Half-Naked Scully Pictures

"Oh, my God," Scully gasped. She had been sitting at her work area and quietly opening her mail until a blast from the past hit her square between the eyes. Dazed, she stared down at the two large 8x10 glossy photographs in front of her. Suitable for framing, she thought numbly. Where she would hang them after framing, she had no idea.

At her unaccustomed outburst, Mulder looked up in alarm. "What is it, Scully?"

She slammed her mail down and then slammed a thick case file down on top of it. "Nothing," she answered too quickly. "Nothing at all."

"Hardly nothing at all, Scully," Mulder drawled, leaning back in his chair, curious about what could cause that slight stain of pink in her cheeks. "You look as if someone mailed you a big hairy spider." He shuddered at the mention of his own personal nightmare. But that was his 'special concern', so to speak, and even that wouldn't bother Scully.

Nothing flustered Scully. Nothing. Not huge, slime-dripping mutants, not the threat of alien invasion, not gun-wielding maniacs. Not even the thought of Christmas eve shopping. He shuddered again at that terrifying prospect. He was suddenly intensely curious about what could cause his imperturbable partner to become so perturbed.

"Nothing, Mulder," she repeated. The famous Scully iron-mask, patent pending, was back in place except for a light pink still staining her cheeks and a slight frantic haste in her movements as she swept up the mail and the case folder and headed for the door. "I forgot an important appointment, Mulder. I'll see you later."

Mulder stood up as she headed out the door like her tail was on fire. "Scully?" he called after her feebly.

"Later, Mulder." And she was gone.

When she returned two hours later it was as if nothing had happened. After a couple of days the subject was forgotten. Even Scully was allowed to forget an appointment now and again.

Alex Krycek knew he was taking his life in his hands. Just being outside Scully's apartment was a life-threatening proposition, let alone breaking in and searching the place. But it sounded like a simple enough assignment. Find one large envelope received from one Dr. Marcia Alazar that contained evidence the syndicate didn't want the dynamic duo to have then leave with aforementioned envelope. Simple.

He groaned as he stood outside in the dark and stared up at Scully's dark windows. He should know better by now. Anything involving Scully or Mulder always ended up far from simple. Just using the word was tempting fate.

Krycek shook himself. This contemplation wasn't helping. It was only adding to his unease. Time to move.

Fortunately, this was his favorite part of the job. Being an assassin and all-around lackey didn't have many perks. After all, there were only so many cigars you could steal and on top of that he thought he was developing an aversion to smoke. It reminded him too much of that cigarette-smoking bastard. Lately every time he was around smoke he broke out in an embarrassing rash in an equally embarrassing place. Lucky for him the rash was never visible, but it was irritating.

His mind was wandering. Where was he?

Oh, yeah. Favorite part of the job.

Which would be, sneaking around in the dark and breaking into other people's homes. It reminded him of when he was a kid. Not that he broke into other people's houses when he was a kid. That part didn't come until much later. No, it was the sneaking around part he liked. No one knowing you're there. Having a secret only you know When he was a kid he was the best at war games and any kind of game that required sneaking.

So he did what he did best, breaking and entering. He waited until he was sure there was no one home then, to phrase it delicately, entered the premises.

He began to search the apartment using only a penlight. He didn't want to chance turning on a lamp. Scully could be home anytime. He shouldn't even be here but this was too important. He had to chance it.

Mulder was trying to decide on a course of action for the evening. He could go down to the gym and try joining a game of basketball. He could be lazy, order in and stay slumped in front of the TV the rest of the night. He could pay the Lone Gunmen a visit and make fun of their latest conspiracy theory. But that last option wasn't as much fun if Scully wasn't there to give her silent opinion with a mere arching of an eyebrow.

He sat on his couch, staring at the blank and silent TV as he tried to decide what he was up for, when the phone rang. His spirits lifted. Maybe it was Scully.

"Mulder," he answered the phone briskly.

"Mr. Mulder." The deep voice of his informant, Mr. X, sent a surge of adrenaline through him. "Scully has something she shouldn't."

"What? What does she have?" Mulder had little hope of actually getting an answer. Sometimes he thought all his informants took a course in being vague and confusing before they were sent out to supply him with not-too-helpful clues.

"At her apartment. It could be disappearing as we speak."

Mulder opened his mouth to ask another question only to be met by a dial tone. He sighed and hung up. Cryptic as always. One of the few things he could count on; Scully to be skeptical, Skinner to be mad about something or other, and none of his informants ever giving him enough information until long past the point it would do any good.

He immediately dialed Scully, first her apartment and when there was no answer, her cell phone. He finally caught her. It sounded like she was on the road.

"Scully?" It was a poor connection. He pressed the phone harder to his ear then put a hand over his other ear to limit outside noise. It never helped but he did it anyway. It was a ritual, sent up to appease the Phone Gods. Just think of their mighty wrath if he failed to do this useless ritual. "Scully, can you hear me?"

"Mulder? This is a bad area. Mulder?" Her voice went up as she tried to get through the lousy connection with pure volume. She didn't have a lot of luck. Static chattered over the connection and for a second she was afraid they had been disconnected.

"Scully, do you have something that anyone would want? Evidence of some kind?" Mulder felt like growling with frustration as the connection broke up again in the middle of his sentence, but he concentrated fiercely on maintaining the connection as if through pure psychic power he could make the phone work and be understood.

It didn't really help.

Scully missed most of that except for a small fragment about 'evidence' and 'want'. "Mulder?" she called in frustration. "You still there? Mulder? What evidence? Who wants it?"

"At-- apartment-- Scully" crackled over the line and Scully shook the phone in frustration. She'd just have to wait until she saw him.

"Mulder-- meet me at my apartment." She was yelling now. "Mulder? Did you hear me? My apartment."

"Your apartment, Scully-- " The line went dead. Mulder could tell because of the sudden clear silence on the other end. He never thought he'd miss all that static. "Scully?" he called hopefully, but he knew it was no use and for a change he was right. No answer.

He slammed the phone down in frustration then realized he hadn't had a chance to warn Scully that she might have someone waiting for her when she got home.

He grabbed his keys and jacket, checked his gun and raced for the car.

When Mulder reached Scully's apartment he cagily cruised by but didn't see any unusual activity. Not that he was familiar enough with Scully's neighborhood to be able to identify usual activity let alone unusual activity. He just used his super-honed G-man senses and decided arbitrarily that nothing was amiss.

He also noted that Scully wasn't home yet.

Mulder parked around the block out of sight and then ran back to her apartment building. He took a quick look around then headed up to her apartment. He listened at her door briefly but didn't hear anything. As quietly as he could, he unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open.

Meanwhile Krycek was in the bedroom and greatly relieved. He had found it. At least he thought he had. He was slowly filled with the small, fragile hope that he might actually pull this off without a hitch. Said hitch usually went by the name of Mulder or Scully.

He found the envelope stuffed in the back corner on the top shelf of her closet. He checked the return address and was about to open it when he heard someone at the front door. So much for no hitch. A hitch was walking in the front door.

Krycek killed the light and hurried to the open doorway. He looked around the corner in time to see the front door inch open. He looked around quickly. He thought he had what he needed but hadn't checked the contents yet. He didn't feel like counting his chickens at this point. He pulled out his gun and eased across the room until he stood next to the door. He held his gun at the ready and waited.

Mulder eased around the corner and into Krycek's line of fire.

"Don't move," Krycek growled. "Don't twitch."

Mulder froze. He knew that low, whispery voice.

"Close the door," Krycek ordered then carefully reached over and flicked on the lights. In this new subdued lighting Krycek looked calm but the adrenaline was pumping and he'd be sweating bullets if he allowed that sort of thing. As it was, he gripped the gun tighter. That was the only sign of how nervous he really was. Mulder was his one true failure and he hated dealing with him. He was a perfectionist at heart and it irritated him endlessly that he hadn't hooked Mulder and reeled him in as planned.

Mulder slowly moved forward and pushed the door closed behind him. He limply held his gun, carefully not pointed at anything. Maybe he was willing Krycek not to notice it. If he was, he was to be doomed to disappointment.

"Put the gun down slowly." Krycek watched closely as Mulder moved farther into the room and carefully placed his gun on the table that was set along the back of the couch.

Mulder raised his hands above his waist. "What a pleasant surprise, Krycek," he said lightly. "What are you doing here? Remodeling? I think Scully would've mentioned something as extreme as that." Hiring a double agent to do carpentry work would have come up in the conversation he was sure.

"No," he answered calmly. "No remodeling." Still holding the gun steady on Mulder, he fumbled the envelope open. "I'll be gone as soon as I check..." Krycek's voice trailed off as his jaw dropped open. His gun sagged to the floor at the same time as his jaw. Krycek could only stare at the contents of the envelope. Two very large, very mind-numbing photos stared back.

Mulder couldn't remember ever seeing Krycek so surprised, but that was a secondary concern as Mulder realized how distracted he was. His hand flashed out and he snatched up his gun to immediately point it at Krycek. But even weirder, Krycek didn't seem to care.

Or even notice.

"Drop it, Krycek!" Mulder ordered loudly.

Krycek looked up absently, met Mulder's fierce stare then his eyes were irresistibly drawn back to the photos. He held his gun negligently, forgotten.

Mulder took a step closer. "Drop it, Krycek!" he repeated, but was still ignored. Mulder's tight grip on his gun loosened with bewilderment. He frowned and changed his grip uncertainly. "Krycek?"

Krycek looked up, still holding his gun limply. Meeting Mulder's eyes, he wordlessly handed him what he had been staring at so intently.

Mulder took it carefully, watching him closely, but Krycek turned his attention to the other photo.

Nonplused and wondering what mind-bending evidence had been uncovered to send Krycek of all people into such a state, Mulder looked down. And his mouth dropped open. And his eyes widened. And his gun hand fell to his side, limply clutching his gun. Mulder desperately tried to take in a breath.

Wide, sultry blue eyes stared up at him. It was a large 8x10 glossy of none other than his stern, straight-laced partner, wearing nothing but black lace. And very little black lace at that.

Scully lay on her back on a large, old fashioned bed amidst white lace sheets and huge, fluffy pillows, staring at the camera with a look that was pure sex.

Deep red hair fell in tumbled waves down to her shoulders and spread across the pillows provocatively. Her back was arched against the mounds of pillows and her arms were crossed in front of her, which was good considering the upper half of her body was naked. Obviously naked, by the swell of one high breast that looked about to escape her grasp. Only her arms prevented the picture from sliding from wildly erotic and squarely into the land of pornography.

The only item of clothing she wore was a small scrap of black lace that clung to her hips, heroically trying to cover her when it was clearly a case of too little, too late.

Long sleek curves and pale gleaming flesh were all revealed for the camera. The half-smile on her face told whoever cared to look that Scully was having a wicked good time taunting any nameless men that happened to catch a glimpse of this photo.

Unfortunately, the men who saw this particular photo were not nameless. Mulder and Krycek looked up simultaneously to share a look of stunned surprise. But lurking underneath that surprise was a gleam of pure unadulterated male appreciation. Maybe more than just a gleam.

Numbly, Mulder thought back. Nowhere was this on his list of planned activities for the evening. He double-checked. Nope. Standing in Scully's apartment, staring at half-naked-- correction-- mostly-naked pictures of Scully, while standing next to Alex Krycek wasn't anywhere on the list.

Never looking up, Krycek and Mulder wordlessly traded pictures.

Mulder's eyes were irresistibly drawn to the new photo, while Krycek reviewed the photo he had already seen to ensure it was exactly as he remembered. It was.

Now Mulder held a photo of Scully lying on her stomach. Same bed, same big blue eyes, same wicked 'come-fuck-me' half-smile, same glorious hair tumbled down around her shoulders. Mulder took in a shallow breath.

Scully was reaching out to hold onto the footboard, her arms apart in twin, pale lines of muscle and smooth skin. Her head was thrown back to smile up into the camera and gave an unobstructed view down the front of her cleavage. She was pressed against the bed and the black lace bra she wore-- or more accurately-- almost wore, barely contained the taut globes of her breasts.

Mulder took another short, shallow breath and was aware that sweat had broke out across his face. He heard Krycek also take a low, shallow breath and was immediately sympathetic.

Oh, boy, was he ever. He understood completely. He was going through the exact same mental torture. He knew Scully was pretty, sometimes he even thought her beautiful, but he had no idea she could look so... hot, was the only word he could think of. But 'hot' seemed so inadequate in the face of... of this, these pictures.

Especially considering the horrendous pantsuits she usually wore, boring and bland to say the least. But he'd never be able to look at Scully in even the ugliest pantsuit she chose to wear without immediately thinking of these images. Sometimes a photographic memory was a blessing and sometimes it was a curse. He wasn't sure which this would be, but he was sure he would find out. Soon.

And he was right.

As the horrifying sound of a key being inserted into the front door echoed through his head, he realized he only thought he was sweating before. Now he was sweating. If Scully caught him staring at these pictures he was dead. She would shoot him. Cold. Dead. Buried.

He shared a panicked glance with Krycek, the same thought going through each man's mind.

Run!

Mulder and Krycek were enemies. They had nothing in common. Neither understood the other; their reactions, their goals. They were diametrically opposed personalities, but for once they were united in one emotion, one goal. The one emotion was pure terror. The one goal: to run, run, run before Scully caught them and killed them horribly. She's a doctor. She's had extensive training with a knife. There's no telling what kind of ingenious tortures she could come up with.

They looked around desperately for an escape route but there was nothing. They were trapped. Both men clutched the photos desperately. They didn't think to just throw them away. Or maybe they couldn't bear to. Or maybe they knew it wouldn't do any good in the long run. Scully would find out and she would hunt them down. They shared another panicked glance.

"She'll kill me if she catches me with these," Mulder whispered desperately.

"Kill you!?" Krycek whispered back vehemently. "She'll torture me and then kill me!" Krycek visibly took hold of himself as thoughts tumbled through his head chaotically. He was used to thinking fast. Mulder was, too, but he was still dealing with one stunning development after another. So to speak.

Meanwhile, Scully had just discovered the door was unlocked. "Mulder?" She rattled the knob. "Mulder?"

Krycek pointed his gun at Mulder.

Mulder frowned, his look speaking volumes. 'Get serious, Krycek' his look said, 'this is life and death.'

But Krycek only nodded his head in acknowledgment of Mulder's silent rebuke and whispered, "Go along and we might both get out of this alive."

Krycek started to fumble the picture he held back into the envelope. Mulder held his gun limply and watched. Krycek got his photo inside then shoved the open end of the envelope towards Mulder, indicating he should put the picture he held inside. Fumbling and working together, the second photo was stuffed in the envelope. The door was just swinging open as Krycek closed the flap and stepped away from Mulder, once again grimly holding his gun on him.

Mulder held his gun limply and didn't protest. It made a skewed kind of sense. Mulder couldn't hold a gun on Scully and keep her from killing them, but Krycek could.

Krycek nervously clutched the envelope tighter as Scully walked through the open door and caught sight of him.

"Krycek!" she hissed. Her keys fell to the floor as she scrambled for her gun.

A sharp lift of Krycek's gun stopped her. "Take it off, Scully. Carefully."

Krycek mentally cursed the Freudian slip but with laudable control, maintained a grim professionalism. Luckily, the thin sheen of sweat that covered his palms was undetectable except for the slight slipperiness in his grip on the gun.

Mulder was also sweating. At Krycek's words he tried to gulp quietly. 'Take it off, take it off' echoed through his head. He found himself staring at Scully, mesmerized and unable to look away.

Scully was wearing a light-weight jacket that hung open to reveal a vividly blue, tight cotton shirt with a v-neck that dipped low over her breasts. The ensemble was completed by a pair of jeans and a set of boots. The casual outfit made her look young and with her hair windblown and tumbled around her face she looked as young as she did in the pictures.

Mulder caught himself trying to catch a glimpse of her bra, wondering if it was black and lace by chance. He abruptly jerked his eyes away. He quickly looked at Krycek and noticed his eyes were also wandering.

Mulder cleared his throat explosively and Krycek jerked his eyes away.

Scully was glaring at him with hate-filled eyes. She didn't seem to notice his wandering gaze.

"What are you doing here, Krycek?" Scully demanded.

Staring at half-naked pictures of you with Mulder, was the first thing that popped into his head. It's a weird, new-age, love-your-enemy kind of encounter therapy, his mind crazily continued, unrepentant. But he couldn't say that. His thoughts whirled dizzily a second. He recovered almost instantly.

Almost.

"Just passing through," Krycek drawled sarcastically, uncomfortably aware that the envelope seemed to be burning into his hand. "Now take off your gun," he carefully re-phrased, "and put it down."

Scully clenched her hands into fists and helplessly took in Mulder's equally helpless look as he stared back at her. She looked at Krycek again as she slowly reached for the gun at the small of her back.

Both men held their breath in suspense. If they could just get her gun away from her, there may be a chance for life. Slim, true. But a chance.

Unfortunately, Scully's stare dropped to Krycek's hand and she froze with numb horror as she recognized that envelope. The same manila envelope that Marcia had sent her.

In medical school the pressure was incredible, especially for two women working their butts off just to stay even with the men. They not only had to prove they deserved to be there, they had to prove it over and over again every single day. Not only was the stress insane but they had both bemoaned the fact that they didn't feel the least bit feminine anymore. There was no time to take that extra little effort for themselves.

So on a lark, Marcia had set up a photo shoot with a professional photographer that did lingerie ads. The photos were a joke, never to be seen by anyone, but it was enough to keep them going through med school. If either of them ever felt the least bit unfeminine, all they had to do was casually mention those photos. They'd share a secret grin and go about their work, spirits much improved.

Scully had talked to Marcia recently. They had each bemoaned how work-oriented their lives had become and Marcia had sent the pictures as a joke and a morale booster.

But now Scully stood in frozen horror, staring at that envelope in Krycek's hand. Why, oh, why hadn't she just burned them when she had the chance? Why did she keep them?

"What are you doing with that?" Scully whispered the question. She strove to remain calm even as the most worst-case scenario she could have ever imagined played out in front of her; Krycek and Mulder looking at those pictures. She gulped a quick breath, trying to get her frozen lungs to work.

Thank God it looked like the envelope hadn't been opened yet.

"I was sent after some evidence that was mailed to you. This is all I found. I was about to check... " Krycek trailed off as he pretended he was going to open the envelope. He threw Mulder a quick meaningful glance that Mulder instantly deciphered correctly.

As Scully scowled and stepped forward to protest, ready to throw herself at Krycek to prevent him from seeing those pictures, Mulder gave a yell and jumped forward. The envelope was knocked out of Krycek's hand as, miraculously, both their guns dropped to the floor. Krycek scrambled back and away towards the bedroom with Mulder in hot pursuit.

Scully paused to draw her gun, pick up Mulder's and grab the envelope and then she was after them both.

Krycek made it to the window and the fire escape. Scully was far enough back that Krycek paused after he had ducked outside and shared a meaningful glance with Mulder.

"Never," Krycek said simply.

"Never ever," Mulder agreed, sealing the pact. Then Krycek was taking the steps four at a time while Mulder eased his way out the window and onto the fire escape.

Krycek was just disappearing around the corner with Mulder staring after him glumly when Scully made it to the window.

"Where'd he go?" she asked breathlessly, her gun nosing around, searching for a tall dark-haired target.

"He's gone," Mulder announced, sounding depressed.

"You didn't chase him?" Scully asked, puzzled. Krycek was more Mulder's enemy than hers. Now that she thought back, Mulder had seemed strangely composed considering it was Krycek that had a gun on them.

She eyed him, suddenly suspicious. "What's going on, Mulder?"

Mulder's face smoothly moved into a blank mask. "Nothing. He got away, okay? I stumbled and by the time I was up, he was already out of sight. I don't even know which direction he went in." Scully absently handed him his gun as she considered this.

Mulder ducked his head as he re-holstered his gun. He had never needed his lying tongue as much as he needed it now. He just hoped that Scully, the one person in the world who knew him better than any other, would not detect the bald-faced lie.

Scully wasn't happy and eyed him suspiciously. Something was wrong with this whole situation. In fact something stank. Mulder was hiding something.

Eyes narrow, she started with a warning plain in her voice, "Muul--der... "

He interrupted her casually. Time for a diversionary tactic. "So what's in the envelope, Scully?" he asked innocently. He looked away from her face as he hopped back into the room. He regained his footing and stared at her inquiringly.

Scully swallowed her question at the sudden change of subject. "I, uh... nothing, Mulder. It's personal. From an old friend from medical school."

"Can't you just show-- " Mulder started in a whine. It had the calculated effect.

Scully whirled around and headed for the living room. "No, Mulder. It's personal. Nothing to do with you or the X Files."

She quickly walked into the living room with Mulder casually sauntering up behind her, breathing easier. She clutched the envelope tightly, her fingers white. After a moment, she seemed to abruptly remember the gun in her hand and holstered it. "What's this all about, Mulder?" Scully asked irritably.

"I got a call from an informant that there was some evidence here that someone wanted to disappear. So I called you. Then when I realized I didn't get a chance to warn you that someone may be waiting for you, I came over. Krycek got the drop on me then you showed up."

That was essentially the truth. Essentially.

"That's all?" She eyed him suspiciously.

"That's all," he answered innocently. "What? Is there more?" He gave a hopeful look around. "Do you have some evidence he didn't find?"

"No," she said abruptly. "No evidence." She continued in puzzled exasperation. "I don't know why anyone would think there was."

Mulder shrugged helplessly.

"Okay, Mulder. Enough fun for one night. Out. I have to take a bath and go to bed." Scully shooed him towards the door.

At the mention of a bath and-- oh, God-- a bed, Mulder swallowed quietly as a stunning, full-color image of Scully, half-naked and lying on a very large, very soft-looking bed took over his mind.

He shook the image away and casually moved for the door, carefully not looking at Scully.

"Okay, Scully. I guess tonight's a bust." He winced. Another sensitive word not to be used in any future conversations. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said hurriedly. "Don't forget to lock up."

"I won't forget. Good night, Mulder." She still held the envelope in a death grip, waiting for him to leave.

" 'Night, Scully," he answered and gratefully watched the door swing shut behind him.

I'm alive, he thought, pleasantly surprised. It's a miracle. Maybe there is a God.

As he walked down to his car, he decided to stay in his apartment the rest of the night where it was safe. He'd had enough excitement for one night. He also had enough food for thought and food for fantasy to last at least a month. At least.

As he drove away, he was unaware that, not too far away, another man was also driving home, thinking along the exact same lines.

Maybe Mulder and Krycek had more in common than they thought.

Meanwhile Scully was staring at a smoldering pile of what used to be two very embarrassing photos.

She poked the ashes to make sure every bit was burned through.