Chapter Text
It's a common misconception that someone who is sleeping cannot feel pain in their dreams. If she had not already been aware of this fact, courtesy of her medical training, Dana Scully would definitely know it now.
She awakens with a gasp, the imagined pain of her nightmare blending seamlessly with real-life agony as she tries to sit up too quickly. She falls back onto her mattress with a groan, clutching at her abdomen, waiting for the spasms to calm enough for her to reach for the painkillers and water that wait at the ready on her nightstand. She knocks back two pills and settles back down against her pillows, breathing deeply as she waits for the Vicodin to kick in.
The silence of her apartment takes her by surprise. She's been having the same nightmare every night since coming home, and until now, her mother would have been at her side by the time she was awake, summoned there by her thrashing and half-awake crying. But this is the first night she's been alone for two weeks, having sent her mother home and refused Mulder's repeated offers to sleep on her couch in case she needs anything.
She understands they're both worried, that it had been a close call, that Ritter's bullet had come within half a breath of ending her life... but she needs to get on with her recovery, both mental and physical, and it's not going to happen if she doesn't learn to get through these nightmares without having her hand held.
At least it's morning this time, and not the middle of the night, she thinks, turning her head to look out the window at the bright sunlight. She's just beginning to wonder how she's going to fill day twenty-two of what feels like a never-ending medical leave when the sound of her cell phone makes her jump. She winces and clutches at her stomach again. Luckily, the phone is on the pillow right next to her, where she'd dropped it late last night after finally saying goodnight to Mulder. She grabs it and answers it.
"Scully."
"Hey, Scully, it's me." He's calling awfully early; apparently going a full six hours without talking to her wasn't possible for him. She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.
"What's up, Mulder?"
"I know it's early, but I wanted to let you know that Skinner and I are on our way to your apartment." She sits up slowly, carefully, frowning.
"Why? Is it something to do with Ritter's inquiry?" She's been promised by the bureau that the rash behavior of her temporary partner, whom she has to thank for the healing gunshot wound in her stomach, will be thoroughly investigated, but she's not really holding her breath.
"No, it's not," says Mulder. There's an uneasy pause. "It's kind of complicated. Listen, we'll be there in about fifteen minutes and we'll explain it then, okay? You need me to pick anything up for you on our way? Can you have coffee yet?"
"Not yet," she sighs. "No, I don't need anything. See you in a few."
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Neither Mulder nor Skinner looks particularly happy when Scully opens the door and lets them into her apartment. They turn down her offer of refreshment and sit down in her living room, their expressions grim.
"Before we start," says Skinner, "I want to make sure that you know that I've argued strenuously against this."
"So have I," interjects Mulder.
"But we were both overruled," says Skinner. "A situation has come up which requires the help of an agent with certain... characteristics. Kersh is insisting that you best fit the profile that Violent Crimes is looking for, and in spite of our objections that you're still recovering from your injury, he claims that the assignment won't be physically demanding or dangerous."
"What kind of assignment?" Scully asks, thoroughly confused.
Skinner glances at Mulder, whose lips are pressed into a thin line. "Agent Scully, how familiar are you with the Miss United States Pageant?"
Whatever Scully had been expecting to hear, this is not it.
"The... I'm sorry, Sir, the beauty pageant?" Skinner nods. "Very, very little, Sir. I know it's for young women, I know they're supposed to be beautiful and have some sort of talent, but beyond that...." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Sir, but it's not something that's exactly been on my radar. Ever." Skinner nods.
"I understand that," he says. "The owner of the pageant, as well as the reigning Miss United States and some of the contestants, have been receiving a series of threatening letters. Violent Crimes has had a look at them and has determined that they're the real thing- someone is targeting the pageant, threatening violent action against it."
"So what does Kersh want with me?" Scully is even more confused now. If they're looking for a profiler, Mulder is the obvious choice, not her. Unless Kersh is deliberately passing him over again, trying to humiliate him? But if that's the case, why is he here with Skinner?
"Violent Crimes needs an agent on the scene at the pageant," says Skinner. "Undercover." Now Scully sees where this is going- and she hopes to god she's wrong.
"You don't mean-"
"As a contestant."
Scully is dimly aware that her mouth is hanging open. The silence in the room is deafening, both Mulder and Skinner waiting for her to be the first to speak. Skinner's bald head is flushed red with embarrassment. Mulder merely looks unhappy.
"Sir," says Scully, finally, "you cannot be serious."
"I'm afraid I am, Agent Scully," says Skinner. "Both Agent Mulder and myself argued that you haven't had enough time to fully recover from your injury and that you are not yet ready to be back in the field, let alone out on an assignment that will require a large amount of time on your feet."
"I would think all of that would be among the least of your concerns, Sir," says Scully.
"What are yours?" asks Skinner, and out of the corner of her eye, Scully sees Mulder smirking.
"For one thing, I'm too old," she protests. "I don't know much about these things, but I do know the contestants are supposed to be in their twenties, and I most certainly am not."
"You look sufficiently close to twenty-nine that if your entry says that that's how old you are, people aren't going to question it," says Skinner.
"And contestants are supposed to have a talent, right? Something showy? Singing, or dancing, or playing an instrument? I can't do anything like that, Sir! What am I supposed to do, stand up there and recite quadratic equations? Autopsy a body onstage?"
"You could dress up like Annie Oakley and do target shooting," quips Mulder, and Scully glares at him until he assumes an appropriately contrite expression.
"We'll figure something out," says Skinner. "We've got consultants who have some ideas that could work." Scully sighs.
"And beyond all of that," she says, "I think Kersh is looking past the most obvious problem."
"What's that?" asks Skinner, frowning, confused. In answer, Scully gestures down at herself.
"I do not look like a beauty pageant contestant," she says. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't the women who win these things usually six feet tall, with at least two-thirds of their body comprised of legs?"
"The winner from three years ago was five feet, one inch tall," says Mulder. Both Scully and Skinner turn to look at him, eyebrows raised. "What? I did some research." Skinner shakes his head.
"In any case... Kersh wants you to go undercover and pose as a contestant in the pageant," he says. "We'll have an entire team of profilers and support agents on the scene, posing as janitorial staff, ushers, stagehands, things like that... but there will be places they can't go, conversations they won't have access to, and that's where you'll come in. It won't be dangerous- you'll be wired at all times, and whenever you're out of our sight, we won't be more than a room away. I promise you that." He sits back, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "And... uh... you won't be undercover alone, either." Scully's heart lifts slightly, and looks at Mulder... but he only shakes his head, suddenly morose.
"I tried, Scully," he says. "But they wanted me with the rest of the task force, not undercover." Scully looks at Skinner.
"So that means...." Skinner clears his throat.
"I requested that I be undercover as well," says Skinner. Mulder smirks and chuckles, and Skinner glares at him. "It was the only way I would agree to it- if one of us was in on it with you. It was decided that I would be most believable as... that I would pose as...." He sighs. "I'll be acting as your personal coach." Scully's eyebrows are practically tickling her hairline.
"A pageant coach? You?" Skinner glowers. "Sir?" she adds, as an afterthought. Best not push him just now; he's clearly uncomfortable.
"It was the only thing we could come up with that would allow me to speak with you as often as necessary," Skinner says. "It would look too suspicious for you to be seen speaking frequently to a security guard or a stagehand." Scully has to admit that this is true... but still, the idea of Skinner, gruff and serious, coaching young women on things like poise and style? She can't stop the corners of her mouth from twitching.
"As I've said, Agent Scully, I argued very strongly against this," says Skinner. "If you feel you are not yet sufficiently recovered, I advise you to petition Kersh directly. I will absolutely support you." Scully thinks about this a moment. If Kersh has overruled Skinner already, it's unlikely he's going to listen to her. She could bring her doctor into it... but she knows that if she fights Kersh on this, he'll make her pay. She glances at Mulder, whose face is unreadable, even to her. Kersh has already split them up temporarily; it's all too likely that he'll do it permanently if she refuses to do this.
"I'll do it, Sir," she says. Skinner nods shortly and stands.
"We'll be heading to Las Vegas tomorrow morning," he says. "You won't need to pack much; Evidence will be providing a suitable wardrobe for you." Scully just barely represses a groan.
"Don't worry, Scully," says Mulder. "I told them nothing flashy. No crop tops or miniskirts." She smiles at him in gratitude.
"Ready to go, Agent Mulder?" asks Skinner. Mulder remains seated.
"Nah, I'll get a cab," says Mulder. Skinner looks as though he wants to argue- Mulder is on the clock, after all- but he seems to decide it's not worth the effort.
"I'll see you in the morning, Agent Scully," says Skinner, and leaves. As the sound of his footsteps recedes down the hallway, Mulder leans forward and looks at Scully intently.
"All right, Scully, tell me the truth," he says. "Are you really up to this?" Scully glares at him.
"I said I was, didn't I?" she snaps.
"I heard you," says Mulder. "But I know you, Scully. You could be bleeding on the floor with an ax wedged in your neck, and you'd say you were still able to work. I've seen you literally on death's door, trying to carry on with your job." His gaze softens slightly. "I can see the way you're holding yourself. You're still in pain, aren't you?"
"I'm just due for my medication," she lies.
"And that's another thing- your meds. You can't possibly go back in the field on Vicodin. It's just not safe."
"It's a low dose," she protests. "Not nearly enough to affect my cognitive functions. I'll be fine, Mulder."
"Sure, you'll be fine, until you're not anymore," he says. "Scully, what happened in New York was close. Too close. I don't want to risk you like that again."
"Mulder, you and I both know that Kersh will use any excuse he can find to keep us on different assignments," she says. "If I refuse to do this, it gives him a perfect opportunity. I am not letting them split us up again. I've told Skinner I'll do it and my answer is final." She sinks back into her chair with a sigh. "I don't know why you're so worried. My cover's gonna be blown in less than a day anyway."
"What makes you say that?"
"I'm not one of those women, Mulder," she says. "I was a tomboy growing up. I still am a tomboy, at heart. I can't do phony smiles and oozing femininity."
"False," says Mulder. "You might be a total kick-butt badass, Scully, but you are absolutely feminine."
"Not like that, Mulder," she says. "The legs, the long, perfect hair, the-" She gestures at her chest. "The assets... I don't look like those women, Mulder. I'm going to stand out like a sore thumb."
"No, you won't, Scully," he says, his voice soft. "None of them have anything on you. Trust me on this." Scully can feel a hot blush creeping up her chest and onto her cheeks. She feels desperately uncomfortable under his gentle gaze. Mulder doesn't generally say things like this to her. She knows he appreciates her looks- she's seen it in his face for years- but it's not typically something he comments on.
"Thank you," she says, looking down at her lap. He shrugs, grinning bashfully, and stands.
"You should relax for the rest of the day," he says. "Get some rest while you can." She nods and stands as well to see him out. As she opens the door for him, something occurs to her.
"How do the guys in Evidence know my clothing sizes, Mulder?" she asks him. Mulder, already looking a little sheepish, blushes even more.
"Uh... I told them," he says.
"And how did you know?" In answer, he gives her a sweeping glance from head to toe, and grins. She smiles and shakes her head. "Let's hope you guessed right, Mulder," she says. "Otherwise the first thing you're doing when we land in Vegas is taking me shopping."