TITLE: "New Millennium: Rushed"
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

CATEGORY: V; MSR; A; H
RATING: Hmmm. One friend said it was definitely an R,
another said it was 'Mature PG-13'. Either way, there are
adult situations, so I guess 'Light R'.
SUMMARY: The honeymoon comes to an end, and our newlyweds
return to work and find themselves dealing with more than
just an X-File.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set during and after "Rush".
Mention of "Field Trip". Part of Vickie's and my "New
Millennium" series. It is set after "New Millennium: The
Jig is Up". There will not be a Mulder POV to this
episode - he's going to give you a guided tour of "The
Goldberg Variation" instead.
ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be
archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer
stay intact.
FEEDBACK: Love it.
THANKS TO: Gerry, Debbie, Mac, Frog, and, of course,
Vickie. And the Betty voters!

The stories in this series are available at my website:
http://tenxffic.iwarp.com
Click on the "New Millennium" banner.

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder
and Scully and all other characters from the show belong
to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox
Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be
gained. Characters not recognised from the show are
Vickie's or mine.


"New Millennium: Rushed"
By Ten

xXx

Dana Scully's apartment
Morning:

I'm in bloom.

Before Mulder and I admitted our love, I was like a rose
locked permanently in bud. But Sleeping Beauty has
awoken.

And after one hundred years of celibacy, she's damn
horny.

Take this last half hour or so. I told Mulder that we
were taking Mom out to brunch and that I was just going
to pop out to buy her some flowers before she arrived.
Mulder nodded and padded over in his bare feet to kiss me
goodbye.

That little peck on the cheek swiftly turned into
monumental sex up against the wall beside my front door.
I'm not quite sure who the instigator was, but basically
we went at it until we couldn't stay upright anymore. Or
something couldn't stay upright anymore and had to let
loose...

Then we were on our knees on the floor, catching our
breath, clinging together, both sated. I was between
Mulder and the wall. Between the rock and the not-so-hard-
anymore place.

Eventually Mulder got me to my feet again and helped me
rearrange and tuck and pull various pieces of apparel
back on or into place. The button on my waistband had
absconded. "Flowers," he reminded me with a smug grin.

"Flowers," I agreed, though if anyone had shown me a
scrubbing brush right then and told me it was a bunch of
roses, I would have been none the wiser.

I popped out of my daze. "My hair!" I went for a mirror,
but Mulder stopped me.

"It's windy out. No one will think your hair is a mess
due to a quickie. Besides, all the action took place well
below the neckline!"

I tried to regain some control. "Stop looking so smug and
pick up your clothes. I don't want Mom slipping on your
silk boxers and cracking her head on the floor."

"I don't think they'd suit her..."

"You KNOW what I mean."

"I HOPE I do, otherwise I don't know Mom as well as I
thought!" He hurried out of my line of fire.

xXx

I have to be careful with the door as I leave. It has
been several days since Skinner busted it up slightly
when misguidedly assuming the screams he could hear from
within were me under attack. Typical ex-marine, just
barging in...

As much as I appreciate his gallantry and understand his
error, Mulder and I would have much rather he found out
about our marriage and relationship via more conventional
means instead of nearly stumbling over our clinched and
naked bodies on my living room floor. Sheesh.

And I guess that after breaking the door, he couldn't
have just snuck out once he realised what he'd stumbled
into.

I'm just glad that our banging against the wall just now
didn't tempt the door into giving up the ghost completely
and revealing all to the neighbours. Mulder tried to fix
the damaged hinge, and since then the door has stood its
ground, but in our line of business and in our desire for
assured privacy, we're getting the door and hinges and
lock completely replaced.

We had our hearing into the Millennium Group case
yesterday, about the use of our weapons and so on. When
it was over and Mulder and I had a moment out in the
hallway alone with Skinner, our boss told me to send him
the repair bills for the door. "Consider it my gift." He
didn't mention the word 'wedding' in case the walls had
ears, but we knew what he meant.

xXx

The flowers have been bought and I'm putting them in a
vase, and the living room is tidy. My back is a little
sore from our session. The twinges from doing it on the
hardwood floor - even with the rug under me as a buffer -
had only just subsided. I may have to insist on limiting
amorous adventures to the bed or sofa (at either
apartment) for the next week or so. However, we're due
back at work in a few days, and if we get a case, we had
better cool it.

I stretch cautiously. Better learn to pace myself. I'm
not as young as I used to be. Then I smile and shake my
head.

"What's so funny?" Mulder asks, coming up behind me.

I indicate the flowers. "I may not be as young as I used
to be, but I've never felt so much in bloom."

Mulder gives me a hug. "And it's great to see." He traces
my lips with a fingertip, making my smile even wider.

There is a knock at the door. Mom's happy face is
encircled by the peephole. I open the door, and although
it doesn't cave in, it does creak alarmingly, like a
death rattle.

Mom's face changes to a look of alarm. "Who kicked down
your door?" I can hear the unspoken - and fully justified
- 'AGAIN' at the end of that sentence. Unfortunately,
I've put her through this scenario more than once. "Are
you two all right?"

"Yes, Mom. Sorry to alarm you. It wasn't what you think.
It was a ... misunderstanding. Come in and have some tea
and we'll tell you about it." The abbreviated version,
naturally. "Then we'll go have brunch."

xXx

Mom looks at me over the lip of her teacup. "So Mr
Skinner now knows about the two of you?"

In flesh-toned technicolour.

I nod. Yet Mom's not worried or upset. She's not even
chuckling at what happened. She's got that look on her
face, that calculating look... Uh oh - she thinks that
now that he knows...

So I hasten to clarify: "He knows, but we're still
keeping this under wraps, so to speak. He's advised us it
would be best."

She can't hide her disappointment. "For how long?"

I can just tell that my husband wants to say, "Until we
get sprung doing it on the desk in the basement - or in
the bullpen." But he restrains himself and reaches over
for another cookie.

Mom puts down her cup and reaches into her handbag.
"Well, now is as good a time as any," she says
cryptically. As Mulder and I exchange glances, she
produces what appears to be a bank passbook. When she
hands it over to me, I realise that's exactly what it is.

"Mom?" I question. The cover and corners have been worn
down with handling. I'm hesitant to open it.

"My wedding present. Actually, from your father just as
much as from me." She indicates that I should have a
look.

Mulder's hand rests on my knee and he moves slightly
closer to me. I open the passbook. It is for an account
that used to be in both Mom and Dad's name, which was
then transferred completely into Mom's when Ahab died. My
eyes skim down the details, which are mostly deposits.
When I reach the final figure, I blink. "Mom, there's
just over fifteen thousand dollars in here! You can't...
We can't possibly accept this."

Mom calmly holds a finger up to halt any further
protests. "Your father and I started that account when
you were about three years old. We decided it would be a
good way to ensure we'd be ready for when you girls got
married." She fingers her cup and I know she is thinking
about Melissa.

I can feel Mulder's hand tighten on my knee. But Mom
isn't tearing up. Her eyes are wistful though.

"Mag - Mom," Mulder hastily corrects himself. He
swallows. "I'm sorry. When I tricked Scully into going to
Connecticut with me, I didn't think how much I would be
depriving you of. Both of you." Mulder turns to me. "You
didn't get a chance to get married in a nice dress or
have your family there to witness it," then he turns to
Mom, but he can't meet her eyes, "and you didn't get to
have the fun of planning a big wedding for..." He can't
bring himself to say 'for your only surviving daughter'.

"Fox, no!" Mom's voice is gentle as she reaches across
for his hand, then she decides that's not enough and
comes around to hug him. "I think you did what you had to
do in the circumstances. I'm *so glad* you did what you
did. The end result was worth it. And I know that times
have changed. The boys paid mostly for their own
weddings. And of course Tara and Jane were working too.
But I want to give this to you both. I'm not giving you
this to make an unsubtle hint or make you feel guilty,
though a renewal of vows would be lovely. This can pay
for a reception - when the time is right - or a honeymoon
or towards a house. Otherwise I'll spend it all on tacky
lawn ornaments." We all grin at the threat.

"But Mom," I point out, "There must be things that you
could spend this on. For yourself. A nest egg for your
future."

Mom isn't to be put off. "I've been careful. And I always
knew I had this on hand to offer if something major
happened. A few years ago, this was the money I was
referring to when you were so sick, honey."

I remember now. Mom was worried that the bills my medical
insurance wasn't covering would drain my finances dry.
Her offer of help and my 'trying to be tactful' refusal
of it had us teetering on the edge of a major argument...

Mulder puts his arm around me, breaking me out of the
past. We look at each other contemplatively. Then I lean
my head against Mulder's shoulder and say, "You'll get a
white wedding, Mom. Or at least pretty close. At some
stage down the track. Thank you."

She kisses me, then my husband. "I'll arrange the
paperwork for the transfer into an account of your own."
She returns to her seat and her tea with an air of
satisfaction.

xXx

Scully's apartment
Tuesday, January 18th
Just after 7am:

There is a gentle pounding from the other side of the
bathroom door. "Sculleee!" The plaintive puppy dog voice.
"I know it's our first day back at work and all, but if
you don't let me into the bathroom NOW, we are going to
be LATE! I promise I won't pull you into the shower and
ravish you..."

I knew we should have spent last night at our separate
apartments. I knew it... But being next to him each
night, holding him... We had a day's extra grace from the
inevitable yesterday due to the Martin Luther King public
holiday, but time and tide -

"Scully!" The hinges rattle. "I'm gonna pick the lock!"

I confront the mirror once more, then swear and reach
over to let Mulder in. Then I pick up the blowdryer
again.

Mulder eyes it as he comes in. Ever since we became
lovers, my hair has gone wavy, almost curly. Don't ask. I
have no idea. I just have to get it straight again before
we go. Mulder shakes his head at all my effort. "Just say
that you got it permed!" Then he looks at my pantsuit.
"Black. I thought you were going to lighten it up a
little."

He sees my stricken expression and the way that the
blowdryer is wobbling in my hand, though I'm tempted to
bludgeon him with it. "Dana, it's going to be okay." He
puts his arms around me and rubs a hand up and down my
back. "Remember all the other things we've got past: the
division being closed, injuries, illness, kidnappings...
We've been able to walk into the office after leaves of
absence and go back to work. At least this time something
*good* happened."

That's very true. All of it. "I know. We won't let this
interfere with work. I'm just afraid that someone's going
to realise or we'll let slip or I'll smile too much or
grab your hand without thinking." I take a deep breath
and gesture at my dark-clad body. "I'm wearing black to
'make' myself act the same way as I used to. To subdue
myself. Preserve the facade. I'll change into something
more cheerful tonight."

"You don't have to wear the rings if you think they'll be
seen." Mulder gently pushes aside the left wing of my
collar to reveal the length of chain my shirt conceals.
My engagement and wedding rings rest at the end of the
loop, between my breasts. Personally, I'd rather have the
rings proudly on my finger and Mulder between my breasts
- argh! I've got to stop thinking like that!

"I'm always going to have them with me, Mulder. I'm your
wife. Now I'll let you get ready, and we'll get this show
on the road."

xXx

We have a meeting with Skinner. I know he is going to be
assessing us carefully over the next days and weeks, to
see if our new level of partnership is going to ruin our
professionalism.

I meet Skinner's eyes squarely and answer relevant
questions with ease. I will not let my brain replay the
sight of him staring down at me on my living room floor.
I saw a lot on his face within a second: concern that I
had been assaulted, realisation and relief that this was
something consensual, then embarrassment, sheer amazement
and disbelief that I, Dana Katherine Scully, had just got
laid, recognition of who my co-conspirator was (at that
point Skinner glared at the back of Mulder's head as if
to say, "You're crushing one of my best agents there,
mister."), and some expression that blended annoyance,
amusement and ... disappointment?

Not that I cared. I was pissed. I'd just had a hell of a
good time - physically, mentally and spiritually - and I
wanted to throttle Skinner for interrupting it, even post-
fireworks.

Memories are made of this...

Anyway - being back in the suit and in the building and
just on the job - though we haven't got a new case yet -
fortunately seems to subvert any 'wifely' behavior on my
part. But then again, rumours have run rife for years
about our relationship and our behavior towards each
other. So I guess we're covered if we slip up.

xXx

I'm driving to join Mulder in Pittsfield now. We've got a case.
Time to prove in the field what we are proving in the office. And
time to get back to our work.

The case... A police deputy was beaten to death by an invisible
assailant, according to the young man, Tony Reed, who is accused
of his murder. Yes, well. Mulder thinks the boy is innocent.

Then I see the deputy's body. Or rather, what has been done to his
head. Smashed in with such force that his glasses were driven
right through his brain to the back of his skull.

Mulder, of course, suspects something paranormal is afoot. I
diligently bring up scientific theories as to how the hell a
teenage boy wielding a police flashlight could have possibly done
this with a single blow. PCP influence. A stimulant. Adrenaline.
Eating his Wheaties...

The usual perfunctory dance.

After Mulder and I were rescued from slow digestion from that
fungus in Brown Mountain, North Carolina, and once the
hallucinations wore off, we had a long talk. It was about Mulder's
pre-case comment that he thought he had earned the benefit of the
doubt instead of me always shooting his theories down from the
outset. I admitted that I may come across as disbelieving even
after all that I have seen, that sometimes it looked like my sole
pleasure in life is to poke holes in his theories and cases, and I
was sorry if I went too far. A mixture of habit and knowingly
chaining myself to science to give him the freedom to fly, but
without going too far and melting his wings with the sun.

And perhaps I also got crabby sometimes because seven years of
not.... Um. Well, there was a certain frustration in working with
him all that time and longing and not touching or getting any
action...

We cleared the air and came to an understanding. We may have to
have that talk again after this case, or even before it is over,
just in case Mulder thinks I'm going to loosen my chains because
we are married and just in case I tighten the chains for that very
same reason. I don't want to go overboard, either way. Will have
to use this as a test run.

That's not all we have to deal with.

At the police station, a pretty blonde girl bumps into Mulder. Or
perhaps it was the other way around. She smiles, and who could
blame her, but I want to whip my rings out of my cleavage and
brandish them in front of her face and say, "MINE!" and ban Mulder
from looking at any other woman ever.

Mulder looks at me, amused. "What?"

Sigh. I need coffee.

The girl was there to visit Tony Reed. I later find out that her
name is 'Chastity' Raines. Wishful thinking indeed, Mr and Mrs
Raines.

Though when I step into the interrogation room and see Tony Reed,
he does have the frame of a reed. *This* is the person who
crumpled the deputy's head in like it was paper mache?

Mulder tells him that this is his "lucky day for visitors" as he
introduces me, which means he did notice that girl. But my husband
is putting me in the same category as her. Is that good or bad? I
brush the thought aside. There is a case to solve.

My partner keeps trying to extract information from Tony. "Come
on, you were cruising, right? I mean, a small town like this,
you're not exactly living La Vida Loca. I know - I grew up in
Dullsville, too, you know. Nothing to do but drive and park."

Did I just feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of that?

Tony looked at him belligerently. "How long ago was that?"

Soon Mulder and I are back out in the corridor. I say, "I'm
inclined to agree that Tony Reed did not commit murder, but I
think he saw the person who did, and he may be covering up for
him."

Mulder thinks there was a force at work, like a poltergeist. My
partner may be soaring towards the sun again or towards the truth,
but we *need* to check out a few other possibilities as well.
Preferably first. Time for me to reach up there and not ruffle his
feathers unduly, but stroke them in just the right direction to
serve himself, me and the case.

"Mulder... Rather than spirits... can we at least start with
Tony's friends?" I put on a slightly coy tone, look up from under
my lashes and play with my husband's tie. With the angle that we
are on against the wall, no one can see the gesture except the two
of us. "Please? Just...for me? I think there's one person in
particular I'd like to talk to."

From the look on Mulder's face, I'm not going to have to risk
arrest by playing with anything else in order to get my way. But
next time I want the garbage taken out...

xXx

Adams High. A high school like countless others. I look at the
bustle and all the young faces and the couples walking hand in
hand and exchanging secrets, girls wearing their guy's letter
jackets. And I think about myself at this age, so studious, so non-
social. I went through so much of my life before Mulder and I ever
met. It seems hard to believe. All those years. I wonder what it
would have been like if we had been childhood or college
sweethearts.

Upon being questioned about the deputy's death and her and Tony's
role in it, Chastity has an attitude as subtle as her purple and
yellow school jacket. I have my suspicions about her, and not
because she says she 'remembers' Mulder from earlier on. Then her
boyfriend, who is the sheriff's son, Max Harden, interrupts. Youth
doesn't have the respect for authority that it once had. If at
that age an adult had produced federal ID and asked me questions,
I would have told them whatever they wanted to know.

All Max said, apart from telling us to basically go to hell, was
that I "must have been a Betty back in the day".

Like I wasn't already well aware that I'm old, speeding towards
forty.

xXx

The flashlight used to kill the deputy has gone missing from the
police station. When Mulder gets Chuck Burks to investigate a blur
on the surveillance video, I tell Chuck I hope we haven't wasted
his time on a glitch. Being the sceptic is a delicate act. Again -
don't let Mulder rise too high about something like this, because
picking him up after a crash is never pretty. But hope this yields
some proof for him. Us.

Chuck goes into the sort of things he would expect to pick up if
this blur was spirit activity: light streaks, auras, atmospheric
disturbances, translucent figures.

What we apparently have though, is purple and yellow streaks...

And news that a teacher has somehow been pinned to the wall by a
table and a chair at Adams High. Halfway up the wall. A teacher
who had just had an altercation with Max, but Max was across the
other side of the room when the teacher was killed. Or was he?

Teenagers moving faster than a flash? How?

xXx

Max and Chastity are dead. It happened in a cave in the woods - a
place that the unfortunate deputy had nearly discovered, and it
cost him his life.

I do the autopsies and announce to Mulder that somehow Chastity
shot Max in the back from one angle and yet was killed herself by
the same bullet when it came out through his chest. Tony told us
she deliberately made it a murder/suicide. She didn't want to go
back to being a normal teenager. Once she had 'tasted the rush' of
being able to move so fast, nothing else was good enough, even
though the toll it took on the human body was increasingly
debilitating.

Mulder believes the cave had something in it that gave the
teenagers this ability, this 'buzz'. Tony refused to elaborate on
that point. Geologists found nothing concrete - or at least
nothing they let on - and did some concreting of their own,
filling in the cave as a precautionary measure. By the time Mulder
found out, it was too late to stop them. He's not a happy camper,
and neither am I.

Deaths that we couldn't prevent or adequately solve. No firm proof
of how.

Tony is alive, but although his body was not put under as much
strain by the 'rush' as Max's and Chastity's and it appears that
he can go back to being a normal kid, it is his soul that is
devastated by what has happened. I can still see him cradling
Chastity's body in his arms. Life and youth and love lost.

If the cave is the key, then why haven't Mulder or I been
affected? Did the power 'go'?

Mulder's reply was, "What if we're too old? Well, you said that
teenagers differ from adults chemically and physiologically. What
if whatever is in that cave affects only them?"

The case is over, the report has been typed up and handed in and
Skinner seems satisfied. Now it's Friday night. We've just got
home.

I've found myself looking in mirrors a lot. Not brandishing the
blowdryer, but despairing about any hair that looks like it might
even be thinking about adopting a grey hue and examining my face
for signs of wear.

Also flicking through my old photo album covering the teenage
years and my twenties.

Thursday night I dreamt of meeting Mulder at college. A big
wedding right after graduation. Children a few years later. Big
noisy meals around the table.

There was a time for Betty to have her day, and I do believe that
I've missed it. It has passed me by in a rush.

A few times in my youthful past I thought I did have something,
'my day', or was about to, but soon realised my mistake.

Mulder asks me what's wrong, and I can't articulate it. I don't
know what I'm searching for. I have the man of my dreams, but
instead of being happy, I'm just seeing all the time we've lost.
Now he's hesitant to approach me. But he does.

He puts down the casual clothes he was going to change into.
"You're regretting it, aren't you?"

"I don't really know. All those years..."

"I've taken a lot from you."

I look at him, startled. "What?

"Seven years of a whole lot of bad things happening to you. It's a
big chunk out of anyone's life... What I've taken."

Realisation hits. My husband is holding himself accountable for
every line, every loss. I'm not the only one having a slight mid-
life crisis. "Mulder, I'm not - this is not me regretting *us*.
I'm just...a bit wistful that I didn't meet you earlier, that I
was a Betty back in the day, instead of now. Not that being a
Betty is anything much."

He blinks. "Wait a minute - you're talking about what Max said to
you? Which Betty do you think he was referring to?"

"Betty from the Archie comics, I guess. A female nerd. Or Betty
Rubble."

"Why does it have to be an insult?" Mulder reasons. "Sounded like
a compliment to me. Betty Cooper sure was sexy and smart. Always
had a crush on her instead of Veronica. Veronica was too shallow.
Phoebe-ish."

My turn to blink. "So Max was giving me a backhanded compliment?"

"That's about the only way the teenage male knows how to give one.
And perhaps he meant Bettie Page. Now she was an undisputed
looker."

I think she was an old-time movie actress or pin-up queen. "Bettie
Page... I barely know who she was, so how on earth would Max? Hey,
wasn't she often depicted in bondage gear?"

My husband grins and shrugs. "Sometimes... But bondage gear or
not, Scully, you're a Bettie Page pin-up EVERY day. A world class
stunner." To him, that is the truth. He may be a little biased
towards me, but so am I in regard to him. "I'm so lucky that I'm
the guy who you chose to be with for the rest of your life."

Suddenly I start to feel better. Those simple but heartfelt words
are cutting through my overreactions. "Luck had nothing to do with
it, G-man. A lot of love and, as much as we both believe in an
amount of free will, some destiny in there too." I look at my
husband, who despite all he has gone through is alive and smiling
and with me. "My years of study and 'waiting' weren't wasted. I've
used that knowledge countless times on our cases and to save
lives, including yours. You didn't steal seven years of my life -
you've expanded them in ways that no one else ever could. We
didn't meet until I was in my late twenties, but we DID meet, and
eventually we DID get together."

And that is the most important thing. I am glad with the way
things turned out, though I do have pangs of regret about issues
like my barrenness and the cancer.

I grin. "Though I kind of wish my back didn't ache after we do it
on the floor."

"Babe, doing it on a hardwood floor has repercussions at any age."

"True."

"Come here."

I immediately and willingly enter my husband's arms. After a long
hug, he steps back a little and cups my face, studying it with
reverence and relief.

I feel a rush. A rush of love so strong that it would put whatever
those teenagers tapped into in its shade.

That's right. I'm in bloom. And even a late starter can have a
damn good time. I probably couldn't have blazed this brightly any
earlier. I have the capacity now, thanks to this man. This is our
time now.

We are kissing. Years of angst and conformity are vanishing from
me. One of my hands plays with Mulder's tie, the other matching
the movements down lower. I think I could get him to do anything
for me right now, not just take out the garbage.

And I'm sure I am going to see purple and yellow streaks myself
very soon.

Taking even firmer hold of Mulder's tie, I pull him into the
bedroom.

There I plunder Mulder's shirt, seeking his skin. "As Chuck Burks
said, I dig a mystery with layers..."

"I'll show you my theory if you show me yours," is Mulder's ragged
reply.

Recalling Chuck's results about the identity of the video camera
blur, I can't help pressing up against Mulder and remarking about
a certain spot, "Hmmm, I've cross-referenced this shape's
silhouette against every organic and inorganic object in the
Library of Congress database. The closest match was a Soviet Acula-
class submarine!" Certainly appropriate.

"Well, it's preparing for a crash dive!"

And I'm ready for it. I may not be a teenager, but I certainly
feel like it, and everything about me is changing. My body and
brain chemistry is in a state of unparalleled upheaval. An
adrenaline response which is known to enable feats of near-
superhuman strength.

And Mulder definitely eats his Wheaties...

I see light streaks, auras and atmospheric disturbances, though
not any figures, translucent or otherwise. One solid Skinner that
other time was quite enough.

Then the lights and explosions have gone, but what is left in my
arms I'm not letting go of in a hurry.


THE END