TITLE: INVERSION LAYER AUTHOR: Blackwood CATEGORY: MSR, Story, Post-ep "X-COPS" RATING: NC17 E-MAIL: entreamis@yahoo.com URL: http://members.tripod.com/black.wood/index.html SPOILERS: None, really SUMMARY: Agent Scully has an admirer, or two. DISCLAIMER: Dave Elliott is a fictional character that belongs to me. Roscoe's is a real place that doesn't. That's about it. Everything else belongs to Rupert, Chris and the FOX gang. AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, so my oh-so-serious post-ep for "Closure" is still battling me. Meanwhile, up pops the muse who winks at me and says: "Write this, right now!" How can I resist? ;) Thanks go to my very own Three Graces: Audrey, for the fab title, her L.A. savvy and a marvelous casting suggestion of John Corbett in the role of Dave Elliott (works for me); Jintian, for her mighty fine tuning and honest prodding; and Patti, who makes me smile. INVERSION LAYER by Blackwood The chill in the air is unmistakable. Who'd have thought L.A. could be so cold in the morning? The sky grows lighter in increments, low lying clouds catching dawn's brilliant colors, reflecting them in a soft wash over the grimy neighborhood. Beads of moisture coat the Taurus, dampness enjoying a brief existence before the ocean wind kicks in to blow them all away. Scully leans back against the passenger door of their rental car, crosses her arms over her chest and yawns. It's been a long night in Willow Park. The ambulances have taken the injured and the dead to the local hospital. Most of the cops have been called to other sites and Mulder is still talking to Sgt. Guthrie. He's gesturing with his hands now, and she can imagine him sharing one of their more fantastic cases with the savvy beat cop, although this evening's events have been rather fantastic themselves. With the advent of morning, everybody calms down. The sergeant is leaning against the squad car in a relaxed pose indicating to Scully that Mulder has managed to charm his way round the hard-bitten police officer. She watches the way he moves: a man of grace, comfortable in his own skin, who smiles more than he used to. This is a different Mulder than the one she's known for so long. Different, since his long search for a sister lost and finally found ended in a sacred circle of trees. He is different and yet, he is the same outlandish, difficult, sweet man she has loved for so long; first, as a friend, and now, as a lover. His seductiveness has only increased for her, but she is reminded of what her mom always said about being attractive: "Dana," she'd say, "Looks will buy you fifteen seconds; charm, fifteen minutes. After that, you better have something to say." Hardly a problem for her very good-looking, very charming co-worker. Mulder never seems to run out of things to say. Problem is, nine times out of ten she wishes he hadn't said them. "You been partners long?" She snaps out of her reverie to look beside her. The soft voice attached to the question stands about 5'11" and holds a mini-cam on one broad shoulder. She's done her utmost to ignore the crews that have badgered them all night; although outright annoyance has thinned to mild irritation. Arching a perfect brow at the operator, she gives him a cool stare and asks, "Are we on camera?" "Not if you don't like it, we're not." A hand reaches up and flicks off the unit before slinging the cam off his shoulder. Scully finds herself looking into the nicest pair of brown eyes she's seen in a long time. Now, why hadn't she noticed that before? She assesses the 30-something man standing before her, taking note of the longish, sandy-colored hair curling ever so slightly over his ears. It isn't a hip style, especially for L.A., but it fits him. An equally nice smile twitches at a full mouth and she decides, all at once, that it's an honest face. Her shoulders relax and she allows herself a slight smile in return. "Much better," he commends in a pleasant, moderate baritone. His smile broadens, causing her to drop her head and follow suit. Scully doesn't doubt her appeal, but she isn't immune to flattery, or some harmless flirting, either. She casts a glance over at Mulder, who is now regaling a small cadre of cops with one of his conspiracy theories. She can tell by the looks on their faces that they are alternately amused, amazed or confused by the seriousness of Mulder's attitude in the telling. They'll be here for a while. She shakes her head and turns back to the man standing beside her. Looking up at him, she asks, "What's your name?" "Dave. Dave Elliott," he says, setting the camera on the ground before extending his hand. "And you are?" Taking her cue from him, she replies, "Dana." "That would be Agent Dana?" he queries, while his hand clasps hers in a warm, firm handshake that lasts two seconds too long to be considered casual. Scully pulls her hand from his. "No, it's Agent Dana Scully, actually." "Ahh. So, Agent Dana Scully...Getting back to my original question: have you and Mr. Bizarro been partners long?" He tilts his head in Mulder's direction, a clear twinkle in his eye. She still can't believe Mulder's behavior tonight. She is more than accustomed to his extreme theories and work style. But, he really put himself on the line with the public, broaching werewolves and waspmen for the rolling cameras. She doesn't know if she likes Elliott's question or Elliott, for that matter; but she realizes there's damage control to be done. "Agent Mulder is a profiler with an extraordinary record. We've been partners for seven years--" "Whoa. My first marriage didn't last that long." His frankness and his laugh are genuine and Scully decides that maybe she likes him, after all. "You two just don't seem likely." "How's that?" "Well, I don't know if he really believes some of the stuff he was putting out there tonight, but you seem pretty grounded." "And?" She is both amused and intrigued by his statement. "And, nothing. I guess if it works for you, it works. Does he always go on like this?" "Mulder? I guess you could say he likes to pursue all avenues of investigation." "Obviously. And you?" "Me?" "Do you believe his crap about monsters?" "Oh, I believe in monsters, Mr. Elliott. I've met them." Elliott's eyes widen. Names like Barry, Modell and Roche cross her mind, while the face of Donnie Pfaster rises to the forefront. Her demeanor betrays no discomfort; but her manner is earnest as she drops her voice and says, "They're called serial killers, rapists and kidnappers. Monsters--every one." Elliott nods, his voice softening. "It's Dave, please. And I'm sorry for being rude. I don't suppose it's easy doing your kind of work." "It has its points." "Is *he* one of them?" His question broadsides her. Disconcerted, she says, "Excuse me?" He rubs a hand over his mouth and looks away. He drops it, saying to no one in particular, "Okay, Elliott, open mouth, insert foot one more time." Turning back to Scully, he says, "What I mean is...you're an attractive woman. I don't see a wedding band and no woman I know would stick with a guy like that unless there was more to things than meets the eye." More than meets the eye? She's quiet for a minute, wondering how best to respond. The truth is, since Mulder and she have tasted the sweet, forbidden fruit of intimacy and found it to their liking, they have disregarded protocol as they explore the boundaries of their relationship and one another. She has, to her surprise, discovered her partner to be as focused and versed in the ways of sensuality as he is regarding alien lore. The sex has been incredible, although they have only just begun working through a mountain of issues that lay between them, seven years in the making. Still, there was no denying that Mulder rekindled feelings long-buried under the weight of responsibility and sorrow, their new-found joy in one another still a well-guarded secret. Which is why Elliott's off-the-cuff comments surprise her. She touches her tongue to her upper lip, tempted to shut him down hard and fast with one of her "this conversation is over" looks; but, his expression says he is genuinely interested. No malice intended. In an odd way, his impertinence is familiar. "We're friends," she says at last. "We've been through a lot together." He listens to her words and nods. "Friends, huh?" "That's right." "I suppose that's why you've been watching him all night." "Was I?" "The camera doesn't lie. I got it all in there," drawing out the 'all' as he gestures with his head to the unit at their feet. She shakes her head at him, but he nods back in return. "Oh, yeah, Agent Scully. I'm a cameraman, remember? I get paid to notice things through the lens." Not wanting to be manipulated, she crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her head at him. "And just what did you observe tonight?" "Defensive," he chides with a smile. "Guess you don't think anybody can see it." "See what?" she replies, vexation growing. "Never mind. Point is, I've been noticing *you* all night." She goes quiet under his statement, dropping her eyes, a slight blush rising to her cheeks. "Look, Dana, I was going to give you the bum's rush. See if you might be interested in a cup of coffee or whatever, but, uh..." and he looks over to where Mulder stands now giving the cops his full report. "I don't think I'd stand a chance." His eyes return to hers. "Would I?" She looks into the warm, brown eyes again. They are still quite nice. She wonders for a fleeting moment what kissing him would be like, but the thought disintegrates as she remembers... "That's what I figured," Elliott says in a low tone as he watches her expression soften. Bending down to pick up the camera, he hoists it to his shoulder. "Interesting night, wouldn't you say?" "Par for the course," she replies. Just then, a voice sings out from across the street, "Hey, El-li-ott! Quit the bullshitting. Let's move!" He groans and waves at the crew standing beside a FOX van parked at the curb about 50 feet away. Scully shrugs, as if to say, "Oh, well." "Gotta go," he says, disappointment in his voice. "Nice talking with you, Dana. Good luck with the monsters." She turns to watch him trot across the asphalt to another crew member waiting at the curb. "Hey!" she calls to them and Elliott turns back. "Know where a person can get a decent breakfast?" "Not around here," Elliott's companion laughs. "Try two exits north on the freeway. Right at the light, two blocks up. Roscoe's." "Will you guys be there?" "Don't tease, Agent Scully," Elliott calls. "It's not nice." He throws her a Hollywood smile, then turns to enter the waiting van. She watches as it pulls away. "Making friends?" Mulder's voice comes from behind. "Beats making enemies," she retorts, then turns her head to look up at him sideways. His eyes narrow, following the retreating van, his unspoken question poised on his lips. Instead, he nods without looking at her. "I'll buy that." "And breakfast," she states. He looks at her then. "Love a decisive woman," he says with a wry face, although his eyes betray his disquiet. "Just wait..." she replies, her words an enticement that softens his expression, as she hoped it would. "Is that a promise?" he asks as he circles the car to the driver's side. She doesn't answer. Instead, she gives him a quizzical half-smile and opens the car door. Mulder catches her eye over the roof of the car, the heat in his gaze warming the chill air between them. "Maybe the motel has room service?" he wonders aloud. "Forget it, Mulder. I want real food, eaten with utensils, not fingers. And I want fresh coffee, lots of it. Hot. Speaking of which, I thought Southern California was supposed to be warm all the time." "Give me ten minutes and half a chance, Scully. I'll warm you up." His lazy smile and his suggestion have already taken the chill from her, but she maintains her composure and her expression, enjoying the game of cat-and-mouse they sometimes play with one another, just to keep things interesting. "Breakfast, Mulder," she recites, "Two exits north on the freeway." Then she stoops to enter the sedan. Mulder gets in the car, turning the key in the ignition, the motor roaring to life. Pulling away from the curb, he slows the car as they reach the remaining black-and-white parked at the corner. Mulder stops the car and rolls down the window. Sergeant Guthrie leans down, her face framed by the open window. "Your partner here has some funny ideas," she says to Scully. Turning to Mulder, she says, "You are one crazy sonofabitch. You know that?" "Yeah, but you like me." Guthrie squints her eyes and shakes her head at him with a grin. "Hmmph. I'll say this, FBI...you're interesting. Good working with you. You too," she adds, casting a glance at Scully. "Will the deputy be okay?" Scully inquires. "I think so. He's a rookie, but he's tough. Got potential. Keeps his head...you know." "I'm sorry about Ricky." At that, Guthrie looks down. When she meets their gaze again, her eyes are sad. "Yeah," she murmurs. "Tough break for the kid. I hope he makes it. His family is gonna be pretty busted up about it. And that Chantara...she didn't deserve what happened to her, neither." A quiet moment passes among them. "Seems like you've got your hands full around here," Scully commiserates. "It's a job, agent. We do ours, just like you do yours," she states without emphasis. "Speaking of which..." Straightening up, she steps away from the car for a radio check-in with one of the officers under her command. Turning back to them for just a moment, she says, "You take care, FBI. I got work to do." Leaning down, she throws a quick nod at Scully and leaves. Mulder rolls the window back up and they pull away, leaving Willow Park and its problems behind them. ---- The freeway is still clear at 6:20 a.m., a super-fine mist hovering above the roadway. Mulder leans forward, looks through the windshield and asks, "This is Los Angeles, right? Not San Francisco." "Inversion layer, Mulder." His head turns to stare at her. "What?" "Inversion layer," she repeats, her eyes signaling him to watch the road. He turns his eyes front again, but she can see his mind at work. "Inversion layer?" he repeats. "A weather condition typically found in low-lying basin areas characterized by atmospheric temperature gradients in reversal, warm below cold, trapping free-floating particulates at or near ground level, creating a difficult breathing environment. In other words, smog." He doesn't look at her again, but a slow smile spreads on his face. They travel the two exits and find Roscoe's two blocks north of the off-ramp, as promised. It's an older establishment, set back from the road with a large parking lot. Mulder drives up the inclined driveway and swings towards the back of the building. He pulls into a vacant spot in the far end corner, behind a large, unoccupied delivery truck. Keying off the ignition, he turns towards Scully. Before she has a chance to react, he slides across the bench seat and with one arm around her shoulders, pins her against the door with his body. She smiles at his sudden aggressiveness. Mulder is not one to be distracted once he gets an idea into his head. "Sure I can't talk you into room service?" he coaxes, dropping his head to nuzzle her neck, behind her ear. His weight presses heavy against her, his mouth warm on her skin, the musk of his cologne filling her nostrils. Her heartbeat has already doubled and threatens to climb higher as he unbuttons her jacket with one hand. She is still amazed at how they have made the shift from a platonic relationship to a sexual one with such ease. Tugging the sweater free from her trousers, Mulder's hand slips under to caress a breast. A sudden flare of heat envelops her and she gasps at its potency. "Mulder," she breathes. "We're in public view." "Um-hmm," he growls, his tongue sliding wet and hot over her ear, while his hand unclasps the front of her bra. "Maybe we should call the camera crew back," he murmurs as he teases a tender nipple, bringing it and Scully to full attention. "We can show them how well we work together to get things accomplished." She knows she should stop him, but damn him, this feels good. He pulls back and they both watch his hand move from under the sweater to unbutton her trousers, drawing down the zipper with one expert pull and slipping his hand beneath the fabric. "Mulder," she begins, "this is hardly---ah," she gasps, as his fingers find her and logic succumbs to his electric touch. He lifts his head to find her mouth waiting for his, his tongue plunging between her lips. She moans into his mouth, thrusting against his hand, hips moving in response to the push-pull of his movements. Scully runs a hand through his hair and down to his shoulder where she pushes against him, trying to create space for herself within his tight embrace. In response, he lifts his head, breathing hard, and pulls her downwards and slightly under him, so that her left leg is nestled between his own, pressed against the hard evidence of *his* arousal. He reclaims her mouth with his own and her sex with his hand. She is both piqued and aroused by his insistence. So like Mulder to assume that she wants this. Trouble is, she does and he knows this about her; her desire to be dominated, to be won over, to be wanted beyond rational thought or consequences. Scully pulls at the collar of his jacket and displaces the weak anger she feels with a hard nip to his lower lip. He pulls back in surprise with a small grunt. "Are you angry with me?" he asks, a smile playing on his lips. "Damn you, Mulder. Why can't you wait?" "Because I'm a crazy sonofabitch?" he asks with a tilt of his head. "Fuck you--ohh...a little higher." "In due time, Scully. Like that?" Two long fingers are pressing inside, sliding across the rough patch of flesh at the front wall of her vagina, sending sparks up her spine every time he brushes it. Meanwhile, his thumb circles her clit with even pulses, eliciting a little breathy sound with each pulse. Her hand loses its grip on him, dropping limp against her chest. "Besides," he continues, his breath hot in her face, his gravelled voice playful, "you start throwing terms like 'inversion layer' and 'free-floating particulates' around and I can't be held responsible for what happens next." It was so unfair of him. Scully finds herself caught between moaning and laughing out loud, her breathing gone rapid and shallow, making her a little dizzy. She throws back her head, breathing with mouth open to steady herself. She closes her eyes to better focus on the sensations fluxing through her. When she reopens them, she notices the windows of the car are steamed. Mulder is pressing small kisses into her neck and she feels like she's back in college, petting on the front seat of Mike Cosgrove's Cutlass Supreme. Except, Mike was always more interested in what she could do for him versus what he might do for her. And she never could achieve orgasm with his fumbling technique. Not so with Mulder who, in short space, has noted what makes her hum and applied it most effectively. His slickened fingers slide from her, gliding upward along swollen folds to encircle her clit before sliding back down and partly back within. He maintains this even, but continuous stimulation, bringing Scully's entire body into a steady, heightened state of arousal. If they had room, she could maneuver into a more satisfying position. Given their cramped quarters, she can only increase the muscle tension in her lower body, pressing herself back against the car door, allowing the waves of sensation to suffuse her, carrying her ever higher. Mulder's head rests against her shoulder and she buries her face into his short, silky hair. Her hips rock against him in an instinctive rhythm as old as time, while his erection presses against her leg and he takes what satisfaction can be gained from their lazy movements. She would owe him Big Time for this and be happy to pay. "Scully?" he murmurs, nuzzling her throat. "Hmmmm." "How do you know about inversion layers?" "I grew up in San Diego, remember?" "Oh yeah." He's quiet for a few seconds, then adds, "This is sort of an inversion layer, isn't it?" "Huh?" "You're warm underneath me, trapped close to the ground." "Are you saying I'm smog?" "I'm saying I like the way this feels," he says, lifting his face to hers, eyes nearly closed, his luscious mouth beckoning. She inclines her head, eyes closing as she captures his full lower lip between her teeth, this time tugging with delicacy before continuing to steal small, hungry kisses from him, her tongue lapping against his. Mulder's fingers change rhythm and he is now teasing only the most sensitive shaft of engorged flesh at her core, sending minute vibrations thrumming through her, becoming ever more intense and compelling. She holds her parted mouth against his, their breath mingled, sustaining the life they share. On an emotional level, she is conflicted. As deeply as she loves and wants to please him, this is, after all a public place. The windows are tinted and opaque with condensation, but still, she is anxious. Her need for spontaneity opposes her deep sense of propriety, making impromptu encounters like this complicated and rare. She is both excited and chagrined by such behaviors in an accessible place, but unwilling to give up the glorious heat that enfolds them. Scully opens her eyes and finds his on her, hazel gone green and gold. She understands that the lust she sees there is for her, alone, and a recklessness surfaces as her body's urgency demands release. Her lips are dry and she licks them, dragging on the bottom lip. "Let go, Scully," he cajoles, his voice rough with desire. "Let it all go. Come for me." His request echoes in her mind, while the circular motion of his fingers on her throbbing clit increase in pace and intensity. His blatant words and the danger of being caught in such an open place lay waste to her inhibitions and she is overcome by the rawness of their circumstance and their feelings. The swell of climax rises and she tries to say his name, but is unable to find a coherent response as it peaks and crashes over her. She clutches him, her sighs and moans spilling like water over stone, a natural song freely given. Her heart is pounding, blood coursing as she quivers with a glowing vibrancy. A series of lesser peaks pulse at her core and she allows herself to ride on the surface of sensation as they fade, leaving her warm and relaxed. For a time, she lies still; her heartbeat, her breathing and her skin temperature re-approaching normal. Mulder's hand trails upwards to rest on her abdomen, still slick from their play, to press the tip of one finger into the delicate impression of her navel. Without warning, she hears the fall of approaching footsteps. Mulder pulls away, a smug grin on his face as he turns his head to see if anyone can see them through the fogged, tinted glass. Scully pulls herself back up to a sitting position in haste to rearrange her clothing. The effects of her orgasm still vibrate through her as she reclasps her bra and tugs her sweater down, breathing still uneven. The heavy metal door of the cab door beside the Taurus creaks as it opens. Flipping down the visor, Scully rakes her fingers through mussed hair, throwing Mulder a conspiratorial glance. "It's no good, Scully," he says. She turns towards him and finds him watching her, his eyes filled with humor and his unsatisfied need. "What do you mean?" "You look fucked." "Not quite," she informs him, brows arched. "Close enough." She turns to stare at her reflection in the mirror again. Her eyes are clearer and her cheeks are definitely rosy. She stifles a grin and prepares to say something when, out of nowhere, her stomach growls. "Don't even say it," Mulder warns. "I told you I wanted breakfast," she replies without looking at him. "You wouldn't be so cruel...would you?" She turns her head, then, to see him slouched back against the driver's side door, his body relaxed, eyes inviting. Touching her tongue to her upper lip, she rakes him with her eyes, pausing to consider his obvious erection with a feeling akin to craving. She draws in a deep, shaky breath and exhales, arousal re-igniting everywhere all at once. Newly cached memories of her mouth sampling the dark muskiness of him while he caresses her hair, words of love spilling like seed, rise unbidden. Hmmm, maybe Mulder could be breakfast, she muses. The loud rumble of the truck engine revving to life just beside them breaks the moment and she jumps. Taken aback as much by the noise as her willingness to disregard it, she runs cool hands over her fevered cheeks to the back of her neck. She wonders at his ability to affect her with such speed and accuracy. Needing to salvage a semblance of decorum, she drops her hands and turns her body towards him once more, eyes meeting. "I should teach you a lesson," she informs him in an even tone of voice, regaining a modicum of control over her emotions. "About?" "Maintaining professionalism in public." "Scully, it's not even 7:00. Nobody saw us. Besides," he adds, leaning towards her, "I didn't hear you complain." She leans into him, deciding how best to deal with the beautiful, impossible man beside her. Running a slow finger down the firm line of his jaw, she says, "Breakfast, first. You'll need your strength." "I will?" She considers him from under half-lidded eyes and sighs. "Trust me," she coos in a whisper. She pulls away from him and opening the glove compartment, grabs a lipstick and reapplies it with a quick, deft hand. She smooths her hair into place, just so, giving him a minute to recoup before they leave the car. "Come on, gorgeous," she hears him say, at last. "I'm buying." They exit the car, the sun climbing higher into the sky, bringing with it a coastal breeze and another bright, Southern California day. Mulder slips on a pair of sunglasses against the glare and places a hand against her lower back as they walk across the now semi-filled lot towards the entrance. She marvels at his coolness. He pulls at the heavy glass entry door and holds it open just as the camera crew emerges from inside the restaurant. Among them is a nice-looking blond man--Dave Elliott, who spies Scully as she slips beneath Mulder's arm into the cramped, tiled lobby. "Agent Scully!" he chortles. "Well, seems you finally found breakfast." His words are innocent enough, but there's a definite gleam in his eye. Scully thinks about Mulder's comment about looking...sated and wonders if it really *is* noticeable. Mulder is at ease with the crew, joking about the night's events and asking if they'll be able to use the footage they've shot. "Oh, sure," Elliott states. "It'll be a great segment. We'll call it "Devil's Night Out in the City of Angels or something hokey like that. It's television." "I like that," Mulder agrees with a chuckle. The crew peels out of the lobby until only Mulder, Scully and Elliott remain. Elliott looks at Scully for a few moments before turning to Mulder. "You know, Agent Mulder, I was telling Dana earlier that the camera never lies." Mulder's head turns toward her, curiosity apparent. Scully simply waits, curious as to where this conversation is going. "But," he continues looking directly at her, "neither do a woman's eyes." Scully feels a slow blush rising to her cheeks, although she stands her ground and meets Elliott's gaze straight on. He still has the very same nice eyes she saw earlier and it's still an honest face. He regards her for a moment, then nods and smiles. "You take care, now," he says to the both them. He throws up a hand in a parting gesture and leaves. Mulder looks perplexed. "Did I just miss something, Scully? Something about cameras and a woman's eyes?" "It's nothing. Just L.A.," she says. He nods, then takes her by the shoulders, staring into her upturned face. "Mulder, what are you doing?" He squints in mock concentration. "Reading," he replies. "Well, I hope it says waffles because that's what I want," she replies, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. He shakes his head. "No? That's not what I want?" "Nope. I know what you want, Scully," he says, voice low. He pauses a moment, then adds, "But waffles will have to come first." That earns him a bona-fide Scully smile. "Finally," she states with surety. "Breakfast!" With that she grabs him by the sleeve and opening the inner door, drags him inside. END ===== Blackwood has a webpage! Come visit my stories at http://members.tripod.com/black.wood/index.html