Follow the Yellow Brick Road by the idiosyncratic stanwyck (theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com) A Triangle post-episode story written for the Fandomonium VSS - Season 6 Challenge (also an experiment to see what you get when you write for TXF after having just seen Wicked). Follow the Yellow Brick Road (1/1) Mulder might be lost at sea somewhere, Scully mused, but his day couldn't possibly be going as strangely as hers suddenly was. She stared up at the blue sky dotted with wispy clouds and pondered. To all outward appearances this abrupt change of scenery was inexplicable, but surely there was an explanation. She'd just have to find it in a rational, scientific manner. Right. So how to explain away what seemed to be the fact that she was surrounded by these very irrational, unscientific red poppies? The pollen made her sneeze and she sat up, scratching her nose. I should've taken a Claritin this morning, she thought, and looked around to ascertain her location. Yup. Poppies. Poppies almost as far as the eye could see, and what looked like, but certainly could not be, a castle in the distance, and in the opposite direction a forest. Scully stood up, dusted off her clothes without looking down, and turned around. At that point Dana Scully did something that Dana Scully seldom did: she screamed. Loudly. From fright. "No," she said aloud, turning away and closing her eyes. "This is obviously some sort of bizarre hallucination, induced by - by - maybe someone drugged the water cooler, or the coffee," she hypothesized aloud. "Maybe people are wandering all over the Hoover Building, seeing giant spiders and talking office supplies and clowns." "Dorothy, what are you talking about?" Pissed off now, Scully turned to face the three ... individuals who had made her scream. She addressed the shortest one. "Frohike, what the hell is going on?" He adjusted the floppy straw hat on his head with a stiff arm of straw and frowned as much as he could frown. "Are you feeling sick, Dorothy? Did you have a bad dream?" No fucking way, thought Scully. There is no fucking way I am looking at the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz and hearing Frohike's voice come out of its body. I'm not in a field of red poppies, that is *not* the Petrified Forest, and that castle doesn't belong to the Wicked Witch of the West. No, no, no. As if to challenge her, a small dog barked, and she looked down dispassionately. "Toto, I presume," she muttered, forlorn. And next to Toto was a foot - her foot, it seemed - encased in, yes, a ruby slipper. Her eyes followed the foot upward. Yep - blue gingham and a pinafore. "I have to help Mulder," she exclaimed, and heard her voice rise, broadcasting that she was genuinely upset. "I can't do that if I'm trapped in some insane hallucination with Frohike!" "Maybe the Wizard can help," offered the Cowardly Lion, who sounded suspiciously like Langly. "There is no Wizard," she replied, clinching her teeth. "Or rather, the Wizard isn't a Wizard." "What are you talking about? I need a heart!" replied her third companion, the Tin Man. Byers. Of course, how appropriate. Scully closed her eyes and tried to think. What the hell had happened to her? After having a run-in with Spender and calling him a rat bastard, she'd gotten on the elevator, avoiding Kersh, and her cell phone had begun to ring. The next thing she knew she was waking up here, apparently in Oz. Only apparently, of course. People didn't suddenly find themselves inside children's books - or, what seemed more likely from the look of things, Technicolor MGM adaptations of children's books set to music and starring Judy Garland. "How do I get out of here?" she demanded of no one in particular. "Follow the yellow brick road," her companions replied in unison, and she stifled a groan. She pinched herself, hard. Nothing happened, except that her arm stung. Scully looked down at her feet. Well, what the hell? She tentatively clicked her heels together. "There's no place like home," she tried hesitantly. Nothing happened. "There's no place like home, damn it!" she tried again, and obtained no better results. She heard a strange, inhuman scream and didn't succeed in stifling her groan this time. "Shit," she said, "the flying monkeys. I *hate* this part of the movie." She grabbed Toto and looked at her companions. "Run, guys!" she instructed, and began to sprint. They ran toward the castle. Scully had a pretty good idea of what was awaiting them there, but she didn't think turning back toward the forest would do them any good. She hated that part of the movie almost as much as she hated the flying monkeys - who, now that she was close enough to see them, looked strangely human and strikingly familiar. There was Spender - and Kersh - and that guy who'd stolen her parking space this morning - They reached the castle relatively unscathed. Frohike ran pretty fast, considering that his body was made of dried vegetal matter, and Langly's fear had obviously gotten his adrenaline going. Only Byers had had a close call - his joints really did need to be oiled, and they squeaked horribly, so he couldn't move very quickly - but he'd only gotten scratched on the shoulder. He could probably hammer out the dent. Scully didn't have a clue what else to do, so she decided to play along. What she wanted to do was fast forward to the end of the movie, and the easiest way to do that would be to get the hell upstairs and dump some water on the unsuspecting witch. Then, if this hallucination made any sort of sense at all, she might be released from it and allowed to return to her own dimension, or whatever. It really seemed insane, and Scully worried that she had gone insane, but time was of the essence, and this was the best plan she could come up with on short notice. She turned to the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow. "Look," she said, "I know this isn't the way it usually goes, but I think it will be faster if I do this by myself, okay? You guys hide out here in the poppies, and I'll be back as quickly as I can." Without waiting for an answer, she dashed into the castle. This was exceedingly odd, she thought, panting for air as she trotted up and up and up an apparently endless flight of stairs. If the castle were real, of course, it would have to have all these stairs, but it wasn't real. It had existed only on a soundstage somewhere. Trust her orderly hallucination not to skip ahead. Finally she reached the top - finally, finally, finally. She ran down a hallway and discovered that the doors were informatively labeled. "Witch's boudoir," one offered helpfully, and Scully carelessly yanked the heavy wooden door open. The room was empty. Outside, a few monkeys flew around. A broomstick lay abandoned in the corner. "Damn," Scully swore under her breath. How was she supposed to kill the witch if she couldn't find her? Just then she heard a strange noise coming from the adjoining room. She tiptoed over to investigate, peering around the corner. The door was ajar, revealing a bathroom. The Wicked Witch, fully clothed in hat and robe, reclined in an empty bathtub, reading what looked like an x-file. Scully blinked and tried to focus. Yes, that was definitely an x-file - and the witch looked strangely like - At that instant the witch looked directly at Scully. "Ah, come in, Agent Dorothy," she said. "Agent Spender isn't here, but perhaps I can help you with whatever you require. Oh, and I'll get you, my pretty!" - Diana Fowley. Scully wanted to laugh, but didn't have time. She needed to find some damn water, and fast. There was supposed to be a bucket of it around here somewhere, wasn't there? Scully spotted the bucket, seized it, and tossed the contents in the witch's general direction. She watched as the green skin began to bubble and dissolve, and turned to dash back down the hallway to the stairs, cutting the witch's big dramatic death scene off right in the middle of "I'm mel -" Scully could never explain what happened after that, which made even less sense than what had occurred so far. Suddenly she and Byers and Frohike and Langly were back in the Emerald City, facing the Wizard - who was, of course, Skinner. In a total departure from the script, he swaggered up to her, told her to click her heels together, stuffed a piece of paper into the pocket of her apron, and kissed her soundly before she vanished. When Scully opened her eyes she was standing in the elevator inside the J. Edgar Hoover Building, and Skinner was shouting at her while giving her significant looks. He stalked away, and she automatically reached into her pocket. The piece of paper he - Skinner, the Wizard - had given her was there, containing the coordinates she needed to go track down Mulder. So really, when Mulder woke up in the hospital hours later with his "You were there and you were there and you were there" routine, and Skinner made his comment about Toto, then Mulder suddenly declared that he loved her, how was she supposed to respond? Mulder wasn't the only one who had had a rough day, and she uneasily suspected that somehow both he and Skinner knew about her -- experience -- and were making fun of her. At home that night, though, Scully began to fear that she'd acted hastily, and certainly tactlessly. After all, Mulder seemed to be operating under a whole set of delusions of his own. This left an even more unsavory possibility: her partner of six years had not been making fun of her, but had sincerely declared his love for her, and she had responded by saying, "Oh, brother," and stalking out of his hospital room, leaving him hurt, alone, and clearly confused - on multiple levels. Besides, if Mulder had known about her hallucination, he would've made some comment about ruby slippers and her singing ability; he would not have said, "I love you." Holy shit. Mulder loved her. It was almost inconceivable. Almost. Scully needed to rectify this situation immediately. She needed to explain everything to Mulder, no matter how silly and possibly imbalanced it made her seem. Mulder was scarcely in a position to cast the first stone. In the end she decided that showing up at the hospital in the middle of the night and waking him would really not be the best thing for either of them. The next day when she picked him up, though, would offer the perfect opportunity for explanations, and then she would say it back. She'd look at Mulder and smile and say, "I love you too." When morning came she said nothing. Mulder didn't refer to the incident in any way, however obliquely; he was in high spirits and said he felt a thousand percent better. Scully handed him the latte she'd brought him and flashed him a brilliant smile, her effort at atoning for her behavior of the previous evening. Once she'd deposited him safely at his apartment and made a trip to the grocery store to stock his cupboards, she cracked. Scully felt terrible, and she knew they had to talk about this right now or she'd lose her nerve. She hovered just inside the door, still wearing her coat, and watched as Mulder crossed his ankles on one arm of the sofa and readjusted the pillow behind his head. He looked up and caught the pinched, anxious look on her face. "Scully, I'm really okay," he said gently, smiling. "I feel human again. Besides, you probably think I deserve whatever twinges of pain I'm feeling - and you're probably right." She stepped forward, nervously fidgeting with her key ring. "I don't think that," she protested. "I was just so worried when you went missing. I was in a panic. And Mulder, I'm so sorry that I was - harsh - yesterday." Scully looked down at the toes of her shoes and waited. "Oh, it's okay," Mulder said, and casually turned on the television with the remote. "Really, Scully, you don't have to stay." "I meant I'm sorry for *everything*," she said forcefully, regarding his profile. He didn't answer, just flipped channels. "Do you *want* me to go, Mulder?" He finally looked away from the television. "Do you want to stay?" She edged further away from the door. "I'd like to talk to you." In reply he patted the edge of the sofa. Scully shrugged out of her coat, tossed it over the back of a chair, and joined him, perching on the edge of the cushion by his hip. Mulder smirked. "I didn't mean you literally had to sit right there, Scully." "I know," she said, and made no sign of moving. She sighed. "I want to tell you what happened to me yesterday morning - or at least what seemed to happen." With that she poured out the story, ending when she found herself miraculously returned to the elevator with the paper in her pocket. "I know it doesn't make sense," she said hastily, trying to stave off any comments. Mulder watched her curiously. "And what I experienced does make sense?" "Anyway, um -" She looked down at her hands again. She was getting a hangnail. "So when you woke up in the hospital, and you made that reference to the Wizard of Oz - and then Skinner made one - I thought you knew, somehow. Logically that's impossible, but the whole day was illogical. That's why when you said, ah, what you said, I, um, responded the way I did. And that wasn't fair, Mulder, it wasn't fair or kind -" He covered her hand with his, stilling its nervous motion. "What are you saying, Scully?" She finally met his eyes. They were dark and extremely serious, with a spark of something else just beneath the surface. She bit her lip. "Did you mean it?" she asked suddenly. "Yes. Do you want me to say it again?" His expression didn't change, but his hand tightened almost painfully. "I love you, Scully." She felt a scalding tear at the corner of her eye and hastily blinked it away. "I love you too, Mulder." His next move caught her totally off guard; for an injured man, his reflexes were lightning fast. Before Scully could move, his hand was on the back of her head, pulling her down, and then his mouth engulfed hers. There was no hesitation, no gentleness. Scully responded in kind, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and tangling her fingers in his hair. They didn't pause for discussion. There was no "Are you sure?" and "Is this what you want?" Her hands were trapped as she gripped the couch for purchase, trying to keep from landing on the floor, but his were occupied more pleasantly. He tugged at her clothing, scrambling to reach skin. He finally hauled her on top of him, unceremoniously yanked her shirt over her head, and tugged her bra down out of the way. Her flesh was exposed to the cooler air for only a second before his mouth closed over one eager nipple. Scully squirmed as if her skin were on fire, almost too happy for belief. God, she was burning up, and she wanted Mulder to consume her; then she wanted to devour him. Fortunately he was as impatient as she was. He seized one of her hands and shoved it between their bodies, shaping it to his turgid length. Scully grasped his wrist, holding his hand in place, and lowered her center onto their hands, pressing her palm against his trousers and the back of his hand against the crotch of her pants. She knew he could feel her, hot and damp even between the fabric. He groaned and they began to grind against one another, eager, hungry. "Take off your pants," he ground out, breathing harshly, and she was only too happy to oblige. He jerked his shirt over his head, but only had time to get his pants and boxers halfway down his this before she surprised him, grabbing his penis and flinging herself onto it. They both shouted, and Scully almost started to laugh - she had definitely never shouted during sex before - but then Mulder began to move in deep, slow strokes, his palm moving over her back, caressing her flushed skin. Scully reared back and tried to increase the pace. It was so soon, but suddenly she was so close, and she'd go mad - she'd go mad - He held her off, forcibly keeping them to the same slow, steady, raunchy rhythm, and she began to buck and twist against his body. Gripping her hip with one hand, he found her clitoris with the fingers of the other. At the first light brush she whimpered, and she knew he felt her throb. God, it was as if there were ants crawling all over her; her skin was so alive that it actually stung, but it was so good. He had to know how close she was; he had to be able to see it and put her out of her misery, because she couldn't tell him. At some point she had closed her eyes and let her head drop forward - she could feel her hair tickling her cheek - and she was already so slick with sweat that she felt like a seal. He did see. "Okay," he soothed, gentling his hold on her. His hand remained, but now it offered support, not restraint. "Yeah, Scully, go ahead." The pressure on her clit increased and she began to read him in earnest, as she had never behaved with anyone else in her life. For at least a few seconds, this highly educated woman, a medical doctor and trained FBI agent, felt certain that if she didn't come she'd die. Oh. Oh, *there* it was. She didn't die. Fortunately, neither did Mulder. She thought maybe her heart had stopped for a moment, though. When she returned to consciousness Mulder was driving up into her as if his life depended upon it and whatever was left of her brain had been smart enough to instruct her fingers to hang onto the sofa as tightly as she could to avoid flying across Mulder's living room as if she'd been ejected from a cannon - which is to say that a good time was had by all. Only a few minutes later Scully peeled herself away from Mulder's sticky body and stood on wobbly knees. "Hey, where ya goin'?" he grumbled. "To take a shower. I'm covered in all sorts of disgusting bodily fluids, thanks to you," she informed him matter-of-factly. "Ooh," he groaned, dramatically covering his heart with his palm. "You wound me. If you only had a heart, Scully." "If you only had a brain," she tossed back as she sashayed toward the bathroom. "I was inviting you to come with me." The End theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com