TITLE: Detour: We Don't Need No Stinkin' Conference AUTHOR: Christina M. Simmons EMAIL ADDRESS: catwings@wolfrunners.com SPOILER WARNING: Detour RATING: G CONTENT WARNING: MSR SUMMARY: Who needs an FBI conference to improve communication skills? Low-level MSR. **If I were the King of the world Tell you what I'd do I'd put away the cars and the bars and the war And make sweet love to you...** "Would you?" It was a mumble, almost half asleep, muffled in the fold of her lap. "That a promise?" Scully broke off from singing, almost grateful for the interruption. *Can't carry a tune in a bucket...* Raising an eyebrow, she glanced down at her partner, one corner of her mouth twisting into a fond, rueful smile. If Mulder insisted on bantering through the night, it might keep thoughts of the creatures, whatever they were, at bay... but it would wear him down, his already flagging defenses... and with the chill and the damp of the nighttime forest all around, she didn't want to risk the consequences of that. "Go to sleep, Mulder." "I am sleeping." "This is the first time I've ever had a lap blanket that talks in its sleep..." "...never had a singing pillow, myself." He sighed, and rummaged a bit closer to her warmth. She felt him shudder as he shifted, jarring his torn shoulder. "Easy..." She rested a hand on the hurt arm, guaging its tenderness, and saw her partner's brow knitted with pain. "Hurts..." he said. It was, for all the world, like he was talking in his sleep... the softness to his tone, the slurring of his words, and she heard him wince. "Ow..." *I'd give up matches or a fire for a first aid kit right now... body heat will keep us until the morning, but I don't like the look of that shoulder...* "I know it does." Her voice sounded soft against the nighttime... muffled by the shadows all about. "Just try to rest. It'll be morning soon." She rested the back of her hand on his cheek for a moment, testing its warmth... then again on his forehead as he craned his neck to look up at her. Exhausted, he dropped it back to her lap, and did not see her frown. *Too warm. Could be an infection... some sort of toxin... don't think about that right now. Just keep him warm as you can... if he's feverish, he'll chill easily.* "Really wanted to go to that conference, Scully...?" Mulder, obviously not ready to sleep anytime soon, shifted again, restless. His tone was serious now, not joking, a distraction from the pain of his shoulder. *Talk to me, if you won't sing...* She sighed, frowned at him, then looked up, towards the shadowy boughs overhead, the peering stars. She'd known he would bring up the conference eventually... *All things considered, I'd rather talk about Betty Rubble's bustline...* "In a way." "M'sorry." A long silence. "I *was* trying to get out of it. This case... just got lucky, I guess." "I know, Mulder." "You always know." She felt, rather than heard, him chuckle, then cough. "Told you. Silent communication. You and me, Scully. You and me. We don't need no stinkin' conference." It was the second time in as many days that he'd said that, and for some reason, it had jarred her from the start, hit a spot she hadn't wanted touched. She didn't want to be angry, even irritated, with him now. Especially not now... but the way he said it, the sureity of it, rankled faintly in her. She bit her tongue, and remained silent. *Then what am I thinking now, Mulder?* She breathed in and out, feeling her partner breathing beside her, the dampness of the earth below, the chill of the air. *You thought the conference was Skinner's idea.* "So why'd you sign us up, anyhow?" he asked. She was glad he was facing front, that his eyes were closed, so he did not catch the startled glance, the response... but he smirked anyway, perhaps feeling her reaction. "Thought I didn't know? If it was Skinner sending us... never woulda gotten me in the car to start..." "You're far too kind, Mulder." She didn't mean it to sound like that... wry, almost sour. "So why?" He shifted again, rolling half to his back, and opened his eyes. They were dark pools gazing up at her, serious, liquid. His voice was clearer now, stronger, no longer muffled by his curled-up form. "Wine and cheese? Towers of furniture? C'mon... give. You told me about Betty." "If you don't sleep, you'll be in sorry shape tomorrow." It was a lamely evasive answer, but somehow, she just didn't want to touch the subject. Betty Rubble was one thing... death was one thing... even mothmen she could talk about, but this was something else entirely, and after all, wasn't it a moot point now? They hadn't gone to the conference. Done. Finis. Well, perhaps not... but wasn't it always best to let sleeping dogs lie? *If the damned things will sleep to begin with...* "So tell me what I want to know, and I'll sleep. 'Sides... what does the Bureau say about male and female agents consorting in the great outdoors while on a case? Maybe I should stay awake." "Unless it starts raining sleeping bags, we're safely within Bureau protocols." Again he chuckled, and this time, she smiled, though she kept her eyes to the perimeter of her vision, scanning the clearing, the bushes. "The conference, Scully." A verbal nudge. She groaned, dropping her chin to her chest, and shook her head. "You've got a remarkable gift for singlemindedness, Mulder." "So I've been told. But only when I'm in shock, and feverish." "Fine. If you must know.... I thought it would be good for us." He didn't miss a beat. "You're kidding, right?" When she didn't reply, he tried to sit up, to look her eye to eye, but she pressed him down, hand on his chest. "Mulder..." "You're serious? Why?" He was at a loss for words. "I mean... things haven't been the best, lately... but... a conference, Scully? We don't need... You want us to turn into... whosey... Frank and Ethel, our happy-happy chauffeurs? Mr. and Mrs. Teamwork Seminar Poster Children?" "And ruin our perfectly good reputation as the FBI's most unwanted? Mulder, let's not ruin a perfectly good night stranded in the woods with monsters lurking in every shadow to go down that path... okay?" Mulder was silent for a long moment, and she could feel him studying her... deliberately waiting for her to continue. *It's not going to work, Mulder...* "If I let you climb on my shoulders and stick a pencil sharpener someplace, would that help?" "At the moment, Mulder, you really don't want to know where I'd stick it." She let the irritation creep into her voice. *Just like him... can't leave well enough alone, can't just let it be...* "Scully." And he shifted again, restrained by her hand on his chest from rising. He made a small noise of frustration, then dropped his head... and reached up, covering the offending hand with his own. "Scully, I didn't mean it that way. You know that." "Do I, Mulder?" She did look at him now, and her tone dropped, soft- edged. "If you'd said that two weeks ago, I honestly don't think I would have." There. It was out, said... or as close to it as she'd come. She hadn't wanted to touch it at all... to reach back into the weeks before now, before she'd been in the hospital. She'd wanted to heal it, to fix it, and that was the conference... but now... now, that chance was past, and she'd deal with it, with her partner, just as she always did. It must have showed in her eyes, on her face, somehow. The hand covering hers tightened, and Mulder's face turned from hers for a moment, but not quickly enough to mask the shadow that crossed it. Then, just as quickly, his eyes found hers again, and locked, unwavering. "Two weeks ago is not now." he said, and his voice was low, almost fierce. She regarded him for a moment, almost surprised at the earnest note, at the tightness of his fingers twining with hers. At the almost pleading expression in his eyes as he focused on her. "It's not now." Two weeks ago was not now. Two weeks ago, she hadn't told him how swiftly the cancer had come upon her. Two weeks ago, she'd been so angry with him for his obsessions, for his blindness. Two weeks ago, she hadn't realized how much she would miss that... how much she would miss *him.* She felt the tears threaten... She'd almost died, knowing that. Knowing that somewhere, inside, she was incomplete without that irritating core of Mulder. If she had died of cancer, she would have left him alone, with nothing lingering but the memory of her anger and frustration with him... without knowing... She wanted him to know. But now... "No..." she whispered, closing her eyes, turning her face from him. "It's not." "Scully." He released her hand, reached upwards, lay his palm flat to her cheek, fingers ruffling her hairline. A tactile assurance of his presence.... as though he were not right there beside her, his head nestled in her lap. And... she needed that, she realized. That assurance that hadn't been there two weeks before. She closed her eyes, leaning into the smooth warmth of his hand, felt his thumb brush her cheekbone in the gentlest of caresses. There should have been words after that. Something... anything. But the silence closed in around them, and they sat like that, hearing the hum and chirrup of night insects, and far off, the call of an owl, and the fainter bark of a dog. She felt the thudding of his heart under her hand, the warmth of him pressed against her, the rise and fall of his breath... the rise and fall in of breathing in perfect synchronicity with her own. They were together. Two weeks ago was not now. Two weeks ago did not exist. Before that moment, there had been strife, and sorrow, and emptiness... but it was inconsequential. It was not now. After a long, long moment, Mulder stroked her cheek one last time... then dropped his arm, recapturing her hand as it rested on his chest, fingers weaving into her own. She opened her eyes. Her partner was watching her with a curious expression that she could not read or decipher... but understood at a level beyond conscious thought, and as its tender wordlessnes wrapped about her, it warmed her. It was probably written, mirrored, on her own face as well, she thought distractedly... that unspoken language, something that no conference could teach, that no two people could learn. Apologies, promises, whisperings of things Mulder would not... could not... say. She knew, looking at him, reading his eyes and face. She knew what he wanted to tell her... and somehow, she did not want it cheapened by words. She wondered, for the briefest fleeting thought, what she was saying to him in that moment, and smiled a soft, wistful half-smile. *Conference? We don't need no stinkin' conference...* Mulder's expression broke suddenly with a startling grin... something unfettered, unweighted, and infinitely pleased. He drew her hand to his lips, kissing it softly, holding it there, shining eyes never leaving hers. Then he tilted his head, squeezed her hand, and smirked, all playful Mulder again. "You know what I mean, then, Scully?" he asked, and there was laughter in his voice, and unmasked affection and... well, perhaps. She found herself stroking his head, fingers through his hair, and felt herself smile back. "According to you, I do..." she said, but this time, there was no undertone, no residual feeling. He half-sobered for a moment. "If I'd known it meant that much to you, Scully... the conference..." "It doesn't matter." "It matters to me." And this time, she brushed his face, and smiled. "Thank you, Mulder." They were silent after that, and he again turned on his side, shifting close to her even as he drew her arm under his, tucking it close about him, curling into her warmth and softness. She lowered herself after he had settled, cheek resting ever so softly on his arm, below the torn and wounded place, and stroked his hair softly, evenly, and felt him breathing, still in time with her. "Scully?" "Hmm?" "Keep singing..." "Go to sleep, Mulder." After a moment, however, she felt a vibration... a soft sound in the darkess. Mulder was not singing... not singing, but humming. She smiled, even as she felt him relaxing against her, drifting to sleep. **Joy to the world All the boys and girls Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea Joy to you and me...** - end - ~Chris :) http://members.tripod.com/~catwings1 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- =-=-= "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world." - St. Exupery, "The Little Prince" =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- =-=-=