From: theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com   
      
   Title: Of Elevators and Onions 1/2   
   Author: the idiosyncratic stanwyck   
   Email: theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com   
   Distribution: Just let me know.   
   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 cliches   
   presented themselves to offer assistance. This is offered   
   with tongue firmly in cheek. I am reposting this now that   
   I've fixed my email-related formatting problem. Won't   
   happen again!   
      
   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.   
      
   Scully decided to make herself comfortable and enjoy the   
   show. She lowered herself to the floor of the elevator and   
   slipped off her shoes.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)