Summary:  A meeting between Scully & Marita turns out differently than either
one expects.

Category/Rating:  Slash/NC-17
Spoilers:  US Fourth Season/ALL episodes up to finale
WARNING:  This story contains f/f sexual content.  If this offends you please
hit *delete*.

There has been some talk in various circles bemoaning the lack of f/f slash.
Well, to prove I'm an equal opportunity slasher, here I go.  I will not reply
to flames, because I'm going to assume that you are a grown-up, that your
fingers are not broken, and you can hit the *delete* button without any
problems.  So don't even bother.

%%%%%%%%%
COLD
by DBKate
dbkate@yahoo.com
%%%%%%%%%

"For this relief much thanks; tis bitter cold
And I am sick at heart..."
- Shakespeare
%%%%%%%%%

"Yes, I'm Marita Covarrubias"

She reminded Scully of the Snow Queen, the one in children's tales, who lived
in a castle made of sugar, with rooms so cold you could see the frosty mist
rising from the floors.  Her skin was alabaster and flawless, and she was
tall...too tall. Scully had to raise her head slightly to meet her eyes and,
of course, they were cornflower blue. 

On top of that, Marita Covarrubias was inevitably slim, utterly blonde and
completely indifferent about her own looks.  Scully felt a slight chill of
envy at the sight of such height...such straight-backed and composed
blondness, but pulled herself together and ignored it.  I have work to do, she
thought.

For Scully had taken the trip to New York after Mulder's Russian adventure, to
find this woman whom Mulder had asked her to look up.  She'd done as he'd
asked, and now that the case was over, she decided to see this SRSG, this
Marita, for her own evaluation. Professional research, Scully had told
herself, but she knew in her heart that it was curiosity, perhaps even the
long, cold hand of jealousy that made her come here.  

Whatever it was, Scully stood waiting for Marita on the steps of the United
Nations, with New York's harsh winter tearing at her cheeks and hands, her
breath being taken away by the sheer, mindless brutality of the wind, until
Marita finally exited, walking gracefully down the broad stone stairs.

"My name is Dana Scully. I'm with the FBI," Scully said, pulling out her badge
with numb and shaking fingers.  "I work with Agent Fox Mulder."

Marita regarded her carefully for a long moment and then waved for a taxi.  "I
can't talk to you here.  But you're welcome to come with me to dinner.  Have
you ever been to the Russian Tearoom?"

And so Scully took the cab with Marita, its careless driver plowing and
jerking through the once fresh snow.  Scully held onto the strap and looked at
Marita as the taxi rattled to its destination.  Her hair was shining and her
eyes were even bluer in the cab's dim light, so blue, that the whites gleamed
in contrast.  They arrived at the restaurant with a screeching halt, and
Marita paid the taxi driver with a hundred-dollar bill.  She exited the cab
and entered the Tearoom with long, sharp steps, as Scully bounded to catch up.
Scully was growing more annoyed by the moment, and tossed her coat at the
maitre-de when she entered.  Marita had already picked their table and the
Bloody Marys were being placed as they sat.

"Excuse me," said Scully, huffing with indignation as she sat and saw the red
drink sitting on her place-mat.  "How do you know that's what I wanted?"

Marita smiled and raised her own drink to her lips.  "Because it's the most
wonderful thing in the world."

Scully felt oddly furious at this response and even when she tasted the drink,
its splendid hot spice and warmth flooding every sense, she wanted to leave,
but the slight pressure of Marita's hand on her wrist stopped her.

"You'll like the food," Marita said quietly.  "The caviar is the best in the
world."

"I can't afford caviar, I'm afraid."

"Tonight you can," said Marita, as she became engrossed in the menu.  "I've
heard about you,  you know.  I'm glad you came to see me.  I've only met Agent
Mulder once. He seems very...passionate about his work."

Scully replied crisply.  "Our work."

Marita smiled over her drink.  It was a slow, small smile, as though the mouth
making it wasn't used to such movements.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't know that you
worked together."

"We're partners," said Scully frostily.

Marita looked innocently at her.  "Forgive me.  I had no idea you were equals.
I thought you were his supervisor."

Scully blinked and then began to laugh heartily. "No, but that's a good idea."

Marita laughed with her and the second round of Bloody Marys soon arrived.
Scully finally felt warm and soon they began to talk openly...comfortably.
They found tiny things in common, the same books just finished, the same
lipstick in their purses...they were wearing the same watch.  They drank
slowly at first and then with abandon, their dinner picked at and then
ignored.  Scully found that she enjoyed Marita's laugh, it was an amusing one.
Her mouth would open and not a sound would come out as she shook.  Scully
tried to keep her laughing just to watch.

As they were talking, Scully lazily glanced around the Tearoom; the garish
decor softened by the vodka.  She had balked when she first entered, wondering
who in their right mind would have picked such a color scheme.  It looked like
Christmas had exploded, the reds, greens and golds carelessly thrown against
every wall, with hanging tinsels draped over hideous lamps.

"This is a wonderful reproduction of Picasso," said Scully, glancing at the
dusty painting that sat right above their table, it's colors and lines
bursting from the frame. "I can hardly tell the difference."

"That's because it's not a reproduction," Marita replied, amusement shining in
her eyes.  She laughed outright at Scully amazed expression and waved her hand
throughout the restaurant.  "All these artworks are authentic.  The artists
liked to pay for their drinks with paintings."

Scully gaped at her and looked around with renewed curiosity.  Marita motioned
for another round and took her time pointing out each piece, naming the
artist, giving Scully the year and circumstance of the painting.  Scully was
amazed and listened with pleasure to Marita's short lecture.  The colors of
the walls suddenly made sense as the paintings stood out against them, small
islands of logic nestled in riotous surroundings.   She felt surrounded by the
past, simple and exotic at the same time.  She smiled gratefully at Marita and
felt warm when the smile was returned.

A few moments later, Marita took Scully's hands in her own thin, elegant ones.
"Your fingers are very cold.  I'm not surprised.  The winters are bitter here,
the air has knives in it."

Scully squirmed with slight discomfort.  She didn't pull her hands away, to do
so would be rude.  But they are so huge, so clumsy...so ugly, she thought.
Don't look at them.

But Marita was examining them with an intense curiosity, running a gentle
thumb over a tired knuckle.  "You have the hands of a doctor.  They are very
strong.  Where did you get this scar?"  She pointed to a thin strip of raised
white flesh across the back of Scully's hand.

Scully could feel the heat in her face and saw the flush snake down her arms.
"One day my brother..." she began and felt Marita drop her hands suddenly, as
if burnt.

Scully looked up with surprise and saw that Marita had turned white; a pure
white, the color of salt or paper.  "I'm very sorry.  It's just that..."
Marita stumbled. "I...I lost my brother some time ago.  I am very foolish.  I
apologize."

Scully's expression softened.  "What happened?"

Marita's hard look returned under a veil of distraction and grief.  "He
disappeared.  It was a long time ago, but I was old enough to remember him.  I
don't know if that's a good or bad thing.  He was my older brother and he was
very kind.  He never teased me, he...he..."

She breathed deeply and took another long swallow of her drink.  "It was a
very long time ago," she said, after a long moment. "I'm sorry.  It's not
something I normally discuss." She coldly finished her drink and folded her
hands in front of her, her back stiff.

Scully gently took one of Marita's hands between her own.  "I'm sorry.

To Scully's complete surprise, Marita's eyes filled with tears, the blue
irises shining like small sapphires.  "Grief is great, Agent Scully.  Grief is
great..." she whispered.

Scully felt the pricking of tears in her own eyes and cupped Marita's cheek
with her hand.  "I know...my sister.  I lost her, just last year.  I haven't
forgotten, I'm never going to forget."

Marita closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the small palm.  Scully
felt a single hot tear fall between her fingers and with one quick motion,
pushed the yellow silk away from the face in front of her.  She heard Marita's
voice, soft and hesitant.  "It's hard to be strong all the time.  Isn't it?"

Scully replied tearfully.  "Yes.  So hard."

And for a long time, they both sat silently in the huge, almost empty
restaurant.  Marita picked up Scully's hand and held it in her palm.  She
brought it to her lips and Scully shivered when she tenderly kissed the scar.

"Your hands are very beautiful," said Marita, simply.

Scully gasped at the words and both of her hands began to tremble.  Marita
brought one palm against her lips, and then the other. She lingered there, her
eyes closed and peaceful, while Scully's breath came in short, quiet gasps.

Marita looked at her carefully, with endlessly blue eyes.  "Come with me.  I
don't live far from here.  You can see the park from my apartment. The trees
are covered with snow."

Scully nodded and rose.  Her knees were shaking.

Marita gathered and put on her coat in one fluid motion, and helped Scully
into hers, picking up her scarf and wrapping her in it, lifting handbags and
motioning to the waiter that the bill was to be placed on her tab.  Scully had
no time to wonder at this efficiency of movement, for a moment later she was
outside, struggling against the merciless winds with Marita's arm laced
through her own,  leading her through the bitter cold.  Scully's eyes began to
water and weep in the wind and she was blinded.  But her step didn't falter.
She could sense that her guide was stronger than the storm and she followed
without hesitation.

Scully's steps became an even beat, one foot clicking past the other, matching
the step of the woman next to her, past parking meters, whirling papers and
shaking stop signs.  She kept her head down and saw the cement squares roll
past, watching her own steps glide effortlessly forward, and felt the strong
grasp on her forearm keeping her steady.  Scully almost laughed; this was like
flying, flying against the wind.  I can't even feel my legs moving, but yet I
am traveling.  She pressed tighter against Marita, closing her arm tightly
under her own and she could no longer feel the cold.

They reached the apartment and Scully felt a twinge of regret at the journey's
end; a small emptiness when Marita pulled her arm away to reach for her keys
and fumble with the building's clumsy lock.  But soon, Scully was quaking with
impatience at the door and its resistance.  She impulsively pressed her lips
to Marita's cheek and as the lock finally clicked, they tumbled through the
doorway. Marita pulled her toward the waiting elevator and when the door
closed, they fell together, a tangle of arms and mouths.

Everything became soft, and Scully felt as though she were tumbling into a
warm river, helpless yet endlessly comfortable.  Every part of her was
surrounded by heat and silk, the silk of lips against her throat; the heat of
Marita's heart against her own.  She was sinking, falling and then surfacing
for air, she quickly gulped its coolness and then returned to be enveloped.
The ride was over in less than a moment and Marita pulled her down the dim
hallway to the apartment door.  In less than a moment, they were inside, coats
falling to the floor. They worked their way into the bedroom, and Scully felt
the mattress spring to life beneath them, rocking gently as they fell.

Everything felt familiar, a deja vu of caresses, but every touch was muted and
so much softer than anything Scully had known before.  She impulsively rolled
over and held Marita underneath her, and reveled in the strange softness and
pliancy of the small neck bending back underneath her kisses.  Hands grasped
at buttons and soft, silky things fell to the side and off the bed.  Scully
felt her passion take her, and she became a whirlwind of caresses, her hands
and tongue traveling everywhere, lapping soft, forbidden areas, kissing hidden
and warm places with abandon.  She nuzzled the breasts underneath her, and
remembered Eden as she did so.

Suddenly she was thrown on her back and felt Marita take what she wanted, her
mouth, her fingers, harder and more demanding.  Scully rose to meet her lips
and hands, and felt the tightening begin in her abdomen, the trembling in her
legs.  A finger reached and met her secret, concealed spot and began its
rhythm.  Scully's hips rose and fell in concert and she began to shake and
moan under Marita's hand.  She reached her own hand out, and soon they were
trembling together, warm sweat rolling down their bodies, moving in unison.
Soon, the rhythm became too much, and Scully let herself go, over the edge,
washing down the hot river and floating on its warmth.

When her eyes opened, she saw the fullness and flush of Marita's breasts and
lips and knew she hadn't fallen alone.  She no longer felt the bitter bite of
winter in her bones, just peace and a quiet sleepiness taking hold.     She felt
the comforter gently pulled out from underneath her and the wonderful feeling
of being tucked into its folds with a warm body snuggled in next to her.  The
pillows were soft and slightly perfumed and Scully felt sleep take her whether
she wanted it to or not.  The last cold spot on her body, her nose, pressed
into Marita's shoulder and soon there was nothing but the sound of long, even
breaths filling the room as the night fell.

And Dana Scully slept dreamlessly, for the first time in a very long time.

Later, the stars rose over New York City, with snow and warmer weather
promised for the coming dawn.

************
FINI!!!

dbkate@yahoo.com

Return to The Beehive Main Page