Title: "Relax" (1/1) 
Author: Saska
Spoilers/References: There seem to be none, except for a very very
minor Tempus Fugit reference.
Classification: V for vignette, MSR because I suppose you could say it
sort of is, H for humor (because at least *I* think it's funny).
Rating: R/NC-17 for sexual content, but not the kind you think.
Distribution: Do not post to ATXC; I'll do it myself.  Archive with
notes and author intact, and please let me know where it goes.
Note: This is the closest you'll get to MSR from me. ;)  The Teledyne
WaterPik Original Shower Massage is available at most retail outlets
for around $40.00.  
Summary: An unusual gift on an unusual holiday produces unusual
results.
Disclaimer: Dana Scully and Fox Mulder are the creations of Chris
Carter & Co., belonging to him, Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny, the
writers, 20th Century Fox, 1013 Productions, etc. and I speak about
them in the most presumptuous of tones.  Of course, I don't get any
money for it, so suing me will only force me to leave my CDs in hock.
Feedback: As Homer Simpson would say, "Mmmm, feedback."


RELAX
by Saska

March 13, 1998, 9:02 a.m.

Mulder pushed open the door of the basement office and faced what
appeared, for a moment, to be a headless Scully.  She sat with her
back to him, head leaned forward as far as it could go, digging her
fingertips into the flesh on either side of her spine.  As he watched,
she heaved a sigh and simply put her forehead down on the desk,
fingers laced behind her neck, like an apprehended criminal.

"Scully?  You okay?"

She sat up and turned her whole body toward him in her chair.  "I fell
asleep last night watching Abbott & Costello.  Now I've got a crick in
my neck that would cripple Hercules."  She sighed and turned back to
the desk, still keeping her head straight forward.

Mulder stepped across the space between them and wrapped one hand
around the back of her neck, squeezing gently.  She jumped at first,
but couldn't turn her head to look at him.  "Mulder?"  she asked, a
bit too breathlessly.

"Relax," he replied.  "I'm good at these things."

/I bet you are,/ she thought to herself.  /Now where did that come
from?/

She mumbled something under her breath, and Mulder stopped instantly,
hands dropping to his sides like a kid found digging in the cookie
jar.  "No," she muttered, "Go on.  Feels good."  And so he complied.

***

March 16, 1998, 9:15 a.m.

"Hey, Scully."  Mulder deposited his overcoat and briefcase on his
desk and dropped into his chair, swiveling to look at her.  She seemed
shorter - actually, it was just that she slouched, and Mulder couldn't
remember ever seeing her slouch before.  "Your neck still bothering
you?"

"It's not as bad as it was on Friday.  I'm just stiff from sitting in
strange positions, turning at the waist to look at things, you know." 
She brushed her hair behind her ear and went back to reading the
report in front of her.

"So," Mulder said as he began unpacking files from his briefcase,
arranging them in his own unfathomable order on his desk, "do you
celebrate St. Patrick's Day?"

Scully looked up at him.  "I hadn't thought about it, I suppose.  I
wear green on St. Patrick's day, so I don't get pinched.  Other than
that, it never struck me as a real *holiday*."

"Sure it's a holiday," he replied.  "An Irish holiday, to boot.  You
are part Irish, aren't you?"

"I suppose so," she exhaled, returning to the report.  "Why do you
ask?"

"No reason, really.  Just wondered."

She looked up at him, but he was already reading.  "I'm amazed you
even know when St. Patrick's Day is," she said before they lapsed into
their morning-paperwork silence.

***

March 16, 1998, 7:45 p.m.

Mulder stood in the entrance to the local Price/Costco, squinting
against the dull glow of the fluorescent lights and marveling at how
the heaters over the warehouse doorway gave off an almost visible
cascade of warm air against the March night.  He showed his store card
with the practiced wrist-flip of someone who flashes badges for a
living, and wandered inside, eyes scanning the software titles and
computer accessories in the shopping area nearest the door.

He wasn't sure what had possessed him to go out and get a St.
Patrick's Day gift for Scully.  Perhaps it was guilt over the
birthdays he'd missed during the first three years of their
partnership; still, it was turning out to be a far bigger pain in the
ass than he'd planned.  Costco was the fifth stop, several hours after
two swanky downtown clothing stores, an antique shop near his
apartment building, and a bookshop where he seemed to have lost time
while perusing the Science Fiction section.  A book would have been
appropriate, if he could have found something he thought she'd like,
rather than something he thought she ought to read.  After all, St.
Patrick's Day wasn't exactly a gift-giving holiday, and it might seem
out of sorts if he gave her a necklace or a pin or something else too
"personal".

He trudged past the computer accessories and started down the
electronics aisle, cursing his stylish loafers and their failure to
protect his feet from the concrete beneath them.  VCRs, cameras,
Nintendo Game Boys... none of it seemed right.  He turned left, into
the appliance section, and was momentarily captivated by the dozen
different varieties of coffee pots that seemed to do everything from
operating themselves to controlling the house lights.  Still, Scully
had a coffee pot, and they had a coffee pot in the office, and he felt
relatively certain that if he gave her one, she'd just put it in the
closet and give it to someone else at Christmas.  "Useful, but
unique.  That's the mantra," he muttered to himself.

It was as he rounded the far end of the aisle and started down the
next that he spotted it: the Teledyne WaterPik Original Shower
Massage.  The blue box sported an intriguing feature list, describing
the 9 different settings of the showerhead.  With all the trouble
she'd been having with her neck, something like this might actually
get used!  He was ready to grab it when he remembered that her
apartment had an old-fashioned clawfoot bathtub with a handheld
shower. Upon closer inspection, though, he discovered that the Shower
Massage was also a handheld device, and came complete with a wall
clamp for storage.  He picked up the box with a grin and headed for
the checkout lines, his feet protesting each step on the warehouse
floor.

***

St. Patrick's Day, 1998, 4:45 p.m.

Scully heaved a sigh that seemed endless as she gathered the files she
wanted to take home with her and stuffed them into her briefcase.  She
cast a glance across at Mulder, deep in thought over something in
Omni, and realized she hadn't ever seen him wear that particular shade
of forest green before.  It brought out the green in his hazel eyes,
and she reflected for the thousandth time that he really was "cute,"
as she'd told her friends when she first started working with him.  If
only he weren't such a freak, she thought, a smile tugging at the
corner of her mouth.  An endearing freak, at least.

As she stood to go, he looked up from the magazine.  "Headed home?"

She nodded, and then winced.  "Maybe I should call a chiropractor.  I
might be late tomorrow morning."

He swung his feet down from the desk and rolled across the floor to
his supply cabinet.  "Wait," he said.  "I have something for you."

Scully raised one eyebrow and attempted to give him a quizzical look,
but instead looked pained as her neck protested the movement.  "I've
got my hands full tonight with these reports, unless there's something
more urgent than closing up this case."

He nodded.  "Definitely more important."  He pulled the rectangular
box out from behind a package of highlighters, holding it in the light
and displaying the metallic shamrock-and-silver wrapping paper. 
"Happy St. Patrick's Day, Scully."

She chuckled.  "You got me a St. Patrick's Day gift?"  This was
definitely strange.

"Sure," he replied.  "See, I didn't forget your birthday.  I just
prefer to celebrate this holiday instead."

She shot him the patented "Uh-huh" ScullyLook and took the package. 
"Can I open it now?"

"Of course.  Otherwise, I'd have had it delivered to your house."  He
smirked.

"All right."  She busied herself with the paper, noting that he'd left
the ends of it much longer on one side than the other and that the
pieces of tape were wrinkled where they'd stuck to themselves.  /Not
an expert at wrapping presents,/ she thought.  /I wonder who usually
wraps them for him?/

"I'm sorry the wrapping is so crude.  Most of the time, I buy stuff
someplace where they'll wrap it for me," he said, smiling at her.

/Uncanny,/ Scully thought, and then blinked rather slowly at the box
in her hand.  "Is this really what it is, or did you just use the
box?"

"It's really a massage showerhead,"  he chuckled.  "I figured it might
help with your neck.  If you want, I can help you hook it up."

She shot him a glare.  "I think I can figure it out," she snapped.

"Just offering to help.  Tell you what," he said, still smiling
faintly.  "Go home and hook it up and use it.  You're too tense.  Why
don't you give me a couple of those files, and I'll write some reports
myself?"

She smiled at him.  "I'll deal with them.  And, um, thank you.  This
was really thoughtful.  I'll give it a try tonight."  She hesitated. 
"I didn't get you anything, you know."

He nodded.  "That wasn't the point.  I'll see you in the morning?"

"Bright and early," she quipped, and exited the basement office with
her briefcase in one hand and the Teledyne WaterPik Original Shower
Massage in the other.

***

St. Patrick's Day, 1998, 8:50 p.m.

Scully sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub, glaring down at the smears
of dirt on its bottom from her shoes.  Her T-shirt was soaked, and she
sucked absently on a nasty scrape the plumber's wrench had given her
when it slipped from her grasp.  It had taken almost an hour to get
the original showerhead off the bathtub faucet.  More than once she'd
considered calling Mulder and taking him up on his offer to install it
for her, but after her response to that the first time, she couldn't
very well let him be right.  So, it was nearly nine o'clock at night,
her shoulders ached from pulling on the plumber's wrench, her bathtub
was filthy, and she was getting chilled in her wet T-shirt, but she
had installed the damned thing herself.  She felt a headache creeping
up from the base of her neck to the top of her skull, and would have
chuckled at the irony of all this effort for a shower massage, had she
not been so completely exhausted and annoyed.

It was then that the telephone rang.  She hauled herself up, stepping
out of the bathtub and searching for the cordless handset.  By the
time she found it in a basket of clean socks, the answering machine
had picked up and she had left damp, faintly muddy footprints across
the hardwood floor.  She scowled and pushed the "talk" button.

"I'm here."

"Scully?"  Mulder.  Who else called her?  "Just thought I'd see if
you'd tried out your new toy yet."

/Toy?/  "No, I just finished hooking it up.  I was about to give it a
whirl."

"Any trouble with it?" He sounded like he was smiling.

"No, not at all," she replied, perhaps a bit too hastily.  "I just
didn't start until I'd finished my reports."

"Oh, good.  Well, I'll let you go.  It might not be a bad idea to call
a chiropractor, too.  I'll cover for you in the morning if you need to
take the time."

"Thanks," she said.  "See you then."

She regarded the drying muddy footprints for a minute, and then pulled
her T-shirt over her head, dropping it next to the laundry basket. 
"This thing had better work," she said to no one in particular, and
returned to the bathroom.

***

She had filled the tub up halfway with hot, vanilla-scented water and
stepped in before lifting the knob to activate the shower.  It came on
with a hiss, splashing suds and droplets across the floor, her towel,
and her bathrobe.  "Damn," she muttered, and reached behind her to
pull the shower curtain around the tub, gasping at the painful protest
her neck waged against the movement.  Ensconced in the pinkish light
from the shower curtain, she twisted the knob to the first massage
setting and put her head on her knees, holding the showerhead against
the base of her neck.

Amazingly, after a few minutes her headache seemed to abate.  The dull
thrumming that sounded in her head from the water on her skin soothed
her, drowning out the noise of cars and people outside the bathroom
window.  She sat up a bit, and directed the spray down a few inches.

Unbidden, the memory of Mulder's hands on her neck rushed in.  Eyes
closed, she saw the hazy image of him reflected in the screen of her
laptop, his face a mask of concentration and concern as he tried to
force the tension out of her protesting muscles.  That *had* been nice
- nicer than the occasional hug or chaste kiss on the forehead.  He'd
restrained himself to her neck, but she could tell he would have
worked wonders on the rest of her muscles as well.

She wasn't really conscious of the fact that her arm had relaxed and
the water now thrummed against her right shoulder blade; her mind was
racing ahead, seeing Mulder shift slightly and begin to knead her
right shoulder.  He pressed his fingers alternately against the muscle
as though playing an exercise on the piano, eliciting both thrills and
relaxation.

Slowly, Scully leaned back, allowing her arm to rest against her knee
with the water beating just below her collarbone.  She settled against
the inflated, shell-shaped bath pillow, a faint smile on her face.

Painted on the back of her eyelids, she was watching herself reflected
in the computer screen, superimposed over the words she had been
typing.  She was leaning back, into Mulder's touch, and he continued
massaging up and over her shoulder, beneath the collar of her blouse,
working his fingertips into the muscles below her collarbone.  His
eyes had closed, and she watched his jaw clench as her shoulders made
contact with his body, shoulder blades resting against his hips.  She
couldn't be sure, but she thought she felt ... something ... pressing
slightly against her spine.  She smiled to herself.

She lifted her arm, and his fingers moved from her shoulder, skirting
her breast and pressing into the flesh of her ribs.  She giggled, not
wanting to let on that she was ticklish, but he obligingly went on,
pausing under her breast and then slowly moving down... down... a
small, startled cry escaped her as his fingers found her center,
relentlessly kneading the flesh of the lips, pressing against her
clit, and teasing at the edge of entering her without actually doing
so.  Soon, she was writhing uncontrollably, her breath shallow.  Water
she had no idea was there sloshed over the sides of the nearly-full
tub and soaked the articles of clothing below.

The force of her orgasm shook her from her stupor.  Scully opened her
eyes as the bright spots in her vision faded, and looked around in
incomprehension at the shower curtains, the brimming bathtub, and the
Teledyne WaterPik Original Shower Massage clutched in her hand,
directed between her legs.

"Oh my god," she breathed.  "Did I just *masturbate*?  Thinking about
*Mulder*?"

***

March 18, 1998, 9:10 a.m.

/Great.  Now I'm late, too.  I'm sure he'll notice./  Scully's heels
clicked on the basement floor as she walked toward the office.  Her
mind raced, knowing she was seconds away from having to face Mulder. 
/It's not like he knows,/ her rational mind suggested.  /But *I*
know!/ the rest of her replied.  /I have to walk into that room, talk
to him for the rest of the day, endure his hand on the small of my
back, and know that I not only fantasized about him, but I had an
incredible orgasm while doing it!/  She reached the door, put her hand
on the knob, took a very deep breath, and went in.

Mulder pointedly looked at the clock before turning to smile at her. 
"Sleep well after your shower?"

/Ohhhhh god.  Get me out of here./

He couldn't be sure, but he thought she looked like she was blushing.

"Yep.  Sure did," she said, far too brightly.

"I've always wanted one of those myself, but I never made the
investment.  You'll have to tell me if you keep using it, or if the
novelty wears off," he said as he turned back to his desk.

Scully stood glued to the spot, staring at him in his dress shirt with
the top button undone and his glasses perched on his nose.  /He
doesn't know!  Don't do something to give it away!/

He was still talking.  "I've always found that endorphins were the
best painkillers.  A good massage, a good run, you know, that kind of
thing, is great for a headache."  He looked up at her innocently.

/He has to know.  Why else would he say that?  Who talks about
endorphins in everyday conversation?!/

"I know my neck," she realized the emphasis she placed on the word
"neck" too late to correct it, "feels quite a bit better, and I'm
certainly glad for that."

"Well, good.  I'm glad that I could help."

/Wait a minute.  He offered to help with the ... installation ... of
that thing more than once.  He called to check and see if it was
working./

Scully's eyes were as wide as saucers.  "Yes, it was very kind of you
to get me something like that."

"Maybe one of these days I'll check it out.  You feed my fish, maybe I
can borrow your shower." He furrowed his brow at her expression.

/He called it a TOY!/ her mind screamed at her.  She could feel the
blush climbing over her cheekbones to her temples.  "Sure," she
managed.  "See if you think you could use one yourself."

/There.  Now, if he laughs at that, you'll know he knows, because
it'll mean he's laughing at himself for thinking about standing in the
shower fantasizing about you./  She had to stop herself from nodding,
vigorously, at her own brilliant plan.

Mulder smiled.  "Oh, I'm *always* tense," he replied.

Scully blinked, rapidly, several times.  "Sorry I'm late," she finally
squeaked as she sat down.

"It's only ten minutes," Mulder replied with a smile.  "Relax."







Feedback keeps me in front of the computer and off of the streets. 
Trust me, you want that.

-- 
Sheryl D. Stover * sstover@ior.com * http://www.ior.com/~sstover/

"Simply put, I want to grow old. Dying does not meet my expectations."
                                            -Pavement