Title:  Sense Memory V

Author: Tesla

Rating: R. Smut.

Spoilers: None, but set really early in the series.

Keyword: MSR, PWP. Plot.What.Plot.

Archive: Anywhere, anytime

Disclaimer: Chris Carter and 1013 created Mulder and Scully.
The characters seem to have some time on their hands,
so I borrowed them.

Feedback: Cool. I'm always home at Tesla@hiwaay.net

Notes:    Oh, all right.
          Thanks to MaybeA, the fastest beta in the, er, north
          You may want to read the previous Sense Memory vignettes,
          but plots are for cemeteries.
                        *

Scully sat down at her computer, trying to figure  out where
and how and why she had ever been in a bar with Mulder. A bar
with a quiet back room and a pool table, with a high opaque
window covered with a blue "Coors" sign.

//laughing// Take it slowly, before the pool table part.

After hours; or it was closed, because as she tried to remember
the flashes of memory, she knew that they were alone in the
bar. //safe//

They weren't drugged, they weren't drunk //they were lucky
to be there, they were lucky to be together//and they hadn't
been out all night. It was still//Mulder put a pocketful of
quarters in the jukebox and they were dancing and laughing//

She put her fingers on her eyelids and tried to remember.
Music. Nice, kind of slow-dancing music. //her jacket and raincoat
and his jacket and raincoat were on a table. "Lock up," said--//

That was before the music. She and Mulder had gone somewhere
to look at something, that wasn't an emergency, that didn't have
a body or a crime scene or any one else. Someone told them to
lock up when they were finished. Mulder put money in the juke
box.

//Dance with me, Scully//
//Mulder, you goof//
//Mulder's slow, open smile. Dance with me, Scully. And one
hand on her hip and the other hand holding hers. Smiling//

The flickers were fading. She couldn't quite hold on.

******************

Mulder walked down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets,
sunglasses on. He and Scully had been in a bar, looking
at something. Something, off-duty, perhaps. There was
no one else in the bar. He had the keys.  The only ghosts
were the scents of liquor and beer and cigarette smoke.

He could smell it.

He could smell Scully's hair.

A car drove by, the radio mellow and sweet.

Music had been playing.

But it wasn't any good. The further he was from Scully,
the less sure he was of any of the flashes of knowledge,
of any of the sense memories.

He turned around and walked back to the office,
sweating a little in the late afternoon sun.
//sweat at her temples, his back prickling with it
under her small hands as he came inside her//

He had no idea what to ask her.