Title: Cerulean 
Author: drovar
Rating: G
Date: 5/14/00
Archive: Gossamer: No, Ephemeral: Yes, Others, please let me know 
where.
Summary: A picnic, blue sky, clouds, a moment with AD Scully and SA 
Spender that doesn't go exactly as hoped.
Category: Vignette, Angst, Non-slash
Disclaimers: All characters herein are property of FOX and 1013. No 
copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made from 
this work. 
Notes:  Special thanks to Lopsided Weevil for some great research.

A continuation of the AD Scully/Senior Agent Spender universe. Other 
AD Scully stories can be found at The Ferretcage www.ferret-cage.com.



Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, 
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; 
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth 
Of sun-split clouds... and done a hundred things 
You have not dreamed of... wheeled and soared and swung 
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, 
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung 
My eager craft through footless halls of air. 

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue 
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace 
Where never lark, nor even eagle flew. 
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod 
The high untrespassed sanctity of space, 
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. 
 
High Flight -- John Gillespie Magee, Jr. 



It was cool for August, almost cold, with one of those high-arching 
clear skies that seemed to go on forever, rising to an intense blue 
that makes you ache from the clarity of it. Senior Agent Jeffrey 
Spender gave the sky one quick glance and set about his task 
spreading out a blanket beside a large wicker picnic basket. The 
roof of the Hoover building wasn't the ideal place for a hopefully 
romantic moment, but considering Scully's schedule it was the best 
he could do.

A sharp wind rustled the blanket, snapping and rippling it, as he 
smoothed it down. He quickly pulled bowls and bottles from the 
basket and set them at the corners of the blanket. Spender surveyed 
his work making sure the blanket was staying in place before 
carefully setting out the rest of the picnic supplies. 


The first item he took out was a plastic container of cold roast 
beef croissant sandwiches from the Chesapeake Bagel Bakery, with the 
price tag carefully removed. This was followed by a plate of mangos, 
sliced and chilled to near-frozen, just the way she liked them. A 
bag of her favorite brand of organic blue-corn tortilla chips from 
"Earth Foods" in the Bohemian district was next. Individual bottles 
of spring water replaced the wine he had intended to bring. 

"No alcohol on duty," had been Scully's one demand when she finally 
gave into his wheedling and wooing and agreed to join him for this 
rooftop picnic. 

She'd finally relented on the elevator ride up to her office. It was 
Monday, and they had yet to slip into their constrained roles of 
superior and subordinate. There was still an easy, relaxed 
camaraderie between them. Of course, that was over once they stepped 
out of the elevator. From then on it would be "Yes Ma'am. No Ma'am. 
Right away Ma'am". The abrupt shift in their relationship, from 
casual to formal, had caused Spender a bit of consternation at 
first, but he was nothing if not adaptable and willing to change.

In the years following Mulder's death Scully had become as variable 
as the DC weather. It was all about riding the crest of her 
emotional waves while you could, knowing that even on her sunniest 
days dark clouds rumbled and thundered just over the horizon. He'd 
been caught in those storms more than once and yet there was an 
intense brightness in her. Some days, when her spirits were high and 
the specter of lost love receded into the distant thoughts for a 
time, Spender could see the woman she had been, that she should 
always be. Mulder had been a lucky man, and he'd never known it.

A siren's wail from the street below pulled Spender out of his 
musings and back to the task at hand. He finished carefully setting 
out the rest of the picnic supplies and stashed the basket out of 
sight. He stepped back and studied the layout, he adjusted the 
placement of napkins and plastic-ware, checked things again and 
sighed. It wasn't exactly the romantic atmosphere he'd hoped to 
create but it would have to do. With Scully you took what time you 
could get.

"If I were a terrorist you'd be dead now Jeffrey."

Spender felt a hard object poke into his back. Shit, Scully.

"Bang," she said and poked him painfully in the back. "One dead FBI 
agent."

"I'm much too good looking to shoot," Spender said. "You know that." 
He turned around slowly. She was holding a tube of lipstick and 
smiling, that was a good sign. Sometimes his attempts at humor 
simply failed, or worse only irritated her.

 "Keep thinking that Jeffrey," she said as she dropped the tube into 
her pocket, "and you'll be dead in a week."

"I'm not cute?" Spender said with an exaggerated whine in his voice.

Scully grinned just slightly, then shrugged and sat down on the edge 
of the blanket. "No comment."

"A rooftop picnic," Scully said as she picked up a plump mango 
slice. "How hopelessly romantic."
 
A look close to contentment passed over Scully's face as she bit 
into the cold fruit. Spender knew he'd gotten that part right. She 
caught a small dribble of juice as it ran down her chin, her lips 
forming the first hint of a real smile. Spender looked down, hiding 
his own grin as he unwrapped the sandwiches; it was going to be a 
good day.

* * *

They sat in quietness with the remains of the picnic scattered 
around them. Scully lay stretched out on the blanket with Spender's 
suit coat folded up as a pillow. She was slowly pulling apart a 
croissant and nibbling at the pieces. Spender sat propped up against 
the wall with his shoes off and legs out in the sun enjoying the 
warmth,

"Look," Spender said as he pulled a hand from behind his head and 
pointed out into the sky. "That one's a duck."

"It's not a duck," Scully said without looking as she continued 
dismantling the croissant.

Spender paused to watch her unobserved as she carefully and 
meticulously pulled small shreds of bread from the croissant and 
devoured each one. He didn't know how long he'd been watching her 
lips when she spoke again.

"I said it's not a duck."

"I mean it looks like a duck," Spender added quickly, returning his 
gaze to the sky.

"It doesn't look like a duck," Scully replied. "It's the simple 
human desire for order and classification. We match patterns, 
stretching our imaginations until the unfamiliar fits a pattern we 
know. It's the same phenomenon that created the zodiac and causes 
people to see Elvis."

Spender watched as the last of the croissant disappeared and Scully 
brushed the crumbs away.

"It still looks like a duck," Spender added. Scully only grinned 
slightly in reply. They sat in silence for a little while before he 
spoke again.

"Have you ever imagined yourself as part of the sky Scully?" Spender 
asked staring off into the blue depths of air. "Ever put yourself up 
there, visualized it?"

"Have you been watching infomercials again Jeffrey?" It was his turn 
to grin. Scully could cut you to the bone with a comment and make 
you smile while she did it.

"Yes, but that's beside the point. Visualization is an effective 
meditative technique, and your blood pressure's been elevated for 
weeks."

"Yes nurse Spender," Scully said. She gave two quick snickers and 
placed her fist lightly to her lips to keep from laughing out loud.

This was the woman she should be, Spender realized, bright, almost 
luminous, without the darkness of the past casting its heavy shadow. 
He felt a sudden surge of anger and loss. Mulder had this; he was 
with her when life for her was more than her job and her duty. He 
was with her during the best times, and as small as it made him 
feel, Spender resented that. 

"Nurse?" he asked in mock horror. "You know what white does to my 
hips."

That got him a real laugh. He could just catch a glimpse of her 
teeth as she laughed. They glinted slightly in the noon brightness 
and made him stop and stare, the swelling mix of anger and 
resentment suddenly gone. "Like pearls and rose petals." he 
whispered to himself.

"No, you're right, anything but that." she said, laughing. She 
crossed her arms primly over her chest and closed her eyes. "What do 
I do?"

"Cell phone off?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

Scully turned to face him and held the phone up. She pressed a 
button and dropped it into her pocket.

"Okay, just relax and listen to my voice," Spender said as he 
settled down closer to Scully, stretching his legs out into the 
warming sunlight. "There's no traffic, no city, no noise, just the 
sound of my voice."

"This isn't one of these hypnotize and take advantage of your date 
things is it?" She asked.

"Only if I'm really lucky," he replied.  "Now listen to my voice and 
just to my voice, there's nothing else but the sound of my voice. 
You're high above the city, high in the air looking down as the 
streets spread out far below you. The people are nearly out of 
sight, they look like ants."

"The people are ants?" she asked with a grin, but with her eyes 
still closed.

"They just look like ants."

"They're wearing ant suits?"

"No, they're small like ants."

"Okay, I'm high in the sky. The people look like ants, but they 
aren't ants, and aren't wearing ant suits, got it."

"Just relax, and listen to my voice. You can hear the wind now; 
listen to it as it swirls past. It's a soft friendly sound.  You 
belong here, you're part of the sky, you're at home, and at peace." 
Spender could see that her breathing was getting a little deeper, a 
little slower; the tension was fading from her face as she relaxed.

"You're higher now," Spender said. He leaned over and stretched out 
on the roof bringing his head close to hers. His voice dropped to a 
softer tone, quieter, smoother. "High in the sky, the city has faded 
to a soft blur far below. You can see the ocean now, far below, its 
wave are like tiny ripples."

"You feel something, feel it riding on the cushions of air at your 
side. You turn slowly . . . What do you see?"

There was a pause before she answered, her lips gently replying to 
his question, "Something white, and soft, but bright and fast . . .. 
feathers and wings," she said. Her voice was muted and slow as if 
she were murmuring in her sleep. "A swan," she added with a soft 
breath.

"Yes, a swan, brilliantly white with sunlight striking her feathers. 
She watches you for a moment, without fear, you're as much a part of 
the sky as she is. You fly together for a while, lifting through 
vaulted chambers of air, free, unafraid, at peace. With a call of 
farewell the swan wheels off disappearing into distant clouds."

"How do you feel?" he asked her as he watched her chest rise and 
softly fall. The sunlight was beginning to crest over her shoulders 
and touch the tips of her pulled-back hair. Where the light hit the 
strands they glowed like threads of ruby and copper, with a deep 
warm luster that seemed to call to him, to become lost and wander in 
their depths.

"It's cold," she said as the slightest smile graced her lips.

Spender brought his lips close to her ear and whispered, keeping his 
voice low and calm. "Yes, but you like the cold. You can feel the 
ice on your skin. The air is so thin and cold up here, there's no 
sound at all. Just you and the sky. Everywhere is peace and silence 
and the vast airless darkness of space just beyond your reach."

"Peaceful . . .," she whispered more to herself than to him.

"Yes its peaceful and serene. You're relaxed and at peace."

Spender paused for a moment, choosing his next words with care. 
"There's someone waiting for you far below," he said as he gently 
reached over to stroke her shoulder. "Someone who cares for you, 
someone safe, someone to catch you and protect you."

Scully gave a small sigh, "Yes."

"You're falling now, fast, riding a sunbeam on crystal wings, you 
can feel the wind whipping past. The city appears spread out lie a 
blanket beneath you, and you can hear someone calling your name."

Spender gently wrapped his arms around her, carefully, bringing his 
face near hers. "And then he catches you, you fold into his arms and 
all is well."

There was a moment there, a heartbeat in time, when all seemed right 
between them, and their troubles faded to nothing but shadow.

Scully reached up and stroked his hair, her fingers trailing down to 
caress his face. Her own face was suffused with a serenity he had 
never seen in her.

"Oh Mulder," she said at last. "That was wonderful."

Spender felt his spirit crumble, such a weak, meaningless word, and 
yet so powerful and destructive, everything he'd hoped for, dreamed 
for, destroyed by that one word, that one man. It was gone. It was 
all gone.

Scully's eyes slowly blinked open; she looked around in confusion, 
as if searching for someone else, before settling on him.

"Jeffrey, I'm sorry." She said, as her eyes grew wide. 

Spender forced a wry grin onto his face; it felt more like a wince.

"It's okay, really," he said "I understand, we can still . . .," he 
said in desperation, before the moment was completely lost.

The blaring ring of her cell phone interrupted him; she hadn't 
turned it off.

Before he could continue she fished out the phone and answered it. 
Within a moment she pulled free of his embrace and stood. The light 
in her eyes was gone; the joy in her face was replaced by iron. She 
was all business again, all AD Scully.

She was halfway to the stairwell door when she seemed to remember 
him. She looked back and excused herself from the call.

"This was wonderful Jeffrey, thank you." She turned and just as 
quickly was gone.

He sat staring at the door for a long while. It had all gone so 
quickly and completely wrong. They had been so close, if only for a 
moment. The wind kicked up again and began scattering paper napkins 
and plastic cups across the roof.  Spender cursed and quickly 
grabbed up the picnic supplies, and crammed them by wadded handfuls 
back into the basket. He grabbed his jacket, stood and stared out 
over the city, he hefted the basket and considered simply pitching 
it over the edge, before stuffing it into a maintenance dumpster. In 
a moment he too was gone, leaving the roof silent, and bright, and 
empty.

[END]


Further notes:

High Flight, a poem by John Gillespie McGee, Jr. (1922 - 1941). An 
American/British fighter pilot, he flew with the Royal Canadian Air 
Force in World War II. He came to Britain, flew in a Spitfire 
squadron, and was killed at age 19 on December 11, 1941, during a 
training flight from the airfield near Scopwick, Lincolnshire. The 
poem was written on the back of a letter to his parents which 
stated, "I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 
30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed."