Title: Twelve Beads Author: Zuffy Email: zuffynuffy@yahoo.com Website: http://Zuffy.tripod.com/index.html Rating: H for hot Category: MSR Spoilers: *all things. My date: November 2002 Archive: Yes, but keep my name on it and let me know where it is, please. Synopsis: IVF never happened. Disclaimer: Not mine. I don't even own the beads. Twelve beads In the past few months the ground had shifted beneath them. Or maybe it had shifted long before and the two of them hadn't noticed. Maybe they'd been too preoccupied with poltergeists, aliens, conspiracies, the risk of death, and the various wounds that come from trying to read another's heart. There had always been an uncanny communication between them, despite their disagreements, despite their yin/yang, salt/pepper, paper/plastic dance. One would know when the other was in danger, but maybe that was just because they were both in perpetual danger and a part of their brains was always stalled at the dark possibilities, stopped cold, waiting for the light to turn green. The light in their lives turning green. There's an original thought. Scully opened the cupboard and took out two plates. Lately, the prescience had taken the form of knowing when he'd show up. Or maybe it had taken the form of Mulder knowing when she wanted him to appear at her door, looking a bit sheepish, a bottle of wine or a bag of takeout in his hand and a case file tucked under his arm, the pretext of the visit. He'd scan the apartment quickly to see if there were any signs that his presence was unwelcome. And after computing what he saw, there'd be a quick satisfied sparkle in his eyes. She liked to catch that look. Smiles were not the normal currency between them. This new pattern - the nonsurprising surprise visits - had started months ago, well before their night at his place two weeks earlier. The night when she'd told him about Daniel and later he'd confessed that his sole interest in crop circles was to lie in the moonlight with her. , so labeled because it wasn't obvious to her that it would be repeated. Her psychic powers had their limits. Still, she did know when to buy two steaks, triple the portion of rice, put beer in the fridge or buy a bottle of wine with a real cork. Tonight she knew to spice up the tomato sauce. When the sauce bubbled and stained her blouse, the first clean top she found in her drawer was a low black scoopneck that she hadn't seen in years. Scully had recently started to believe in signs. She'd just set out the forks and spoons, when the knock came. "Your timing is uncanny, Mulder." She swung the door wide. He paused, hands in his pockets, shoulder against the door jam, his eyes flicking over her and freezing for a half second on her neckline, before following her inside. "The scent of garlic tells me that someone's planning an attack on vampires..." "I am most decidedly not planning an attack on vampires." "Party pooper." He'd scanned the room and was loosening his tie. He must have come straight from the office. "Am I intruding?" "What would you do if I said yes?" A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes. She'd forgotten how thin his confidence could be. She touched him on the hand. "There's something I want you to look at. It's on the table. Over by the couch." She went into the kitchen to drop the pasta in the water. He took off his jacket and threw it across the back of a chair before lifting the top of the long white box. He held up a necklace and let it swing from his hand. The beads were old red coral, cut into uneven rounds, some chipped, all smoothed from wear and handling. Every inch or so, someone had hung a long silver bead with an ivory colored tip. The silver was old, too, hammered into rough cylinders by some unknown craftsman. The tips - plugs actually - were marked with fine cracks that had turned brown with age. "Where did you get this?" he asked. "It's not from you?" "Me? No. I think my sense of tact is marginally better than that." He often made mysterious remarks which she would file away until the meaning became clear. "It came in the mail, no return address," she said. "You opened an unmarked box?" "I thought it was from you." A gift to mark The Night. Was that too much to infer from a small, haphazardly wrapped box? "Well, at least it wasn't a bomb or anthrax or worse." He shook it gently. The beads clicked against each other. "You know what it is, don't you?" "It looks like... it reminds me of those shark tooth necklaces you can buy in Florida. Or bullets. I guess it looks mostly like bullets. Seems like an odd idea for jewelry." "No. Not bullets. This silver's too soft and the tip is something carved, not ivory I think. Yak bone, probably." "Yak bone?" Amazing, the places his mind roamed. "Well, fine. I don't need any more bullets in my life." She pulled a box of salt from the shelf and threw a handful into the water. "Not a bad guess though. Penetration requires a streamlined shape." "What are you talking about?" "This is a fertility talisman." "Fertility?" He shook it again so the rods dangled and jumped. Damn it, now she'd never be able to look at it without blushing. "The summer I was fifteen, Mom sent me to Washington for 'bonding' with my Dad. I spent a lot of time at the Natural History Museum scoping out every damn display of sexual customs I could find. Chastity belts, penis sheaths, Spanish fly, you name it, the case has my nose print on the glass." "You read National Geographic, too, I suppose." "Just for the interviews." He walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter next to her. "I'd say this comes from Nepal, Tibet, back country, not the city." He rolled one of the amulets in his fingers. "There's probably a prayer sealed inside here." "Your command of the arcane never ceases to amaze." "Not so arcane, is it? Just look at this thing. You can imagine the man who made it, heating the metal, pounding it out, and bending it around a stick. He looks up from his work and he sees kids chasing around, the neighbor's laundry hanging out, mountains in the distance. The smell of wood smoke from his fire. He knows that someone is counting on his skill." She snorted softly. It had looked old and dirty in the box. A scavenger piece. Unsettling. Back room of a junk store. But in his hand, the silver gave off a warm glow and the coral showed an inner blaze. "You always tell a good story, Mulder." She stirred the pot. "I wonder how many babies came from this necklace," he said. "You can't possibly believe in magic beads." "Something like this exerts a powerful psychological effect on people who do believe." "Well, my problem doesn't happen to be psychological." She regretted her words as soon as she said them, but there they were, the reminder of her abduction and the secret he kept about her ova. She couldn't think of why she'd brought her private grief into the conversation. "I know that." He touched her cheek. "I'm sorry." "It wasn't your fault." "If I hadn't been working on the Duane Barry case..." "You don't have to make everything into a personal guilt trip. Things happen. I knew the job was dangerous." "But not depriving you of..." "The pasta's going to boil over." She busied herself with the pot, scooping out a long noodle and biting into it. It was still hard in the center. "For what it's worth, Scully, we're in the same boat on this." "Really? What did they do to you?" Her voice sounded sharp, even to her. "Nothing. But because of what they did to you." "You're not stuck with me." "I'm not? Tell me what I have to do so I can be stuck with you." It was as much an answer as a question. A dare. He lifted her chin with his fingers. His eyes were dark, challenging, pulling her into an unknown sea, out past the breakwater where they had dallied before. She could barely breathe. Then all at once his face relaxed. "I don't think it would be a good idea for my genes to go marauding through history unless they're on a very tight leash, Agent Scully." The moment to declare herself had passed, the moment when she might have wrapped her feelings in words and sent them forth to embrace his, Now the two of them were back on their terra firma. Thrust/parry. Action/reaction. Thank you, Isaac Newton. She went over to the refrigerator and stared inside, trying to remember what she wanted. "So, you think someone sent that to me as a bad joke?" "Maybe it has nothing to do with you personally. This is old enough to be a museum piece. I wouldn't be surprised if it was in the FBI database." "Why send me stolen goods?" She pulled out the salad she had made earlier. "You're in the directory. Somebody has a twinge of conscience maybe. Who knows? It's probably just random chance that it came to you." "Fine, I'll check in the morning." "I think you should wear it." His words were like a rock tossed in a pond. She put the salad on the table and straightened the silverware. She waited a second before walking back to the stove. He straightened at her approach. "Mulder, you just told me it was stolen property." "Don't you ever look at stuff in a museum and wonder what it would be like to touch it or stick it in your living room or hang it around your neck? Wouldn't you put on the Hope diamond if you had a chance?" "The Hope diamond brings bad luck." "Okay, so not the Hope diamond. Look, maybe objects like this need to come out of their cases once in a while. They draw their power from human contact and if they spend too much time sealed behind glass, they lose their ability to awe." "Next you'll be telling me that the necklace broke out on its own." "Maybe it did." Mulder's deadpan shifted to a smile. He stretched the necklace across the palm of his hand and straightened the long beads. "This would look beautiful on you." "Mulder." "Come on. Who does it hurt?" "I don't believe in magical necklaces, especially..." "Of course you don't. That's why there's no risk in wearing it." He brushed his thumb across the hollow of her throat. "I want to see it on you." Was it Mulder logic that won out or was it the catch in his voice, the sureness of his touch? Or maybe she'd just tired of holding out against the forbidden and its secret thrills. "Okay, just during dinner. Then it goes back in its box." "That's my girl." He spun her half around, draped the necklace over her chest and hooked it in back. His hands rested on her shoulders and his thumbs toyed with the lace edge of her blouse. His head came down close to hers and she felt his breath and then his lips pressing against her neck. After a minute, he turned her around. "It's perfect, Scully." His voice was soft. Fresh from his hand, the necklace was warm and the beaten silver felt silky against her skin. It draped perfectly across her breastbone, surprisingly light for its size. She raised her fingers to it, first numbering the bits of coral, then encountering one of the long beads. She rolled it between her fingers, then stroked the length, feeling the minute dents and imperfections that added to its beauty. A seam ran from the base to the end, hammered almost flat, but still a slender ridge to explore. The softly rounded tip felt glossier, slicker than the rest. The slight cracks she had seen were imperceptible to the touch. She wondered what characters spelled out the prayer inside. His eyes were riveted on her fingers, following their movement. He swept one hand across her cheek and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Keep doing that. Keep rubbing just like that, along the side, across the top. It's what the necklace wants." His voice had dropped to a whisper and he leaned down to kiss her where the blouse dipped, sweeping one hand softly across her breast. His face was slightly rough with evening stubble. She let go of the necklace and threaded her fingers through his hair. "Don't stop. It's what I want, too," he said. He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. "What about you?" She rubbed the bead again. It had grown warmer with her touch. She felt flushed, her cheeks burning, perhaps from the steam of the adjacent pot. She closed her eyes and in her mind, she could see a white-washed room with wooden shutters closed against the chill. There was a thick wool rug on the floor and bright embroidered bedspread was turned halfway down. The sheets were clean and she knew that they would be cool against her skin. Lost in this odd vision, she raised the bead to point skyward. Mulder lifted his head and smiled, "Don't worry, I get the message." He pulled her hips against him to show her what she already knew. "I like to see you doing that," he said. He rubbed his hands around her waist then slid one underneath her blouse, the other downward to clasp her more tightly against him. She moistened her lip with her tongue. "But the pasta." It was an empty protest. The bead was buzzing softly in her hand like the feel of a feather brushing against her skin. "We can cook up another pot later." He reached to the side and turned off the burner. "The necklace has some business for us right now." End All feedback is bronzed. zuffynuffy@yahoo.com http://Zuffy.tripod.com/index.html