Title:  Gutless (6/16)
Author:  Magdeleine
See Prologue for full headers; all posted chapters can be found at 
http://shannono.simplenet.com/gutless


GUTLESS

Chapter 6


"BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEP --"

Scully's hand shot out and clobbered the alarm clock, knocking it off the 
night stand.  It clattered to the floor and kept right on shrilling, muffled 
slightly by its new face-down position on the carpet, but otherwise 
perfectly audible.

"beeeeep beeeeep beeeeep beeeeep --"

"Oh hell," Scully groaned, and opened her eyes.  Six AM.  The merest hint of 
sunlight filtered through the curtains, but most of the light in her motel 
room was dim and flickering and strangely colored.  She lifted her head just 
enough to discover the source of the weird light -- and dropped back to the 
pillow with a groan.  The TV.  Apparently she'd fallen asleep while watching 
television, tangled up in the pile of sheets and synthetic coverlet, 
drooling down one cheek, her hair in her face.  How glamorous.

The alarm clock continued its tinny one-note aria.  In order to reach it, 
Scully would have to get out of bed, but she didn't want to get out of bed.  
She never intended to get out of bed again.  She was fused to the lumpy 
mattress, pressed down by multiple G-forces like an astronaut during 
takeoff.  The alarm clock would just have to keep beeping, because Dana 
Scully had become one with the bed.

She couldn't have had more than an hour of sleep.  Barely enough for a 
respectable nap.  Just enough to make her mouth feel sticky and to give her 
the shakes when she tried to move.  Her mind felt like it was crawling 
through thick mud, just trying to put a coherent thought together ...  Get 
up.  She had to get up.  She had to get up and get dressed.  There was an 
autopsy to do.  Oh, God, the autopsy, and something else ... she couldn't 
remember, something she had told Muld --

Oh.  

GOD.

The *dream*.

The dream was coming back to her, now.  An hour of sleep wasn't very much, 
but it was enough to dream, and good merciful heavens, what a dream.  She 
closed her eyes and rubbed her face with a shaky hand, trying to piece it 
all together.  

Mulder, of course.  She remembered him smiling at her when he'd caught her 
in his room, remembered it very well -- that must have inspired this dream.  
A dream in which she hadn't looked away from him, hadn't stopped herself 
from smiling back at him, a dream in which he'd leaned in and touched her 
cheek and slowly, oh so slowly brushed his lips against hers ... and she'd 
wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, and he had pulled her 
to him with those strong arms and his hands slid over her and he ground his 
hips against her and he kissed her and kissed her and oh God how he'd kissed 
her ...

Ohhhhh.  Ohhhh, sweet merciful heaven.  She was aroused even now, lying 
half-dead in her bed and unable to move; she wanted nothing more than to go 
back to sleep and let that dream-Mulder finish the job of making love to 
her, but she had to get up.  She had to.

Maybe she'd just lie here for another minute.

There was a very soft knock at the connecting door, like a hesitant 
woodpecker.  Speak of the devil.  "Scully?  Are you awake?"

"Just a minute," she said, hating the thick feel of her voice.  She fought 
her way out of the sheets and forced her lead-lined feet to walk over to the 
chair where she'd thrown her robe.  She pulled the robe on, struggling with 
her own arms, and remembered the time back in medical school when she'd 
helped a classmate dress a corpse in a robe and slippers, as a joke on a 
third student; the wobbly feel of her own muscles reminded her of the 
awkward limbs of that corpse.  Dana Scully, the Living Dead.  She picked up 
the still-beeping alarm clock and shut it off, tossing it onto the bed as 
she crossed to the connecting door.

"Scully?"  Mulder's voice was muffled, but the tone was unmistakably 
concerned.

"Hang on a minute, Mulder."  A few strands of hair were pasted to her cheek 
by damp, sticky saliva; she pried them off before opening the door halfway.  
Mulder was leaning against the door frame, looking almost as weary as she 
felt.

He had changed out of his dress shirt and slacks since she'd last seen him; 
he was now wearing a gray T-shirt and dark sweatpants and looking 
deliciously mussed, his hair flattened on one side and standing on end on 
the other, his jawline dark with stubble.  The warm sleep-smell coming from 
him was familiar, and somehow achingly erotic; that first-thing-in-the-
morning fragrance that only a lover would know.  A lover, or a partner who 
was seeing him far too early for comfort.

"Did I wake you?" Mulder asked, rubbing his neck.  Another flash of that 
dream came back to Scully, a sensory half-memory of Mulder's strong hands 
carving a path down the length of her spine and pulling her closer to him.  
Ohhh ...  She felt a warm tingle go through her and swallowed down the 
impulse to throw herself at him and bury her face in his chest.

"No, no, not really," Scully managed, congratulating herself on keeping such 
a steady tone of voice.  She yawned involuntarily, covering her mouth.  "My 
alarm went off a few minutes ago."

He nodded and looked at her for a moment, blinking sleepily.  Scully wracked 
her brain, trying to think of what he could be doing, what on earth he could 
possibly want.  He wasn't dressed yet, so he obviously wasn't ready to leave 
for Leotie.  Oh God, had he figured out that she'd --?  

She felt a wave of panic sweep over her and stomped down on it, hard.  She 
hadn't done anything wrong.  She'd had an odd moment there, sure, but she 
hadn't done anything, really, except tuck him in to keep him warm.  
Perfectly innocent.  Any good friend would do the same.  

"Mulder?" she asked at last.  "What do you want?"

"Want?"  He rubbed at one sleepy eye, almost smiling.  "Not much.  I just 
wanted to know if you wanted to have Guido move in with you now, or after 
the autopsy."

"I beg your pardon?"  Scully was having trouble connecting the dots on this 
one.  

Mulder's eyes narrowed, just a bit.  "I didn't dream that, right?  Didn't 
you say you'd keep him today?"

"Oh.  OH."  The memories were coming back now.  She'd told him -- oh, hell.  
Late-night excuses be damned, what could she have been thinking?  "That's 
right," she said slowly, "I said I'd take the parrot today."

Mulder grinned.  "Oooh, this is fun.  Do you remember agreeing to buy me 
lunch today, too?"

"Nice try, Mulder."

He shrugged.  "Worth a shot."  

Scully rolled her eyes and opened the door the rest of the way.  "Okay.  Go 
ahead and bring him in."

"All riiiight," Mulder cheered.  He disappeared back into his room, 
returning after a moment with the cage.  The cover was off; Guido peered 
balefully at Scully, spreading his wings for balance as Mulder held the cage 
up like a trophy.  "Any particular place you want me to stick him?"

Scully's lips quirked upwards.  "As a matter of fact, yes ... but I'll 
settle for you putting the cage over in that corner."

"Ouch," Mulder said, wincing melodramatically.  "You're wicked at this time 
of the morning, Agent Scully."

Scully lifted an eyebrow and headed for the bathroom.  "Get the parrot set 
up and get out of here, Mulder, or I'll show you just how wicked I can be."

"Oooh, Scully," Mulder leered.  "Promise?"

Scully sighed and shut the bathroom door behind her.

The bathroom was an appalling mess.  She had dripped all over the floor last 
night, and, in the end, all her good intentions had amounted to was little 
more than sliding a few towels around with one foot while attempting to dry 
her hair.  The rest of the towels had fallen onto the floor with the others 
during her fumbling late-night bedtime ritual, resulting in the damp mass of 
white terry cloth currently lurking on the cold tile near the toilet, 
exuding chilly moisture and the promise of mildew.  

A single unused washcloth hung on the towel rack, looking lonely.  Her 
hairbrush and comb had both fallen in the sink and were huddled together 
below the faucet like refugees, a few red strands curling away from the 
brush to stick to the surface of the porcelain basin.  And to top it all 
off, the toothpaste tube was missing its cap.

Scully was a woman to whom tidiness was not only habitual, but almost 
instinctual.  A mess like this could only mean that sometime in the last 
twelve hours she'd lost her mind completely, which might not be that far off 
the mark.  

She sighed, and toed the pile of wet towels, conducting an eyeball search of 
the room for the toothpaste cap and coming up empty.  Perfect.  Just 
perfect.

There was a loud squawk from the bedroom.  Scully rolled her eyes and opened 
the door just in time to hear Guido's latest proclamation.

"JACK AND JILL WENT UP THE HILL, THEY EACH HAD A BUCK AND A QUARTER.  JILL 
CAME DOWN WITH TWO AND A HALF, DO YOU THINK THEY WENT UP FOR WATER?"

"Mulder!" Scully scolded.

Near the window, Mulder looked over his shoulder with a guilty smile.  "What 
can I say, Scully, I got sick of the Rat Pack impressions."

"So you taught the parrot a dirty joke?"

"No, no."  Mulder looked self-righteous.  "A slightly off-color poem."

"Oh, excuse me, Mister Culture."  Scully watched him, tightening the sash of 
her robe just a bit.  "You do realize that we have to return Guido to his 
rightful owner the day after tomorrow, don't you?"

"Relax," Mulder said, moving a finger back and forth in front of the cage 
like a doctor checking for head trauma.  Guido followed the finger with his 
whole head, fascinated.  "Nobody can prove it was me.  For all we know, 
Marjorie Bailey had a large repertoire of questionable poetry in addition to 
her extensive collection of Elvis memorabilia."  Mulder elaborated on his 
parrot hypnosis by wiggling his finger puppet-style.  

The parrot's head snaked forward and he snapped at the bars.  Mulder yanked 
his hand back in a big hurry and slammed his elbow into the wall, dislodging 
the empty bookshelf above him; he ducked and managed to avoid getting his 
head bashed in as the heavy shelf thudded to the floor.

Scully snorted, amused.

"Bad Guido," Mulder informed the bird, wagging his finger at him from a safe 
distance.  "Hey, Scully, did you know that parrots typically start biting 
when they're ready to find a mate?"  He looped a crooked grin at her as he 
put the shelf back up.  "Much like humans in that regard."

"Whatever you say, Mulder," Scully sighed, and crossed to the bedside table 
to pick up the telephone receiver and dial.  "Housekeeping?  This is Agent 
Scully in room one-twenty-one.  I need a new set of towels.  Yes.  Thank 
you."

"New towels, Scully?"  Mulder, finished with his work on the shelf, plopped 
into the sagging armchair and grinned devilishly at her.  "Did you have a 
hot-tub party and forget to invite me?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him.  "Sorry, Mulder, I figured you needed your 
sleep."

"Your concept of my priorities is sadly out of whack."

"Speaking of priorities, I have an autopsy in less than an hour."  Scully 
made little shooing gestures at her partner.  "Go.  Get back in your own 
room."

Mulder clambered out of the chair and made a face.  "You're no fun anymore."

"Keep that up, Mulder, and I'll teach the parrot to say something insulting 
about you."  She steered him to the connecting door in her best no-nonsense 
manner.

Mulder seemed intrigued at the thought.  "Like what?"

"You'll know it when you hear it," she promised, and shut the door behind 
him.

"JACK AND JILL WENT UP THE HILL," Guido announced, "THEY EACH HAD --"

"Oh, shut up!" Scully snarled.  Surprisingly, Guido fell silent.  He fluffed 
his feathers arrogantly and regarded his new roommate with his head cocked 
to one side.  Scully stared back.

This was the first time she had taken a good look at the parrot.  Despite 
being a pain in the ass, Guido really was a gorgeous bird; his feathers were 
a beautiful mix of shades of light and dark gray, except for the deep 
scarlet of his tail.  Gorgeous, loud, and irritating ...  She briefly 
pondered the image of Mulder sitting on a perch in a large cage, engaged in 
a long monologue about extraterrestrial life, and shook her head to dispel 
the thought.  

There was a knock at the door.  "Housekeeping!"  

"That was quick."  Scully opened the door and recoiled involuntarily at the 
familiar face.  "Oh, God."

Mae the Maid stood outside, once again holding a neat stack of towels.  
Luckily, she didn't seem offended by Scully's reaction; Mae just grinned and 
shook her head, causing the thick cinnamon braid over her shoulder to flap.  
"Don't worry, I didn't work all night, just covering a shift for someone 
else."  She lifted the towels, extending them toward Scully.  "Need some 
towels?"

"Yes, please."  Scully accepted the towels and warily stepped back to let 
Mae inside.  "I'll get the old ones for you.  They're a little wet."

Mae entered the room and came to an abrupt halt, staring at the birdcage.  
"Is that the parrot?"

Scully was already halfway to the bathroom.  "That's him."

"God, he's a big one."  

"Don't get too close," Scully warned, pausing with one hand on the door 
frame before disappearing into the bathroom.  "Sometimes he bites."

Mae approached the cage warily, stopping a few feet away and hovering as 
though repelled by a magnetic field.  "Hey there, birdie," she cooed.  "Hey 
there."

Guido regarded Mae carefully, first with one eye and then with the other.  
Apparently dissatisfied, he cranked himself around on the perch and 
presented her with his tailfeathers.

The connecting door to the next room swung suddenly open and Mulder entered, 
shirtless, holding a box of bird food.  "Hey, Scully, I --"  He noticed Mae.  
"Oh, excuse me."

Mae stared at him.  Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged.

Mulder scanned the room fruitlessly.  "Scully?"

"Hang on a minute, Mulder," Scully called.  "I'll be right out."

"No, don't bother, I'm just leaving the food for Guido."  Mulder started to 
set the box of birdseed on the bookshelf near the cage, then made a face as 
though remembering something and set it on the floor, instead.  He nodded at 
Mae and left, shutting the door behind him.

Mae stared at the door.  At last she managed a low whistle.  "Oh, baby," she 
murmured, shaking her head.  "Fuck me 'til I *faint*."

"Did you say something?" Scully asked, emerging from the bathroom with her 
arms full of damp towels.

"Me?  No."  Mae vaguely accepted the bundle of terry cloth, her eyes 
distant.

Scully took in the dazed expression on the woman's face.  "Are you all 
right?"

"Ohhhh, yeah," Mae said, her voice starting high on the scale and sliding 
down.  Her eyes focused on Scully and she grinned.  "Yeah, I'm just dandy.  
Do you need anything else?"

"No," Scully said cautiously, "that'll be all."  

Mae exited without another word, but she gave Scully another eyebrow-
waggling smirk before the door closed between them.  Weird.  That woman was 
starting to worry Scully.  The last thing she needed on this trip was some 
kind of mental case prowling around the motel.  She had enough to deal with 
as it was.

<X><X><X><X>

She hadn't gotten around to scrubbing during her previous shower.  This time 
she was determined to make up for it, even if she had to take off a layer or 
two of epidermis.  Besides being cleansing, it was bound to wake her up a 
bit.

So, she'd had a dream.  Big deal.  Admittedly, it had been one hell of a 
vivid dream, but that didn't mean it had to affect her whole day.  She just 
had to get a hold of herself, and get past it.  It had only been a dream.  
She dealt with the detritus of crime and human cruelty every day of her 
life; surely she could deal with the aftereffects of one erotic dream.

Two Mulder-Awareness Days in a row was a concept that defied sanity.

She sighed and rubbed her face with one hand, feeling the lukewarm water 
trickle over her cheeks.  Logically, she reasoned that there must be 
something at the bottom of days like this one.  In every male-female 
relationship there was always some kind of sexual tension.  It was only 
natural.  Evolution, concerned with the propagation of the species, had not 
provided for cross-gender friendships, and so hormonal promptings like this 
should not be unexpected.

Hormones.  Scully closed her eyes and considered it.  An excess of hormones 
could be just as debilitating to the judgment as strong drink, or drugs.  
There wasn't anything she could do to avoid it; she could only hang on, ride 
out the hurricane, and police her thoughts more carefully, just in case her 
crippled judgment decided to act upon any of those thoughts.

Simply put, don't touch him.  And for God's sake keep him from touching her 
at *all*.

<X><X><X><X>

Scully emerged from the bathroom in record time; clean, hair tamed, and 
makeup in place.  Guido seemed pleased to see her; he shifted from foot to 
foot and nodded his head in a little parrot-dance.  "HELLO!"

"Hello, yourself," Scully said, feeling almost benevolent towards the bird.

Guido whistled at her and burst into song.  "DANKE SHÖEN ... DARLIN' ... 
DANKE SHÖEN ..."

Scully pulled her clothes on as fast as she could.  Illogical though it was, 
she felt a little uncomfortable about dressing in front of the parrot.  On 
the one hand, she was aware that Guido was just a bird -- on the other hand, 
he was a *talking* bird, and that put a weird spin on the situation.  She 
felt much better when she was fully clothed.

She took a last look in the mirror and noticed Guido watching her from 
behind.  "How do you like the suit, Guido?"

"JACK AND JILL WENT UP THE HILL," Guido announced, bobbing his head up and 
down.  "THEY EACH HAD A BUCK AND A QUARTER."

"Oh, please," Scully groaned.

"OH PLEASE," Guido echoed cheekily, and let his beak gape open.

Scully stared at the bird, shaking her head.  It was amazing.  She could 
have sworn that Guido was grinning, and a familiar grin at that -- a very 
Smart-Ass-Mulder grin.  She rolled her eyes and turned away.  She must be 
losing her mind.

There was a sharp knock at the front door.  "Room service."  It was Mulder's 
voice, pitched to a warbling falsetto but still perfectly recognizable.  
Scully opened the door, yawning, and came face to face with a steaming 
Styrofoam cup with a stylized coffee mug on the front.  "Looks like I got 
here just in time," Mulder said.  "Yawning like that has been known to cause 
dislocated jaws."

Scully smiled faintly and accepted the coffee, shivering at the chill in the 
air.  "Is that an X-File?"

"No, actually, it's just something I heard when I was a kid," Mulder 
grinned, and took a sip from his own cup of coffee.  His hair was still damp 
from the shower; Scully could smell the shampoo.  He held up a waxy paper 
bag and shook it slightly.  "Two jelly doughnuts, one chocolate glazed, and 
one plain.  Are you ready to go?"

"Almost."  Scully meant to duck back inside, but she saw Mulder shake his 
head slightly.  "What?" she asked.

"We're a little ahead of schedule," he said.  "Check out the scenery, 
Scully.  Stand still for a minute and breathe." 

The impending clouds from the previous night were still impending, so the 
dawn was a gray one, but the air was fresh and tangy with early spring.  The 
Mo-Z Inn was located on the edge of town, on what passed for a hill in this 
part of the country, and the view seemed to literally go on forever.  There 
were bare brown fields, dotted with stubble, and miles upon miles of grayish 
grass, but here and there Scully saw what looked like fields carpeted in a 
vibrant green -- winter wheat, an incongruous sign of life and growth.  
Scully could hear the murmur of human voices and the faint metallic sound of 
silverware from the diner next door, and a scattering of birdsong from the 
nearby trees.  

It was still cold, but it was very peaceful.  On a summer morning, Scully 
imagined, this might be like a little slice of heaven.

"How long do we get to do this?" she asked, smiling into her coffee.  Cream, 
no sugar.  Perfect.

"We still have thirty seconds.  How's the coffee?"

"Good.  Strong."  She took another sip.  "Hot."

Mulder smiled down at her.  "Does that mean you won't teach Guido to say 
mean things about me?"

She'd completely forgotten about her threat.  "Oh.  Mulder, I --"

"OH BABY!" Guido piped up in the background.  "FUCK ME 'TIL I FAINT!"

Scully's jaw dropped.

Mulder blinked.

"FUCK ME 'TIL I *FAINT*!  OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE --"

All the blood drained from Scully's face.  Mulder looked at her in surprise.  

She held up one hand like a traffic cop.  "Don't say it."

"Who, me?"  Mulder looked innocent.  "I'm not the one who --"

"I said *don't*."  Scully glared at him, turned, and darted back into her 
room, grabbing her ID, keys, and weapon.

"OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE --"

The temptation to whip the semiautomatic out of its holster and shoot the 
damn parrot was almost overwhelming.  Scully had to force herself to clip 
the gun at her waist and walk back outside.  She slammed the door behind 
her, effectively cutting off the sound.

The agents walked to the car in complete silence, neither one looking at the 
other.

"Jeez, Scully," Mulder said at last, sounding mildly scandalized, "all *I* 
taught him was a lousy poem."

"Shut up, Mulder."

There was another long stretch of silence as they got into the car.  Mulder 
sat in the driver's seat, silently handed Scully the bag of doughnuts, and 
started the motor.  

Finally, he broke the silence.  "Hey, Scully?"

"What is it, Mulder?"

"Dibs on the chocolate doughnut."

"In your dreams."

<X><X><X><X>

End of Chapter 6  (6/16)

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