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Title: Storm Warnings Summary: Mulder recalls the events that led up to the creation of Christopher Scully and ponders if there was more to it than what they think. July 12, 2001 Two red flags with black squares in the middle. Most coastal dwellers and mariners know exactly what this means. Scully surely knew what they meant, but yet, she also chose to ignore those flags and all their repercussions. We ignored those foreboding flags and stayed where we were. She says she never noticed those red and black flags until it was too late. How could one miss them? They are so ominous. What if we had left? What if we hadn't ignored those storm warnings? A late season storm was heading towards Louisiana. It was October and it never occurred to us that this is something we might get caught up in. It had been a slow hurricane season. October and only up to the 'C' name was unheard of. We should have had plenty of time to finish the case, get to New Orleans and get the hell out of there. Looking back, Hurricane Chris was the best thing that every happened to us. I just pray it won't be the worst. October 12, 2000 "Mulder, the airport is closed. We are effectively trapped here in..., damn, I can't even pronounce it like these people do, Louisiana," Scully says to me as she hangs up the phone, slamming it down in the cradle, causing the lamp to totter on the table. "It can't be that bad, Scully," I say as I flip the TV to the Weather Channel. "I'm sure this one isn't going to blow any strange creatures in. And see, they say it won't get over a Category Two." "Right. And earlier this week they said it was going to hit Miami Beach," she says, looking and sounding agitated. "Hey, you didn't say anything about leaving, either. You could have spoken up at anytime. This communication thing is a two way street," I say, not knowing how this can be all my fault. Sure, we have problems expressing ourselves to each other, but I am not entirely to blame for this 'crisis. ' Not this time, anyway. "We have been chasing that damn 'Bayou Bob' creature so long, I didn't even think about what those flags meant the hundred times we drove by that marina," she says. It has been a miserable case. Most days we were stuck up to our elbows in water, tracking down some mutant killer who doesn't seem to exist. We are both tired and cranky. I go back to watching the meteorologist on the TV, hoping she will not say anything else about it.
"Well, maybe a Category Three. We are inland, Scully. Not too much to worry about," I tell her after listening to some man ramble on for a few minutes. It is true. We aren't right on the Gulf, but rather we are west of Lake Pontchartrain. "Good. Well, when it gets up to a Category Five, let me know," she says as she sulks off to her room, mumbling something about half the state being perfect for a hurricane to travel over. How was I to know this was going to happen? There had only been two storms so far this season, and only one of them turned into a hurricane. The forecasters had been calling for a busy hurricane season and had been thankful that for once they were wrong. Of course, they were wrong until it came to ruining my life. This is just something I never expected. I knock on her adjoining door. I have been talking with some of the locals trying to get more information on the preparedness of the region. Most laughed, saying they were just going to ride it out. Others told me to at least get a bottle of water or two. And fill up he bathtub with freshwater. "Scully, open up," I call loudly, hoping she isn't sleeping. She opens her side of the door. She is dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She has her glasses on and a book in her hand. She looks more irritated than worried. "What do you need, Mulder?" she asks. Scully sounds more than a little ticked off. This can't all be my fault. No one can control the weather. Not even me. "The manager of this fine establishment says they have made it through many storms. People are actually coming here for shelter," I explain, trying to make things better. "Well, that's something," she says, rubbing her neck. "What's the matter? Don't you feel well?" I ask. I worry about her. A lot. I never want her to be sick again. "I'm fine. It's just...well never mind," she says, as her hand stops moving but remains on her neck. "He also says we should go find some basic supplies. We already have flashlights and batteries, but we might need water until we can get out of here. And food. All the restaurants are closed," I say. I don't want us to starve here in this crappy motel, relying solely on a vending machine, one starlight mint from my pocket and the roll of Tums I have in my bag. "Let me get my coat. I'll be right back," she says, as she walks into her room. She starts rubbing that spot on her neck again. The spot with that piece of metal in it that for all we know keeps her alive. We have no idea what else it does. Bob's Grocery and Bait The grocery store is a mad house. We can only buy water by the crate from emergency stock, and all canned foods have long been gone off the shelves. Even the sardines and kippers. "What did you come up with?" I ask Scully as she approaches me. "Two boxes of fat free Pop Tarts, some canned corn that was in the wrong section, and a bag of caramel flavored rice cakes," she replies, as she shows me the few items she carries in her arms. "Ugh. When is the airport opening again?" I ask. Surviving on Pop Tarts isn't going to cut it for long. "That depends, Mulder, on whether this blows by fast...or takes its own sweet time and blows by slow," she says, as she walks by me. Does she have to say those words that way, allowing them to flow off her tongue and buzz in my ears, conjuring up all sorts of images? She doesn't even realize what she does to me. "Well, I came up with a bag of Real Pit Barbecue Pork Rinds, a box of graham crackers and a jar of Goober Grape I had to wrestle from a young mother," I tell her. "A virtual smorgasbord of good eats," she says, as she turns to me with a smile on her face. "Come on Scully, this could be fun," I say, as I follow her. "Getting stuck in another hurricane? Someday I will have to investigate further exactly what it is you call fun," she says as she heads to the one and only cash register. The line is wrapped to the back of the small store. "I hope you do." October 12, 2000 "So, what are they saying now?" Scully asks me as I recline on her bed, already nibbling on our emergency rations. I hope we aren't going to be holed up here too long. We might have to resort to the Tums considering I already ate the mint. "Well, landfall should occur overnight. Scully, how in the hell did we miss this thing?" I ask her, already knowing the answer. "We get overly involved with our work, Mulder," she explains. Being overly involved with our work keeps us from noticing a lot of things. Mainly, our lives passing by. Someday we will be dead and realize how infinitesimal our impact on the earth has been. Unless, of course, we save it. Maybe they will rename the place after us. "This thing is huge! Surely, we must have known something about it," I say, as I point at the rotating image on the TV screen, bearing down towards the Louisiana coast. "What's the wind speed now?" Scully asks. She occasionally acts interested, and takes her nose out of her book. "I think they said something like 90 miles per hour. They keep changing all the information. Can't they get it straight!" I exclaim. So far it has been predicted to make land fall at three different times in four different places. "Well, they do get some of their information from the government..." Scully says, giving me a quick glance. "Hey, here's good news. FEMA is set up here already." "I'm sure they won't remember us," she says, even though they probably do remember us well. "Want some pork rinds," I offer, turning the bag in her direction. "I'm not that desperate yet," she says, turning her nose up. "Your loss. I'm tired and I'm going to go get some rest before this thing hits. Knock if you need me," I tell her as I go off to my room. I am wiped out. I wonder if there is some correlation to the drop in the barometric pressure associated with a hurricane and my sudden feeling of exhaustion? I already know that it causes women to go into labor. I've seen that first hand. I get undressed, turn on the local news to find they have preempted all primetime TV for this event. It doesn't matter. Soon I am asleep. I can hear a pounding on my door, but I can't react to it. I am too far away in some dream. She is calling my name and I don't know what is wrong with me. Maybe it is in my dreams. Scully often calls out to me in my dreams. Sometimes in pleasure, sometimes in horror. The knocking stops. I should check on her. I ... should ... check ...on ... Scully filters through my sleepy brain, but I somehow ignore it. She's okay. When I finally shake myself out of my deep sleep and get to her room, I find that it is empty with the door standing open and the rain pouring in. The carpet is wet near the entry and the curtains are flying in the wind. "Oh, shit! Scully! Where are you?" I cry out, panicking. There is no way she would go out in weather like this. Something must be wrong. Why in the hell didn't I wake up when I heard the pounding? How long have I been sleeping anyway? It couldn't have been that long... Scully slips through the open front door and struggles to shut it against the wind. She is wearing a coat that is rain-slicked and she is beyond windblown. Her hair is damp and clings in tiny ringlets to her face while her jeans are soaked up to the knees. "What were you doing? You scared me," I nearly shout at her as my heart starts to resume its normal rhythm in my chest. She is confused, as she looks around the room trying to figure out where she is. "I had to, ah, move the car. Someone called here and told me to move it. I tried to wake you," she says, sliding out of her wet rain gear. "I'm sorry. I was dead asleep," I say, glad that the reason for her wandering out into the rain is so simple. "Apparently," she says, pointing at the only clothing I am wearing. Boxer shorts. Like I care about anything beyond her being safe. She grabs some dry clothes and goes into the bathroom to change. "Hey, I'm starved. Want some crackers?" I ask her when she comes back into the room. "Sure. The news says we should get some strong wind and some heavy rain, but that this area isn't going to blow away or anything," Scully says, nodding at the TV. The sound is turned so low I can barely hear it. "I said not to worry," I tell her in a smug fashion. "You never said that." "Here. Eat this." I say as I hand her a graham cracker with Goober Grape spread on it. "What is this stuff?" she asks. She looks at the concoction closely, as if it some strange specimen we came across out in the field. "Peanut butter and grape jelly combined in one jar. Ambrosia for bachelors, young mothers and college students on a munchie-binge. If you'd rather have pork rinds, I could go get them out of my room..." "No, I'll stick with this," she says, putting her hand up to stop me. Pretty soon half the jar is gone along with half a box of graham crackers. A few foil Pop Tart wrappers are strewn about, too. It is amazing how much you can eat when there isn't anything else to do. We just sit on the beds and watch the news coverage. It becomes mesmerizing after awhile, the constant changing storm tracking images. We watch all these different radar pictures showing what is happening in tiny increments with the storm drawing nearer. We can hear it, can open the door and experience it, but still are curiously drawn to these people telling us it is moving closer and closer. I wonder what happens if they blow away? She is fast asleep and I am still watching the TV when the loudest bang I've ever heard in a motel room occurs outside the door. Then the lights and TV go out in a flash. There isn't even any light coming in from the rain covered window. We are enveloped in darkness. "Mulder?" Scully calls out my name in a sleepy voice. "Yes?" I answer as I set the useless remote control to the side. "Did you remember to bring the flashlights in?" she asks. Damn. I knew I was forgetting something. "No, did you?" I ask. She was the last person in the car, since she just moved it. "No." "Shit. Well, maybe they will get it fixed soon," I say, wondering how in the hell we are going to pass the time in the dark with only a limited amount of junk food and a crate of water. Maybe I should just go to my room and go to bed. What else is there to do? "Right, because the electric company is out as we speak in 100 mile per hour wind fixing transformers," Scully says, her voice just a little snide. "No need to get mean, Scully. It's not like there is anything to see anyway," I respond. "I was just starting to enjoy watching you in your boxer shorts." "Yeah. I'm sure." Nothing more is said for several minutes. We just sit here in the dark on the two double beds. The only sound is the wind howling outside and the rain coming down in sheets against the window. For no apparent reason we both stand up at the same time, occupying that little strip of carpet between the two beds. Like the convection of air that creates storms, we slam into each other, bodies meeting in such a small area. Hot meets cold, and boom! Energy is released. There is no going back. All that power has to go somewhere. This storm has been brewing for years now and it had to be released at some point. Someone should hoist those red and black flags up right here in this room, because something big is coming this way. Our impact tumbles us backwards onto the bed she has been resting on. I am on her. She is under me. That is all it takes. All those years, and this is all it is coming down to. Two people stumbling over each other in the dark. I should have turned the lights off years ago. "Scully?" I say, knowing I should get up, but not wanting to. I love the way she feels under me, and I try to memorize it quickly. She is so soft, yet not fragile at all. I don't want this accidental intimacy to end. She reaches for me this time and kisses me hard. My body reacts in a million ways, some so obvious. It has been so long, this battle of want and desire I have for her. It can now finally be released. I grow harder from just her kiss, and the feel of her form under mine. Can this really be happening? Oh yes, it is. Our tongues probe each other's mouth, searching for greater depths. She tastes of strawberry ... must be the Pop Tarts. Why in the hell did I always imagine Scully would taste of strawberry? Now I have that fantasy fulfilled. This is no chaste kiss between friends. I know the difference well. She is grinding against me, her body pressing up into mine. This isn't going to end with just a kiss. It can't this time. Off come T-shirts, jeans, boxers, bras, panties. Whatever is stopping us from touching each other completely is cast to the side in abandon. We are lying naked, arms and legs entwined, as our mouth and lips and tongues still search for more. I curse the darkness the lack of light, wanting to see her. I want to see into her eyes and watch her face as we move past the point of just friendship. I hold her face in my hands, searching for her eyes. Her hair is still damp from the storm, and it lies in tangles across her face. I can feel it flowing over my hands. I want to feel her body flow over and under my hands. We move nimbly around in the dark, nothing at all like the new lovers we are. There is a familiarity that has been bred from time shared with each other. Never like this, though. Oh, God...never like this. Thousands of fantasies are tangled up in the storm we creating on our own. Maybe that it why we know each other so well. All those nights dreaming of this one singular moment. The wind is whipping around outside in a frenzy that matches our own. I need her now, and she is there for me. Always there for me, that is Scully. Come hell or high water, she is there. I move in the darkness, and find her wet, warm folds. I dip my fingers into her wetness, and she moans in response to the touch. My thumb finds her clit, and her body jerks slightly at that first contact, before relaxing against me, demanding more. I want to please her, make all those years we avoided this to just vanish. I can feel her eyes on me, as I stay propped up above her. I can't see her, but I can feel her, and I know she is watching. I can feel her body begin to tighten, searching for release, but she doesn't let herself go over so easily. She moves up the bed and away from me, as she guides me onto my back. She wraps her hand around my cock, and begins to stroke with expertise. The firmness of her hand around me is just right, and now it is my turn to moan. Another person's hand doing this is so different, so much better. Especially considering it is her hand grasping me, her fingers deftly stroking the tip with each motion. This is the hand I wanted there all these years. Her mouth comes back down upon mine, kissing me before she moves her hand. I want to protest, but she quickly moves above me, sinking down onto my cock and rocking back and forth to the rhythm of the rain slamming against the window. I am in her, and she is as wet as the earth outside. If this storm blows us away right now, I will die a happy man. Almost. I can feel every inch of her wrap around me, and I pull her down harder, wanting to sink further, to depths from which I can no longer come back. I will drown here and I don't care. She bounces above me, her hands now on my chest, stroking my nipples as she moves. The cheap headboard strikes against the wall, gaining momentum right along with us, and that bang forces the picture to slam right along with it. She moves off of me and I cry out her name. It hurts to be separated, even for a short time. "Like this," she hisses into my ear, her voice rough with desire. Scully is the one initiating this. I would have never imagined that this is the scenario that would finally topple us over into this. I never thought she would be the impetus behind us falling in bed together. She is on her back and she pulls me to her, guiding me inside her again. Her legs go around my waist, pulling me closer, and I sink in her warm, wet body to the hilt. I am in so deep I know I can't last much longer. It has been too long, so much time wanting her, but closing off those feelings, respecting what she wanted. "Scully...I have to...can I...oh, please. Inside you?" I didn't make much sense, but it is the best I can utter right now. "Go ahead. Trust me, Mulder, there's no way I can get pregnant. It's okay," she says, her voice coming out in stacato pants. "But are you close?" "Almost," she says as her hand snakes down between her legs. A woman who takes care of herself. I love her. A squall line passes over and the rain and shrieking wind drown out my cries. She is only a few seconds behind me. Her muscles quake, pulling me in more. I have now drowned, while I lie immersed in Scully. Now I could die a happy man. I roll off of her, and miss her already. "Scully, I love you." She says nothing back. Just lets out a tired sigh. Within minutes we are both asleep while the storm rages outside. Something pounds against the wall in the clamorous wind, and I am completely awake. She isn't. I am overcome by this urge to taste her. All of her. I want to please her myself this time. I slowly lick a line from the curve of her neck downwards, stopping at all the places I've always wanted to lick. My tongue is swirling on the inside of her thigh before she reacts. "Mulder?" she says, as she tries to sit up to see what is going on. "Shh. Enjoy this," I tell her as my tongue finds the spot that makes her moan. I can make Scully moan. Again. Her hands go into my hair and pulls me even closer, as her hips react to my touch, bucking slightly. Her movements start out as barely noticeable, more like someone shifting to get comfortable. Soon, they become demanding and I can only comply to what she wants. Some men hate this act, and find it an obligation, a means to get to better places. I say pack a picnic lunch and move on in. I already drowned here tonight. Now I'm returning to the sea for more. She tastes of her, of me, of everything I ever imagined. She is thrashing about underneath me in a matter of minutes, her hands gripping the sheets around her. I can hear her nails scratch at the cool, white sheets as she tries to hold herself down. The sound, the scent and the taste of her make me come again, too. Without any contact. That's the power she has over me. October 13, 2000 Southern Louisiana In the morning, I find myself alone in the bed. A light radiates from the bathroom, indicating that they restored out power. I wanted to see her sleeping, but she is gone already. "Scully?" I call out into the semi-darkness. I see movement to the side of the room, as she crosses and uncrosses her arms in front of the her. She is sitting at the table by the window. Early morning light filters through the curtains, and we have survived the night. And how. She is dressed neatly but she looks miserable. Her face looks puzzled and I can make out that tiny crease in her brow. I made her feel like this? My heart sinks, unable to find its place in my chest. This is not how the ending was to go. I wanted to wake up with her wrapped up in my arms and make love to her again. I didn't want her to run, even if it is just to the other side of the room. "What's wrong, Scully?" I ask, as I sit up. "Mulder, that wasn't supposed to happen. It's just not a good idea. It will cloud our judgment..." she begins, her eyes avoiding me. "Damn it, Scully! What brought this on?" I demand. "Please, don't do this to me Scully. Don't send us backwards now that we've made this one big step forwards." "The storm passed, Mulder," she says, her voice devoid of emotion. "So?" I ask. "We have survived other storms. Why should this be different?" "The storm...I don't know. I wasn't thinking straight," she says, her eyes still moving around the room to anything but me. "Can't you ever just enjoy something in your life?" "One could say the same thing about you," she says. "I enjoyed you. Every inch of you," I say to her, my voice low and becoming angry. I won't let this get me angry. That won't help. She turns her head in embarrassment. This can't be happening. I can't lose her this fast. The Scully I was with last night couldn't have blown away with the last of the wind. I jump out of the bed and stand naked before her, my hands on her shoulders, wanting to pull her to me. She resists and moves back away from me. She tries hard not to look at any of me, not even my face. "Scully, I love you. I always will. I love how brilliant you are. I love the way you taste, and the scent of you. I love the way you say things like 'Mulder, are you suggesting that little green men made you do it?' I love you. Remember that. Forget this ever happened, but remember that one thing," I say. Then I leave that storm-ravaged room and slam the door behind me. I spend over an hour on the phone trying to get a flight out of here. Finally, we get can out if we drive to Baton Rouge and take some puddle jumper to Atlanta. Fucking Happy Birthday, Fox Mulder, I think to myself. You got every damn thing you ever wanted and had it all taken away on the same day. I call her room. "Scully," she answers. "It's me. I got us a flight out of here. Be at the car in fifteen minutes..." I say. Then I hang up on her before she can utter a word. I'm not ready to hear her voice just yet. I will be soon. I slam my few items into my bag, leaving behind anything we bought to survive the storm. We apparently didn't make it through to the other side undamaged. I check out and find the car exactly where I left it last evening. This isn't where it is supposed to be. She said she moved it. Why else would she be out in the rain and the wind? Trees are down all over, but I guess the roads are passable. I will move the damn things myself if I have to. She walks to the car and throws her bag in the open trunk. I watch her slam it so hard the car shakes, causing twigs and leaves to go flying off of the wet surface. "I thought you said you had to move the car last night? What in the hell were you doing out here if you didn't move the car?" I demand of her. I want to know what in the hell is going on. I want to know why she keeps changing so fast. "I, um... I don't remember," she says, as she touches the back of her neck again. "I thought I moved it. That's what I came out here for. I just don't know ..." She looks around the parking lot like she is suddenly lost. "Maybe I didn't park it here. I could have sworn I did," I tell her. "I don't know, Mulder. Let's just get out of here." We drive away, silently ignoring everything that transpired here under tempestuous skies. July 12, 2001 Nine months after the storm and Scully and I now have Christopher because of it. I never thought of her out in that storm again until that bastard Cancer Man showed up at the hospital on Christopher's birthday. Did he draw her out there? Did he make it so this baby could be created? How? More unanswered questions in my life. He knows the answers. Damn it. He always does. I watch Scully sleep with our baby on her chest, holding him tight. It's our first night home. I don't care where he came from. He's ours. Nobody is going to hurt this family. He was created in a storm, and he will survive whatever they throw our way. I haven't told her about that visit in the garage. I haven't told her of the decisions I need to make. Right now, I'm just glad we missed those storm warnings. The end
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