadily, headed for the door.

Frye jumped up and followed, caught her somewhere between the bedroom and the kitchen. "Honey, I don't mean to hurt you. Stay."

"I can't."

He put his arms around her. "Baby, let me help you be happy."

"Tim - "

"You think I can't see how much you been hurt?"

Scully resisted the urge to sag against him, willed her eyes dry. "You're a good friend," she said, in a puny voice, trying to pull away.

"Listen, we can leave. We can - "

"No."

"Jesus, Brenda, I - "

"I said 'no'."

After a long pause, he released her. "I'll walk you back."

"No, it's okay." Crossing the kitchenette, she opened the door. Cool air washed over her. "Please, can you do one thing for me?"

"What?"

She waved toward the living room, trying not to notice what Donnie and Lee were doing to April in the middle of the floor. "My jacket and my bag - in there somewhere."

A moment later he was back. "Here you go." He handed over her things, stepped toward her.

She backed away. "Good night."

Before she knew what was happening he was kissing her again, holding her with such sincerity that for a moment she was unable to resist him. Then she got mad, furious, cursed and shoved him away. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she flew like a gunshot across the darkened fairground, gulping down breath after chilly breath and trying to reassure herself that alcohol had simply overwhelmed her judgment. No matter what Tim Frye and his friends might believe, she was *not* some homeless bimbo with no self-control. She was a Federal Agent, a doctor. An educated woman.

She just needed to breathe, to walk a little faster. Her grip on reality would quickly return.

But the ache between her legs refused to go away.

It wasn't much farther to the bunkhouse, now. Turning a corner, she increased her pace, all but charging down the center of the gravel lane. The big trailer had just reeled into her line of vision when she remembered that Mulder had said he'd wait up for her there.

She stopped. "Oh my god." Her hand flew to her mouth. "My god."

She knew she was drunk, possibly even drugged. Worse yet, she was thoroughly, shamelessly horny.

She eased out of the light and toward the edge of the lane, then crept forward in the square shadows cast by the row of motor homes.

She wondered if she could make it to her cubicle without attracting Mulder's attention. It was then that she noticed two figures, sitting on a picnic table in the shadows not far from the semi. A girl was raising her t-shirt, baring her bra-less chest to a carny sitting next to her. The carny swayed a little as he stared, like the moonlit breasts had hypnotic powers and he had fallen under their spell.

Then she realized the carny was Mulder.

"You - " Her hands flew forward, trying to choke him from afar. She jerked them back, clapped them over her mouth, bit her finger so she wouldn't cry out.

The girl lowered her top. Mulder reached over and stroked her arm.

Scully's hands started shaking.

She reminded herself that she was Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI, working undercover at the Central Wyoming Fairgrounds. The man on the picnic bench was her partner, and as such, he had a right to gaze wherever he pleased.

Right?

Wrong.

She started forward, frantic voices cutting through the roar of blood in her head, jabbering on about things like professionalism, warning her not to botch the investigation.

The girl on the picnic table had folded over, laying her head on her knee. Mulder leaned close to her, whispering something. Then he began gently stroking the girl's back.

Scully felt herself crumple, like she'd just taken a fist to the gut. "Oh god."

Not tears. Not now, not here.

"Shit, shit..." Scully reeled away from the bunkhouse, wiping her eyes and trying to breathe. If she stayed, she was going to blow her cover, upset the careful balance, tell Mulder things she didn't know if he wanted or was ready to hear.

The thought was unbearable. She stumbled toward the midway.

<o><o><o><o><o><o><o><o><o>

3:10 AM

"Don't say things like that, Gwen. Of course you're pretty." Mulder yawned. The hooting in the bunkhouse had subsided a good half-hour before. He was more than ready to say good-night. He glanced down the darkened lane leading away from the semi.

Scully hadn't come back yet. He was getting really worried.

"You're just saying that to be nice." Sitting on the picnic table next to him, Gwen wiped her mascara- striped cheeks with the hem of her t-shirt, appearing not to care that she was flashing her breasts at him. "I'm tall and I carry a wrench. Guys are scared of me."

Mulder rested his chin on his hand. "I'm not scared of you," he said, taking in the rosy mounds and pale brown nipples. Then he stopped, felt his eyes go wide. "Nice tattoo," he said.

The tattoo circled her navel. Eight spokes, three petals.

Gwen suddenly realized where he was looking. Instead of covering herself, though, she joined him in his study, lifting her shirt higher so they both could see.

"Like my ink, there?"

"Yeah, that's really different. What's it supposed to be?"

Gwen drew a quivering breath and lowered her top. "It don't matter now." She'd started crying again. "Duke, he thinks he's in love. But not with me. What the fuck?"

Mulder reached out and stroked her forearm, trying to comfort her. "I'm sorry."

"No one else ever made me feel like he did." Gwen flopped over, dropping her arms between her legs and laying her head on her knee. "And he...aw, shit. I can'even tell it all. You'd never b'lieeme anyway."

Mulder leaned close. "You should try me. I'm pretty open-minded."

She sniffed loudly and closed her eyes. "It don' matter now."

Expecting her to pass out, Mulder put his hand on her back, ready to catch her if she pitched face-forward off the picnic table.

Instead, Gwen began to shudder with heartbroken sobs, her face bunching up like a wad of wet newspaper. "He neeeeeeds meeeeee," she wailed, her speech becoming more incoherent by the second. "An' he don' even gimme a chansh. Duke, why don' he gimme a chansh?"

"Hey, uh..." Mulder stroked the girl's bony back. The night was taking on a grainy, film-noir quality, as if Sam Spade might wander by any second and ask him for a light. He'd had a little too much to drink, he realized, considering he was technically on duty. "That guy's an asshole," he told Gwen. "Forget about him. Someone else will come along."

A dog started barking nearby.

"Hey! You there!"

Mulder jerked his hand away from Gwen. "Huh?"

"Quiet, Mike." Shelby Peake stood several yards away with a very large Rottweiler straining on its leash. "You - who's over there?"

Mulder scooted away from Gwen, heart thrumming. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a little girl - blonde, dresses nice. Mike, shut up." Holding the dog back, the old man squinted into the shadows. Who's that over there? Gwen?"

Gwen sat up, shoved the bottle behind her back. "Yessir."

"Girl, you go home right now. What the hell you doing out so late?"

"Yessir. I'm going."

"You know where April went? I can't find her nowhere. She's got no business being anywhere but my bed."

"Dunno, Mr. Peake." Gwen smiled and lurched forward. Mulder reached out and caught her by the arm.

"What?"

"She said she doesn't know," Mulder called.

"You there." Turning to go, the old man addressed Mulder. "Leave that little girl alone or I'll kick your ass myself. Jesus, some of you people got no shame."

He took his dog and stalked away.

When he was gone, Gwen reeled to her feet, turned and lurched forward, steadying herself against Mulder's shoulders.

"I told that old man a lie," she said. "Never let'em know what you're up to, Duke."

"Oooo-kay," Mulder murmured. "Gwen, maybe we should call it a night..."

"Gwen Marie!"

Mulder looked over Gwen's shoulder. A tall figure was standing in the shadows near the bunkhouse.

Gwen closed her eyes. "He used to call me that when I was a kid," she choked. "Fuck. Nevermind."

"Gwen, come here, I want to talk to you."

"'Kay, Daddy." Gwen turned, shoved a hand into a pocket, staggered toward the man. He reached out and caught her with a disapproving murmur, then took a step toward Mulder. Gwen protested, pulled on his hand. After a moment of staring accusingly over his shoulder, he steered the girl away.

Mulder whistled. "Well I'll be..."

Gwen's father was Timothy Lee Frye.

But where the hell was Scully?

End 04/12