Title: Gaining Altitude (1/?)
Author: Tesla
Address: gah1093@hiwaay.net
Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations, adult language & lawyers)
Category: Mulder/Other
Spoilers: Assume that this alternate universe careens off track after "Field
Trip". Of course, in a real alternate universe, the Yankees would not have
won the Series. Or the pennant.
Archive: Sure, I would be in a tizzy of pleasure and tell everyone I knew.
Feedback: See above.
Disclaimer: If Ten Thirteen is even reading this,  HI!  I know a copyright
lawyer who said he'll defend us!

Summary: Continuation of "Flying Under the Radar"-I think that should be
read first. Or not. It's a free country.

THANKS to Emerex for holding my hand, and to Jill and Paula, who point out
that real women lawyers don't act like this.

"I want you to sweep my friend's apartment for bugs, " Mulder told Frohike.
"Just in case." He gave the other man a bland stare.

It didn't work. Frohike looked almost scandalized. "You spend that much time
with her? What about Scully?"

"What about Scully? She told you not to sweep her place, didn't she?" Mulder
countered, deliberately misunderstanding the other man.

"You know what I mean, Mulder. Stop yanking me."

"Scully and I are partners, " Mulder said dully. Scully and I are partners.
He'd said it, thought it, and lived it for years. Now, he felt like they
just went through the motions. After Krycek had given him an address-of an
empty house once owned by C. G. B. Spender, years ago-Scully agreed to go to
the address, but with an air of one indulging a child. Or an old man. Maybe
it was time-

Frohike had been talking all that time. "Snap out of it, wouldja, Mulder?
Set it up with your girlfriend. We'll take care of it."


Janet was not as agreeable. "No," she said flatly, not looking up from her
transcript. She was sitting with her feet up on the couch, surrounded by
files, magazines, the Saturday Times, Post and TV Guide. She had only
reluctantly shoved some of this reading material to the floor so he could
sit beside her.

Mulder was taken aback. "What?"

"No. I don't want those guys in here. And it isn't as if you ever talked
about anything that wasn't public record." She looked up at him then. "You
never told me who the hell Krycek was. And 'a bad guy' isn't enough-so I don
't see the need to check for bugs. You don't use my phone line, or my
computer, so no one is getting any secret government information from
monitoring those."

Mulder cautiously put his hand on her ankle. "Am I in trouble, here?"

Janet rolled her eyes. "No, I'm just pointing out that you self-censor
yourself," and she raised her voice to an imaginary microphone in the
lamp, "ENOUGH THAT NO ONE WOULD BE INTERESTED IN OUR CONVERSATIONS."

"Ceiling fixtures," Mulder said, smiling in spite of himself. "They usually
have the  monitors in the ceiling. He traced an invisible design on her
ankle. "But I want to tell you-things. Things I'm paranoid about. I like
talking to you."
He cringed inside. Jeeze, how pathetic did he sound?

"One of those new age guys, who just wants to talk," she agreed, finally
putting her papers aside. She turned her ankle within his grasp.

"Well, you're the first woman I've heard about who got turned on watching
the Baseball videos. You probably run with the wolves."

"Dancing with lawyers, baby. And it's all that male bonding in the
video-sexy."

"That's extraordinary for a Braves fan." He stroked her leg. "The guys won't
monitor you, or put anything here. They'll just check. "

"Hah. So if I don't get the place checked, I don't get to hear about some
global conspiracy?" she asked sharply. Mulder's grip on her ankle tightened
convulsively, although he kept his usual deadpan expression. Her eyes and
mouth rounded. After a moment, she swallowed and said, "I meant-and I mean
this kindly-don't blackmail me."

"No," he said, barely above a whisper. "I'm still talking to you. Even if
you don't-"
She pulled her feet under her, out of his cold grasp, and crawled over her
magazines into his lap. She wound her arms around him, and he hugged her
tightly.

"Okay," she whispered into his ear. "Bring in your buddies. Does this mean
we're going steady?" She kissed his jaw, then pressed her face in his
shoulder.

"Yeah. Does this mean I get a key?"

"Oh, I've got one for you," she said, sitting up in his arms. "Had one made
for weeks, now."

Mulder grunted. "Watch that knee. And you talk about me being
self-censoring. I have to deal with that goddamn courtroom face. I never
know what you're thinking." One part of his brain said, What's up with this
shit?

She laughed, a short bark. "Pot, meet Kettle, to quote Chandler Bing."

"Oh, and it's the great erotic quotes, too. That's a big plus in this
relationship." The same voice was saying, Relationship? Get her off the
dick, blood flowing out of brain, Danger, Will Robinson.

Her eyes gleamed. "Relationship?  'And though Ill spirits walk in white, we
easily know By this these angels from an evil sprite; Those set our hairs on
end, but these our flesh upright." She straddled his lap, and ground herself
into his groin.
" 'License my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above,
below.'  Don't fuck with an English major, Agent Mulder."

"But that's what I thought you wanted," he said, his voice innocent. "Let's
go in the bedroom. Last time I got newsprint on my knees and I thought I was
bruised."


His own snore woke him. He raised his face from Janet's shoulder. "John
Donne," he said thickly. He pulled a strand of her hair from his lip. "Ptoo.
I remember it from Dorothy Sayers."

"Yeah, Lord Peter talks almost as much as you do," Janet said, in an I'
m-the-English-major-here tone of voice. "I memorized that poem to piss off
my professor in one class. He was trying to embarrass us by having us
recite. A friend of mine decided to come out and recited part of Howl. "

"Just tell me the name of the poem," he said. "Humor me." She was giggling.
"What now, damn it?"

She rolled over and faced him, putting her fingertips on his face. " 'To His
Mistress Going to Bed.' You want some more erotic quotations?" She was still
grinning.

"Let me get my strength back," he joked. She stroked his lower lip with her
fingertips. Her lips parted, then closed. "What were you going to say?" he
asked.

She shook her head, still smiling. "Oh, a bunch of mushy stuff that would
make you deeply uncomfortable. About your eyes, and your mouth and your
skin-the kind of stuff that real people never say." She was still touching
his face.

He hoped he wasn't flushing. "Tell me about my eyes." He kissed her
fingertip.

"Very hot eyes. Bedroom eyes. I'm surprised you're not groped in the
elevator at work."

"I wish," he mumbled. "And my mouth?"

"Great mouth. Very kissable. Pouty.  Your Scully must have great strength of
mind to resist you," she said, and waited for his reaction.

"Yes, she has." he said, not offended. "Resist being a good choice of words.
And what else is great about me? What about my skin?"

"Well, aside from the actual feel of it, I love the way you smell," she
said. "I won't even talk about your dick at this time, since we're not being
erotic right now."

Mulder kissed the inside of her wrist. "What about my hair?"

"I'm going to take the Fifth on that, agent."








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"Some days it doesn't pay to chew through the restraints."---Anonymous