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There’s no time for sight-seeing, she reminds herself. But then again, when was the last time she stood by a floor-to-ceiling window at the seventy-second and highest floor of a building rising over 900 feet off the ground? The skyline from Downtown Dallas’s Bank of America Plaza is just breathtaking. It’s mesmerizing. Maybe even more so as black and navy-blue helicopters circle around several buildings in front of them. She can’t hear the whirlybirds of course; all outside noise are deafened by the thick windows and replaced with the quiet humming of computers, the frantic tapping on keyboards, the rapid clonking of heeled business women, and the discordant ringing of phones.
Scully looks outside. Maybe this is the perfect place to see for what they’re all looking for. A sign. An idea. Something. Or maybe it would be perfect if there were no helicopters at all. If they weren't here in response to a bomb threat.
As she stares at the huge buildings in a failed attempt to identify them, the rising reddish sun glares through the countless glass towers and blurs her vision a brief moment. An uncomfortable warmth surges through her whole sweaty body. God, it’s hot in here, she thinks.
“There’s nothing here,” Mulder says at her back, startling her.
She turns around and shoves the FBI jacket off her shoulders. “What else is new, Mulder?” She replies wearily, draping the jacket over her arm.
He scrutinizes her eyes and smiles knowingly. “We knew it was going to be a long day, Scully. And it’s just the beginning.”
“I had not expected this heat, though. What’s wrong with the AC?” She asks impatiently.
Mulder’s phone rings. He promptly answers it with a familiar “Mulder” while he bounces a little and shakes his jacket off his shoulders too.
Her eyes rove over his dark gray tee; it perfectly fits his broad chest and stomach, his long, thin and delicate body. Voluptuous? She searches for the right word. “Yes, sir,” Mulder says. It’s probably a first in over five years that Mulder doesn’t wear a dress shirt or a tie at work. She doesn’t complain. Mulder is a beautiful man. There are times now and again when it’s difficult to focus on serious business with him around. Like, say, a bomb threat.
Mulder moves his jacket to his other arm. He tucks his hands into his pockets, squeezing his phone between his ear and his shoulder. His moving this closely to her tickles her nostrils. Unleashes the masculine fragrance of this sexually appealing body. He pulls a folded map out of his pocket. More waves of ecstasy. She struggles to think of something else. Breakfast. What did she have for breakfast? Certainly not him. Uggh. Not working. There’s no cologne in his scent. It’s natural. Scrambled eggs and pancakes? Nope. He smells spicy. Altogether balmy and biting, savory and peppery. She shudders. “All right, sir, we’re on our way.” Her mouth feels dry. Her cheeks are flushed. Damn, it’s hot. “— was Darius Michaud.” Get ahold of yourself, Dana. She looks away. Her feet. Perfect. “— to the Federal building.” Feet are a safe thing to watch. What’s that? She moves her right foot a little to the side and bends down to look closer, picking up a blemished fifty dollar bill that was stuck under her heel.
“— bad hair day?” He mumbles, lingering his hand on her lower back and pushing her gently to walk away from the windows.
“Hmm?” She asks, distracted, looking around in search of who might have lost this fifty.
“Do you believe in bad luck?”
She rolls her eyes. Did you not see me pick up that bill? “I believe the course of events can sometimes point to such a direction and induce such belief.”
He grins. Then he shakes his head and presses his thumb on the elevator button before turning back to her. “I broke a lace tying my shoes this morning. Then I spilt my coffee all over my shirt so I had to dig in my travel bag for a spare tee. Then I avoided a car at the very last second as I answered your call —”
“Told you before: don't talk on the phone and drive,” she lectures him.
“— but the rental car’s rear view mirror still shattered into a thousand pieces.”
“I saw a black cat this morning,” She mocks him as the doors open and she lets herself in the empty elevator. She pushes the first floor button. “But then, I found this fifty, so I don’t know what side I stand on anymore.”
“Well, anyway. I don't know about that bad luck thing but I have a bad feeling about today.”
“You’re afraid you might find yourself somehow locked inside a room with the bomb?” He smiles back at her. “You’ll never leave my sight,” She says encouragingly. She gives him the bill. “Here,” she says softly, “to break the spell.”
As she braces her back against the thin metal wall, she looks up as the lit digital numbers start their descent. She listens to the muffled metal-on-metal grinding sound of the elevator going down and Mulder looks at his map.
The number 69 starts to blink on the panel. There’s a sharp Clank and the lights above their heads shut off too. At that moment, a loud and high-pitched squeal forces Scully and Mulder to cover their ears. The elevator jolts to an abrupt stop and goes dark just seconds after Mulder groans an “Uh oh.”
“Great,” Scully mutters under her breath.
“Still don't believe in bad luck, Scully?” He asks in the dark.
She doesn’t want to answer that. She isn’t even sure that’s a question that demands an answer. They both reach for their flashlights in their jackets, switch them on and Mulder is already frenetically hitting the service button. She strains to hear.
“Hello?? Anybody down there?”
Nobody but the FBI’s most unwanted? She thinks. She bites her tongue. The situation is all but funny. Mulder presses the first floor button again. Three times. Maybe more. “It won’t do any good,” she says gently, pulling out her cellphone.
“We’re stuck,” he exclaims.
“It looks that way,” she agrees.
Mulder directs his light over to her feet, then to the opening panel on the ceiling. Scully can hear a distant grating sound. Squeaking, squealing and creaking. Are they safe here? These baleful noises are not coming from the elevator wires, now, are they? She looks up worryingly and puts the phone to her ear.
“Yes sir, hi. [ … ] Yes, Mulder got Agent Michaud just now, but we’re currently stuck in an elevator at the Downtown Dallas’s Bank of America. [ … ] Thank you, sir.”
Mulder jumps like a basketball player, reaching his right arm up in the air for the ceiling panel. And comes up too short by a little. The elevator jiggles when his feet hit the floor again.
Not a good idea. She reaches out a hand to his forearm. “All we have to do is wait.”
She sinks to her knees against the wall while Mulder pushes the button firmly again. Nothing. He pushes it again and again. Still nothing.
“Mulder,” she calls quietly to stop him.
“Dammit!” He eases backward against the wall opposite to Scully.
“You’re not claustrophobic, are you, Mulder?” She asks with an alarmed voice. She blazes her light over to him.
“I’ve never been in that situation before, but I don’t think so.” He kneels against the wall.
“Hey, don’t act like you’re surprised,” she humors, trying to cheer him up.
“What do you mean?”
“You did say bad hair day.” As soon as she says the words, she sees panic rise in his eyes and she regrets she said them. She leans forward, bracing her hand on the floor, and reaches for his knee with her other hand. “Hey,” she whispers, “don’t turn this into a catastrophic movie in that imaginative head of yours.”
An uncomfortable metallic squeal penetrates the walls of the compartment again, making them look up. Mulder stands again and tries the service button once more. When there is no response, he hits his clenched fist against the wall.
Whether it’s Mulder’s reaction or the situation they are in, Scully starts to feel very uneasy and a shiver runs down her spine. The constant rasping metallic humming is getting the better part of her. Of her rationality. She closes her eyes to try and relax her breathing.
There is no reason to panic. Yet.
Suddenly the elevator quakes. It lasts less than a second but it's enough for Scully to let out a small scream in alarm and flutter her eyes wide open. The elevator has dropped one foot or so. She feels butterflies in her stomach. Not the good butterflies she’s sometimes felt while thinking about Mulder, not the ones she has known in her youth when she has gone on a rollercoaster either. Mulder trips as he steps on her.
“Dammit,” he repeats, this times with more alarm than annoyance. “Come on, stand up,” he urges her, reaching out his hands to her.
Thud. Squeal. The metal creaks and whines again. He keeps her hand in his and they lean against the wall. Their flashlights lay on the floor, still on, reflecting their lights against the steeled off-white walls.
“We can’t let fear and panic overrun us, Mulder.” He squeezes her hand and looks at her, speechless. “Skinner told me he was calling security. And I’m sure he has. They’re probably working on it this moment.”
He nods softly. He seems a bit lost. “What if —”
“No what-ifs, Mulder.” He closes his eyes. She lets go of his hand and gently cups the back of his neck, looking around them. “Everything’s going to work out. Think of something else.”
Mulder opens his eyes, looks at her. Be strong, she orders to him inwardly, looking into his eyes. I need you to be strong. He takes a deep breath and the next second, he drops her hand and pulls desperately at the compartment doors, trying to slide his fingers in between them and struggling to push the doors open.
“Open, goddamnit!” He yells. He kicks. He hits. He is in despair.
“Mulder, stop!” She pleads, reaching for his shoulder and turning him to her. Squeal. She cups his nape again with one hand while the other nervously strokes the little cross at the base of her neck and she leans her forehead against his. “You need to stay calm,” she whispers, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
A loud metal snap resonates through the elevator, and it suddenly drops for several floors then stops.
“Oh my God,” she exhales as she looks at the floors panel.
The number 67 blinks. Tears threaten behind her eyelids.
They stand still and remain silent a moment, forehead to forehead. Eventually Mulder pulls back just enough to linger a long kiss on her forehead. Then he pulls back again. She instantly misses the warmth, the wet softness and the comfort of his lips on her skin. She fights to push back her tears.
He cups her neck, tenderly thumbing her jaw near her ear, and looks at her deeply. A single tear finally breaks free and rolls down her cheek. She smiles sadly at him as he wipes the drop away. As she stares back into his intense gaze, she can’t hear the uncomfortable noises around anymore. She can only hear the loud pounding of her heart.
Their eyes locked to one another, their mouths slightly parted, they lean in toward each other slowly. His large hand covers the whole side of her neck and she feels her heartbeat pulsing into it. As their lips connect, barely brushing at first, a jolt of electricity runs through her, from her toes to her hair. With more desperation that she’s ever felt, the touch of his lips on hers shoots lust straight through her. She feels the butterflies again. The good ones. Melting. She opens her mouth to him with a soft moan, feeling her heart sinking into him.
She grabs a handful of his hair and he hastily pulls her up in his arms. She locks her ankles around his back and grasps the back of his neck as he crushes her back against the wall, kneading his splayed open hands onto her buttocks. She pulls at his nape, angling their faces to deepen the kiss. He slides his tongue into her mouth and they start exploring the wet reassuring sweetness. She fiercely strokes his tongue with hers with a sudden passion. She feels alive. The minute before she had doubt but now, she is alive again. His body tightens at the feel of her soothing responsiveness. She already feels the strength of his arousal. He squeezes her ass harder and pushes more weight against her, pressing himself closer to her and making it impossibly hard to breathe. She can’t care less and she tells him so by crossing her ankles tighter. He groans in her mouth when she rocks her hips against his groin. It’s like they have never needed each other more than this very moment. Not with such intensity. He strokes her tongue. He sucks it. He nips it with his teeth. Oh God, it’s hot in here again. His hands are burning her butt. Any additional combusting degree and they might melt and fuse into one sole body. Oh and this scent. She is intoxicated with his fragrance. Whatever the hell he smells … Sweat and arousal? His mouth tastes so good and his body is so strong. She can’t breathe …
He breaks the kiss to catch his breath. “Oh my God, Scully,” he breathes, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Why did we need a death threat to make sense of ourselves and come to this glorious moment? She tenderly strokes the back of his head, trying to settle her own heart down.
He’s trembling. “My legs are shaking. What are you doing to me?” He nuzzles her neck and pushes her face sideways with his nose to finally press his lips behind her ear.
Now she’s quivering too. He carefully unpins her from the wall and lays her down, hovering over her, kneeling between her legs. He braces his hands on the floor and looks down at her at an arm's length, breathing hard.
“Scully —”
She puts her forefinger to his mouth. There is something desperate that she hates. No matter how good it feels to be with him. She needs to go back to her senses. She needs to believe that this whole situation is crazy. Insane. Unthinkable. “I want you to believe,” she whispers. “I want you to believe we’re going to get out of this.” If he is to say goodbye, she isn’t ready to hear it. She closes her fist over his tee and pulls him down. She needs another blissful kiss.
“I can't believe you're telling me this.” He bends down and adjusts his position onto his elbows, framing and stroking her face with his hands, and responds eagerly to her demand, pressing his eyes shut as he kisses her again. She closes hers too. The kiss is long, deep, desiring. She winds her arms around his neck and clings at him, tightly.
“Agents!” A man yells behind the walls.
“Yes!” They yell back in unison. Mulder gets to his feet and pulls Scully up.
“Move away from the —”
Before they can hear the end of his sentence, there is another brisk and crying squeal and the elevator drops down. The flashlights roll on the floor while they fall back down. Scully shuts her eyes. The sudden lack of gravity brings her stomach up into her throat.
“Scully,” she hears him yell. Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. She nervously strokes her cross again as the metal keeps screaming in their ears. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. She feels Mulder wrap her shoulders and squeeze her hand. It stops. The noise. The falling. All of it. Abruptly. Roughly. As if an invisible force has grabbed the treacherous slipping wire. They are pushed hard to the floor as if they weigh a ton.
“You okay?” He asks.
“Yeah,” she breathes, looking up at what floor they have reached. 63. God.
Mulder stands and tries to strip the doors apart again and Scully gets up to help.
“Agents, are you okay?” A man yells across the doors.
“Yes! Get us out of here!” Mulder calls back.
“Move away from the doors!”
Squeal. Oh dear God, please. As they sharply step back against the wall, they hear the roar of a machine and a shower of sparklers jerk through the door, its source drawing a straight and bright line from the floor to the upside end of the door. Mulder quickly turns around, grabs their jackets on the floor and shields Scully with his body, covering his head and shoulders with the clothes. Squeal. She closes her eyes in prayer, taking in the scent and the strength of her partner.
“Are you out of the way?” The man outside calls. “We're gonna smack it down.”
“Yes, do it!” Mulder pulls away from Scully and braces his back against the wall next to her.
After three kicks, the door slams to the floor in a big Boom, revealing to Mulder and Scully half a dozen men and women. When what is left of the door hits the floor, the fifty dollar bill lightly flies up in the car, mimicking Forrest Gump’s feather. Mulder grips Scully’s hand and pulls her out of the compartment. They look back inside with a mixture of shock and relief. Scully’s eyes catch sight of the bill, moving errantly in slow motion. For a second, she wonders if luck, good or bad, had anything to do with any of this.
“Stairs?” Mulder asks.
As she turns around to face him, both grinning, the fifty dollar bill stops its roaming maneuvers at their feet. Scully picks it up and gives it back to Mulder. “You’re buying me cool water and dark chocolate.”
“I won't use this bill though. Not today.”