The Greenhouse Effect by Jori

Mulder and Scully break free from doing background checks to go 'investigate' an exotic flower grower in Florida. Smut follows. This story line would take place after Tithonius, but before Two Fathers. And there is no such person as Diana Fowley. NC-17

**************************

FBI Headquarters
February 12, 1999
7:35 a.m.

"Orchids, Mulder? We are going to investigate an orchid grower? In Florida? Because. . .?" Scully asks, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

I know she doesn't feel like being dragged all the way to the sunshine state, especially on another bullshit assignment, but Kersh said 'do it' in a tone of voice that not even I could ignore. It also sure as hell beats being tied to a desk and running background checks all day.

"First, because there's no way in hell someone who grows only orchids could possibly need this much fertilizer. Second, in Florida because that is one of the few states that can grow anything in the middle of winter. And third because. . .because this Sarasota, Florida is within one-hundred miles of a major body of water," I say, adding the last line somewhat sheepishly.

We had just started on a relationship not only as partners but also as lovers when Walter Peyton Manning Twitter Ritter what ever the fucker's name was shot her. I have only recently started staying at my place again, after spending two weeks by her side. This definitely put that new aspect of our relationship on hold. Actually, more like it came to a screeching halt. Shot down. Dead in the water. Pull out your bugle and commence playing Taps.

I don't blame her. I wouldn't want anyone touching me after what she went through, but we were so damn hands off for so many years, that to have this happen just as we start our no holds barred, bumping like

bunnies romance is just bad timing. Maybe she sees it as an omen that this shouldn't have happened in the first place. Maybe after the initial fire burned so intense, she doesn't want to mess with the smoldering, hot white ashes now

"One hundred miles?" she asks, looking at me puzzled. She must have forgotten my joke about when we could cross the line and mess around while working a case. Only if we are within one-hundred miles of a large body of water. I tried desperately to book us a flight to somewhere warm and tropical New Year's day, but I had no luck. If we had only been able to get out of town, we wouldn't have been stuck at our desks, and Kersh wouldn't have been able to send her off to New York.

"Never mind, Scully. Our plane leaves in two hours. The airport will be crazy with that pilot thing going on, and with the possibility of every damn congressman in the union trying to get home, so we better get going," I tell her, as I grab our two little overnight bags we keep around for occasions like this.

"I'm coming," she says in a tired voice behind me. God, I wish it were really true.

******************************************

Delta Flight 641

"Mulder, our return tickets say Monday, February 15th. You think this will take that long to look into?" Scully asks. We are at cruising altitude on our way to sun and fun, and she is worried about getting home. Obviously she's not in as good of shape as I thought.

"Well, I figured with it, um, being. . ." I start.

"Valentine's Day?" she finishes for me. She doesn't look the bit least enthusiastic about this whole thing.

"Right. Valentine's Day. I thought perhaps we could, you know, start again. Pick up where we left off, you know, over New Years," I whisper to her. She turns her head away from me and stares out the window.

It is several minutes before Scully says, "I don't know."

"What don't you know, Scully?" I ask, fear rising up into my chest. I always assumed that when she was ready we would be back to where we were going. I just never imagined this getting in the way.

"I don't know if I'm ready," she says softly.

"Scully, we've got all the time in the world," I tell her, as I hold her hand.

***********************************

Carmichael's Sweet Petals Orchids and Nursery
Sarasota, Florida
2:45 p.m.

"The gardener says that the owners won't be back from a show until late Sunday afternoon, Scully. He also says he has no knowledge of any of that type of fertilizer being shipped here and he wouldn't know what they would use it for, considering they only grow orchids and tropical exotics," I tell Scully, who is leaning up against our rental car.

"Sounds suspicious to me," she says, with only mild interest in her voice, as she takes a quick glance at her watch.

"Are you okay?" I ask her.

"I'm fine, Mulder. Now what do we do?" she asks, looking at her watch again, as if it might be Sunday by now.

"Do you have a date or something that I don't know about? Am I keeping you from something, Scully?" I ask, knowing my voice betrays how perturbed I feel.

"No, Mulder. It has been a long week and I really didn't feel like spending the weekend in some strange dive of a hotel," she says, as she gets in the car.

"Who said anything about a dive? I *never* check us into dives," I say.

I can see her look at me with a sideways glance.

"Okay, there was that one in Texas, but you have to admit the roach traps were a nice touch," I add, eliciting a tiny smile from her.

"I'm just tired," she says with a yawn.

"Come on, Scully. I'll make it worth your while," I say to her and she smiles again.

"Find me a quiet place by the seaside and I'll be happy," she says, and I plan to do just that.

******************************************

Outside the Sea Castle Inn
Siesta Key, Florida

Scully is nestled up against my chest and in between my legs as we sit on the beach. We patiently await the sunset. The water is nearly smooth, reflecting the remaining sunlight around only on tiny ripples. We are surrounded by other tourists, all trying to get the perfect picture.

I'm sure I should be worried about someone getting the perfect picture of us together like this, but I don't care. Although we've grown closer since Scully was shot, we haven't been this close physically, and I'm not going to back away now.

"Look at that," I say, as I quietly point out several dolphins playing about thirty feet offshore.

"They look like they are having fun," Scully says, as she nestles in closer to me.

"So do they," I say, pointing to a young couple doing their own frolicking under the surf. It wasn't that long ago that Scully and I did the same thing. It was only a few days after Christmas, to be exact. It just seems like a lot longer.

"Hmmm," she says, as she turns her head away from the direction of the couple.

"What are you thinking about, Scully?" I ask, as I kiss the top of her head. This is far too comfortable.

"Oh, nothing really. I was just getting out of my head for a moment," she says softly. I know that isn't true, and that she is just afraid to tell me something. I can't imagine why.

A few moments later the sun takes its nightly dip into the Gulf of Mexico, and it sinks fast. Darkness comes about us equally as fast, but still we don't move.

"I really need to get some rest, Mulder," Scully says, as she yawns.

"Okay. We can go back in. You get some rest and I will run up to the store for provisions," I tell her.

She laughs, saying, "Provisions? We aren't camping, Mulder. It is a two bedroom condo with a full kitchen."

"It was the only place I could get on such short notice. I'm sorry if you don't meet your dive quotient for the year," I tell her, as I help her up off of the sand, "Here, let me do that."

Our legs are covered in sand and I help brush her off. We already had to make a quick trip to a tourist trap to buy clothes appropriate for our locale. I could get used to Scully wearing this short sarong-like skirt. I could get used to it fast.

"Thank you," she says, as she offers me hand up and out of the sand.

"I love you, you know," I say. I try to tell her that at least once everyday. Or maybe twice if I can.

"I know you do," she says as she takes my hand and leads me back to the condo.

******************************************

February 13, 1999
7:15 a.m.

"Wha... Where are you going?" Scully asks. I didn't mean to wake her so early. After she took a nap yesterday evening, we stayed up late eating grouper sandwiches and then watching TV until all hours of the night. Then we fell asleep snuggled up together. Nothing more.

"I'm sorry. I'm going out for a run out on the beach. Want to come?" I ask.

"I'm not exactly up to running yet, Mulder," she says, as she snuggles back under the covers.

"Then how about we go for a walk? I'll walk slow so you can keep up. I promise," I say, and she throws a pillow at my head.

"Hold on a second. I'll get up," she says.

"Bring a jacket," I tell her and in minutes we are heading down to the beach.

"It is cold out here! I thought we were going somewhere warm," Scully says, as she pulls her windbreaker tighter around her.

"A front came in overnight and it is only supposed to get worse. Doesn't look like you'll be wearing that bikini today," I say without thinking.

She turns her head away from me. Shit. I forgot about the newly acquired abdominal scars. I am used to them now, and they are just another part of Scully. She is still adjusting to the changes in her form.

"I'm still making you wear your Speedo," she counters back as she grabs my hand and we head down the water's edge.

We are silent together, listening to the light waves the front brought in gently break on the shore. Gulls circle overhead, crying out as they look for breakfast among the debris.

"The gulf is so different than the ocean. Look how calm it still looks, even with a storm coming in," Scully says, as we crunch through the broken and battered shells strewn near the water.

"I'm thankful I didn't try to pack my surfboard," I joke, as we our journey down the sand.

"I think the best surfing in Florida is done when a hurricane is threatening. Now that is something I never want to experience. All that water. . ." she starts to say.

"I thought you liked the water, Scully?" I ask curiously.

"Not an eighteen foot wall of water in the form of a storm surge," she says.

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, "I promise to never get us trapped in a hurricane."

We go about a mile down the beach when Scully wants to sit down.

"The sand is wet," I complain, not wanting to trek a mile back covered in sand.

"I'll brush it off of you," she says, making it sound good, as she sits cross-legged in the sand

"Ooh. Maybe I'll cover myself in sand," I tell her, but she's not listening, "What's wrong, Scully?"

"Nothing, really,' she says, and she begins to make a small pile of sand in front of her.

"Are you sure?" I ask, but she doesn't answer my question.

"I read last night that this beach was actually voted as having the whitest sand in the world one year," she says, as she makes a small, haphazard castle with her hands, "it almost looks like snow."

"It is nice here. Scully, do you think. . . are we ever. . ." I start to ask, but don't know how to finish the thought.

"After I got home from the hospital I got comfortable with your constantvpresence, Mulder. I think I got too used to it. When you started staying at your apartment again, I would stay awake at night, lonely, wanting to

call and ask you to come back, but I couldn't," she says as she stares out over the water, her sandcastle forgotten.

"Why not? I would have," I say, as I begin to wonder if I'm being dumped. How would that work? How would I go about seeing her everyday and not wanting more?

"I know you would have. But. . ." she starts.

"But?" I ask. There are so many things wrong with this whole thing. We are partners. We have to work together. But there are so many things so right. Oh, please don't make me regret crawling under the sheets with you, Scully, because I'm to scared to leave the warmth and love that I've found there.

"I'm afraid of needing you too much. Needing you more than I already do," she says.

"Why does that scare you, Scully? I need you just as much," I tell her, taking one of her sandy hands in mine.

"Because I've never felt like this before. I have never felt that if someone in my life died, I wouldn't be able to go on," she says.

"Believe me, Scully. I understand how you feel. If you want to go back to where we were before, we can," I say, already feeling knots in my stomach from just saying it, without it even happening yet.

"We can never go back," she says as she rises up out of the sand and offers me her hand, "I just need time to figure out how to go forward."

****************************************************

Carmichael's Sweet Petals Orchids and Nursery
February 13, 1999
4:47 p.m.

"What are you looking for, Mulder? There's no one else here," Scully asks me as I walk around the nursery compound.

"I don't know. I just find it suspicious that the gentleman I talked to yesterday says he didn't know that the owner made the order for fertilizer nor does he why he would order that, but when I was reviewing the file this morning, his name is signed on two purchase orders," I say, as we go into the first greenhouse we come to.

"And you expect to find what?" she asks, as she looks over the delicate blooms filling the structure.

"I expect to find that he disappeared somewhere after the time we left yesterday and the time we got here today," I tell her as we make our way to the back of the greenhouse.

"Well, that certainly narrows it down," she says as she picks up a small, delicate plant.

"Dendrobium aphrodite," I say, after taking a glance at the plant in her hand.

"What?" she asks.

"That is what is called. Dendrobium aphrodite," I say as I wander around another table of flowering plants.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch her looking for some placard or sign saying what the plant is, but she doesn't find one.

"Mulder, are you raising orchids in your bedroom? When did you get so knowledgeable about horticulture? " Scully asks incredulously.

"You know, growing up in the '70s, I had to know a little about growing plants," I say, getting an eye roll and a tiny smile for my efforts at humor. This looks promising. "Actually, my mother took it up as a hobby

once. She was a member of the garden club on the Vineyard for awhile. Anyway, I read one of her books on orchids," I add.

"And you committed to memory all the genera of orchids?" she asks, as she picks up another plant.

"No. Just the Dendrobiums. That is all my mother attempted to grow. I couldn't tell you what that one is," I say, nodding towards the plant in her hand, "Should we go see if we can find him in another building?"

"Why don't we just wait until tomorrow when the owners come home?" I hear her ask as I'm already out the door.

Outside, I look around and spot "EXOTIC" hand printed on cardboard hanging over the door to another greenhouse and I wonder exactly how 'exotic' they get. Rain starts falling as we walk, and Scully and I end up in a downpour by the time we make it to the building. Ah, Florida. . . cold spells don't bring snow. They bring rain. Today it just happens to be cold rain.

"Well, at least it is nice and warm. What are they growing in here?" Scully says, as she removes her outermost wet clothing.

"I think we are in the exotic hothouse," I say and turn to find Scully, arms crossed and smirking at me. My train of thought wavers and I stutter "um, see the frangipani, bird of paradise and ginger. Maybe they grow them in here to protect them from the weather. I'm surprised you don't know more about plants, Scully?"

"I'm not a botanist by trade, Mulder. Exotic hothouse?" she asks, as if I'm making this up.

The rain starts pouring harder while we stand there, already dripping wet. We are in the farthest building from our car and we would be a muddy mess if we made a run for it now.

"Not the worst place to get stuck in, Scully," I say, as I look around the small building.

"I thought most exotic flowers were imported from Hawaii," Scully says, as she follows me through the plants.

"I don't think Sweet Petals supplies flowers to florists. I think they mainly deal with hobbyists," I say as we reach the back of the structure.

"How do they afford their hobby?" she asks, as she picks up a potted bird of paradise.

"I don't know. Maybe they grow something else on the side. That is why we are waiting around town to talk to the owners," I say.

"Oh, so that's the reason," she says with distrust, as she sets the plant back down.

"You think I have ulterior motives, Scully?" I ask.

She brushes dirt off a potting table, turns around and pulls herself up to sit on it.

"I can't imagine the words hothouse and exotic coming up and you not having ulterior motives," she says, her eyebrow peaking like usual.

It is growing increasingly dark and hot in here. Even with the cool weather, the humidity has got to be at least seventy percent. And the image of Scully sitting demurely, framed by tropical flowers blasts the temperature up to sweltering.

"We will just wait out the storm here, Scully. Then we will come again tomorrow afternoon to see if the Carmichael's have returned. Those are the only motives I have," I say, as I move closer to her.

I am standing in front of her, my hands on her knees, edging just a bit nearer and nearer. Of course I have ulterior motives. Of course I'm not going to admit to them.

"Are you trying to seduce me amongst the Heliconias and the Calatheas, Agent Mulder?" Scully asks, as her legs yield slightly to let me even closer.

"Heliconias and Calatheas? I just knew you were a botanist," I say to her as we meet face to face.

Scully looks hesitant about our nearness and I cannot tell whether it is because of where we are or because of what we discussed earlier.

"Mulder, we are working," she says as I move in to kiss her.

"We are all alone. No one will ever know," I say, as my mouth meets hers for the briefest moment.

"No one ever knows when you are working anymore. It is getting difficult to tell when you are actually doing work or when you aren't, instead it has entered this nebulous area. . ." she says, her mouth then coming back to mine, opening up to me. This is the first passionate kiss I've received from her since she almost died, and I think of the truth in the old adage "absence makes the dick grow harder" or how ever it goes.

"I've missed you," I say to her as she pulls away from me.

"We've been together nearly every day for over a month now, Mulder. And most of the nights. What have you missed the most?" she asks. Her eyes are set afire with. . . desire? Need? Love? All of the above, I hope.

"I've missed this," I say, as I start to unbutton her damp blouse, "I've missed you wanting me as badly as I want you."

"I want you, Mulder. I need you. It's just that I got a little sidetracked there for awhile," she says.

"I thought you were afraid of needing me?" I ask, as I slip her blouse down.

"It's too late. I can't change that and I don't want to," she whispers to me, then demands, "finish what you started, Mulder."

I undo her bra, and cast it aside with her blouse. This is wrong. We are investigating this damn nursery for chrissakes, but I can't help it. Blame it on the flowers or the heat. Blame it on me needing her so bad it hurts. I don't care.

She is not self-conscious about her scars in front of me. I've seen them since the first time they removed the pressure bandages. Besides, I have scars of my own. We just don't have an exact matching his and hers set yet.

My mouth is all over her, and she is intoxicating. Her scent is more beautiful than anything you will find in any one of these flower houses. It is more alive and real. I move my mouth to her breasts, my tongue exploring her, finding just the right spot to make her moan. Her hands move to my face and she pulls me up until I'm face to face with her again.

"Do you want to, Scully?" I ask, not wanting to push her into anything she's not ready for yet. Especially here, like this. This is risky, which makes it all the more fun.

"Yes," she says without any hesitation, as she jumps down off the table to undress the rest of the way. She pulls my T-shirt off, and my jeans are quickly down around my ankles, followed by my boxers. I am hard under her touch, and she pushes me backwards until I'm sitting surrounded by bromeliads. She sinks to her knees in front of me and takes me into her mouth.

All fears of what our future might bring slip away as she gently, teasingly moves her tongue up and down my length. Her tongue flicks around the head of my cock, and I can only moan with pleasure. The temperature is rising considerably here among the tropical splendors of the world, and I can't help wonder how hot we could make it in here.

Scully's tongue continues to tease and play with me, and I can think of nothing more than sinking into other parts of her.

"Scully, stop," I say, and she looks at me with a tinge of disappointment on her face.

"Chickening out, Mulder?" she asks, as she rests her hands on my knees.

"No. I just have other plans for you," I say, using this as the perfect opportunity to disrobe entirely.

We both stand together naked, surrounded by hothouse flowers, the sweat beginning to form on both of our bodies. Luckily, the glass is beginning to form a shroud of condensation, so we are afforded a degree of privacy.

"What plans would those be?" she asks, smiling the most genuine smile I've seen in a long time.

"I want to make hot, passionate love to you. I want to make this place so hot that the damn flowers start sweating. I want you," I say to her, as I pick her up and place her back on the potting table.

Her legs wrap around me, and I slide inside of her with amazing ease. She is wet and ready and I would say we are going to steam the place up if the glass wasn't already fogged opaque.

I move in her slowly, teasing her like she had just teased me. I want to see her come with me. I want all the flowers to shake right along with us, to know how much I love this woman.

I thrust into her, and she asks for it faster, but I don't want to lose this moment. I want it slow.

Her body is slick with sweat, and I lick her neck to taste her. Salt and flowers and rainwater.

"Mulder, please," she says. She pulls my face to hers, pressing my lips under hers with bruising kisses.

"Please what?" I ask as I nip at her lower lip.

"Faster," she says again.

"Not yet," I say, as I thrust into her slowly once more.

"How many orchids can you name, Mulder?" she asks out of the blue.

"Why?" I ask.

"Name them," she demands.

"Uh, Scully. Now?" I ask. My brain can only focus on so many things at once and sex always takes precedence over anything else. And why would I want to think of species names of orchids when I have a hot passionflower like Scully moaning in my ear?

"Now. I want to see how well you can multitask," she says jokingly, as she runs her tongue slowly up my jaw line. I will do anything she wants if we could just stay like this forever.

"Um. Dendrobium aggregatum, Dendrobium aphrodite, Dendrobium atroviolaceum, Dendrobium capillipes, Dendrobium chrysotoxum," I start, thrusting into her in between each name

"Can you say them faster," she says, grinning.

"No," I tell her, catching on to her little trick.

"I'm impressed. Alphabetized and all. Go on," she tells me, her breaths hot and quick.

"I don't know how many more I can do and concentrate on you," I tell her.

"Try," she demands, her hand moving in between us to stimulate herself.

"Dendrobium ciliatum, Dendrobium crepidatum, Dendrobium crumenatum, Dendrobium dearei, Dendrobium delacourii, Dendrobium densiflorum. . . Scully, I can't," I plead, my brain refusing to go on an orchid hunt.

"I'll let you stop if you just go faster," she says with a delicious smile.

"Whatever you want," I say, as I thrust into her faster and deeper with every stroke. The combined efforts of my thrusting and her pounding against me make the table shake, knocking down a stack of pots from one of the shelves above.

"Oops," Scully says, laughing, as we both survey the broken pieces.

Her breath begins to get ragged and quick, and I know she is close. A few more thrusts, and she drops her head ecstasy. Well, at least it appears that way to me. I soon follow her, coming hard inside of her, swooning from the heat and exotic perfume surrounding us.

She pulls me closer to her, and we just stand there wrapped around one another, in silent bliss.

Until something sounding a lot like a car door thumps outside.

"Shit!" I say, as I pull out of Scully and help her jump down off the table. We are dressed and out the door on wobbly legs faster than you can say "busted on the job."

A man wearing yellow rain slicker approaches us, looking us over suspiciously. I offer a quick prayer to any deity listening that the algid drizzle of rain covers up the slick layer of sweat and Scully's flushed face and disheveled hair.

"Are you Robert Carmichael?" Scully asks.

"Yes, can I help you?" the man asks.

"Yeah. I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, and this is um.... Special Agent Scully and I, uh. . ." can't find my ID. Shit. I must have landed on the floor in the exotic house.

"We have some questions concerning your recent purchases of fertilizer," Scully finishes, sounding cool and collected, showing the man her badge.

"What kind of questions? I told my gardener to tell you what was going on. I'm diversifying, going into growing tomatoes and strawberries. Come on into the main office and get out of the rain. I'll show you my paperwork," he says, as he begins to walk away from us.

"Where exactly is your gardener? We couldn't seem to locate him?" Scully asks. She looks at me quickly, and motions for me to go back into the greenhouse to straighten the place up and find my badge.

"Excuse me, I think I dropped something. I'll be right with you," I say as I run back in with the hothouse flowers.

We made a bigger mess than I remembered. Several pots lay in pieces all over, and we knocked over a big bag of potting soil. I try to clean it up quickly, but only make it worse, so I give up. I find my badge among the bromeliads and hurry back to Scully.

She is standing outside the office talking amicably with Robert Carmichael.

"His papers are all in order, Mulder. His ag card checks out and he is indeed in the process of planting several fields of tomatoes and strawberries," Scully says, looking up at me through her rain-soaked hair.

"Why didn't your man explain that to us yesterday?" I ask.

"He probably just got scared. Um, he's not exactly legal," Mr. Carmichael explains to us, looking sure we are going to haul him and his family in for hiring an illegal.

"Well, Mr. Carmichael, thank you for your time. We are sorry for any inconvenience we might have caused you," Scully says, as we both walk away quickly.

"You think he suspects something, Scully?" I ask as soon as we out of earshot.

"No. He probably assumes most FBI agents wear their T-shirts inside out," she says, pointing at me.

"Blame it on the greenhouse, Scully," I say as I climb into the car, "it had an effect on me."

****************************************

Sea Castle Inn
February 14, 1999
10:25 a.m.

"Oh, Mulder! They are beautiful!" Scully exclaims as I hand her a vase filled with tropical flowers.

"They reminded me of you," I say, "hot and exotic."

She laughs and goes to put the vase down on the table on the lanai.

"So, what do we do today?" she asks me. It isn't swimming weather, that's for sure.

"Well, we could always find someplace hot and steamy again, maybe do a repeat performance?" I suggest, and she nods her head no.

"I don't think that would be wise. Perhaps we should just take a long walk on the beach and really discuss where this is going," she says.

Her voice makes it sound like it could can only go somewhere good.

"Barring another romp in a hothouse, I would like nothing more," I tell her as I take her hand and we head towards the beach.

***********

The End of The Greenhouse Effect

Continue to next story: EVERGREEN

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