From: theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com   
      
   Title: Of Elevators and Onions (1/2)   
      
   Author: The Idiosyncratic Stanwyck   
      
   Email: theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com   
      
   Distribution: Just let me know.   
      
   Spoilers: Hah. Through "Ghost in the Machine."   
      
   MSR, post-ep for "Ghost in the Machine"   
      
   Rating: Hard R   
      
   Classification: MSR, possibly H   
      
   Summary: Going down while going down.   
      
   Author's Notes: Written for Fandomonium's Season of Smut - I had no idea what   
   to write for one of the least sexy episodes in XF history, until a few   
   time-honored clichés presented themselves to offer assistance. This is offered   
   with tongue firmly in    
   cheek. If the formatting is screwed up, please   
      
   let me know - gently.   
      
      
      
      
      
   Of Elevators and Onions (1/2)   
      
      
      
   "That went better than I had expected," Scully murmured under her breath,   
   preceding her lanky partner into the elevator. She jabbed the button for the   
   basement and the doors slid shut, sealing Scully and Mulder into the   
   six-by-four grey on grey rectangle.   
      
   Mulder rolled his shoulders back and loosened his tie. It was after five;   
   dress code be damned. "Sure," he agreed sardonically as they began their   
   journey downward from the fifth floor. "As far as they're concerned, we solved   
   the crime. So what if Jerry'   
   s dead and the suspect in custody is innocent; it looks good on paper."   
      
      
      
   Scully sighed, her blue eyes softening with sympathy as she took in Mulder's   
   tight expression. "Everyone's sorry about Agent Lamana, Mulder. And as far as   
   Wilczek's innocence -- he did confess, and you can't prove - "   
      
      
      
   He cut her off. "Scully." The simple utterance of her name conveyed every   
   modicum of his disdain at her continued disbelief. "I wasn't the one trapped   
   in the air shaft, minutes away from plunging to my death and being chopped   
   into hundreds of little    
   pieces."   
      
      
      
   She winced. "It could've been a malfunction," she rejoined, but hardly sounded   
   convinced.   
      
      
      
   "Well, it will look nice on your record, anyway."   
      
      
      
   She raised an eyebrow. "My record? Mulder, I seem to recall that you were   
   there too."   
      
      
      
   "Oh, come on. Spiller had eyes only for you, Scully. She likes you."   
      
      
      
   The furrow between Scully's brows became pronounced. "I was the one presenting   
   the report; of course she was paying attention to me. And what do you mean,   
   she likes me?"   
      
      
      
   He grinned, popping open a can of soda and taking a long swig. "She's got her   
   eye on you, Scully. You've got all the right qualifications - future Iron   
   Maiden in training."   
      
      
      
   Scully frowned, but didn't say anything. She knew Mulder was joking, but   
   still, it was hardly a compliment. Nancy Spiller was notorious for her frigid   
   nastiness. She was also forty-five and single; rumor had it that even   
   houseplants withered in her    
   arctic presence. That couldn't be how Mulder saw her, could it? Being a woman   
   in a man's world was hard, damn it, and something Scully had to struggle with   
   every day: if you were too nice, people used your back as a doormat; if you   
   tried to be    
   professional and assertive, you were a ball-breaking bitch.   
      
      
      
   This elevator ride seemed, really, to be taking an excessively long time. Her   
   eyes drifted to the panel of numbers over the doors. The number three glowed   
   green. She stared at it. Three-three-three - it remained illuminated. Uh-oh.   
      
      
      
   "Mu-" she began, but was interrupted by a sudden jolt. The car rocked,   
   flinging both of them to one side. The metal support railing painfully jabbed   
   Scully in the ribs.   
      
      
      
   The motion stopped as suddenly as it had begun, but the doors remained closed.   
   "Shit," Mulder swore, and began jabbing buttons. He pounded on the call button   
   - nothing. "Shit," he swore again.   
      
      
      
   Scully took a deep breath. For her part, she was feeling a touch more - well,   
   freaked out than the situation warranted. Her eyes met Mulder's and he gulped.   
   They were obviously both thinking the same thing: the timing of this couldn't   
   be worse. The    
   surveillance video of Jerry Lamana taking his final elevator ride projected   
   itself on the screen of Scully's mind, and she was sure Mulder was seeing the   
   same thing.   
      
      
      
   "At the risk of stating the obvious, we seem to be stuck," she said with   
   forced lightness, striving to cut the tension.   
      
      
      
   "That seems to be a fair assessment of the situation," he agreed. "How would   
   the Iron Maiden get out of this, Scully? Use her high heel to pry open the   
   doors, perhaps?" He glanced down at her flats. "Make a note, Scully - you'll   
   have to change your    
   footwear."   
      
      
      
   Scully frowned. She really wished Mulder would drop the "Iron Maiden" thing.   
   His sense of humor was admittedly bizarre, but usually much more sophisticated   
   than these juvenile cracks. He was probably just tired and pissed off, like   
   her, but still - she    
   didn't go around making Spooky jokes, did she? Unless he wasn't really joking.   
      
      
      
   Surely Mulder wouldn't pigeonhole Scully like that. He understood the   
   importance of maintaining a certain professional distance in front of others,   
   a professional facade - hell, he did the same thing, although she was quickly   
   learning to see right    
   through it. She had to remind herself that, though they worked together every   
   day, backing each other up in life or death situations - that's what   
   partnership is about, after all - they were still learning one another,   
   working out the kinks.   
      
      
      
   Working out the kinks.   
      
      
      
   Sapphire eyes narrowed speculatively. "So, Mulder - you ever do it in an   
   elevator?"   
      
      
      
   He thinly avoided spraying a puddle of Pepsi at her sensibly-clad feet. "You   
   mean - done it, done it?" he gurgled through a mouthful of surprise and syrupy   
   fizz.   
      
      
      
   She declined her pointed chin in a single nod. "Yes. Had sexual relations.   
   Fornicated. Done the nasty. Whatever your semantical preference."   
      
      
      
   He had stopped sputtering, but his eyes remained wide, his lips pursed in a   
   small "oh." Somehow he reminded her of a puffer fish. She fought down a   
   triumphant grin. Mulder had a wonderfully nimble mind, but it was still a male   
   mind. Was it because most    
   guys put everything out there on the surface that they took one look at a   
   woman and thought they had her sized up? No appreciation for hidden depths. In   
   this sense Mulder's profiling skills made him even worse - he looked at her   
   beige suit and practical    
   shoes and thought he knew about everything from her childhood fear of clowns   
   to what she'd eaten for breakfast.   
      
      
      
   Well, okay - on that particular morning she'd dropped some oatmeal on her   
   lapel, but still -   
      
      
      
   She deserved to exact a little revenge. Mulder had no right to assume she was   
   so one-dimensional. Boring, responsible, by-the-book Dana Scully. Good   
   Catholic daddy's girl, note-taker, coloring within the lines and adhering   
   rigidly to protocol. Blech.    
   That Iron Maiden remark had stung more than she cared to admit, and now she   
   was enjoying watching her partner squirm. It was a rather simple, lowbrow   
   pleasure, but how else was one to amuse oneself while trapped in a six-by-four   
   rectangle?   
      
      
      
   Other than the obvious, of course.   
      
      
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)