Title: Weak in the Knees
Rating: umm... NC-17 eventually
Disclaimer: X-Files, Mulder, Scully and such don’t belong to me. If Scully did, she would have never slept with Mulder – no matter how desperate she was. But then... she wouldn’t have been so desperate – I’d have let her have more fun.
Summary: Scully and Mulder are assigned to a taskforce to catch a vicious serial killer. But who is that agent assigned by the Director? And why does she make Scully’s temperature rise?
Spoilers/Timeline: Set somewhere in the first half of season six.
Archive: P&P; anyone else please ask first.
A/N 1: If you’re a fan of Mulder you may want to pass.
A/N 2: My eternal thanks to celievamp for the great beta. This work is better because of your help. All mistakes are my own. Constructive feedback is welcome.
Her feet and her back were killing her. Doing two back to back autopsies inevitably strained muscles that she would just as soon forget she had. But doing three was absolutely brutal. She didn’t so much sit down as collapse into the chair. She managed to bring her right foot up to prop it on her left knee by pulling on the fabric of her scrub pants until it was within reach. Once she had her foot in place on her knee, she pushed off her shoe and started to massage the knots out of the arch of her foot. She was going to need a long, hot soak in the tub.
“Good night, Dr Scully.”
“Good night, Adam,” she called out to the attendant who had put the last of the three slain women she had just examined into the cooler.
Wearily she slipped her shoe back on and turned her chair to face the computer. She quickly typed up her initial notes on the final autopsy and printed them out. She grabbed the copies of the tapes she’d made during the autopsies to transcribe in detail later and headed out, to return to the taskforce bullpen.
Visibly exhausted, Scully dropped into the chair next to Mulder.
“How did the autopsies go?” he asked.
She let out a sigh. “Nothing new. No fibers, no DNA, nothing.” She took in his ragged appearance. Everyone was tired and strung out, none more so than the profilers trying to pin down the sick bastard that they were all working to stop.
They had both been assigned to the taskforce that was hunting the serial killer the press had dubbed the East Coast Reaper. Over a dozen women up and down the coast had fallen prey to him. The killer was particularly vicious... and smart. He’d managed to leave few clues at the crime scenes. Or at least, few clues that seemed to lead the investigators to anywhere but dead ends.
Mulder’s reputation as a top profiler, before his crusade and personal quest that were the X-Files, and Scully’s reputation as an outstanding forensic pathologist and scientist, got them added to the taskforce when it was expanded following yet more headlines of the Reaper’s latest victims. The Bureau was taking a very public beating over its lack of ability to identify, much less stop, the Reaper.
Suddenly there seemed to be some commotion near the elevators. Assistant Director Ben Taylor, the man leading the taskforce, had come out of his office and gone to the lobby. A loud ding announced the arrival of the elevator and then a hushed conversation took place in the open doorway.
Benjamin Taylor had been an offensive lineman in college and carried his bulk with grace and athleticism even into his late forties. His 6’5” frame blocked everyone’s view of whom he was speaking to. But when he turned and escorted his ‘guests’ to his office that was when the whispered comments started. His guests consisted of the Director himself, and a woman.
“I’ll be damned.”
Scully looked over at her partner. “What? You can’t be surprised the Director is here after all the heat the Bureau is taking in the press.”
“No, not him... her. I can’t believe it’s her.”
Scully looked at the back of the woman as she disappeared into Taylor’s office before he closed the door. “What do you mean, Mulder? You know her? Who is she?”
“I never thought she’d step foot in the building again.”
Scully tried to make sense of Mulder’s tone and the lack of expression on his face. “Who is she, Mulder?” she demanded, tired and a little impatient with his non-answer.
“Jessica Morgan,” Mulder said stonily, then angrily got up and marched out of the bullpen.