For the Good of Mankind
by Laura Castellano
Rating: R for language, I guess
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be
Archive: Sure
Spoilers: for 'Requiem' - yeah, I know, it hasn't aired
yet--so sue me, I live in a trailer and I've got a negative
balance in my checking account ;)
Keywords: Humor, MSR? Could you call this MSR? How about
M/S RST in the making? But you don't actually get to see
anything, which is why it's not rated NC-17 (sorry).
Actually, there is some discussion of Mulder's fine nekkid
behind, but that's about it...well, and that plastic surgery
thing...
"Get in the car."
As she spoke, she pointed her weapon at him, held steadily,
ready to fire a bullet into his chest should he even begin
to disobey. He had no intention of angering her further
while she held a gun on him--she'd proven in the past that
she would shoot if need be.
"Scully, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, raising
his hands instinctively, then, when he realized what he was
doing, lowering them in a fit of stubborn pride. Besides,
it was the only way to save the towel that was about to fall
from his waist, and a man had to preserve *some* dignity,
after all, even if a woman half his size was pointing a
weapon at him.
"I'm taking matters into my own hands," Scully told him, a
fierce scowl adorning her pretty face. "You men--" with a
jerk of her head she indicated the smoking man, Skinner, and
Alex Krycek, all pressed against the wall, staring at her in
shock, (for the idea that Scully would pull a gun on her
partner in this instance was ludicrous--shouldn't she be
weeping, pleading with him not to leave her? There was no
indication of the womanly emotion they'd all expected.)
"--have mucked things up for me for the last time. Now get
in the car, Mulder, before I pull this trigger. Don't think
I won't do it."
"But Scully, why?" He was aghast--they'd been having a
meeting, the four men, refining the details of their plan
wherein Mulder would offer himself up for abduction and
experimentation, for the good of mankind, naturally, and
just as he'd begun to feel a fierce pride and determination
to do what must be done, his diminutive partner had entered,
pulled a gun on them and threatened them all. The fact that
none of them was armed at the time was a mere
fluke--suddenly the sauna at the local gym seemed a stupid
place to have a meeting.
"Look, Mulder, either you can step outside, put your clothes
on, and come with me quietly, or I shoot one of your buddies
here and you get to leave in a towel, after the noise
summons all the employees." As she spoke, she spared a
special glare for Krycek and the smoking man--Skinner she
bore no real animosity toward, although he had pissed her
off more times than she could count. He'd also helped her
retrieve Mulder's cute little ass from trouble on more than
one occasion, so shooting him was really not the done thing.
She could choose, however, between Krycek, who'd had
something to do with her abduction, who had certainly been
involved in the killing of her sister, and who had tried to
abandon Mulder in a Russian prison camp, or she could kill
the man who had arranged her abduction--*twice!*--who had
thwarted them at every turn, and who had had the audacity to
undress her while she slept the drugged sleep he'd induced
in her, after lying and playing her for a fool. It had been
hell getting back on Mulder's good side after *that* little
fiasco.
Mulder, after returning her glare with an equally menacing
one of his own and making no impression upon her whatsoever,
decided that, since she was the only one who was armed,
perhaps he should give her a chance to explain her side of
things.
"Fine," he said grumpily. "Just quit pointing that gun at
me, will you? My shoulder still aches in rainy weather, you
know."
She stood back to allow him to exit the sauna, ignoring his
whining complaint, and as soon as he was out of the small
steam room, she slammed the door, locking it from the
outside with the padlock that hung conveniently there. It
did not occur to Scully to wonder why on earth a sauna
should be equipped with an outer padlock--she simply decided
it was high time the gods were with her instead of against
her and slammed the lock shut.
"Can I get dressed now?" Mulder asked, nodding toward his
clothes which were lying on the bench, and she glanced at
them. If it had been a t-shirt and those tight jeans that
always made her so hot, she'd have said yes, but seeing it
was the suit he'd worn to work that morning, she shook her
head.
"Nope, sorry," she said, shaking her head. "Move."
He gaped at her. "Scully, I don't have anything on under
this towel!" he hissed, glancing around in embarrassment to
make certain they'd not been overheard. It was late
afternoon, and the gym was all but deserted, the lunchtime
crowd having left and the dinnertime crowd yet to arrive.
She grinned, and it was a feral grin. It struck him
suddenly that he wasn't the only member of their partnership
who had gone to bed frustrated on too many nights.
"Then you'd better hold that towel tightly," she told him
without pity. "Now, walk."
Seeing that she was wearing her 'I've-made-up-my-mind-don't-
fuck-with-me' face, he sighed and turned, walking slowly
toward the door. He didn't turn around to see her behind
him, but he knew she was there, he could feel her. He could
also smell her perfume, which always did uncomfortable
things to his cock when it was trapped inside his pants.
Now, swinging freely, it began to take notice, and he tried
to think of the Knicks' latest trouncing to take his mind in
another direction. It didn't help much, since his mind
naturally wanted to yell, "Score!"
As they passed the desk, the proprietor of the gym looked up
from the book he was reading, an expression of confusion
turning rapidly to panic crossing his face.
"FBI," Scully snapped, jerking out her badge with one hand,
with the ease born of years of practice. "Go about your
business."
"Yes, ma'am!" the proprietor said, eyes wide and following
as Mulder was marched out into the busy street wearing
nothing but a towel.
It was understandable, Scully reflected later, that there
was a slight fender-bender--in fact the remarkable thing was
that there had been only one. After all, Mulder was a
beautiful hunk of a man, and here he stood on a busy city
street wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his
hips, his tanned, muscular chest, arms and legs on full
display.
Removing her keys from her pocket, Scully jabbed at the
button to automatically unlock the trunk.
"Get in," she ordered, and Mulder spun around, grabbing at
his towel and catching it just in the nick of time.
"You're not serious!" he exclaimed, aghast. "In the trunk?"
"You wanted to be abducted," she said with an evil grin.
"I'm giving you your wish. Now do as I say before I make
that towel disappear."
Mulder flushed bright red, both at her words and at the
sharp whistle that emanated from a passing car. Giving her
another look of disbelief, he climbed meekly into the trunk.
Scully whipped out the cuffs she kept in another pocket, (it
was a good thing she was always able to find clothing with
large pockets), and fastened them to Mulder's wrists,
chaining him to the metal bar that lined the inside of the
trunk. Again, it did not occur to her to wonder who in
their right mind designed a car with a metal bar inside the
trunk--perhaps the car had been designed with the Mafia in
mind. She simply took advantage of a situation, using all
the tools at her disposal.
"Now, just to make sure you don't get any stupid ideas," she
said evilly, and leaning over him, whipped off the towel in
one swift movement.
Mulder yelped and shrank back into the trunk.
"Don't go anywhere," she grinned, slamming the trunk and
climbing behind the steering wheel.
She knew just where she would take him. Her Irish Aunt
Olive (who had more Cherokee blood in her than Darryl
Mootz) had conveniently left her a secluded cabin located on
a private island just off the coast of Florida when she'd
died just a month earlier. The minute Scully had gotten
wind of the plan these men had cooked up, she'd had the
cabin stocked with food and supplies, and arranged for
transportation. As she drove, she shook her head in wonder
that they would underestimate her so.
It took her almost two days to get to Florida, what with
stopping every little while to allow Mulder food and water,
and to let him use the bathroom (under strictest guard, of
course). She always chose a secluded rest area at which to
stop, but he hurried nonetheless, convinced that someone was
going to find him in the restroom, clad only in his towel,
which she had generously allowed him to wear while outside
the trunk. He pleaded with her to let him ride in the car,
but she refused. After all, he deserved a little punishment
for thinking he could put one over on her. And striking
deals with Krycek and the smoking man, as well! He'd
certainly given her hell over her misguided deal with the
old geezer.
When at last they reached the dock where Scully's trusted
friend waited for her, Mulder was cramped, sore and
disgruntled. She opened the trunk one last time,
unfastening the cuffs, and he blinked in the bright
sunlight.
"Where are we?" he asked grumpily, and she gave him a sunny,
Florida type smile.
"We're at the place where you're going to spend your
abduction," she informed him. "At least, we will be in an
hour. It's actually a ways off the coast," she added,
waving airily at the open water.
Mulder sighed, trying to work the kinks from his back.
"Scully, this has gone far enough," he insisted. "I can't
believe you would sacrifice the future of mankind in this
manner! You have to take me back so I can--"
"Nothing's been sacrificed," she told him, pulling out her
weapon again, her eyes narrowed. After all, it had been a
long drive for her, too, she reasoned, and it was only
natural that her temper was as short as she was. "Krycek
can go in your place. Now get on the boat."
"Get in the car, get in the trunk, get on the boat," he
mimicked nastily.
In response, she jerked the towel away, leaving him
completely naked again. With another yelp, Mulder sprinted
for the boat, disappearing below like a streaker at a
'seventies basketball game. Scully giggled as she recalled
stories Melissa had told her of those days. Mulder surely
had a better ass than the dorks Missy had gone to high
school with.
"Thanks, John," she said to her old college buddy as she
climbed aboard his yacht, thankful that at least *one* of her
friends from med school had gone into plastic surgery--damn
lucrative profession.
"No problem, Dana," John replied as he prepared to take them
to her island. "Thanks for the use of the cabin last week.
It was a nice getaway for Janie and me."
"Is everything ready?"
"Oh yeah, we left it all prepared for you."
"Say, Mulder's not going to get into trouble down there, is
he?" she questioned, staring suspiciously at the hatch down
which her partner had disappeared.
John grinned. "Not likely," he told her smugly. "That's
nothing but an empty storeroom. The cabins are down that
hatch over there."
"So, if I just sit right here," she said, settling herself
at the top of the stairs leading downward, "I can head him
off at the pass?"
John nodded, turning his attention to the yacht.
Scully sat there quietly for a few minutes before Mulder
appeared at the bottom of the stairs, peeking around a
corner.
"Scully?" he asked tentatively.
"Yes, Mulder?"
"Could I please have something to wear? Or my towel back,
maybe?"
She appeared to consider for a moment before replying, "Not
until we're safely on the island. I don't want to take any
chances. My island is too far out for even you to swim to
the mainland. We'll be there until I'm ready to bring you
back."
"But Scully, this just isn't fair!" he complained. "I was
supposed to be taken away by the aliens! They were supposed
to do experiments and tests on me!"
"Oh, don't worry, Mulder, I have plenty of experiments in
mind for you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked suspiciously, but
she only smiled and remained silent.
An hour later, they docked at Scully's private island. She
called to Mulder, who sullenly ignored her until she
threatened to have John come down there and carry him up.
Mulder had gotten a quick look at John as he raced for a
hiding place, and the man was at least twice his size. He
gave a resigned sigh and crept up the stairs.
"Tell the gimp to turn his back," he ordered in a grouchy
voice, and Scully smiled fondly, motioning for John to turn
away.
"You know, Mulder, John is a doctor. He's seen it all. In
fact, he's a plastic surgeon."
Mulder stopped short. "What are you implying?" he asked
pointedly, and Scully giggled.
"Don't worry, Mulder, you don't need any help in *that*
department!"
"I should think not!" he huffed, stalking off the boat with
as much dignity as a naked man who'd been trapped in a trunk
for two days by a woman half his size could muster.
"Now what?" he demanded when the yacht had sped away,
leaving them alone on the island. "How long are we planning
to stay here?"
"Oh, several months, I think," she replied, walking up the
path that led to her cabin.
Mulder stopped short again, (which was odd, because he was
actually quite tall. It was a feat he had to stoop to
accomplish.) "Months?" he gaped, gawked and gasped.
"Months? But what about the tests? The experiments? Our
jobs?"
"Oh, I'm sure Skinner will arrange for us to have our jobs
when we return. After all, we're investigating an X-file."
He stopped, stared and stuttered. "We--we are?"
"Why yes," she told him proudly. "How an Oxford educated
man with a sky-high I.Q. could even consider something so
incredibly stupid as allowing himself to be abducted by
aliens! Now get up that path, Mulder. I have an experiment
I want to try on you that involves whipped cream and
fur-lined handcuffs."
"Scully!"
"Relax, Mulder. Remember, it's for the good of mankind."
The End