Title: Déjeuner Sur la Déjà Vu 
Author: Ariadne
Rating: NC-17
Classification: MSR, Angst
Spoilers: Monday, Emily, Tooms

Disclaimer: The characters and canonic situations
belong to 20th Century Fox, Chris Carter, and 1013
Productions, in no particular order. No copyright
infringement is intended.

Notes at the end...

DEJEUNER SUR LA DEJA VU

Tuesday, late afternoon
rural Virginia

Endless ribbons of tree-shaded Virginia two-lane
highway stretched out before them. Motorists in
passing cars might have gotten a glimpse of the couple
in the blue Taurus, might have seen the pretty woman
who drove with such steely concentration with her
companion beside her, his long legs crossing and
uncrossing restlessly as he stared unseeing at the
verdant scenery.

Had the cars not been traveling so fast, someone might
have detected the aroma of fresh-baked bread emanating
from a paper bag in the back seat. In that fragrance
was the promise of a soft, fluffy center surrounded by
a crust as brown and crunchy as the paper that held
it. The secondary but no less alluring scent was that
of sweet, maple-baked ham.

Had there been a traffic light somewhere along the
twisted road, the next car might have stopped long
enough to pick up the more subtle hint of tension in
the air. No words passed between them; they were as
stiff and distant as strangers.

Scully turned her neck to peer into the rear view
mirror at the source of the comforting smell, a lunch
sack given to them by the mother of a kidnapped child.
 With a clarity she wished would dissipate, she
recalled the events of an hour ago. "Y'all must be
hungry after driving all this way," the mother had
said to them as they prepared to take their leave.
"I've got bread fresh out of the oven. Let me make you
some sandwiches." The recollection continued,
reminding her of the awkwardness of the thin,
tightly-drawn woman who had scurried into the kitchen,
her sobs poorly concealed even though she clattered
pans and searched through drawers with a strength born
of incipient madness.

Both Mulder and Scully knew this feeling of helpless
sympathy, their bodies vibrating with the shared
sensation of déjà vu. This one had been different
somehow, a sharper sensation that reminded Scully of
getting her wisdom teeth removed two weeks apart - the
second surgery was far more painful because she knew
what to expect and was waiting for the cracking sound
of her tooth as it shattered under the pliers.

Moments later the woman had reappeared with a large
paper bag in one hand and a torn, damp tissue in the
other. Her eyes, ordinarily a watery blue, were almost
colorless against the red rims of her eyelids. Mulder
had taken the package silently, handling the bag as
gently as if it had been the body of the child who was
almost surely dead.

They had departed quickly, but the fragrance of the
bread hovered in the air while the old house receded
in the distance.

Scully looked away from their lunch and over at
Mulder, who was holding on to a framed photograph of
the little boy who had vanished without a trace from a
family picnic. Mulder's fingers were tracing the
contours of a face still rounded with baby fat. That
morning she had seen him do the same thing over a
photograph of the woman who had died in the bank
holdup just the day before.

There had been no time to discuss what they had told
the panel at the meeting; Skinner apologized as he
told them he was sending them directly to the scene of
the crime. Their energies were directed to the
immediate situation, once again leaving them without a
chance to put one puzzle behind them before moving on
to the next.

Not that they achieved closure all that often, Scully
mused as she kept her eyes on the road instead of on
the dark-suited wraith in the passenger seat.

She could still hear Mulder's listless recitation of
the events surrounding Pam's death at the bank. His
eyes had been as drab as his voice. "She stepped in
front of Bernard and the bullet that was meant for me
struck and killed her. Bernard surrendered to the
authorities and there were no further incidents."

The gazes of the OPC members had turned from him to
Scully, who was seated at Mulder's left. "Does that
track with your recollections, Agent Scully?" she was
asked.

Shifting in her chair, Scully had looked away from the
vacant, haunted face of her partner. "The content of
Agent Mulder's statement mirrors my own memories of
the incident."

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Those
memories, however hard she tried to keep them steady,
were constantly shifting in her mind, adding details
that could not possibly have happened, fragments of
things that she could almost see, could almost feel.

At the meeting she had shoved those feelings and
sights away from her conscious thought, nodding and
answering the few remaining questions in a brisk and
professional manner. Always in her peripheral vision
she saw Mulder's outline, his slumped shadowy posture,
and something deep in side her body resonated a
warning she could not comprehend.

He sat the same way even now, half-turned away from
her, the slope of his shoulders mirrored by the droop
of his head. He rested one elbow on the door handle
and propped his cheek up on one hand while the other
hand continued to hang on to the boy's photograph.

With every fiber of her being, she believed that
something dreadful had happened to Mulder, to them
both, yet she knew that they were both perfectly safe.

She knew Mulder felt the same way. He had hovered
close to her all morning, his nervous energy thrumming
along the edges of her body. With no time to broach
the subject before having to turn their attention to
the family tragedy at a Virginia farm, the secrets
thickened the air between them.

"I need to make a pit stop, Scully," Mulder said in a
monotone. 

"We're miles from anywhere."

"There are trees, aren't there?" 

Ordinarily she would have found him glancing at her to
gauge her response to his juvenile witticism, but
today he kept his green gaze turned to the scenery
that whizzed past them. Scully sighed and raised an
eyebrow. "I think it'd be considered defacing public
property, Mulder."

"Then you can write me a ticket. Just pull over, would
you?" The car pulled over and slowed; he did not even
wait for it to come to a complete stop before opening
the door and sprinting down a dirt path.

She rolled her shoulders forward and back, then picked
up the photograph that Mulder had been studying. It
was a simple school photo, the colors already picking
up the sienna hue of cheap processing even though it
was less than a year old. Rusting. Decaying. A body,
decomposing into the elements that gave it life.

More than her own daughter had been allowed.

No.

With a quick snap of her wrist she turned the picture
face down, then twisted her body away to look out of
the window. There was almost no traffic now, only the
occasional farm truck, even though there was still
plenty of daylight left.

Scully looked up into the sky and examined the clouds.
Overhead they were white and fluffy, but in the
distance darker thunderheads loomed. They looked more
like smoke and dust, the aftermath of a bomb.

He has a bomb he has a bomb he has a bomb...

The car was suddenly too confining. Without thinking,
Scully reached into the back seat, grabbed the bag and
her purse, and headed up the path at a more leisurely
pace than Mulder had taken. Tall trees surrounded her,
leafy branches sheltering her from the insistent sun.
For no particular reason she took a seat on a gnarled
root and stretched her legs in front of her with a
contented sigh.

The scent of the bread was too enticing. She opened
the bag and removed a packet wrapped in waxed paper,
the center still warm. Her fingers brushed against
something cylindrical and cold. That poor woman had
even thought to put drinks in the bag.

The shade was just dark enough to make reading the
label impossible unless she pulled the can out. As she
reached inside, an old exchange came back to her in a
rush.

"If there's an iced tea in that bag, Scully...could be
love."

Oh, the strain of keeping a poker face as she had
rummaged in the bag as if she were not fully aware of
its contents. "Must be fate, Mulder. Root beer."

"Root beer?" asked a voice from just behind her.

She jumped slightly, then recovered and tossed Mulder
one of the cans. "Nice guess, but neither. It's Coke."

"Well, I'm o-for-three, then." He popped the top of
his soda and took a long swallow. Even as he stood
coatless, tie loosened and askew, he still managed to
look overwound as he shifted from foot to foot, his
face anxiously scanning the wooded area for something
only he could find.

Scully tossed him the remaining sandwich and he caught
it neatly. He unwrapped it with deliberate care, as if
it might explode, then took a tentative bite. It
seemed to meet his needs; he devoured the last crumb
and washed it down with the rest of the soda while
Scully nibbled thoughtfully at her own sandwich.

"You gonna finish that?" Mulder's voice was almost
surly.

Her reply was succinct. "Yes." She saw that he was
heading toward her Coke and put a pre-emptive hand
along the top of the can. "No."

He stopped in his tracks. His face in the waning light
of day was tinged with gray, shadows like smeared
tears under his eyes. A tremor flickered the corner of
one eyelid and he rubbed it with his knuckle. "You
think he's dead, don't you? Scott Callahan?"

"Probably." She took a sip of her drink, decided that
she didn't want the rest of it after all, and passed
it to Mulder without further comment.

"I want him to be alive, Scully. I want *something* to
go right in this god-awful week."

"Mulder, you foiled a bank robbery yesterday that
would likely have resulted in the deaths of at least a
dozen people, ourselves included."

"Not without killing Pam." He drained the last of the
soda and crushed the can with vigor. 

"You didn't kill her. Bernard did. Yes, she got in the
way of the bullet, but..." Scully stopped, staring
straight ahead, a fragment of memory slicing through
all her rational explanations.

Gunshot.

MULDER!

He was standing at her side beneath the arch of the
tree, holding on to her shoulders. "Scully. You DO
remember. You DO know that this kept happening over
and over."

"No! No. It's just a projection, something my mind is
flashing as a possible ending to the scenario."

"You were THERE. How the hell else did I know about
Pam, about the bomb?"

"I don't know! You're the one with the intuition here,
not me. Maybe it was a lucky guess."

"Damn it!" Mulder straightened abruptly and backed
away from her, hitting his head on a low branch with a
sickening thud and falling to his knees from the force
of the blow. 

"Mulder!" Scully dropped beside him and tried to pry
his fingers away from the blood that seeped through
his thick hair, but he resisted.

"Stop. Stop." He made an attempt to move away, but the
world careened sickeningly and he landed on his back.

Scully sat tailor-fashion on the ground and pulled
Mulder's head into her lap to assess the damage. Her
thumb wandered over his temple as she registered the
cut at the back of the skull, superficial but bleeding
profusely as did all scalp wounds. Cleansing and
pressure would be all he would need. "You're okay,"
she whispered. "No one has to die here."

Why did I say that?

It hit her full force.

We're on the floor of the bank and there's a bullet in
his chest next to the heart that was so strong just a
few minutes ago and he's going to die I can't do
anything more than hold him while he slips away my God
we're all going to die I can't connect to this robber,
this man with the coldness of death in his eyes he's
got a bomb he's got a bomb it doesn't have to end like
this he's got a bomb...

"He's got a bomb," Scully murmured through lips
suddenly cold with fear. With a wild, terrified cry
she shifted and pressed her face against his, insanely
wanting to perform CPR on this living, breathing man.

Mulder's arms closed around her out of reflex. Scully
could feel the hard pounding of his uninjured heart
beneath her palms as she turned and straddled him, her
face dangerously close to his. Their rapid, shallow
breathing was the only sound they heard for a
lifetime, an instant, before they were kissing.
Desperate, they threaded their fingers through
wind-blown hair, tugging insistently so that a mouth
was right there, a pair of lips poised perfectly.  

"You remember," Mulder managed to gasp. Scully nodded,
the anguish of memory etching itself in acid on her
heart. She received his kiss, welcomed his tongue as
it pushed at her passion-swollen lips until they
parted and she could taste the sweetness of mayonnaise
against the rough, wet silk of his mouth.

"Don't die, don't die," she begged, hearing her voice
as if it were spoken by someone in a distant memory.

Mulder was working his way down her neck, licking in
time with the pulse in her carotid artery, and could
only shake his head in response. Scully held his head
close to her skin. The rasp of stubble against her
soft skin was an erotic reminder that she was alive,
he was alive, and they hadn't had to die after all. So
intent was she on the sudden rush of adrenaline that
she scarcely felt Mulder pulling upwards on the hem of
her shirt.

She turned over on her back, arms extended upward,
staring him down as he removed the pullover with a
single tug. She fumbled with Mulder's dress shirt
buttons and a tie that was infernally stubborn even
though it was already loosened. Buttons popped away,
imitations of gunshots, and Mulder threw his body over
hers to protect it.

To take it.

He placed his hands at her waist and stood on shaking
legs, pulling her up with him even as he shoved
ineffectually at her slacks. She half-unzipped, half
tore them from her body. Through lust-glazed eyes she
saw Mulder remove the remainder of his clothing and
lunge toward her with his arms outstretched.

Bare skin slid silkenly along bare skin, breasts
crushed against chest, hands on hips, dragging their
bodies closer and closer. Mulder took two long steps
forward until Scully was pressed against the tree. Up
she went in his arms, the bark nipping at the skin of
her back, until she was able to wrap her legs around
his hips and draw him inside of her, where he would be
safe.

"Oh God, oh God," Mulder keened as he watched himself
disappear into his partner, his best and only friend,
who opened up to take him into her body. Just as she
had taken him into her very soul so, so long ago, she
welcomed him, accepted him.

Loved him.

He pulled one of her hands away from the back of his
neck and brought it down between her legs, a silent
plea for her to take what pleasure she could. She
kissed him, then put a trembling hand over his eyes.
His eyelashes tickled her palms as she whispered,
"Don't look...please..." 

"Scully..."

"Please..." Her breath caught in her throat and she
made a tiny sound between a gasp and a moan. Mulder
obeyed, resting his forehead on her collarbone and
giving her the privacy she craved.

As she heard his breathing become labored she felt the
first shocks of her climax rumbling like a distant
thunderstorm. Her body undulated and became liquid,
molten. Mulder,  unable to resist, slowed his
thrusting and gazed upon her.

Scully was gone, seeing herself through Mulder's
passion-darkened eyes, witnessing her own naked,
flushed body with its nimbus of red hair caught on the
rough bark like the blood of Saint Sebastian. She saw
herself lift her hand from Mulder's face and place the
back of her wrist against her open mouth to mute her
cries. The taste of her salty flesh brought her back
to herself in time to savor the golden brightness of
afterglow and the expression of astonished joy on
Mulder's face.

"God, Scully," he gasped, holding her in a firm grasp
as her muscles went slack. "Oh, God..."

They tumbled to earth, to the grassy carpet beneath
the tree. At the first shiver Scully felt Mulder
unfold himself along her. His hands rested on the
ground on either side of her shoulders and his face
was only far enough from hers to allow him to see her,
to take in the wonder of her.

She missed the most intimate of contact and wrapped
her legs around Mulder's hips to pull him closer.
Hungry for the thick arrow that pierced her sex,
Scully sought Mulder's erection with the very core of
her being and urged him in.

He groaned, his attenuated body stretching even
further, toes seeking purchase in the cool earth.
"Watch," he told her after they kissed themselves
breathless, and they both looked at where their bodies
joined, where his hard, glistening flesh dove in and
out of her. 

Yes.

Please.

More.

Harder.

The vocabulary of ardent desire.

She spoke for him when all he could do was gasp for
air. She urged him on, stroking his wild hair from his
forehead so that he could continue to look into her
eyes. Mulder threw his head back and moaned as his
body curved like a bow, his hips thrusting forward in
counterpoint to the perfect reverse arch of his back.
Scully felt his muscles go rigid.

He cried out and drew her up into his arms to let her
ride out the last of his climax. Burying his face
between her breasts, he shuddered and moaned until
Scully had wrung every drop of his desire from him,
until she finally grew still in his embrace with a
long sigh.

Only then did he look up at her.

She was already smiling down at him, her eyes wide
open as she tried to read his emotions. It was not
difficult, for Mulder always wore his heart like a
standard upon his shield, and Scully saw the adoration
and desire reflected in the light of his eyes.

"Mulder," she gasped brokenly.

He gave her a shaky smile and pressed his palm against
her cheek. "I'm here. I'm alive. We're alive."

"Alive..." Her body hummed with it as she sat in his
lap, feeling him pulse weakly inside of her and the
soft, answering grasp of her body's own response. Her
legs were around his waist and she tightened them to
keep her inside of her for as long as possible.

They were silent, needing time to process this newest
mystery. Mulder was overcome with a wave of lassitude
and he gently disentangled himself from Scully,
pushing her down on her side and lying behind her with
his chest pressed firmly into her back. Her little
groan of protest turned into a contented sigh when she
felt his hands reach around to her waist, stroking
along her body to the her softly rounded abdomen and
over her thighs.

As comfortable as the position was for her, Scully
needed to see Mulder. Twisting around took all of her
remaining strength. She turned and cupped his face in
her hands and he mirrored the gesture. They kissed
softly, lips barely touching, whispering over and over
to one another.

"We're alive."

"We're alive."

Scully suddenly took in the precariousness of their
situation, stark naked in the middle of the woods as
evening started to brush their skin with cool, warning
fingers. "Oh, God. We can't stay here," she murmured
into Mulder's ear.

"Sure we can. We can forage for...for berries...and
whatever the hell people forage for..." He snuggled
closer and nuzzled the hollow at the base of her
throat.

"Mulder, no. No." She pushed him away only to have him
cling to her even more desperately. "We'll freeze out
here."

"No sleeping bags AGAIN?" he complained in a
mock-whine that earned him a rap on the chin. "Jesus,
Scully, you're one lousy Boy Scout."

"I'm cold and I'm covered in leaves and I'm NAKED!"
She grabbed her clothes and started putting them on
none too carefully, acutely aware of Mulder's
appraising stare.

"Looks good on you..." His voice trailed off as they
heard a noise from somewhere in the vicinity. "What's
that?"

"I don't know." Dressed save for her shoes, Scully
reached for her weapon and went into a firing stance
while Mulder salvaged his trousers and prepared to
join her. "I think...Mulder, it sounds like someone
crying!"

"It's coming from over there, in that clearing," he
whispered. Taking the lead, he inclined his head by
way of giving directions. Guns at the ready, they made
their way through the soft underbrush, barefoot and
silent. In the waning light Mulder made out a small,
hunched figure sitting on a log.

"Federal Agents," Scully said in an authoritative
voice. "Hands where we can see them."

Two scrawny arms, caked with dirt, brought two
trembling hands aloft. 

"Turn around slowly," Mulder instructed.

There was a sniffle from the direction of the log, and
the figure turned around. Underneath the matted hair
and considerable dirt was the face from the
photograph.

"Scott Callahan?" Mulder asked incredulously. "Are you
Scott Callahan?"

Scully was already running toward the boy as she
holstered her weapon. "It's all right, Scott. My
name's Dana, and my partner and I are here to help
you. We're here to take you home."

The chubby, grimy face looked relieved and the boy
launched himself into Scully's arms. "I was so scared.
Mama's gonna be so mad at me."

"No, she's not. She's very worried about you, Scott.
What happened?"

He showed her one blood-smeared arm. "I got hurt.
See?"

Mulder loped back to find his shirt and started
ripping it into long strips. Panting with exertion, he
handed the material over to Scully, who looked up at
him with amusement in her glowing eyes.

"It's pretty superficial, Mulder, but thanks anyway."

"I have to explain what happened to it *somehow*" he
whispered in her ear, and she had to hide her blush by
pretending to examine Scott's cut in minute detail.

The boy continued. "There was this trailer hauling a
race car and it was, like, parked on the side of the
road. I wanted to see the car, so I jumped on
board...then the driver got in and I was too scared to
get off, so I waited until he got out to...to...use
the potty...and I got out and hid."

"This is a popular place," Scully remarked dryly as
Mulder took out his cell phone and made the call back
to Skinner at FBI headquarters.

"He's safe, yes. Call his mother and tell her we're on
our way back. We'll be there in an hour. Yes. I will."
He flipped the phone closed. "We're going to take you
back home, Scott."

"Am I gonna be in trouble?"

Mulder grinned. "Not for the first five minutes, but
I'd bet on at least a week in your room." He helped
the boy to his feet and handed him over to Scully, who
led him to the car. The exhausted child lay down on
the back seat, Scully fussing over him for just a
moment and tucking Mulder's jacket around him. 
 Mulder joined them moments later, holding their
shoes. He gave Scully's to her with a wry smile.

Scott sniffed the air and said dreamily, "Smells like
Mom's sandwiches...did she give you guys sandwiches?"

"Yes she did, Scott. I think they helped us find you."

"Mulder, don't even start on psychic sandwiches."

"Me? Wouldn't  dream of it."

She got into the car and started the engine, her
businesslike posture belied by the light in her eyes.

They were alive.

All of them.

*****
END
*****

The title is a play on the famous painting by Manet,
Le Déjeuner sur l'Herbe ("The Picnic"). Groan all you
want.

Thank you to jordan for beta reading.

This is dedicated to jerry because she wanted to read
it.