TITLE: For All in Tents and Porpoises AUTHOR: Diana Battis DISTRIBUTION: OK for Gossamer. Anywhere else, just ask. I usually say yes. CLASSIFICATION: V,H, MSR RATING: PG SPOILERS: Damned if I can find anything specific -- call it late season two fic. SUMMARY: A greasy burger, a Diet Coke, and thee. DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Never have, never will, damn it. FEEDBACK: All4Mulder@aol.com or DianaBattis@aol.com Author's notes at the end. My fanfiction can be found at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/4090/TheXFilesFic.html ********* To say it was cold would be a gross understatement. Thanks to Arctic winds out of Canada, New Jersey was experiencing a deep freeze. Once the sun set, temperatures plummeted into the teens. All in all, not a fit night for man nor beast. Or Scully. As their car sped along the nearly deserted road, Scully leaned forward to fiddle with the position of the heat vent. But it didn't seem to matter which way it pointed -- lukewarm air was still lukewarm air, and that was all the heater seemed capable of producing. She tucked her chin into the cashmere scarf at her neck and closed her eyes. In a perfect world she would be sitting in front of a cozy fire, sipping good wine while Vivaldi gave equal time to the other three seasons. But there was no such thing as a perfect world. Instead, there was her world -- filled with second rate hotels, unhealthy take-out food, and rental cars with bad heaters. Gritting her teeth, she tried to drum up some anger against fate or Mulder, but it was impossible to rebuke the former and useless to blame the latter. Sighing, she stole a look at him. As usual, Mulder seemed oblivious to the cold. While she was clad in a wool coat with the scarf and a pair of thick gloves completing her polar ensemble, he was wearing his ubiquitous dark trenchcoat. He looks like a poster child for 'Hypothermics Anonymous,' she thought, teetering between pride and exasperation. His coat wasn't buttoned, and her eyes lingered on the blue dress shirt he wore beneath. His silk tie was yanked loose and two buttons of his shirt were undone. A few wisps of hair peeked out from the opening; she had a sudden urge to reach over and see if the curls were as soft as they looked. "We're almost there." He glanced in her direction. Aware she'd been staring, her cheeks flooded with heat. Dropping her gaze, she gave him a short nod in acknowledgment before turning her head to peer out the window. Almost there. She exhaled sharply, using a finger to trace through the condensation her breath had formed. 'There' was Lakeview Hospital, a now-vacant asylum labeled haunted by the local populace. Rumors, which had started with the security force, continued after the condemned buildings had been marked for destruction. Strange lights and eerie noises, combined with several mysterious attacks on the demolition crew, had forced the state to postpone the razing until further analysis. Someone in the State Assembly knew of Mulder, and the rest, as they say, was history. Taking one hand off the wheel, Mulder reached over to switch on the radio. Soon the interior was filled with a cacophonous squeal more suited to pig butchering than their night's journey. Without looking at him, Scully leaned forward and flicked it off, then resumed her previous pose. "Guess you're not in the mood for music." Scully shot him a look. "Good guess," she answered, shielding herself against the cut of the seatbelt's shoulder harness as he made a sharp turn. Straightening the wheel, his gaze flashed from the road to her, a deep furrow marking his forehead. He opened his mouth as if to reply, then gave a small shrug and concentrated on his driving. Five minutes of heavy silence passed before they pulled up to an iron gate. Mulder switched off the ignition, then unbuckled his seatbelt. "Lakeview," he said with a satisfied smile. The perimeter of the asylum was well lit, augmented by the glow of a full moon. Scully unsnapped her seatbelt, leaning forward to look past the imposing gates to the hospital itself. Photographs she'd seen of the buildings showed them in pristine condition, the surrounding grounds lush and well tended. Now it was all broken windows and cracked cement, and she didn't doubt that come Spring the lawns would be a mass of weeds. Even the bars of the intricately detailed iron fence were pitted with rust, contrasting sharply with the length of chain and shiny padlock affixed to the gate. Mulder stretched, stifling a yawn. "Hungry?" He flicked on the overhead light, then gestured to the paper bags on the console separating them. "Styrofoam may not be environmentally friendly, but it does keep things warm." Scully sighed, her breath misting in the air. "Maybe I should be wearing Styrofoam," she muttered, tugging off her gloves. "Hmmm?" Mulder, who had already unwrapped a burger and taken a large bite, looked at her with raised brows. She shook her head. "Nothing." Rummaging through a bag, she pulled a burger and container of steak fries from its depths. Flipping open one of the lids, she picked up one fry and held it between her thumb and forefinger. "This is the Garden State -- why couldn't I get a simple salad," she asked sadly, watching as the soggy piece of potato sagged like a limp noodle. "I saw their idea of salad," Mulder said with a grin. "Burgers and fries seemed the lesser of two evils." Frowning, she dropped the fries back into the grease-stained bag and opened the other bag. "Diet Coke, Mulder?" She looked around for a third bag. "Where's the coffee?" He grimaced slightly, plucking a bit of onion from the lapel of his coat. "No coffee -- they ran out," he mumbled. "No coffee? What kind of diner doesn't have coffee?" She paused, counting to ten before continuing in a milder tone, "It's January, Mulder. I want something hot." Mulder shrugged. "Their delivery of supplies didn't make it. Something about snow closing I-95 north of here." He took another bite of his cheeseburger. "We're lucky the blizzard didn't make it this far," he said between chews. "I should buy a lottery ticket," she grumbled, gingerly biting into her burger. Mulder shoved the last of his cheeseburger into his mouth, leaving a smear of ketchup staining the corner. "And your point...?" he asked. "You have ketchup on your face," she replied, handing him a napkin. Mulder ignored the napkin, and as she watched his tongue snaked out to cleanse the corners of his mouth. This time the shiver that crept up her spine had little to with the cold. He leaned closer to her. "You didn't answer my question," he reminded, his voice low. For one moment she thought he was going to touch her. Instinct born of self-preservation took over and she shrank back against the door, grabbing at the Diet Coke to cover her awkwardness. She fumbled with the cap, untwisting it with less than steady fingers. After taking a long sip, she deliberately set the loosely capped bottle on the console separating them. "Why are we here?" she countered. He sat back, his eyes narrowing. "You know why we're here. We've discussed this case for the past week." "Tell me again. Please." He rubbed a finger across his chin. "We're here to observe. To do a preliminary review of the site and log any instance of apparent paranormal activity. Reports indicated the phenomena occurred between the hours of ten PM and two AM. Once we have some first-hand evidence we can proceed with the actual scientific investigation. We'll go in to set up cameras, tape recorders, infrared thermometers, the usual," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. Appetite lost, she dumped her sandwich back into the bag. "Why did you have to mention thermometers?" she murmured, surprised by the plaintive note in her voice. Mulder pursed his lips in a silent whistle. "I'm sorry, Scully." He turned the key in the ignition. At once, the welcome whoosh of the heater was heard. "It will take it a minute or two to warm up. Until then..." He tightened the cap on her soda and leaned over to place the bottle on the floor near her feet, then extended a hand to her. "Give me your hands." Her brows crinkled in puzzlement. "My hands?" she echoed, extending them palm up. "I'm going to practice an old Indian Guide trick." Mulder reached for her left hand. He held it in his larger ones, sandwiching her in warmth, and began to rub. "Let's see if we can't get your blood circulating." Bemused, she watched as his hands engulfed hers. Up and down, rubbing from wrist to fingertips and back again, the heat of his skin gently warming her. His fingers, so soothing and sure, stroked over her hand in an almost caress that left her nearly breathless. He switched to her other hand. "This one seems even colder," he whispered, nestling her fingers within his. He massaged this hand slower than the first, his fingers moving over her palm to her wrist. His thumb resting against her pulse, he lifted her hand to his mouth and pursed his lips. For a second she held her breath, sure he was about to kiss her palm; instead he blew gently on her skin. "Better?" She couldn't seem to answer, couldn't even look at him. Better was an understatement. It didn't even begin to describe the warmth coursing through her whole body. "Better?" he repeated. Her eyes met his. There was something akin to tenderness in their hazel depths and she nodded in response, still unable to speak. He gave her hand one last squeeze before releasing it. "Indian Guides?" she asked huskily, peering at him from beneath lowered lashes. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Impressed, aren't you? Spent a couple of summers at Camp Hiawatha in the Berkshires, honing my survival skills." "Camp Hiawatha?" Scully quirked an eyebrow. "Where did girl Indian Guides go -- Camp Nokomis?" Mulder looked a bit sheepish. "There weren't any. Being an Indian Guide was a ten-year-old misogynist's delight -- it was the last bastion of chauvinism in New England. I've since mended my ways." Her lips curved in a wicked half-smile. "Mulder, you didn't even *know* what a misogynist was when you were ten." He shrugged. "Maybe not, but at that point in time girls were not a priority. Camping out with the guys, on the other hand..." "Nirvana?" "Yeah. Some of the best times in my life were spent under canvas." He reached forward to adjust the heat. "What about you?" "I never went to camp. We spent our summers together as a family." The moment the words left her mouth she regretted them. "I mean..." Mulder lips curled in a wistful smile. "It's okay, Scully. You don't need to apologize for having grown up in a conventional household." He looked at her for a moment. "What kind of survival skills did you learn during those Scully family vacations?" She twisted around in her seat until her back rested against the door, tucking her legs beneath her. "There wasn't much need for survival skills at the Holiday Inn, unless you happened to get too much sun pool side." A thoughtful look on his face, Mulder gazed at the asylum. "So, what did your family do, other than get freckles and sunburn?" "Are you making fun of me?" she asked dryly, wriggling her fingers in the warm air flowing from the vent. He glanced back at her, eyebrows raised in mock outrage. "Not at all -- it's just difficult for me to suppress my innate curiosity." "Well, since you asked so nicely..." The temperature in the car was rising; she removed her scarf, folding it in half and placing it on the dashboard. "Which vacation do you want to hear about?" "Your favorite." Mulder uncapped a Snapple iced tea and took a long drink. Scully reached up to flick off the overhead light, letting the floodlights surrounding the gate illuminate the car's interior. "I remember one summer in particular -- our first in California. Since we'd just relocated, my parents thought it would be a good idea to get us acclimated to the area. So we spent our vacation getting to know San Diego, doing the usual tourist things -- the zoo, the beach, a Padres game." "Baseball, huh? Is that what made it your favorite?" He flashed her a smile. "Not baseball -- Sea World. I fell in love with that place. Specifically, with the dolphins." "'To the dolphin alone, beyond all other, nature has granted what the best philosophers seek: friendship for no advantage.' Plutarch said that nearly two thousand years ago," Mulder observed. Tilting her head to the side, she rested her cheek against the cool vinyl of the seat back. "That's what appealed to me most about them -- their friendliness. And they were smart, too. Much smarter than I was," she said with a wry grin. "They obeyed their trainers and keepers. But not me; the lure of the dolphin was impossible to resist. So I broke my father's number one rule: always hold someone's hand so you don't get lost." Mulder pulled his tie off and stuffed it into his coat pocket. "Mutiny, Scully? You anarchist," he teased. "It was the dolphins' fault. I was only six and so fascinated by those creatures that even the threat of punishment didn't bother me. At least not until I heard my name over the loudspeaker." She paused to wet her lips. "God, that was a long time ago." "And...?" "And what?" Now warm, she undid a few buttons on her coat. "Come on, Scully. You're not pulling a Scheherazade." He shrugged out of his trenchcoat, pulling it out from under him and tossing it into the back of the car. She wrinkled her nose at him. "Your tone sounds suspiciously like that of an AD I know." "Would it help if I said 'please'?" Smiling, she closed her eyes, remembering the fear and trepidation she'd felt. Ahab had never spanked her, but she'd been sure that time he would. Her throat tight, she'd cautiously approached a guard and told him she was lost. Five minutes later she'd been handed over to her father. He held out his hand and she'd taken it, fear causing her knees to tremble. 'It was wrong to worry your mother, Dana,' he'd said firmly as they walked away from the guard. She'd nodded, waiting for her punishment. But her father had surprised her; instead of saying more, he'd squeezed her hand three times. Three times. It was their special signal. Each squeeze represented a word; together they made up a sentence: I love you. That's when she'd started to cry... "Scully," he murmured. "You didn't finish the story." A warm finger traced a line from her temple to her chin. "Are you sleeping?" Her eyes blinked open. "No." She stretched, then reached down to snag her soda. "Sorry, Mulder." Untwisting the lid, she took a sip of the now-warm beverage. "There's really nothing more to tell. My father picked me up at the security office and took me back to where my mother and siblings were waiting. No scolding, no spanking, all's well that ends well." "All's well that ends well...that deserves a toast. Let's drink to Summers of the past." Mulder leaned down to retrieve his Snapple, uncapping the bottle before touching it to hers. "For all in tents and porpoises," he said with a smirk. "Dolphins, Mulder. Bottle-nosed dolphins," she corrected, smiling in spite of herself "Just drink." ********** Hours later they pulled up in front of the motel. Mulder switched off the ignition, unsnapped his seatbelt and was out of the car almost before the engine had stopped sputtering. "Maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow," he said with a sigh, reaching into the back to grab his coat before slamming the door. Scully matched his sigh with one of her own as she scrambled out of the car. Several paces ahead of her, he stopped and turned, waiting for her to catch up. "If not, we might as well head back to DC," he muttered, running a careless hand through his already tousled hair. As she walked up beside him, she noted his dejected expression and the weary slump of his shoulders. On impulse she reached out to him, curling her fingers around his. "Tomorrow, Mulder," she whispered, squeezing his hand three times. "Tomorrow." ********** The End ********** Author's notes: Posting this is a scary proposition. It's been a long time between stories -- nearly two years. It would have been longer without the support and encouragement of my Musea sisters: Blackwood, Audrey Roget, Forte, Mishy, and mountainphile. And I can't forget Sybil from Haven, who poked with a velvet stick. This story is dedicated to them. A huge 'thank you' and chocolate Mulders to Audrey Roget, Forte, and mountainphile (who can spell Scheherazade!) for beta above and beyond the call of duty. Your kung fu is the best!