Colombian Exchange
By Taylor (kenntr03@wfu.edu)
Keywords: MSR, Angst, smuttiness
NC-17
Summary: A meditation on love, sex, family, jealousy, and
coffee, not necessarily in that order.

Colombian Exchange

I should have known when I couldn’t get the damn
coffeemaker to work.  It was a bad omen.  A sign from
God.  Or Buddha, or Allah, or whoever.

But I just stood in Mulder’s murky basement office –
Mulder’s office, mind you, not ours, even after over eight
years – and shook the stupid piece of equipment that was
denying me my morning caffeine fix.

“That the scientific way to fix that, Scully? – Skinner wants
us upstairs.”

I ignored my partner – I’d been doing that a lot lately;
things between us weren’t exactly going along
swimmingly – and gave the Mr. Coffee one more smack
with the flat of my hand, just for good measure.  Then I
followed Mulder to the elevator.

We had to wait outside the AD’s office for a few minutes.
Mulder looked over a case file; he didn’t discuss it with
me.  I read Newsweek.  The perfect example of the two of
us, completely isolated in our individual spheres.

Skinner peered at us seriously over the rims of his wire
glasses.  “Agents.  Go home and pack a bag.  Tomorrow
morning at 4:30 a Chinese liner will be docking off the
California coast near Baja.  You will be there, as will I.  As
will naval officials, who will attempt to intercept the ship;
they believe it to be carrying one John Thomas Lee, ex-
Navy officer, who was commanding the U.S.S. Michigan
last summer in the South Pacific.  Are you familiar with
that incident?”

“The ship was sited on Chinese radar in a controlled zone
not far from the coast and torpedoed.  Survivors believe
the captain – Lee – purposefully steered the Michigan
away from its correct coordinates, then abandoned ship.
Possibly as part of a plot
contrived with the Chinese navy.”

“Yes, Agent Scully.  What our navy doesn’t know –
information we’ve obtained through another government
agency –“

Mulder and I exchanged a look.  CIA?  DOD?

“Is that this ship, the Xi-Ching, is carrying a cargo
including large amounts of uranium and plutonium,
purchased secretly from a leftist group in Kazakhstan.”

“By Lee,” Mulder said.

“It would appear so.”

“So, terrorism,” I said.  “But why isn’t the navy being
told?”

“There are indications that the Chinese government has
full knowledge of what the Xi-Ching is carrying.  If this
information gets out—“

“It could start World War III,” Mulder finished.

“You two will be part of a task force assembled from
regional offices around the country and headed by myself.
Your flight leaves at 12:00.”

………….

In my Georgetown apartment, I threw a couple of outfits
into a duffle bag.  I tossed in the standard black pants and
turtleneck I would wear for an operation like this, and
thought of something Langly told me Mulder had said
once.

“Wear something black and sexy and prepare to do some
funky poaching,” I quoted, grinning.

Mulder picked me up to go to the airport.  I put my bag in
the trunk and commented, “Mulder, how long has it been
since either of us drove a car that wasn’t government
issue?”

He didn’t have an answer, but he said he’d brought me
something.  Expecting, perhaps, a severed hand or a nice
baggie of soft tissue to examine, I was pleasantly surprised
when Mulder handed me a large Starbucks cup.

I took a sip and smiled appreciatively.  Hazelnut latte, my
favorite.  “Thanks – What are you up to, Mulder?”

“Absolutely nothing, Scully.  I’ve seen you without your
coffee – It’s not pretty.”

I smiled.  Mulder was doing something nice for me –
really nice, since our usual science vs. belief bickering had
verged on overt hostility lately.

I never believed Mulder before.  Believed in him, yes.
Blind belief, however – that’s not my style.

This was a bad time to start.

…………………

We flew into LAX, then we and all the other agents
involved in this massive sting endured a six-hour briefing
at the LA regional office.

At one point when the issue of Navy involvement was
being addressed, Mulder turned to me and waggled his
eyebrows up and down.  “Maybe you’ll see Brother Bill.  It
could be a regular Scully family reunion.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Yeah, right, Mulder.”

We broke for dinner eventually.  I was about to ask
Mulder if he wanted to grab a sandwich, when a tall –
well, she was tall by my standards, which made her about
5’7” – thin woman with long dark hair and bangs walked
up to me.

“Dr. Scully?”

I turned to her with that pleasant, neutral-but-aloof
expression we’ve all mastered for people who know us,
but whom we don’t even vaguely recognize.  “Yes?”

She smiled.  “You don’t remember me.  I’m Michaela
Crenshaw.  I was—“

“At Quantico when I was teaching,” I recalled; this during
the first time the x-files were shut down.  Agent Crenshaw
hadn’t been in any of my classes, but I did remember her
face.

“Right.”

“How have you been?”

“Fine.  I’ve been working in the LA office, but I’ve just
accepted a transfer.  Agent Mulder didn’t tell you?”

I frowned.  “Agent Mulder didn’t tell me what?”

The man himself appeared at my elbow.  “Agent
Crenshaw?”

I couldn’t help but notice that Michaela’s smile was
considerably toothier for Mulder than it had been for me.

“Agent Mulder!  A pleasure to finally meet you.”  They
shook hands like old friends.

I looked on with narrowed eyes.  To finally meet you?
“Would someone please tell me just what is going on
here?”

Mulder looked a little sheepish, a little guilty.  Damn it, I
knew that look.  “Scully, this is Agent Michaela
Crenshaw.”

“Yes, I know,” I replied calmly.  The pieces were falling
into place, but I didn’t particularly like the way the puzzle
looked.

“Michaela is going to be working with us on the x-files.”

“Skinner approved a third person?” I asked incredulously.

Mulder grinned.  “Not just Skinner.  It came down from
the top.  I’ve been in contact with Michaela for a couple of
months now, via phone and e-mail.”

I stared at him.  A couple of months?  And he hadn’t even
deigned to mention it to me?

Michaela was speaking.  “Are you guys hungry?  There’s a
great place right around the corner.  It has fantastic
burgers.”

Mulder accepted for both of us, and I followed along in a
silent funk.  In a few minutes we were sitting at a table in
your standard bar and grill.  I perused my menu in silence.
Mulder didn’t notice; he was occupied with Chatty Kathy
there.

I was peeved.  OK, I was downright angry.  Mulder had
obviously known about this for months.  And yes, he’s the
senior agent.  But he’s not my fucking boss, I thought.    I’m
not his secretary.  Or his assistant.  I’m his partner.  As in
equal.  We’d had this whole conversation more times than
I cared to count.  In the beginning he had treated me like
his secretary, or his glorified errand girl, and I hated it.
But I thought he’d finally gotten the point.  I mean, Mulder
can be dense, but Jesus H. Christ!

Suddenly I realized that I was the topic of their
conversation.

“Yup, no one wanted to be in Dr. Scully’s class,” Crenshaw
laughed.  “She was tough.  Slice and Dice Scully.”

I smiled tightly.  Charming.

Mulder guffawed.  “Slice and Dice, huh?  I like that even
better than Doc Ice.”

“Fabulous,” I shot back, “Spooky.”

Mulder’s amusement might have paled a little.  Crenshaw
turned to me.  “But I’m sure you don’t want me calling
you ‘Dr. Scully’ all the time.”

Well, it’s better than Slice and Dice, I thought.  But no,
actually, I didn’t.  Crenshaw was only two or three years
younger than I; “Dr. Scully” made me feel like a relic.

I opened my mouth to tell her Scully was just fine.
“Actually-“

“Dana.  OK?  Fox and Dana.”

I expected Mulder to choke on his water at that one, but he
didn’t say a word.  I was stunned.

After we ordered, I excused myself and went to the ladies’
room.  I had finished touching up my almost-nonexistent
makeup and was washing my hands when Michaela came
in.

“Dana?” she said tentatively.  “You’ve been awfully
quiet.”  She touched my arm.  “Are you upset?”

I managed a small smile.  “Not with you.”

“With Fox?”

“With, ah, Agent Mulder, yes.  I had no idea you were
joining us, because he apparently saw no reason to tell
me.”

She nodded sympathetically, wide-eyed.  “I know how
you must feel.  You and he have been partners for a long
time.  All these years with such a brilliant man, getting to
be the sounding board for his brilliant theories-“

Oh brother, I thought.

“It must have been absolutely enlightening.  An amazing
experience.”

“You could say that,” I interjected wryly, wondering what
Agent Crenshaw would have thought about Leonard Betts
or Eugene Tooms.  Or the Consortium.  Cancer Man.  Max
Fenig.  Home, Pennsylvania.  The list went on in my head.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being jealous,” Crenshaw
continued innocently.

I actually laughed.  “Jealous?  Because of Mulder?”

“Well, I’ve heard that you guys are – close –“

“I don’t know exactly what you’ve heard, but let me make
it clear right now that Mulder and I are not now and have
never been romantically involved.”  Perhaps that came out
a little more harshly than I had intended.

She blinked.  “Uh, OK.”  What do you say to that, huh?  “I
bet the food’s out now.”

I was glad to get started on the fairly lengthy car ride
down to Baja.  I anticipated settling into our familiar
pattern of solitude.

That didn’t happen, of course.  In fact, I found myself
relegated to the back seat.  I watched in amazement as
Mulder opened Michaela’s door.  Smooth, Mulder, I
thought.  Couldn’t you at least wait 24 hours before you
start hitting on the new girl?

We weren’t even out of the parking lot when Mulder
flipped on the radio.  “What kind of music do you like?”
he asked cheerily, fiddling with the presets.  He found a
station playing some weird New Age-y melody heavy on
the Indian flutes and what sounded like a lyre.  Michaela’s
eyes lit up and she and Mulder launched into an animated
discussion.

Mulder never asked me what kind of music I liked, I
thought, feeling a little wounded.  In seven years he’d
never cared enough to find out, and here he was asking
Michaela Crenshaw after he’d known her for less than two
hours.  (And months of e-mail and phone calls, I reminded
myself.)  Maybe they’d move on to favorite colors next.
How sweet.

I tuned their conversation out and relaxed against the
door.  I knew I wouldn’t sleep, but I could try.

…………..

The scene at the international pier in Baja was a madhouse,
in its own quietly federal way.  The plan was to flank the
pier on all sides, with some agents on fishing boats docked
close to shore.  A small team of agents would rush the ship
when the Navy attempted to arrest Lee.

Skinner was at “command central,” the second floor of an
abandoned warehouse we had commandeered for our
own purposes.  From there he was unnoticed, relatively
safe, and had a clear view of the “action.”  He was, of
course, in continuous radio contact with all of the team
leaders.  Those of us on the “first strike” team all had
headsets.  There were six of us:  me, Mulder, a young
black man from the Philadelphia office, an agent from
Atlanta, and two middle-aged men from the LA office.

I slipped on my black jacket with “FBI” emblazoned on the
back in yellow-gold letters and adjusted my earpiece.  I
was crouched behind a huge stack of crates.  Something
that might have been a rat skittered past my foot; I didn’t
look.  All was silent.  I knew Mulder was nearby, ready to
cover me, as I was him.  I fingered my holstered pistol,
hoping I wouldn’t have to use it.

It was still almost dark, the sun giving off very pale light
in the eastern sky, just enough to eerily elongate shadows.
The Xi-Ching had appeared on the horizon and was
approaching its port, the lessening distance transforming
what looked like a child’s toy boat into a massive hulk.

Skinner had begun radio checks.

“01, ready?”

“Check,” said one of the two LA agents who was our
official leader.

“Bronson?”

“Check.”

“Teague?”

“Check.”

“Hughes?”

“Check.”

“Scully?”

“Check,” I said.

“Mulder?”

“10-4, Back Door, roger on the Gomez.”

I grinned.  Skinner moved on to 02 and progressed to 05.

The ship was preparing to dock.  I listened intently.  The
teams on the fishing boats were reporting nothing
unusual.

Then Skinner issued an all-call.  Naval officials had located
our control center and were storming it.  I craned my neck,
looking up at the warehouse windows.  If I squinted very
hard against the gray dawn, I could make out Skinner,
ASAC DeShawn, and a few other figures, two in dress
Navy whites.

The radio squawked to life.  A familiar voice blasted into
our ears.

“What the hell is going on here?”

…………….

“What are you people doing?” the man before me
demanded.  “Why the hell’s the FBI on this?”

DeShawn tried to diffuse his temper.  If he was anything
like his sister, it wouldn’t work.  I regarded Bill Scully,
wondering how long it would take him to recognize me.

“Who the hell’s in charge?”

“I am,” I said.

“Captain Scully, this is Assistant Director Walter Skinner-“
DeShawn began.

Scully whirled.  “You!  What the hell’s on that ship?”

I didn’t answer.  My attention was focused on the Xi-
Ching.

“01 – Ready?”

“Ready,” came the reply.

Bill Scully was looking down; from here you could see the
agents crouched and waiting, ready to spring.  I knew
when a new thought occurred to him, because he became
even more rigid.

“Is she here?  Is Dana here?” he demanded.  “Is she going
out there to risk her life for some stupid-“

“01 go!” I barked.

Instantly the six agents were running.  Once they were in
the field, I knew exactly what would happen: Mulder and
Scully would become the leaders.  I knew the captain had
seen her.  Dana Scully was the only woman on the strike
team, and her small stature betrayed her.  As the sun
began to rise, its rays glinted on her coppery hair.

I had turned the volume on Mulder and Scully’s mikes
higher than any of the others, always concerned about my
two unorthodox agents but loathe to admit it.  I heard
shouts in Mandarin from the crew as the six agents
disappeared into the ship, then I heard only Mulder and
Scully’s labored breathing.  From the sounds, Mulder was
standing still, while Scully was running stairs.

More shouts.

“Mulder, go!”

Bill Scully jerked at the sound of his sister’s voice.

“Scully-!”

“I’m covering you!”

Rapid gunfire.  Teague’s voice: “We have an agent down!
Agent down!”

Bill Scully turned gray.

Two figures came racing up the pier.  The second,
unmistakably, was Agent Scully.  The first was John
Thomas Lee.

He whirled and fired off three shots.  Scully threw herself
down and rolled out of the way, then she was up on one
knee, her Sig Sauer glimmering in the light as she raised it.

She fired a single shot.  Lee went sprawling and lay
motionless.

I chanced a glance at her brother.  He was watching his
sister with – amazement?  Admiration?

“She got him!  It’s Lee!” exulted an agent on the offshore
team.

Scully was on her feet, running back toward the ship.

“Scully!” I shouted into my headset.  “What the hell-“

But I already knew.

“What the hell is she doing?” someone demanded.

“Her partner-“ It was Teague again.  “She won’t leave her
partner!”

Bill Scully slammed his fist down onto the table.

“I’ve got a visual-“

Scully’s voice cut in.  “Fuck!  Fuck me!”

Two more gunshots.

“Teague, help me!” Scully barked.  Then, softly, “Mulder,
you’re OK.  You’re gonna be OK…”

…………….

I was on the pier with Mulder, waiting for an ambulance.  I
had him wrapped in a blanket.  He’d been hit in the leg,
and the amount of blood told me Lee’s shot had hit an
artery.

“Scully?” he groaned.

I tried to smile.  “It’s OK.”

“How bad?”

“You’ll live.”

“You’re – lotta blood.”

I looked down and realized that I was covered in Mulder’s
blood.

The paramedics finally arrived.  I think I shoved one out of
the way so I could stop Mulder’s bleeding myself; I don’t
remember.

Someone was behind me.  Well, there were a lot of people
behind me, but this was someone.  I turned to my brother.

“Dana?”  He looked absolutely horrified.  Blood dripped
from my fingers onto the wooden pier.

“Dana!”  It was Crenshaw.

“I’m going with the ambulance,” I said.

“No – you get cleaned up.  I’ll go.”  She scrambled up into
the back with Mulder and took his hand.  The EMTs
slammed the doors and roared off.  I stood alone with Bill.

I cleared my throat.  “So,” I asked awkwardly, “you had
breakfast yet?”

Bill drove me to the hotel to take a shower and change
clothes.  To his credit, he didn’t ask any questions, but he
did insist we eat breakfast before taking me to the hospital.

I didn’t enjoy walking into Mulder’s hospital room with
my brother to find Agent Crenshaw holding my partner’s
hand.

“Hey, Scully,” Mulder said cheerfully.  “Bill.”

“How ya feelin’?” I asked, going to hold his other hand.

“A little rough.  Apparently some hack doctor worked on
me at the pier.”  He squeezed my hand.  “Seriously, the
doctors say I’ll be fine.  I can go home in a couple of days.”

Bill tried to persuade me to come stay with him and Tara
for a few days, but I was too worried about Mulder to
leave him alone, or under anyone else’s care, for that long.

Air travel with crutches is a bitch.

Mulder’s first day back at work coincided with Michaela’s
introduction to the x-files.  In the interim, she’d been
assigned to the bullpen.  She sailed in twenty minutes late,
but I held my tongue.  Mulder smiled.  “Hi, Michaela.
Want a muffin?  They’re blueberry.”

“Thanks, Fox.”

Fox and Michaela.  I winced and readjusted my position in
the metal folding chair at the crappy little table Mulder
liked to refer to as my work space.

The morning just went along famously.  Mulder discussed
some of our past cases (I noticed that I didn’t seem to
figure very prominently in his version of any of them), and
Michaela oohed and ahhed in all the right places.

A few minutes before noon, a big burly man in blue
coveralls appeared in the doorway.  “You Agent Mulder?”

Mulder stood up, grinning.  Grinning, for God’s sake.

“Great!  Put it right over there.”  He indicated the area
right across from his desk.

The man and one other wheeled in a large, state of the art
mahogany desk complete with a leather swivel chair.  I
couldn’t believe it.  Mulder had finally gotten me a desk!
This was his way of apologizing for being less than
considerate of my feelings.  I beamed.

“You like it?” Mulder asked.  “Welcome to the x-files,
Michaela.”

What?  WHAT?!  I stared.

Michaela was gushing.  “It’s beautiful!  Oh, thank-you,
Fox!”  She gave him a big hug with lots of full-body
contact.  He smiled benevolently, the bastard.

“Isn’t it nice, Dana?”

“Lovely,” I said acidly.

“It’s five ‘til noon,” she said.  “Let’s go to lunch – I’m
buying!”

“A woman after my own heart.”  Mulder headed for the
door.  “Get a move on, Scully.”

I remained seated.

“Coming, Dana?”

“No.  I’m really not hungry,” I said, looking from the desk
to Mulder and back again.  I knew he wasn’t oblivious to
my mood.

Alone, I slapped a stack of file folders on my table.  “Eight
years,” I ranted to the empty room.  “Eight fucking years
and I don’t have a desk, and she gets one in three hours?”

………….

On the road again.

Michaela had been with us for about two and a half weeks.
Or at least, with Mulder.  They went out for coffee, for
lunch, for dinner – Try telling me that’s strictly business.  I,
on the other hand, had been spending an indecent amount
of time in the morgue.

We were in Pittsburgh, investigating a bizarre string of
serial murders.  The killer would rape and murder his
victims, then strip away all of their skin and dump the
bodies.  I wasn’t upset with the assignment, even though it
wasn’t an x-file.  It would get me out of the morgue.  If
anything, I’d at least get a little air and sunlight, even if it
was just pounding the pavement.

But no.  I found myself, again, in the morgue, while
Mulder and Agent Crenshaw did the footwork.  Not that I
hadn’t expected to make my share of trips to this grim
little catacomb, but they had me in here all goddamn day,
every day.

To make matters worse, I had to share a fucking hotel
room.  Since when was Mulder concerned about how
things would look on the expense report?  If he was that
concerned, let Michaela move into his room.  I hadn’t
shared a room since Missy and I were kids.  And Michaela,
I discovered, was not a neat person.  Every available
surface was littered with clothes and cosmetics within
twelve hours of our arrival.

We’d been in town for three days and all I wanted was to
go home.  If I had to spend my days in a morgue, at least
let it be my morgue, without some jackass M.E. looking
over my shoulder.

I got back to the room at 10:00.  I was exhausted and felt a
little sick.  I’d been staring at desiccated corpses for fifteen
hours.  My feet were killing me.  My head hurt.  I was
starving, but of course the pizza that Mulder and
Crenshaw (who, for some reason, were lying on my bed
watching TV) had ordered was long gone, and the damn
motel didn’t have so much as a vending machine.

I took a shower, and when I emerged Michaela was sitting
on her bed in her pajamas.  The only trace of Mulder was
the empty pizza box, which I stuffed in the trash.

“How was your day, Dana?”

“Well, let’s see.  I spent fifteen hours in a subterranean
hellhole with rotting corpses and came back here, to the
lovely SunGlo Motel, to find no food and my colleagues
reclining on my bed.  What do you think?”

She cringed.  “I’m really sorry.  Especially about the
pizza.”

I fell into bed with my hair still wet and turned off the
bedside lamp.  “Forget it.”

“Dana?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, what you said about you not having any – romantic
feelings – for Fox – Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“I just wanted to make sure, before things between us go
any further.  I mean, I don’t want to step on any toes.”

“Oh, you’re – seeing each other?”

“Yeah.”

I don’t know why I was surprised.  I’d certainly noticed all
their extra-curricular outings.  Maybe it was slapping that
label on it, calling it “dating”.

It took me a long time to fall asleep.

…………

I’d had enough of 6:30 a.m. autopsies.  Instead I got up and
went running, something I should probably do more of.
Unfortunately, I hate it.  As I wended my way to a slightly
nicer part of town, I thought of the case, of the killer.  I
tried to imagine his thought processes, see the world
through his eyes, but I knew I couldn’t get inside his head
like Mulder could.  Mulder had that talent – which, of
course, was why we were here.

Back at the motel, I found my room deserted.  I knocked
on Mulder’s door but received no answer.  They’d
probably gone out to breakfast.  They could have waited
for me, I thought sourly.  My stomach rumbled.

But wait.  Why, I asked myself, would Mulder want me
along in the middle of a fledgling relationship?

This is business, said the voice of reason, not some
romantic getaway for two.  I was still Mulder’s partner, not
Michaela.  Her official position was “assistant
investigator.”  Yet Mulder hadn’t told me a damn thing
about this case, and here they were, thick as thieves.

Up to my elbows in bloody forensic evidence, I was still
pondering the situation.  My partnership with Mulder has
been – well, rocky.  Intense, for sure.  We’ve never actually
seen eye-to-eye, but there have been times when we were
close, like best friends.  God knows we’ve been through
enough together.  After that whole thing in the Arctic and
the big Diana fiasco, we were barely on speaking terms
for… months.  Then everything smoothed out, and for a
while Mulder was a real sweetheart, especially after he got
some closure with Samantha.  I saw a whole new, happier
side of my partner, like he was finally moving on with his
life.  Does the phrase, “Hey, Scully, wanna come over and
watch Caddyshack?” mean anything to you?

Then, for a reason I didn’t understand, Mulder started
withdrawing again, becoming almost as distant as he’d
been during the x-files’ darkest days.

My phone rang.  I sighed.  Perfect timing, Mulder, I
thought.  Because it had to be Mulder.  I stripped off my
latex gloves and fished the telephone out of the pocket of
my lab coat.

“Scully.”

“Pack your bags, Scully, we’re going home.  We caught
‘im.”  Mulder sounded very self-satisfied.

“Wha- The killer?”

“Yeah.  After Mac and I tracked him down –“

“Mac?”

“Michaela.  Anyway, it was just a question of waiting for
him to come home so we could nail him.  We’ve been in
front of his building since 6:00.”

And I’ve been up to my ass in intestines, I thought.  “Gee,
Mulder,” I said acidly, “thanks for sharing.”  I sighed
again.  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

I was really pissed at Mulder, and really frustrated.  I just
wanted to go home and rid myself of the stench of death.

As if.

Most people think being a fed gets you special treatment.
Hah.

Our flight was overbooked, and guess who the airline
bumped?

No, actually, not me.  Michaela.  I guess they felt less
guilty about booting a regular old agent than a special
agent.

Mulder turned to me.  “Scully, why don’t you let Mac have
your seat?  I’m sure you can get a later flight.”

I blinked.

“See, we have reservations at Gipetto’s tonight.  You know
Gipetto’s?” he wheedled.

I knew.  It’s a four-star restaurant; getting a reservation
usually takes months.  Maybe Mulder had sold his soul to
Cancer Man after all.

I looked at Mulder.  He and Michaela were holding hands.
Precious.

I rolled my eyes and handed my boarding pass to
Crenshaw.  “Fuck it,” I said eloquently, with a
considerable lack of good cheer.

The next flight out wasn’t for another six hours.  I rented a
car on my Bureau account and headed for D.C.  I was
probably out of the airport before Mulder and Michaela
even got on the plane.

At 8:00 the next morning, all three of us were supposed to
be in Skinner’s office, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with
our report.

Mulder and Michaela were both late, and arrived within
five minutes of one another.  They sat in Skinner’s office
exchanging secret little looks and smiles.  Michaela looked
tired, and I recognized the shirt Mulder was wearing
under his suit jacket as the one I secretly refer to as his
“date shirt.”  He hadn’t been home to change.

Mmhmmm.

“Agents,” Skinner said sternly – as if Skinner ever says
anything any other way – “could someone please tell me
why I have two separate reports on this case, and why you,
Agent Scully, have signed off on one, while Agents Mulder
and Crenshaw have signed off on the other?”

I cleared my throat.  “I was really only involved with the
medical and forensic aspects of the case, sir.  I don’t feel
qualified to sign off on a report of events about which I
know nothing,” I explained.

“You are aware that the reports are contradictory?”

Mulder shrugged.  “Aren’t they always?” he said
derisively.

I clenched my teeth.  Asshole.

“Is there a problem, agents?”

“Not at all,” Mulder said confidently.  “Agent Crenshaw’s
assistance has led me to the decision that Agent Scully’s
talents are better used in her specialized area.  Agent
Crenshaw and I will be handling the investigative side of
the x-files.”

I stared at him.  Oh, you will? I thought.  How considerate
of you to tell me.

Skinner dismissed us.

Michaela disappeared.  I stormed down to the basement
office with all the fury of the Allies on D-Day.  Mulder
wasn’t far behind me, but by the time he walked through
the door, I had a cardboard box and was tossing my
belongings into it – my medical reports, my coffee mug,
my keys on that goddamn Apollo 11 keychain.

“What are you doing?” he asked blandly.

“Packing,” I replied icily.

“I can see that.  Why?”

“There’s an empty workspace in the path lab by the
morgue.  It even has a desk.  No one will mind if I take it.”

“Why?”

“To better assist you, my dear,” I said nastily.  “If I’m
going to be spending my days in the morgue, which
apparently I am – and thank you so much for consulting
me, by the way – I see no reason to have what you
laughingly call an ‘office’ six floors away.”

“So you’re going to have a fit, Scully, is that it?  Throw a
tantrum?”

“Don’t you dare – Don’t you dare accuse me of being
unprofessional!  For the last month I have done nothing
but put aside personal differences for the sake of –“  But it
was useless, and I knew it.  His face was expressionless,
his eyes blank.  Michaela came in just then.  “You know
what, I don’t even care.  Enjoy your hero worship and
leave me out of it.”

I grabbed my box and headed for the elevator.

And so I installed myself in the path lab.  I didn’t really
know any of the other doctors or technicians, and I could
tell they were suspicious of me.  That’s Mrs. Spooky, they
said.  Doc Ice.

I should have had more free time, but Mulder started
sending me orders to do roughly three times as many
autopsies as usual.  Which I couldn’t refuse, of course,
since I was still officially assigned to the x-files and
couldn’t bring myself to sever that tie.

Mulder never came up to the sixth floor.  He sent
Michaela.  We never saw each other, and talked only when
he called and asked for my medical opinion.

One afternoon as I was doing one of my “Mulder’s
Revenge” autopsies – my name for the ones that really
didn’t need to pass under my scalpel, but that he seemed
to relish sending to me – the man himself walked into the
autopsy bay.  Imagine my surprise.

“C’mon, Scully.  I want to introduce Mac to the Gunmen.”

“And this requires my presence why?  In case you haven’t
noticed, I’m a little busy here – with my third autopsy of
the day.”

But in the end I relented.  I hadn’t seen the guys in over
three months, since just before Crenshaw had joined the x-
files, and I kind of missed the dweebs.  And I missed
Mulder more than I was willing to admit.

I did, however, drive my own car.  No more of this “riding
in the back of Mulder’s” shit.

We stood before the familiar peephole, monitored by half
a dozen security cameras.

“C’mon, Frohike, it’s Mulder.”

“And Scully,” I added pointedly.

The little toad – and I mean that in the nicest possible way
- opened the door.  “Hey, Mulder.  And the lovely Agent
Scully.  But who’s the chick?”

Mulder introduced Michaela and we went inside.  Taking
the girlfriend to meet the friends, I thought.  It must be
serious.

While the other five conversed, I drifted around the room,
taking in the newest and weirdest equipment.  After a few
minutes, Michaela came over to join me.

“You look tired, Dana.”

Thanks.  “I guess.”

“I know Fox has been sending you a lot of autopsies.  I
think he’s a little angry, but I’m going to talk to him about
it.”

“I’m doing fine,” I replied, hating the idea of her
interceding on my behalf.  “I can handle it.”

“Well, maybe, but… Did you know we’re talking about
moving in together?”

“No.  How would I know that?”

“I thought maybe Fox had told you.  But, yeah, there’s this
really cute place in Georgetown – That’s where you live,
isn’t it?”

Oh, lovely.  Whoopee.  “Uh-huh.”

“Hey, Scully, come check this out!” called Langly,
hunching over his computer terminal.  For once I was glad
for the interruption.

……….

“The deceased is one James Decker, Caucasian male, age
46, height 5’11”, weight 210 pounds.  Apparent cause of
death –“

I stopped, feeling a tickling in my nose.  I reached up to
scratch it, resuming, “Gunshot wound to the cranium,
although this may have been –“

I looked down at my hand.  My white glove had blood on
it.  My blood.  I raced to the mirror to look; I think I can be
forgiven for being a little paranoid where nosebleeds are
concerned.

I went to the bathroom.  As I stood there holding a coarse
brown paper towel to my nose, I thought, This is not a big
deal.  It’s just a nosebleed.  Everyone gets them.  One
nosebleed does not a life-threatening disease make.

Neither do two, I insisted, when I had another in the
middle of the night two days later.

I had a third in the middle of lunch with my mother, but
rushed to the bathroom before she noticed it.  A fourth in
line at Starbucks the day after that, and a fifth at
Bloomingdale’s that same afternoon.  I bled on and ruined
two very expensive Chanel suits, both of which I, of
course, had to buy.  I also earned some incredibly odd
looks.

I couldn’t get the blood to clot.  It would stop
momentarily, then start again – and I’m not talking a little
trickle.  It was fucking Old Faithful.

I kept it together until I was safely inside my car with the
doors locked.  Then I totally lost it.  I started to sob, and
the blood mixing with my tears was nauseating.  I felt like
I was going to retch.  And I was scared – more scared than
I’d been the first time, even.  Because now I’d been through
it all before.  Some people say they’re calmer the second
time around, but I was terrified.  I was afraid my
mysterious cancer had come out of its equally mysterious
remission, and I would meet a not-so-mysterious end in
short order.  I knew the odds of a second miraculous
recovery.

Hah.

I didn’t hear the tapping on my window at first.

“Agent Scully?  Agent Scully?  Are you all right?”

I lifted my head from the steering wheel.  Oh, shit.  It was
Byers.

He looked horrified when he saw my face.  I lifted one
hand to my bloody nose, but it was useless to try to hide
it.

“Dana?!”

He’d never called me that before; he must be freaked out.
I unlocked the door and he got in the passenger side.  I
didn’t have to tell him what had happened.  He got out his
crisp white handkerchief – he was the type to carry a
handkerchief, I thought fuzzily – and lifted it to my nose.  I
felt bad for bleeding on it.

I was so lightheaded and woozy that I just sat there and let
the gentle, mild-mannered man clean up the bloody, tear-
stained mess I had become.  Not that I wasn’t mortified.

The blood had finally stopped. “I’m OK,” I muttered.

“No, you’re not.”  Byers’ soft voice was firm.  “I’m taking
you to the hospital.”

I shook my head.  “No.  Thank-you, but I’m not going to
the hospital.”

He had the sense not to argue.  Doctors really do make the
worst patients.  “Well, let me drive you home.”

“What about your car?”

“I’ll get a cab.”

He drove me home, and would have gone so far as to see
me inside, had I not put my foot down.  I opened my
mouth to ask him not to tell anyone about this, but I
stopped.  I knew he wouldn’t.  Instead I reached for the
door handle.

“Thanks,” I said lamely.

I was so exhausted that I crawled into bed and slept for
twelve full hours, but not before I called Dr. Weier, my
oncologist.  It was Sunday, but I left a message asking for
an appointment as soon as possible.

I didn’t sleep peacefully.  Even in my dreams, my mind
ran through a long list of grisly possibilities.  Even if my
cancer hadn’t come out of remission, I fit the symptoms of
a leukemia patient.  I pictured months of chemo either
way, losing my hair, lying in the hospital, the pain, the
look on my mother’s face when I had to tell her.  Penny
Northern.  Cancer Man.  Skinner.  Mulder.  Mulder and
Michaela, making love.

Darkness.  Dying.  Death.

………..

I was only pulled from this cycle of thoughts by the
ringing of my telephone.  I opened my eyes to find that it
was 8:00; I would be late for work.

It was Dr. Weier’s office.  He’d scheduled an appointment
for me for the next day.

I walked to my desk in its scrubbed and polished,
fluorescent-lighted, formaldahyde-reeking environment
and sat down stiffly.  I looked at the huge stack of autopsy
requests Mulder had sent up and felt curiously defeated.  I
can’t do this, I thought.

“Can’t” is a foreign word to a Scully.  I repeated the
statement out loud.  “I can’t do this.”

Can’t do what?

I can’t sit up here in this office doing all this cold work for
the x-files, for Mulder, and not be involved in the cases,
not hear his wild theories, not feel his passion for his work.
I can’t be the brain of the x-files if I’m cut off from the heart.
A decapitated person can’t live.

I sat and stared into space for several minutes, but I knew
what I had to do.

………..

Fox was angry, angrier than I’d ever seen him.  He paced
around like a caged animal in the basement office, restless
and full of fight.  Right then I was a little afraid of him, but
I wouldn’t let it show.

In his right hand he clutched a single sheet of paper, which
he crumpled and smoothed repeatedly.  It was Dana’s
request for reassignment, already approved by Skinner.

“How can she do this?  How the hell can she do this?” he
railed.  “And not even fucking tell me -!”

Before I could stop him, he was storming out of the office.
“Fox,” I called, “where are you going?”

He didn’t answer, but I already knew.  I charged after him
to the elevator, hoping to prevent a fiery confrontation.

We rode up in silence.  Fox and Dana have a history I don’t
really understand.  I honestly believe they’ve never been
romantically involved, although I didn’t at first.  Even
though the whole time I’ve known them they’ve pretty
much been at each other’s throats, they have this – bond.
When Fox looks at Agent Scully, or even when he talks
about her, he gets this look in his eyes that’s just incredibly
intense.  And Dana doesn’t show a lot of emotion – hah, we
called her Doc Ice for a reason – but when she looks at
Mulder – I don’t know, she softens somehow.  And when
she looks at me and Fox together – she’s jealous.  I don’t
care what she says.  Sometimes their bond scares me.

I wonder if Dana knows she loves Fox?

These thoughts spiraled through my mind as we walked
to the suite of offices adjoining the pathology lab.  Agent
Scully’s was empty.

I was relieved for about two seconds, until I realized that
her absence had the affect of making him angrier.  Fox
circled Dana’s desk, then stopped, slamming his palm
down with a force that made me jump.  “Damn it!” he
roared, the veins in his neck throbbing.  “Where the hell is
she?”

Obviously, I had no answer.

He continued to pace, stopping to kick over the metal
trash can.  It was half full of papers and pencil shavings,
which spilled out over the tile floor in a colorful array.
The can banged hollowly, then rolled under the edge of
Dana’s desk.

He was absolutely bellowing, and I knew at least everyone
on the sixth floor could hear him.

Right in the middle of his venomous rage, the telephone
rang.  He came to an abrupt halt, as if he’d hit a brick wall.
Fox stared at his interrupter, as if shocked.  Slowly, he
reached for the receiver.

“Hello.”

Dana’s phone was on speaker, so I could hear every word.

“Is Dr. Scully there?”

“No.  She’s not.”

“Could you take a message, please?  This is Marilyn from
Dr. Weier’s office.”

Fox’s expression changed completely and his face lost all
its color.  “The – the oncologist?”

“That’s right.  Please tell Dana that there’s a problem with
her test, and ask her to call as soon as possible.”

He stammered that he would, then sat down in Scully’s
desk chair.  For a long time he just sat and stared, looking
as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Fox?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yeah.  Yeah.  Why don’t you, um, just go downstairs.  I’ll
see you in a few minutes.”

I waited for a moment in the doorway, searching for the
right words to say.  Had that phone conversation told Fox
something I’d missed?  Was Dana ill?  I wanted to ask if he
was okay, but I didn’t think he would appreciate it right
now.  Besides, I didn’t know why he wouldn’t be okay –
but I didn’t think he was.  So I just turned to leave.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Fox bending over and
carefully putting the trash back in the waste basket.

……………

I called Dr. Weier’s office Tuesday at lunchtime, not even
four hours after I’d had the usual tests run.  I asked for the
results; they’d promised to rush them for me.

There was a long pause.  My heart faltered in its rhythm,
then began to pound.

“Dr. Scully, there’s a problem –“

Hail Mary, full of grace –

“The film was blurred.  Can you come in this afternoon
and have the test repeated?”

I said of course I could, and arranged to come in at 5:00.
Then I hung up and stood in a daze.

I hate not knowing.  That feeling of being in limbo, as if
you’re just suspended in midair.  I’ve come to understand
what is so horrible about the concept of purgatory.  Can
you grab a handhold and climb back up onto the cliff, or
will you plummet to the rocks below?

But I was hopeful.  I hadn’t had any more nosebleeds.
Surely the God in whom I put so much faith wouldn’t be
so cruel.

Nervously, I fingered the delicate gold cross that hung
from my neck.

………..

“Dude, we got visitors,” I said as the motion detectors
went off, then Mulder and his chick appeared in the field
of vision of our security cams.

Frohike let them in.  “Hi, guys.  Where’s Scully?” he asked
wistfully.

Mulder ignored the question.  “I need some info.”

He started to make his request, but Byers interrupted.
Dude, Johnny Boy was lookin’ a little pale.  “Agent Scully
– Is she all right?”

“She’s been transferred to another division.”

“No way!” I exclaimed.  “More top-secret men-in-black
kinda shit to split you guys up?”

“By her request,” Mulder clarified stonily.

And a hush descended, as they would say.  Byers and
Frohike and I exchanged glances.

Finally Frohike cleared his throat.  “So, whaddya need to
know?”

So we got that show on the road.  I gave Mulder’s
girlfriend the once-over when she wasn’t looking, and
neither was he.  Not bad, but she kinda reminded me of
Fowley.  Somewhere along the way, somebody let it slip
that they were shacking up.

“Y’know, Mulder,” I said, “I always thought you and
Scully would end up –“

Frohike kicked me – hard – before I could stick my foot
any further down my esophagus.  Mulder tried to pretend
he headn’t heard.  Michaela blushed.

I looked at her again.  Nah, she wasn’t so bad.

I’d do her.

…………

Mom called me at work the week after my appointment
with Dr. Weier.  She asked me some perfunctory questions
about work – I still didn’t tell her I wasn’t working with
Mulder – but I could tell she was bubbling over with
excitement.

“What’s the news?” I asked.

“Bill and Tara are coming for a visit!  They’re flying in
Sunday and staying until Wednesday, then Bill has some
big conference in New York through the weekend.

“That’s great,” I said.

“We’re having a big family dinner Sunday evening.  Do
you think you’ll be able to come?” she asked hopefully.

This, I told myself, is one of the perks of no longer being
on the x-files.  I was trying to compile a list.

“Yes, Mom.  I’ll definitely be there.”

“Wonderful.  I’ll see you then, sweetie.”

That Sunday was a perfect autumn day, the sky a brilliant
blue, the leaves in full color, just enough chill in the
October air to warrant the wearing of my trench coat.
Despite the beautiful weather and the fact that my brother,
sister-in-law, and adorable nephew were visiting, though, I
was in a strange mood.  Depressed, I thought, but didn’t
know why.  Mulder would’ve said I was in a funk.

I let myself into my mother’s house and immediately
heard a delighted squeal.  “Ah-Day-ah!” Matthew
shrieked, racing down the hall as fast as his little legs
could carry him, his chubby arms flung wide.  This
rendering of my name was inspired by the fact that his
mouth was full of something that looked like chocolate
pudding, which was also smeared all over his little
Tommy Hilfiger sweatsuit.

I scooped up the whole sticky mess and hugged him
fiercely.  “Hi, sweetheart!  Oh, you’re getting so big!”

Tara appeared, tracking her son.  “Hi, Dana.”  She gave me
a little hug.  “Oh, no – Mattie’s getting pudding all over
your clothes.”

I smiled.  “It’s fine.”  I addressed my nephew.  “Let’s go
find Daddy and Grandma, huh?”

For once my tall, slightly balding, very military brother
was wearing civilian clothes, jeans and a navy sweater that
revealed the little paunch he was developing.  He hugged
me almost as fiercely as I’d hugged his son, nearly lifting
me off my feet.

“Hey, sis.  You look good.”

I smiled.  “Thanks.  It’s great to see you.”

Mom hugged me, then said, “Dana, have you lost
weight?”

I shrugged.  “Maybe.  I’ve been busy.”

“You’re too thin,” she fretted.

“Working herself to death,” Bill cut in, and I rolled my
eyes.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m sure I’ll have gained twenty
pounds by the time I leave today.”

“Speaking of work, can we expect a call from Agent
Spooky, interrupting us as soon as we sit down to dinner
so the two of you can go chase bigfoot?”

I could’ve told everyone I wasn’t on the files anymore, but
I just said, “No, he won’t call.”

And he didn’t, of course.  As we were stuffing ourselves
with spiced pork loin, mashed potatoes, salad, rolls, and
half a dozen other things, my mom asked, “How is Fox,
dear?”

“I haven’t really seen him in a couple of months,” I
replied, cutting another bite of my meat.  “Actually, I’m
not working with the x-files anymore.  I requested
reassignment.”

Bill looked inordinately pleased.  Mom looked surprised.
Tara, feeding Matthew, looked neutral, as usual.

“I knew you’d come to your senses!” my brother
announced triumphantly.  “I just can’t believe it took you
nearly eight years to get away from that crackpot.”

“He is not a crackpot,” I said automatically.

“Oh, come on.  Aliens, Dana!  Little green men!”

I sighed.  “He’s really brilliant, Billy.”

“So you’re still his big defender.”

“Someone needs to be.”

“Why did you choose to leave, Dana?” Mom asked.

“There was a third agent assigned to the x-files – Michaela
Crenshaw; I knew her from teaching at Quantico.  Mulder
took it upon himself to decide that they would do the
investigative work, although Michaela’s job was supposed
to be dealing with the paperwork, and stick me in the
morgue all day.”

As I was speaking, I didn’t realize that my voice was
getting steadily louder.  “You sound like a jilted lover,”
Bill snorted.

I felt my face flame.  “Get real.”  An infantile comeback,
but it was all I could think of.

I was pretty quiet for the rest of the evening.  I knew I was
thinking too much, but the wheels wouldn’t stop turning.
My train of thought was disturbing.

The other day I’d gone to see the Gunmen.  My purpose
was twofold:  I needed some information, and I wanted my
presence to reassure Byers that I was fine.  Frohike
(despite his aspirations) told me he’d always assumed
Mulder and I would end up together.

Without even thinking, I had replied, “So did I.”  I
dismissed it at the time and went about my business.

So here I sat in my mother’s living room, having an
epiphany:  I’d always thought so too.  Really.  Not
consciously.  But my feelings for Mulder ran deep.

I thought back over the last three months.  The way I’d felt
when Mulder and Michaela touched, when they looked at
each other:  isolated, angry, excluded.

In short, jealous.

And the reason for my lingering melancholy was all too
clear.  I had to admit to myself something I’d been denying
vehemently:  I loved Mulder.  Not just loved, but was in
love.  I’d done things for him I would never have done for
anyone else.  I’d risked my life on numerous occasions.
And now I realized that I’d stood patiently by because I
hoped Mulder could love me someday, and we would
have a brilliant future together.

Doesn’t sound much like Dana Scully, huh?

But now that hope had been taken away.  Mulder was in
love, and he had a brilliant future.  But not with me.

Realizing this just made me feel worse.  I burned with
jealousy and anger and hurt and something that felt like
shame.  I should be happy for him, I really should.  Instead
I wanted to throw something, march right over to his
apartment, grab him by the throat and find out what the
hell was wrong with him.  I felt like such a bitch.

“… OK?”

Billy was talking to me, but I had no idea what he was
saying.  “What?”

“I asked if it would be OK for Matt to stay with you while
Tara and I are in New York.”

“Oh.  Yeah, sure.  I’d love to have him.”

After that I made a hasty retreat, promising to see Tara,
Bill, and Matthew bright and early Wednesday morning.  I
briefly considered how I would explain the presence of my
two-year-old nephew in the path lab.  Oh, hell.  I’d worry
about that later.

It was actually a pretty slow couple of days on the sixth
floor.  Tuesday right before I left work, I checked my
voicemail.  There was a message from Mulder:
“Hey, Scully.  Mulder.  Call me.”

I frowned.  His tone was too flat to give anything away,
but I thought the wording was cryptic.  I hesitated just a
second before erasing the message.  I’d call tomorrow, if I
remembered.  Now I had to go home and child-proof my
house.

I was tired.

I was too busy to call.

Yeah, right.  I just didn’t want to.

…………

Bill and Tara dropped Matt off at seven Wednesday
morning with enough supplies for six months, which I
stowed in the guest room, and a million instructions,
which I didn’t read.  I kissed my brother and his wife
good-bye and shooed them off to the Big Apple.

I turned to Matthew, camped out in the middle of the
living room floor, gnawing on a soggy graham cracker.

“All right, buddy,” I said.  “It’s just you and me.  Ready to
raise a little heck?  Paint the town red?”

He grinned and laughed delightedly. “Day-na,” he
concurred.

“Watch a little Sesame Street?” I continued.  “How about
assisting with a few autopsies, huh?”

Tara had dressed Matt in a little sailor suit, like a mini-Bill.
He was cute as a button.  I couldn’t wait to show him off.
Skinner couldn’t be mad when he saw a face like that.
Maybe I’d even take my nephew over to see the Lone
Gunmen; I could tell Frohike he was my illegitimate love
child.

I got some distinctly odd looks when I walked through the
J. Edgar Hoover Building with a two-year-old in my arms.
I caught myself wishing I were back in the basement –
there would be plenty of room for him to play.  Instead I
plopped Mattie down on a soft blanket I spread on the
floor of my miniature office and popped Mozart into my
computer’s CD drive – They say music soothes even the
most savage soul.

I did paperwork all morning, and just before noon
Matthew, who had been a complete angel, interrupted his
own stream of jabbering with a loud wail.  Lunchtime.

Irresponsibly, I guess, I took the rest of the day off.  Matt
and I went to the park.  He was content to play on the
swings and slide for a while, then made a beeline for the
huge sandbox.  I promptly joined him and helped make
huge mounds of sand that he gleefully demolished.  We
made quite a picture, me in my Donna Karan suit and
high-heels, down on my knees, my nephew showering us
both with sand.

In the evening I made dinner and Mom joined us.  We
played with Matthew, then Mom left.  I gave my nephew a
bath, and he was fast asleep before 8:00.

I’d decided to take the rest of the week off.  In just two
days we fell into a comfortable routine:  breakfast, playing
at home, lunch, afternoon at the park, supper with Mom,
bath time, and bedtime for Matthew.  By the weekend, I
had a mountain of paperwork to catch up on.  Friday and
Saturday nights I spent hunkered in front of my PC.

I was at the brink of mental shutdown from doing lab
reports all night, and I was well past complete exhaustion,
when someone knocked on my door.

I looked up from my computer and removed my glasses.
It was after eleven.  The stereo, turned down low in order
to let Matthew sleep, was playing my favorite Indigo Girls
CD.

I padded over to the door in my sock feet.  “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

“Mulder?”  I opened the door to reveal my former partner,
still dressed in a suit, as if he’d just come from the office.
His hands were jammed into his pockets.

“Hey, Scully.”

“Come in.”

I stepped aside.  He came in and stood near one end of the
sofa.  I sat at the opposite end.

“What’s up?”

He shrugged.  I could tell he wanted to say something, so I
resigned to sit back and let him work up to it.

“How ya doing?”

“I’m fine,” I replied.

Mulder studied the floor and the walls before actually
meeting my eyes.  “Come back to the x-files.”

I shook my head.  “Don’t ask me that, Mulder.”

“Scully.  You’re the best.  I need you.”

“It’s late, Mulder. It’s almost midnight.”

He showed no signs of leaving.  Wearily, I leaned back
against the sofa pillows.

He let the silence stretch out.  Finally he muttered, “I
called the other day.  Left a message on your voicemail.
Uh, did you get it?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”  He looked around the living room.  Nothing’s
changed, Mulder, I thought.  “So, you haven’t been into
work the last couple of days.”

“I took some time off.”  Some people do, you know.

“Sick leave?”

I frowned.  “No.  I’ve been keeping my nephew.”

“Is he here now?”

“He’s sleeping.”

“Oh.  Bill in town?”

“He’s in New York.”

“Good.  I mean-“

My lips quirked.  “I know what you mean, Mulder.”

“Yeah.”  He stood up.  “Look, Scully, I’m gonna go.  Just
think about coming back, OK?”

I didn’t answer.  He started toward the door.  He was
almost in the hall.

“Mulder, wait.”

Damn it, Dana!  You know you’ll regret this.  Just keep
your mouth shut.

He regarded me expectantly.

“I can’t come back and work the way I was working – with
things the way they are –“

“I’m not asking you to do that.”  I frowned, and he looked
away.  “She’s gone, Scully.  Agent Crenshaw is gone.  She’s
transferring back to L.A.”

“But what about –“  I stopped myself.  Their relationship
was none of my business.

He stood in the doorway, waiting.  The hopeful look on
his face was almost too much to bear.

I sighed.  “I’ll see you Monday morning, Mulder.”

………..

Some things never change.

Even with the fluorescent lights blazing, the basement was
dim and gritty, a neo-realistic cinematographer’s dream.
Papers and folders and a few Styrofoam coffee cups
littered Mulder’s desk.  My rickety card table and folding
chair were back in position.  As went Michaela, so went
her desk, I guess.

Part of me was happy to be back, like coming home to
your parents’ house after your first semester of college.
Everything was familiar.  Then you look around and start
to see the cracks – Dad’s an alcoholic or your sister’s a
pathological liar and everyone fights all the time.  You
remember why you left.

I’d thought I was leaving the x-files because I wasn’t
needed.  And I’d told myself I was coming back because I
was needed.  I’d come back and that aching emptiness
would be filled.

My mouth twisted into something that might have been a
smile, if I remembered how to smile.  “Liar,” I said aloud
to myself in the stillness.  “You’re a fucking liar, Dr.
Scully.”

Mulder came in.  He cracked sunflower seeds and threw
pencils at the ceiling and spouted theories so bizarre they
would have made Gene Rodenberry proud.  Skinner came
in with a ghost of a smile and his too-firm ex-Marine
handshake and said he was glad to have me back.

The ache intensified tenfold with every glance at my
partner, and I had to admit the truth to myself.  The pain
wasn’t going away.  It hadn’t left with Michaela Crenshaw
because she hadn’t brought it in the first place.  Neither
was it Mulder’s fault.  The recent anger, yes; he’d been a
complete ass.  But the ache had been there, deep in my
chest, growing steadily for months.  Years.

I couldn’t be content like this.  Mulder told the truth when
he said he needed me.  He just didn’t need – or want – me
the way I needed him.  The way I needed him to need me.

I wasn’t happy as Mulder’s partner, but I was miserable
without him.

And that was my fault.  After all, I was the one who’d
fallen in love.

………..

“Yo, earth to Scully.”

I looked up from the computer screen, dazed.  “Huh?”

“I said your name three times.  You were a million miles
away.”

I shrugged.  “I guess.  What is it?”

“Just this file – Do you feel okay, Scully?”

I felt my brows draw together in a frown.  “Yeah, Mulder.
Fine.”

“Did you read this – the one about the lawyer in Boise?”

“It’s a hoax.”

“I don’t know.  The geometric angle of –“

I folded my arms.  “Crop circles, Mulder?” I cut in using
my most disdainful Ice Queen tone.

“We could get a couple of seats on the 9:30 –“

“I’m not going to Boise.  I thought you’d be much more
interested in this one in – er – Jackson, Mississippi.”

His face lit up.  “The ghost sightings.  Now that you
mention it –“

Of course.  Mulder knew I would never agree to crop
circles.  When will I learn?

So I ended up in the historical district of Jackson for two
days, the only result of which was a few cool breezes.
Mulder swore that this was the ghostly presence; I
maintain that it had more to do with the front rolling in
from the Gulf of Mexico.

What can I say?  Life continues.  Paper work and y-
incisions.  In the office with Mulder so damn close, I
focused mostly on retaining some semblance of normality
– i.e., cool, distant, a hint of suppressed bitchiness.
Sometimes I don’t like myself very much.

It had been almost three weeks since our little sojourn in
Jackson.  I sat in front of my computer screen reading some
MUFON data and worrying my cross on its gold chain,
wondering at the back of my mind why Mulder wasn’t
jockeying to run off and study mutant bees in Arizona or
lost time in Spokane.

My partner was certainly exhibiting all the signs of
restlessness.  I cut my eyes and watched him
simultaneously toss paper wads into the trashcan and
crack sunflower seeds with supersonic force.  He was
totally unaware of my scrutiny.

“Jesus, Mulder,” I finally said after a particularly loud
crack.

He looked up blankly, then his expression melted into a
sheepish grin.

“Sorry, Scully.”

“Are you OK?”

“That’s my line.”

I folded down my laptop’s screen  “Seriously, G-man.
You’re like a Saint Bernard in an apartment.  Why are we
sitting in this office?”

He just stared at me, and I didn’t think he was even
listening.

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“No, I’ll explain everything then,” he said.

I shrugged.  I’d been avoiding spending personal time
with Mulder, but if it would get him to talk, it was worth
it.  “OK, fine.  Your place or mine?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.  I’m taking you to a real
restaurant, so wear something nice.”

What the hell?

He smiled.  “Not that you don’t always look nice.”

What the hell?

“Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?  There’s
nothing urgent here.”

It was my turn to stare.  A thoughtful, concerned, attentive
Mulder?

What the hell?

I was a little worried.  But, in all honesty, I’m not altruistic
enough to let it ruin a free afternoon.  I grabbed my coat
and my keys and happily left fed-land behind.

I had time to go to the grocery store and the bank and pick
up my dry-cleaning before it was even 5:00.  I didn’t quite
know what to do with myself, so I stopped at my favorite
coffee shop and lingered over a latte.

This done, I went to my apartment.  I considered what to
wear for dinner with Mulder.

Don’t be an idiot, I told myself.  It’s Mulder.  It doesn’t
matter – He won’t notice if you’re wearing a Vera Wang
wedding gown or a paper bag.

I spent twenty minutes staring into my closet as if it held
the secrets of the universe.

At last I decided on a very un-Scullylike ensemble.  The
dress was linen and form-fitting, a solid burnished orange,
sleeveless with a square neckline.  I dug black butter-soft
suede ballet slippers out of the bottom of the closet and
slipped on a delicate black cardigan to ward off the chill.  I
watched myself in the mirror and wondered what the hell I
was doing as I carefully reapplied my makeup.

I spritzed perfume and was screwing in the back of my
earring when I heard Mulder’s knock, then the front door
opening.

“Scully?”

“Yeah, Mulder.  Just a sec.”

I went into the living room, one hand gripping my purse,
and stopped.  Mulder’s gaze roved from my head to my
feet and back up.  “Wow,” he said.

I grinned, doing my best to ignore my heart’s rapid
beating.  He didn’t look too bad either, in his charcoal gray
pants and dark blue cashmere sweater.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Philomena’s.  We’ve got a reservation.”

Mulder’s car was down the block.  When he cranked the
engine, Credence Clearwater Revival sang to us from the
CD player.

I tried to relax, I really did.  But, Jesus.  Here I was in an
enclosed area with a casually dressed, aftershave-smelling
Mulder, headed for a four-star Italian restaurant.  I was
wearing a dress.  And carrying a purse.  And he wanted to
“talk.”

C’mon, old girl, breathe.

Think about… Richard Nixon.  In the shower.  The
flukeman.  The Barney video Matthew left behind when
Bill and Tara picked him up.

Shit.  It wasn’t working.

I found myself seated at a cozy table for two, crisp linen
napkin spread across my lap, candlelight flickering.  A
black-clad waiter filled our water glasses, ice cubes
clinking musically.

I looked at my partner for a second.  Not a great idea.  I
dove for the menu and blindly began to peruse the
handmade pasta selections.

Too soon, too soon, the waiter returned.  I ordered duck
ravioli in a white wine cream sauce.  Mulder ordered a
very expensive Zinfandel to go with our meal.

“Mulder-“ I protested as the waiter filled my glass.

He shushed me.  “Just enjoy, Scully.”

Like that’s so easy.

The wine was very good, though, crisp and very dry.  I
sipped, studying my silverware.  I wanted to ask about
Michaela, what had happened, why she’d left.  I didn’t
really consider “it didn’t work out” a satisfactory
explanation.  But I didn’t mention it, of course.  I didn’t
know what the hell had brought Mulder and me here
tonight and I wouldn’t think about what he might, or
might not, have in mind.  We stuck to mundane,
innocuous topics – the cases we’d been working, an
upcoming conference, his fish (Mork and Mindy, if you’re
curious), idle gossip I’d picked up in the path lab.

We worked through bread, salad, and most of our entrees,
and Mulder still hadn’t brought up whatever it was he
wanted to TALK about.  I was getting impatient.

“Mulder.”

He’d been studying a fascinating patch of the wall
somewhere to the right of my head and chewing slowly.
Now he dragged his gaze to me with obvious reluctance.
“Um, yeah?”

“You said you wanted to talk.”

His expression remained blank.

I folded my arms.  “Well, talk!” I said, maybe just a little
more sharply than I’d intended.

“Scully…”  He was having a hard time looking at me; this
couldn’t be a good sign.  I schooled my features into a
careful mask of neutrality.  What’s that song – “If you don’t
expect too much of me, you might not be let down”?  I
wouldn’t expect anything.

“I, umm, I care about you, Scully.”

Meaning what, exactly?  I felt an eyebrow creeping up.  “I
care about you too, Mulder.”

“A lot.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”  Did I say that out
loud?

I obviously did.  He stopped and looked at me.  Now it
was my turn to explain.  “All of that – with Crenshaw –“

“None of that was Michaela’s fault.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t.  I’m not talking about the personal
side of it – professionally – Mulder – “  I found myself in
the unusual position of being so angry I couldn’t form a
complete sentence; words just spewed out of my mouth.
“We were partners for  eight years, and then you just –“

“Not just as a partner and a friend – but God knows I
value that.  I care about you the way a man cares for a
woman… You’re everything, Scully.”

His tone was almost pleading.  I blinked once.  “Well,” I
said.  That was certainly a change of subject.  My mouth
felt sandpaper dry.  I took a big gulp of my wine.

”You don’t have to bribe me, Mulder,” I said.  “I came
back.”

“I’m not trying to bribe you.  I love you.”

“Are you serious?” I demanded.

He frowned slightly.  “Of course I’m serious.”

“Oh, God.”  I closed my eyes.  “Oh my God.”

“Scully –“  His hand closed tightly over mine as I still held
my fork.

I held up my free hand, my eyes still closed.  “Don’t.”  I
looked at him.  “Don’t, Mulder.  Just – Shh.”

He didn’t listen, of course.  “Scully, you don’t have to – I
mean, I don’t expect you to feel the same.  I just – We’ve
reached a point – With things the way they are, Scully –
with you being – I had to say something,” he babbled.

“Mulder,” I said, quietly but firmly, “just hush, OK?”

He actually stopped with his mouth hanging open and
looked at me, his soulful expression somewhere between
panic and surprise, with the usual dose of guilt thrown in.

I enjoyed just looking at him for a moment.  Beautiful
Mulder.  He looked so good to me then, better than
anything on the dessert tray.  Eventually, though, I took
pity on him.

“Mulder,” I repeated, dropping my fork and twisting the
hand he still held to grasp his fingers.  “I care too.”

He looked up with the vaguest glimmer of hope.  “You
do?”

I smiled slightly and squeezed his fingers hard.  “I won’t
lie and tell you I’m not angry.  But of course I do.”

“God, Scully.”  He really looked at me, and I swear I
thought he was going to cry.  “I’ll fix it, I swear.  I’ll make
everything right.  I’ll do anything you want.  Scully… You
don’t know – I’ve missed you so much.  These last few
months have been hell-“

He was holding my hand so tightly that I finally just got
up and moved to his side of the booth.  He immediately
seized my face in his hands and held me close.

“I’ve been so miserable without you,” he said, looking for
all the world like a lost little boy.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.
I dream about you, Scully – every night.  And I just want to
hold you…”

I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat, and I
could feel tears shining in my eyes as I smiled.  In my
wildest fantasies I had never expected this from Mulder,
not this soul-rending sweetness accompanied by wine and
candlelight. “Well, you can,” I said hoarsely.

His lips touched my forehead in a glancing whisper, then
returned, over and over, bathing my flesh.  I closed my
eyes in wonder as his mouth moved over my temples, my
eyebrows, my nose, my cheeks.  After each whisper-soft
kiss, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”  Finally, almost desperate,
I grabbed his chin and pulled his mouth down to mine.

Our lips met lightly, as if each of us were afraid that the
other would shatter or disappear on contact.  We looked at
each other, our lips still almost touching, our eyes wide
open.  We were still here.  We were real.

My hand found the back of his head and I pressed his
mouth to mine again, this time with more pressure.  My
eyes slid closed as I experienced the shape and texture of
Mulder’s lips.

Finally I sank back against the booth and looked shyly at
my hands.

"Hey."

Mulder stroked along my cheek with a bent knuckle.

I looked up, feeling myself blushing, and couldn't restrain
a goofy grin.  "Hey."

Mulder's hand left my face and somehow our fingers
found each other, twisting together under the table.

"Scully-"

"Mulder-"

I laughed nervously and Mulder smiled, those unbearably
sexy laugh lines fanning out around the corners of his
eyes.

"So beautiful."  He squeezed my fingers.  "I wish you
could see yourself right now, Scully."  He gently ran the
fingers of his free hand through the hair framing my face.
"I've never seen anything like this color."  He sifted the
strands, and I could see my own hair in the glow of the
candlelight, ten subtle shades.  "You're bewitching with
this hair.  You could be a temptress, a vampire, a
dominatrix."

My eyes widened, not quite sure if I was offended or just
surprised.

He grinned.  "C'mon, Scully.  Black leather, whips and
chains."  Again his knuckle scraped along the curve and
hollow of my cheek.  "And porcelain and roses, here… But
you're all flesh and blood."  His thumb traced the bow of
my lips rubbing away what was left of my lipstick.  I felt a
warm tingling spreading inward.

Oh, God.  Mulder had been thinking these things about
me, watching me?  Oh, God.  I couldn't think.  I opened my
mouth and his thumb slid between my lips.  I sucked it all
the way in, closing my eyes at the sensation.

I heard a groan.  "Ohh, God."

Wait – That wasn't me.  My eyes popped open.  Mulder
was staring at me, his expression somewhere between
utter shock and rapture.  "Scully – Scully-"

He pulled his thumb away and his fingers fumbled
through my hair, drawing my face close to his.  He eyed
me with such intensity – I always thought Mulder was
intense, but oh, Jesus Christ.  He breathed my name again
against my lips, and I could feel his hands trembling with
his urgency.

I seized Mulder's face in my hands before we could really
get started, pressing his mouth harder against mine.

I felt this wave of, I don't know, relief.  Finally, finally.  I
could touch him.  Kiss him.  Let him see how much I
wanted him.  This beautiful man who was a feast
untouched, waiting to be devoured.  And suddenly I was
starving.

I wound my fingers through his short crisp hair, my nails
raking across his scalp, forcing his head down (not that he
resisted), crushing our mouths together with bruising
force, driving my tongue between his teeth.  He tasted
wonderfully bitter, like dark chocolate and amaretto.  A
greedy little growl rumbled from deep in my throat and I
edged closer, trying to climb into his lap, trying to crawl
inside of him.

"Scully, Scully, wait, woah –"  He gave my lips a nibble
and pushed me away gently.  "Not here, baby.  Just wait."

My skin was flushed with passion and embarrassment,
and I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, smiling
sheepishly.  "Sorry."

Baby -- Who knew he'd pick "baby"?  Some part of me
wanted to giggle again, and the federal agent and medical
doctor said I should be indignant, but mostly my fried
brain was shouting that Mulder had used an endearment
other than "Sister Spooky" when speaking to me.

I could still feel his breath on my face.  The sound he made
was a chuckle mixed with a groan.  "I'm not complaining.  I
just don't want us to get arrested for public lewdness."  He
cleared his throat as our waiter walked by for what must
have been the fourth or fifth time – I realized he must have
gotten quite an eyeful.

"Want dessert?" Mulder asked.

"Yes," I murmured.

"So do I."  Mulder eyed me as if I were a Godiva pure milk
chocolate truffle.  "Let's go."

On the drive back to my apartment, Mulder calmly held
my hand, releasing it only to shift gears.  He didn't break a
single traffic law, and I began to wonder if Mulder was
suffering as much as I.  I guess it's a good thing I wasn't
behind the wheel – I could have devised several ways,
none of them legal, to be back at my building in less than
five minutes flat.

I pictured myself setting a new world record for the forty-
yard dash but Mulder walked into the apartment beside
me, his hand on my back, keeping the pace slow and
steady.  Besides, I didn't want to seem _too_ eager.

My hand shook as I fumbled in my bag for the keys.
Mulder stood by and watched me, much to my relief; if
he'd tried to do something all gentlemanly and suave like
unlock the door for me, I would've been sure he was a
clone.

I opened the door and stepped into my darkened
apartment, switching on a small lamp.  I turned to see
Mulder still in the hallway.  "Coming in?" I teased.

"Um, actually, Scully, I'm going to head home.  It's getting
late, and we've got work tomorrow."  He reached out and
squeezed my shoulder.  "I'll see you in the morning."

I gaped.  He was what?  Leaving?!  Absolutely
unacceptable.

I opened my mouth to protest, then snapped it shut
abruptly, thinking better of my actions.  "See you," I
echoed coldly.  I closed the door behind my partner and
scowled.

It was only a little after ten, but I changed into my pajamas
and got ready for bed.  I was so keyed up there was no
way I could sleep.  Damn.  I'd hoped to retire my vibrator.

I was just sliding beneath the sheets when the phone rang.
Mulder – had to be.

"Scully."

"Hey, Scully."

I sighed.  "What is it, Mulder?"

"I just wanted to say good night."  He sounded wounded.
I could picture him pouting.  Not gonna work this time,
big boy.

"You already did that," I pointed out.

"Well, I wanted to say it again."

"Good night," I said pointedly.

"Hey, Scully?  Are you okay with – things?"

"Things are just dandy."

“I know we need to talk –“

“Damn right we need to talk,” I snapped.  “We need to
talk about what happened with Michaela – and what
happened tonight – or rather, didn’t happen.”

"I don't want us to rush into anything.  I know what I want,
but I want you to have time to think."

"And that's why you left."

"Yeah.  I just-"

"Mulder."

"Yes."

"Shut up."  Silence.  "Let me get this straight – you're
worried about doing something we'd regret later –"

"Something you'd regret."

"Something _I'd_ regret later, so you decided that I should
think about it.  How very chivalrous.  Did you consider
consulting me?"

"Scully-"

"I'm talking, Mulder.  That's so typical.  You do realize I've
had eight fucking years to 'think about things'?  I don't
think that qualifies as rushing into anything."

“You said we needed to talk.”

Fuck first, talk later, I thought, but didn’t say.  My thought
must have communicated itself to Mulder anyway.

Pause.  "Yeah, I guess you've got a point," he said
sheepishly.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"I could come back over."

Despite my anger and lingering confusion, I grinned at his
eagerness, like a panting puppy.  "No, I don't think so."
My smile tured evil.  "Maybe you need some time to think.
Until next weekend, I believe."

"Next weekend?"

"That's what I suggested."

He chuckled.  "Scully, you're a truly evil woman."

"You deserve every second of it, and a hell of a lot more."

"I love you."

My heart leaped, but I struggled to keep my tone neutral.
"I love you too.  Go to sleep."

………..

Finally – finally, finally, finally – it was Friday.  Yeah, I
knew Mulder was suffering – do you think he was the only
one?  But I'm not a Scully for nothing; I've got pride.  It had
been eight years.  He could keep it in his pants for another
week.

At least, that was my reasoning last week.  Unfortunately,
I'd been in a constant state of mild arousal for
approximately – oh, God – eight days, eighteen hours, and
twenty-two minutes.

Two o'clock.  I was so tempted to cut out of the office
early, but my pride wouldn't allow it.  Fueled by
determination, I stalked over to our rickety metal filing
cabinet and yanked open the H-K drawer, searching for the
Ilano file.  Too late, I realized Mulder was right behind me.

"Hey, Scully."  Casually, he braced his hands on the filing
cabinet, one on either side of my shoulders, and leaned
over me, effectively trapping me.

"Mulder-"

His chest pressed firmly against my back and shoulders.
"Guess what?" His voice was low, rumbling in my ear, his
hot breath ruffling my hair.

I rolled my eyes.  "What?"

"It's Friday."

Before I could respond, his tongue snaked out and flicked
against my earlobe.  I sucked in a deep breath and fought
down a blush.  My ire evaporating, I smirked.  "Yeah, it is,"
I said, removing the file and returning to my desk.  I
crossed my legs in a futile attempt to quell the urge that
had turned my panty hose into a damp, humid, very
uncomfortable jungle.

My watch keeps excellent time.  At exactly 4:45, I decided I
could safely leave without damaging my reputation.  I
stood, grabbed my coat, and shuffled some random papers
into my briefcase, in order to make it at least seem that I
was being professional and had some intention of doing
work this weekend.

Mulder looked up.  "Leaving?"

"Yup."

Wordlessly he stood and put on his trench coat.  He didn't
bother with any paperwork or case files, I noticed.

We walked in tense silence to the parking garage.  My
partner lingered a few feet away as I unlocked the driver's
side door.  Finally he blurted out, "So, this is officially the
weekend, right?"

I took in his slightly stooped shoulders and shuffling feet
and grinned with delight.  He didn’t know what to expect
– I had every right to be angry with him about his conduct
over the last few months, and he realized it.  He was
nervous!

"Yeah, Mulder," I reassured.  "It is."

His mobile mouth relaxed into a grin.  "I'll pick you up at
eight.  Wear something casual."

He was late, which didn't bode well for a relationship, but
I used the time to change clothes (again) and decide I
hated my hair.  I felt ridiculous.  What the hell did Mulder
care?  He'd seen me at my worst, at the abysmal pit of my
appearance and Scullyness.  Comatose, half dead and rail
thin, bleeding, covered in dung, frozen…

But this is different, protested that part of me that had
never matured beyond eleventh grade.  This is a date.

A date with Mulder.  Sheesh.

Not our first, exactly, if you counted last week’s dinner,
but the first I could definitively classify as a date before it
actually happened.

I smoothed my hair and looked around my living room.
To say that it was spotless doesn't do it justice.  It was
absolutely fucking hospital sterile.  What's a mature,
single, professional woman to do with enough sexual
energy to power the entire District of Columbia?  Well,
what I did was clean.  I dusted.  Hourly.  I vacuumed.  I
mopped.  I steam-cleaned.  I waxed.  I rearranged all the
furniture in the living room.  I put shelf-paper in my
bureau drawers, for Christ's sake.

A knock.  At last.  I swear to God, if it had been a Jehova's
Witness or a Mary Kay salesperson, heads would have
rolled.

Feeling very much like Marie Antionette, I opened the
door.

"Hey, Scully."

"Hey."

"You look great."  He reached out to shyly finger the fringe
on my fuzzy royal blue mohair sweater.  I'd paired it with
hip-hugging khaki cords and Doc Martens – yes, I really
own some.  I'd shaved my legs and rubbed in lilac-scented
lotion, just in case something happened.  Oh please, oh
please, oh please let something happen.  “I brought you
this.”  With his other hand he produced a single red rose.

I took it, gripping the stem tightly.  “Oh, Mulder…Thanks.
You want to come in for a minute?"

Mulder was wearing khakis and a dark brown sweater,
and I was standing just close enough to smell his spicy
cologne.

"Nope, we've got to go if we don't want to be late."

I grabbed my purse and suede jacket and joined him.
"Where are we going?" I asked, locking the door behind
us.

"You know, Scully, I've always wondered what would
have happened if we'd known each other when we were
younger, in high school or college."

"Mulder, where are we going?" I repeated.

"What did you do when you went out on dates in high
school?"

"I didn't."

"In college, then."

I didn't, I thought, but said, "Went out to dinner, went to
movies, frat parties-"  I shot Mulder a look and he grinned.

"Don't worry, I'm not taking you to a frat party.  But we are
going to dinner and a movie."

I arched an eyebrow.  "Why, Mulder.  How shockingly
normal."

"We can do something else, if you'd like."

"No, I think this sounds like fun."

We went to Ruby Tuesday's, like any other couple who
have been together forever, or a couple of kids who can't
afford a fancy place.  We both ordered cheeseburgers and
fries and slurped cokes through straws.  We had a silent
agreement not to talk about our relationship tonight.
Instead, Mulder and I chatted companionably, not
mentioning work, but other than that, it was just normal
Mulder and Scully.  I was strangely reassured.  The
Mulder I'd known all this time had become my best friend;
I didn't want to lose him in order to gain a lover.

We saw a wonderful movie with Helen Hunt – she's in
everything these days – and shared one of those
ridiculously oversized tubs of popcorn, even though I was
already stuffed.  Mulder said you had to have popcorn or
it wasn't a movie.

After the movie we went to a bar near my apartment for a
quick drink.  We stood at the counter while Mulder drank
a dark, thick German beer and I downed a shot of tequila.
His hand crept to the back of my neck and his fingers
worked their way under the collar of my jacket and began
to massage the tense muscles there.  "Have you had a good
time tonight?" he asked.

I grinned.  "Yeah, Mulder.  It's been nice."

His hand still under my jacket, he squeezed my shoulder,
tugging me against his side.  "Good."

I enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against me, the
warmth of the tequila mixing with another kind of warmth
in my belly.  I lifted my face up to look at him and he bent
his head to kiss me, as I'd hoped he would.  His lips on
mine were supple but firm, lovingly molding to the
contours of my mouth.  His tongue traced the outline of
my lips, then gently nudged them apart, and he
thoroughly explored the interior of my mouth, my tongue,
my teeth, my sensitive gums.  The kiss was long and sweet
and unhurried, and all the while his fingers sifted through
the hair at the nape of my neck.

I slipped my arm around him, under his jacket, and found
my fingers drawing little circles on his back.  He finally
pulled away a little, his movements slow and unhurried.
He granted me a lazy grin.  "Ready to go?"

I shivered a little, and felt my lips stretch into a smile.
"Yeah."  Oh, yeah.  Hooboy, was I ready to go.

Mulder held my hand on the short drive back to my
apartment, and wrapped his arms around me in the
elevator, my back against his chest, my head tucked
securely under his chin.  He kept me in that position as we
walked down the hall and I unlocked my door, and I
laughed.  "Mulder!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

If I hadn't melted before, I did then, right into a little
puddle of goo on my expensive hardwood floor.  Hearing
Mulder call me sweetheart was wonderful, like the biggest
sugar rush you can imagine from eating two dozen
freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies in one sitting.
Sometimes I am such a fucking girl.

Fucking.  Oh, yeah…

So, anyway, as we stepped inside, Mulder turned me in
his arms, and this time I eagerly met him for a kiss.  His
hands were everywhere, in my hair, on my face, tracing
over my collarbones, smoothing up and down my arms
and curving around my waist.  For some reason I got the
mad urge to step out of my shoes and instead stand on
Mulder's feet, like when you're a little girl and your daddy
tries to teach you to dance – Of course, my dad never
taught me to dance like that, but I shed my heavy Docs
anyway and stepped onto the toes of Mulder's loafers,
bumping myself up a couple of inches.

His laughter came out in the form of my name, and, as if
the act of me removing my shoes had bolstered his
confidence, he slid his hands under my sweater, and his
warm, slightly callused palms touched my bare skin for
the first time.  I actually moaned at the contact, then felt my
face flush hot with embarrassment and arousal.  God, his
touch felt wonderful; those long, deft fingers warming my
already heated flesh, moving in feather-light caresses.

"Oooh, Mulllder," I sighed, pulling my mouth away from
his and rubbing my face against his cheek.

He was pulling my sweater up in back, his hands finding
my bra, not unhooking it but tracing over the straps.
"Mmm – Scully – You feel so good – smell so good – like
Big Red chewing gum –"

This made me laugh and he joined me, his chuckle
rumbling through my hair, his lips grazing my temple.

"Big Red, huh, Don Juan?"

I felt his smile against my skin.  "I like Big Red, Scully."

I moved my hands from his waist to his neck and pulled
his head down to kiss him again in quick, eager nips, all
over his face and mouth.  I finally released my grip on his
neck and tugged at his jacket.  "Let's get this off."

He shrugged out of the leather and it fell to the floor with a
slap.  Ordinarily I would reproach him for such slovenly
habits, but right then I didn't give a damn.  I willingly let
him pull my suede coat off, and couldn't help but smile
when he neatly draped it over the back of a nearby chair.

The long, slow kisses he was giving me made me shiver.
This was going to be an unhurried, lengthy seduction.  The
thought made my blood tingle in my veins.

Mulder moved his lips to my neck and began to suck,
lightly at first but with increasing pressure.  "Let's do this
right, huh, Baby?" he breathed against my tender flesh.

"Yeah," I gasped.  "Yeah, I wanna change –"

His lips whispered across the bridge of my nose, then he
placed a smacking, affectionate kiss on my lips.  "Go
change," he said, his hand smoothing once over my ass.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

"Okay," I agreed, just managing to keep a tremor of
nervousness out of my voice.  For Christ's sake, I berated
myself as I went into my darkened bedroom, Mulder just
behind me, it's not like you've never done this before.

Not for a damn long time! protested another internal voice.

It's probably like riding a bike, the first voice responded,
or swimming.

Shaking my head to make both schizophrenic me's just
shut the hell up, I lit the jasmine scented candle on my
dresser and quickly shucked my khakis, sweater, and bra.
Feeling suddenly modest, I left my navy Victoria's Secret
bikini briefs on and wrapped myself in the unbearably
sexy paper-thin red silk kimono that had been hiding in
my closet for a good eight months.

I turned back the covers on my bed and smoothed the
crisp ivory linen sheets, glancing anxiously at the
bathroom door.  Was it my imagination, or had Mulder
been in there a hell of a long time?

Finally, as I perched daintily on the edge of the bed, the
door opened.  The fluorescent light spilled over me for a
couple of seconds until Mulder turned it off.

I looked at his face and immediately my heartbeat
accelerated, but not in a good way.  I swallowed.  "Mulder,
is that the panic face?"  I asked, desperately trying, and
failing, to make light of… whatever was wrong.  Oh, God,
this could not be happening.  He was having second
thoughts.  He didn't want to do this.  He-

"You're bleeding," he said hoarsely.

I looked down at myself, frowning in confusion, then back
at him.  "No, I'm not."

"Scully –"  That was definitely the panic face.  Oh, shit.
Suddenly he was kneeling in front of me, grasping my
hands in his.  "Scully, honey, we need to go to the
hospital."

I stared at him.  "Mulder, what the hell is wrong with you?
The hospital?  If you don't want to go through with this,
just say-"

He cut me off.  "It's time for it to stop – all the lying, the
half-truths.  You can tell me anything.  You've got to know
that." I started to speak and he shushed me.  "Just listen for
a minute, OK?  Don't get angry.  I don't want you to think I
was invading your privacy, but I know.  And if you're
having the nosebleeds again-"

"What?  Mulder, I'm not having nosebleeds.  What the hell
–"  And then I broke off.  His raving had started to make
sense.  _Fuck._

"There's blood on the tissues in the bathroom garbage can,"
he said softly.

I squeezed my eyes shut.  "I cut myself shaving."  I stuck
out my leg, showing off the band-aid covered mark.

"I won't let you go through this alone, Scully.  I can't.  Not
this time.  I owe you that much."

He _owed_ it to me.  Shit.

"Byers?" I asked softly.

"He was worried about you.  And after you handed in
your transfer papers – I went to your office to see you, and
the phone rang, so I answered.  It was your oncologist –
they said there was a problem with your tests –"

"The film was messed up," I dully explained, but I knew
he wasn't listening.  I felt hot tears pricking my eyes and
blinked them away.  Byers.  Byers had said something, and
now Mulder thought I was dying and it was his duty to –
Oh, fuck.

“So that’s what all this is about,” I said softly.  “The
attention, the dinners, the flower, the goddamn stupid
endearments-“  It all made sense in a horrible, terrible, gut-
wrenching kind of way.

Over Mulder’s shoulder, I caught a glimpse of myself in
the mirror over my bureau.  My face was pale, my eyes
shiny with unshed tears and rage – I looked like a cancer
patient.  And I knew – I’d seen myself this way before.

Mulder’s expression was pleading and filled with – pity.
My stomach dropped.  I hate pity.  Loathe it, despise it.
“Scully,” he said, his voice so hoarse it cracked, “Scully,
you can tell me.  Please, sweetheart—“

“Don’t call me that!” I shouted, slamming my fist down on
the bureau.  I knew that wouldn’t shut him up for long, so
I rushed on, “You don’t get it, do you, Mulder?  You don’t
have a fucking clue.”  I turned aside in disgust..

“I guess I don’t, Scully,” he said softly.  “I want to help.”

I could feel him reaching for me and jerked my arm away.
His fingertips barely grazed my forearm.  “I’ve always
hated lies, Mulder.”  Again, my voice was deadly soft.  I
didn’t think I had the energy to yell.

“I haven’t lied to you—“

“Just shut up.  For once, just shut up, okay?”  I took a deep
breath.  “God damn you, Mulder.  I don’t need your pity.  I
don’t need your fucking sympathy.  I don’t need anything
from you.  And I don’t care how sad and miserable you
think poor little Scully’s life is – I don’t do pity fucks.”

He gaped at me.  I thought briefly that the old cliché was
true – he looked like a fucking goldfish.  “Scully –“

“Save it!”  My voice came out at top volume this time, as if
I were in stereo.  “You intercepted a phone call, and Byers
told you about something he saw, right?  And based on
that, you made the assumption that I’m dying, pining
away for you.  So, being the altruistic human being that
you are, you decided you’d take me out, fuck me a few
times, because, hey, I’d be worm food soon enough and
you could go back to her, right?  To Michaela?  And think,
‘Poor old Scully, I made her life complete.’”  I shook my
head.  “I just don’t know how you got her to agree to it.
Since you’re such a stud.”  My words dripped with
venom.  “Well, Mulder, fuck you.”

“Scully, it’s not like that!  You’re twisting everything –“
He was almost shouting now, and on his feet, but he still
had that same look of pity in his hazel eyes.

“Correct me if I’m wrong. These are the facts:  you
supposedly ‘found out’ that I was sick.  You broke things
off with Michaela for no apparent reason, showed up at
my apartment in the middle of the night and begged me to
come back to work, and then you decided to woo me.
What was it, Mulder?  Didn’t think you could just get in
my pants on the first date and be done with it?  I probably
would have let you, you know, and then your conscience
would have been clear!  Dana Scully could have died a
fulfilled human being.”

Mulder just stared at me as if I’d completely lost my mind.
“Scully, it’s not the way you think!  I want to help you
through this – Whatever time you’ve got left, I want us to
spend it together.”

I crossed my arms across my chest.  “Well then, I hope you
don’t have anything planned for the next fifty or sixty
years,” I snarled.  “Because I’ve got all the time in the
world – probably more than you do.  I don’t have any
more cancerous cells in my body than you or Frohike or
Crenshaw.”

He was staring even more intently now, if that was
possible.  “You’re – you’re not sick?”

“That’s right, genius.  I’m not sick.”

“But – the blood.  I saw the blood in the bathroom.  You
had tests.  And Byers saw you –“

“And I have the grave, life-threatening ailment of mild
anemia,” I snorted.

His eyes lit up.  “Scully – that’s wonderful news!”

I stood up and turned away from him, facing the bed.  “So
you see, Mulder, you’re free to go.  And to think of what
you almost put yourself through.  Such a brave little
soldier – but I saved you just in the nick of time, didn’t I?
I’m sure you’ll still get an extra star in your crown for
being willing to make the sacrifice of crawling into my
bed.  So go on now – Run back to Crenshaw.  I’m sure
she’ll be delighted with the glad tidings.”

  Mulder didn’t say a word.  He grabbed my shoulders and
  looked down at me, so close that I could feel his breath
  on my cheek.  His eyes flashed furiously.

“Let go of me,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Scully, you have no right –“

“I said let the fuck go of me.  I can break your thumbs,
Mulder.”

“You really want me to go.”

“I really want you to go.”

At last his arms dropped to his sides.  “Fine.  Fine, Scully.
You always get what you want.”

He turned on his heel and left my bedroom.  I heard him in
the living room, grabbing his jacket as he stalked through.
The door slammed hollowly behind him, leaving the
apartment as empty as my heart.

……………

“… purple.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dana Katherine!”  My mother’s voice was sharp with
reproof.  “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

I met her gaze.  “Of course I have,” I lied defensively.

“Dana, I just said that the sky is purple.  You’re a million
miles away.”

I flushed sheepishly and looked down at the lemon slice
floating in my water glass.  “Sorry, Mom.  What were you
saying?”

“It doesn’t matter.  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Dana Scully –“

I sat in silence for a moment more.  We were supposed to
be having brunch.  My omelet had congealed on my plate.

“Sweetheart,” Mother urged softly.

“Mulder and I had a fight.”

“Ah-hah.”  Mom nodded thoughtfully, studying me.  “I
thought so.  Well, it’s not the first time, dear.  You’ll work
it out.”

I smiled wryly.  “I don’t think so.  Not this time.”

“You two have always had your professional differences.”

“This wasn’t professional, Mom.  Far from it.”

“Personal?”

I just took a sip of my water.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It might help.”

I sighed.  “Mulder took me out on a date last week.”

Mom looked a little surprised, but motioned for me to
continue.

“It was – it was wonderful.  He had been so sweet and
attentive all week, then he asked me to go to dinner with
him.  He took me to Philomena’s and we had a nice meal,
and he said he wanted to talk.”

I stopped.  “What did he say?” Mom prompted.

“He said he cared about me ‘the way a man cares for a
woman.’  He said beautiful things to me, Mom – that he
dreamed about me, that he just wanted to hold me.  And
he kissed me, and I was so happy –“

I choked back something that, had I let it develop, might
have been a flood of tears.

“Because I’ve, you know, cared for a long time.  I never
really thought about it until Agent Crenshaw joined the x-
files – and then when Bill was here and he said I sounded
like Mulder’s jilted lover – And there was Mulder, saying
he cared for me.  It just seemed so perfect.”

A renegade tear slid down my cheek.

“What happened?” Mom asked softly.

“Friday night we went out to dinner again, and then he
came back to my apartment.  He seemed – I thought we
were going to – well, you know.”  Even at nearly forty
years old, I couldn’t meet my mother’s eyes.  “Then he
went into the bathroom, and came running out in a panic,
and I had no idea what was wrong with him.  He was so
upset – Then he told me he knew, and I didn’t have to
pretend anymore, that he’d take care of me until the end.
And I thought – I don’t know what I thought, Mom.  That
someone had spiked his tap water again, maybe.  And he
said that he saw my blood.  I didn’t understand – It was
like he was speaking another language.  Then he said, 'I
was in your office one day when Dr. Weier’s office called
about your tests, and then Byers told me he saw you.’”

My poor mother looked completely confused, but I
couldn’t stop to explain.

“I just thought, God, no.  He doesn’t know what he’s
talking about.  It can’t be.  But then he said, ‘I know the
cancer’s back.’”

Mother practically leaped out of her chair as she grabbed
for my hand.

I offered a wobbly smile.  “It’s not, Mom.  I’m fine.”

She relaxed somewhat.  “Then why –“

“I had some nosebleeds about six weeks ago, so I went to
Dr. Weier and had some tests run.  And Byers – he’s a
friend of ours – saw me one day when I was upset because
my nose was bleeding, and I guess he told Mulder.
Obviously.”

Mom frowned.  “Dana, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just couldn’t, Mom.  I had to know first.  I wouldn’t even
let myself think about it – much less talk about it.  I’m
sorry.”

Her eyes were understanding.  She squeezed my hand.
“Go on.”

“Well, it all made perfect sense.  Why Mulder had broken
up so unexpectedly with his girlfriend, why he’d wanted
me back on the x-files, why he was being so attentive and
affectionate.  I called him on it.  And he left.”

“You’re saying what – That Fox was only interested in you
because he felt sorry for you?  That he felt it was his
duty?”

“That’s what I have to believe, yes.”

Mom shook her head.  “You deal in facts.  Where’s your
evidence?”

“I just told you –“

“I’m not convinced.”

My eyes filled with tears.  “So what, this is my fault now?”
I asked childishly.

“No.  Not entirely.”  I made a move to protest and Mom
held up her hand.  “I know you, Dana.  You’ve got a
temper – that much of your father is in you.  I don’t know
what you said to Mulder, but I’m sure it was –“  She
gestured helplessly, searching for a word that wouldn’t
sound too harsh – “Well.  I’m sure.  Did you really let Fox
tell his side of the story?”

“He didn’t have anything to say,” I protested weakly.

“Didn’t he, or did you just not want to hear it?”

In my mind I heard myself ordering Mulder out of my
apartment, and him asking if I really wanted him to go.

I sighed, a tear beginning to creep down my cheek.  “I
don’t know,” I admitted in a small voice.

Mom squeezed my hand again and wiped my tear away
with her thumb.  “Just give him a chance, baby.  Talk about
it.  Things will work themselves out with a little effort.”

My lips quirked into a wry smile.  Mom should know by
now that nothing with me and Mulder takes just a little
effort.

…………….

The phone on Mulder’s desk rang.  I looked around the
office furtively, as if I were a criminal.  I wished that
someone would magically appear to answer the phone for
me.  I didn’t want to invade Mulder’s space.  I didn’t want
to be anywhere near Mulder’s space.  Where was a damn
genie in a knock-off Persian rug when you needed one?

It was Wednesday.  It hadn’t been a good day so far, but it
hadn’t been as bad as Tuesday.  And Tuesday hadn’t been
nearly as bad as Monday.  I guess that’s a start.

I stood up and edged over to Mulder’s empty desk.  I
picked the phone up gingerly, using only two fingers, as if
it might infect me.  “Hello?”

“Agent Scully?  It’s Kimberly in Assistant Director
Skinner’s office.”

“Hi, Kimberly.  Can I do something for you?”  This
couldn’t be good.  This was never good.

“Um, the A.D. just asked me to remind you and Agent
Mulder that your report on the case last week in Baltimore
was due half an hour ago.”

I sighed.  Damn.  I thought Mulder was taking care of that.

“Okay.  Okay, Kimberly.  We’ll get it on his desk.”

As I hung up, I became aware that Mulder was standing
only about six feet away; he had come in while I was
talking.  Six feet – a week ago that would have been
nothing, but now it felt far, far too close for comfort.
Surely I couldn’t feel him breathing down my neck from
here?

“Hey, Scully,” he said quietly.  A quiet Mulder is a scary
Mulder – quiet means angry, ominous, and brooding.
He’d sounded that way since he left my apartment Friday
night.

I stepped away from his desk as if it might burn me.  “That
was Kimberly.  We were supposed to have that report to
Skinner already.  I thought you were doing it.”  I edged
back to the safety of my desk.

Mulder shrugged, popping a sunflower seed.  He grabbed
his coat and tossed it over his shoulder.  “Well, I didn’t.
I’m going to lunch.”

“Mulder, we’ve got to do the report!”

He shrugged, meeting my eyes for a second.  “Do it
yourself.”  With that, he left.

What I said about today not being that bad?  I lied.

Damn.  Damn and damn and damn to the nth power.
Mulder had broken my heart.  Why did I feel like a
criminal?

I opened a Word file on my computer and started typing.
Report, report…What the hell was that case about again?

Why was Mulder in such a hurry to get away, anyway?
Maybe he’d called Crenshaw Friday night when he got
home, and she’d flown in and they’d had a glorious
reunion, and he was off to a mid-afternoon tryst.

Or maybe he was just as uncomfortable and angry with me
as I was with him.

What if Mom was right and I’d misjudged him?
Misjudged horribly, if that were the case.  Our whole
relationship was built on trust, and if I’d denied that trust
as we were finally breaking that obstinate barrier between
friends and – something more –

Oh, Mulder.

I shook my head resolutely.  Nope.  I absolutely refused to
consider it.  My pride wouldn’t let me go to Mulder and
bare my soul that way.  Not when the possibility that I’d
been right all along loomed so large, with the possibility
that, even had I been wrong, Mulder would probably
reject me after Friday night, looming larger.

I stopped typing.  The computer screen went black as the
system crashed.

I propped my chin in my hands and looked up at the
smoke detector, fervently hoping the office was bugged.

“Fuck,” I enunciated clearly.

……………

The wind whipped around me, chilling me to the bone.  It
was cold and damp and everything in the city was
gunmetal gray.

I fucking hate Washington.  I hate the whole damn East
Coast.

California, here I come, right back where I started from.

But not just yet.  There’s one thing I’ve got to do first.

I don’t want to.  I really don’t want to.

But here I go anyway, to straighten out Fox Mulder’s life.

The sorry, no-good, ungrateful son of a bitch.

I probably could have picked a better time than 6:00 in the
evening, but I’ve been busy.  So of course it’s rush hour,
and every commuter in the free world is headed for
Georgetown.  I had to abandon the taxi; now I’m walking
six blocks.

I think this is it.  I check the address.  Yeah.

They better be grateful.  Talk about a couple of
dysfunctional people.

I am such a good person.  This is true altruism.  I could’ve
just flown back to L.A., back to my happy little life, and
forgotten Fox Mulder and Dana Scully ever existed.
Instead I had to go by the Bureau, just to say good-bye to a
few people, and I happened to hear the conversation
around the water cooler.

Things weren’t going so well in Spookyville.

And so here I am, knocking on Slice and Dice’s apartment
door.

I’m sure she looks through the peephole; she’s got too
much history behind her not too.  I’m sure she hesitates
when she sees who it is, too.  But I hear the lock click back,
and then the door swings open.

Suddenly I don’t feel so haughty.

I look at my former teacher, who is usually about five
inches shorter than I am; shorter now, because she’s not
wearing shoes.  Her bare white feet peek out beneath long,
flare-cut blue jeans.  Her toenails are painted blue, I notice.
She looks even smaller than usual in the jeans and an
oversized green sweater.  Her face is scrubbed free of
makeup and for some reason it comes as a revelation that
she has freckles – I don’t know why; most redheads do.
Her hair hangs loose and limp.  There are circles under her
eyes.

She doesn’t say anything, regarding me cautiously.

“Can I come in?”  My voice sounds loud in the quiet room.

“Sure,” she says, stepping aside.  She is almost
whispering, but her voice carries anyway.  I’ve got to
admire that.

There were no inane pleasantries.  No “How are you
doing?” on my part or “Thought you’d gone back to L.A.”
on hers.

“He said your name,” I say flatly.

She looks warily at me.  “Excuse me?”

“Mulder… said… your… name,” I repeat slowly.

That eyebrow creeps up.  I can see how that could get
really annoying, really fast.   “Agent Mulder has said my
name many times.”

I shake my head impatiently.  “We were in bed, Agent
Scully.  We were having sex, and he called me by your
name.  He called me Scully.”

She is surprised; I can see that much clearly.  But she
recovers quickly, and shakes her head and shrugs.  "I don't
know why you felt you had to come here and tell me this
-–“
I want to stamp my foot, but I control myself.  Barely.
“You just don’t get it, do you?  That’s why we broke up.  I
was nothing but a substitute.  He’s in love with you, and if
I’m right, he has been for a long time.  He realized it when
you finally left the x-files, and then he found out you were
sick.  And any fool can see that you love him too.  So I just
came over here to tell you to get off your ass and do
something about it, that’s all.”

I turn back to the door and am in the hall when I hear her
say, “Thank you.”  I nod once, quickly, and don’t look
back.  My duty is done.

……….

Well, I didn't go running over to Mulder's or anything that
dramatic.  Please.

I went to the bookstore.  Spent three hours at Barnes &
Noble.  I wandered all over the store, going so far as to
browse through the Gay and Lesbian Studies section.  Was
I considering a lifestyle change?  No.  But if I admitted that
I'd exhausted all viable shopping possibilities, I'd have to
go home.  Or worse yet, go see Mulder.

That was out of the question, obviously.

Eventually I wandered outside into the brisk late autumn
afternoon.  Icy slush coated the parking lot, and my breath
came out in little white puffs.  My gaze fell on a nearby
payphone – just an innocuous, innocent little pay phone.  I
swallowed hard.

You should at least call him, some part of me said.

Cowardly! Dana was in control, though – the one
screaming, "I want my mommy!" – and I hastily retreated
to the safety of my Taurus.

I hate Tauruses.  It's not anything personal, really.  I just
hate them for no good reason.

I guess that's personal.

So I drove slowly home, trudged up the stairs to my
apartment, and looked around.  It was past dusk, the
streetlights coming on outside.  I noticed that a coating of
dust had magically appeared on every imaginable surface
– goddamn ceiling vents.  I should dust, I thought half-
heartedly, admitting to myself that there was about as
good a chance of that happening as of me calling Mulder
up to chat.  I changed into flannel pants and an oversized
Washington and Lee sweatshirt that had obviously been
added to my wardrobe at some point, most probably by
me, but which I did not remember at all.  Flopping half-
heartedly onto the sofa, I flipped on the TV and channel-
surfed until my mind went pleasantly numb.

I'd see Mulder at work tomorrow, I consoled myself.  That
was good enough.

Goddamn stupid, fucking logic.  As if the universe were
rational and orderly.  Hah.  I might even be tempted to say
hah-hah.

My cell phone rang as I was trying to squeeze onto the
beltway.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully," Skinner said, "you'll be assisting at
Quantico for the next couple of days.  Dr. Marguile was in
an accident, and you've been asked to teach his classes.
I've OK'ed it and run it by Mulder, so there's no need for
you to come here – Just go straight there."

I sighed wearily.  No use arguing.  "Yes, sir."

I went through the motions of my old pre-x-files job
without any enthusiasm.  Open the thoracic cavity.
Carefully weigh and measure all organs.  Open the
cranium.  It is essential that this be performed with the
utmost care, blah, blah, blah.  My students looked
listlessly at me.  I was being the kind of teacher I’d always
hated, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.  I still had
friends teaching at Quantico, but I turned down their
invitations to lunch or coffee.  I just wanted to go back to
the dusty basement and make some attempt at repairing
things with my partner.

On Wednesday I did something I hadn’t done during my
entire two-year career at Quantico.  I cancelled all my
afternoon classes.  I snagged my briefcase and laptop and
dove into the traffic.  I considered stopping for lunch, but I
decided I would just get to the Hoover Building as quickly
as possible.  A few blocks away from my destination I
changed my mind, reasoning that Mulder probably hadn’t
eaten either.  He usually didn’t if I wasn’t around.  I swung
by our favorite deli and picked up tuna on cracked wheat
for myself and pastrami on rye for Mulder, then found a
space in the parking garage.  I passed through security and
took the stairs to the basement.  Mulder’s office door was
closed and, I discovered as I tried the handle, locked.  I
used my key and went in anyway, just in case he was
hibernating away from prying eyes.  No Mulder.

Sighing, I considered checking Skinner’s office, then had
another idea.  I exited the building and headed for the
Mall, making my way to the reflecting pool.  As I
approached, a crowd of school children on a field trip
moved aside, and I saw him sitting on “our” bench.  I
didn’t hesitate as I walked toward him.

He glanced up at me then looked back down at his shiny
black loafers.

“Hey,” I said.

He didn’t acknowledge me, but I noticed his gaze shift to
the horizon.  I walked over to the bench and stood, holding
the brown paper bag.  “Mind if I sit?”

Wordlessly, he indicated the empty expanse of the bench,
still not looking at me.  I sat, careful not to get too close.  “I
brought lunch,” I offered, showing him the bag.

He looked up and met my gaze, then reached for the bag.
He removed his sandwich and a bag of chips and nodded
once in thanks.  I felt a sprig of hopefulness.  I wanted to
make things right, but I couldn’t afford to bare my soul.
Not while there was still the possibility that I had been
right when I kicked Mulder out last weekend.

He unwrapped his sandwich and I followed suit.  We ate
in silence for several minutes, even though the pungent
fish tasted like sawdust to me.  “Mulder.”

He glanced at me, chewing slowly.

“Can we talk?”

His expression was grave.  He made that same expansive
gesture with his hands again.  “Talk,” he invited less than
charitably.

I took a deep breath.  “I need you to tell me something,” I
said.  “Can you do that?”  I stopped and he nodded.  “I
need you to tell my why you and Michaela broke up.  And
I need to know what would have happened if – if Friday
night hadn’t happened.”

He sighed.  I noticed how tired he looked.  It made him
seem older than he is.  “I told you, Scully.  Things just
didn’t work out.  It never would have worked.”

“That’s it?  There wasn’t another reason?”

“What do you want me to say, Scully?  That you were the
reason?”  I felt myself flush.  This was all wrong.  I knew
when the realization dawned.  “That’s exactly what you
want, isn’t it, Scully?”

I didn’t say anything.  I couldn’t.  Tears had formed in my
eyes and were stinging hotly in the cold air as they slid
down my face, but I refused to dignify them by wiping
them away.

“I don’t – I –“  I bowed my head and took a shaky breath.
Why was it so damn hard to ask him for reassurance?

“You were.”  He spoke so softly that his response was
almost inaudible.  “I couldn’t be with Michaela or anyone
else feeling the way I do about you.  That became
painfully obvious to Agent Crenshaw and myself.”

I was forced to wipe my eyes.  “She came to see me.  Last
weekend.”

“Michaela?  I didn’t know she was in town.”

“Yeah.  She told me about something that happened.  She
said you – that you – um, said my name.  While you were,
uh -” I couldn’t say ‘making love’.  “In bed.”  I almost
choked on the words.

His face had taken on its inscrutable expression.  “What,
are you waiting for me to deny it?”  He crossed his arms
defensively.  “You’ve already rejected me – Do you want
to throw humiliation on the pile?”

My eyes smarted at his hurt.  “No.  I guess I’m trying to
keep myself from being humiliated, but it looks like it’s
too late, huh?”  I studied my hands.  “And I didn’t reject
you, Mulder.  I never have.”

“I don’t know what else you want, Scully.  You’ve got your
eye-witness testimony – I’m so obsessed with you that I
couldn’t release sexual tension that has been pent up for
years by fucking my own girlfriend, okay?”

“Okay,” I said softly.  I was crying again, godammit.  I dug
in my coat pocket for a tissue and swiped at my nose.  “I
just – Mulder, I just needed you to tell me, okay?  I feel
like – Can you understand that I feel vulnerable?  You’ve
barely paid any attention to me in the last six months, and
all of a sudden you’re telling me I’m the center of your
world.  And when I saw the way you looked at me, after
you saw the blood – Mulder, I know what it did to you
when I was sick.  And I know you would do something
noble like that if you thought I needed you.  But I don’t
want you to be with me because you think I need you.”

I was fighting a losing battle with the tears; it was a route.
I wadded the Kleenex in my fist, shredding it between my
thumbnail and first finger.

“Scully.”  I felt Mulder’s hand on my arm, warm through
my coat, and then he was gathering me into a hug.  His
hands smoothed over my back, and I allowed myself to
press my cheek to his chest, letting his heat and comfort
seep into me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely.  “I’m sorry I doubted
you.”

He sighed into my hair.  “I feel so much more for you than
responsibility,” he said, easing me back to look into my
eyes.  “And I do feel that, Scully.  And I’ll tell you
something else – You do need me.  Like I need you.  But
all of that’s because I love you.  So much.”

“I love you too.”  The waterworks just wouldn’t turn off.
Mulder’s overcoat was bearing the brunt of my emotional
outpouring, I noted wryly.  “God, Mulder, this has been
such a colossal misunderstanding.  I’m so sorry.  I’ve
dreamed of being with you for so long, and now I’ve
ruined it.”  My face crumpled and the tears turned up a
notch.

“Hey, hey.  You haven’t ruined anything.  Come on,
Scully.  I’m here and you’re here, healthy and whole, and
we’re together.  That’s all I’ve ever asked for, okay?  This is
it, baby.  It’s us.”

I nodded, still in tears.  “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

Mulder chuckled and hugged me fiercely.  “Now stop
this.”

I wiped hastily at my eyes and nose.  “I’m really
embarrassed.”

“I was wrong too, Scully.  Wrong to choose Michaela over
you, and wrong to leave the other night.  I’m sorry.  So we
were both wrong, and we’re both sorry.”

“And we can go on from here,” I said.

“Yes.”  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.  “And
smile.  This is a happy day, Scully.”  With that he tilted my
chin up and kissed me soundly, a sweet and comforting
kiss, tasting of salt and wet with my mucous and tears, but
I knew that didn’t matter to him.  It didn’t matter to me
either.

And we lived happily ever after.

Okay, so maybe not.  Not exactly.  Not even close.  Maybe
Mulder had to go back to work to spend the afternoon in a
budgeting meeting (I always knew Skinner had a mean
streak), and maybe I had to go back to Quantico and get
my ass chewed for canceling my classes for, as far as the
Bureau was concerned, no good reason.  But we’d cleared
the air, and I felt optimistic and a hell of a lot happier than
I had a few hours earlier.  If my partner and I could save
the planet from colonization by an alien race, we could
damn well make loving each other work.

Mulder had to work late, and VCU had requested that I be
the pathologist to perform autopsies on two young
rape/murder victims, so we couldn’t have dinner together,
but Mulder called me before I went to bed, and we chatted
for a few minutes.  We really didn’t say much, but that
wasn’t what mattered.  The open channel of
communication was what counted.  We hadn’t discussed
it, and didn’t need to, because this was one of those things
that I knew we agreed upon intuitively:  we couldn’t pick
up where we’d left off Friday night.  Mulder wasn’t going
to come over to my apartment, sweep me into his arms,
strip me, and make mad, passionate love to me for hours,
at least not any time in the next few weeks.  We had
definitely taken a few steps backward.

I still felt the need to be the one to make a real effort at
kick-starting this relationship, so just before leaving the
office the next day, I turned to my partner and blurted out,
“Have dinner with me tonight?”

He looked up.  “I’d love to,” he said, and I felt a big smile
breaking across my face, “but I can’t.”

My face fell.  Whatever happened to that old-fashioned
stoicism?  I don’t know who looked more disappointed –
me or Mulder.  “I’m really sorry, Scully.  But I promised
the guys I’d come over – I haven’t seen them in a while –
they’ve been planning a big evening of Dungeons and
Dragons and pizza.”

“No, that’s OK.  I understand,” I said quickly.  “Have fun,
and say hi for me.”

I did a few errands on my way home – bank, groceries,
hardware store to pick up a washer to fix the leaky faucet
in my kitchen sink – and found myself sitting Indian-style
on my sofa, an afghan wrapped around my shoulders, a
Lean Cuisine in my lap, flipping aimlessly through
different TV news programs when there was a knock at the
door.

“Just a sec,” I called, heading for the door.

“Scully?”

“Mulder?”  I opened the door and surveyed my partner.
He was wearing jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved gray T-
shirt under his black leather jacket, and carrying a plastic
bag.  “What are you doing here?”

He held up the bag.  “I brought dinner.”

“Well, then come in – since you’re bearing gifts.”  I
stepped aside for him to enter.  He paused right in front of
me, looking down to meet my gaze.  I smiled a little
nervously, and he swooped down, giving me a quick kiss,
really just a peck.

“I’ve got this, too,” he offered, holding up a Blockbuster
case.  “It sounded like something you might like.”

I grinned, wondering just what Mulder thought I “might
like.”  “Weekend at Bernie’s?” I teased.  “Porky’s? Or
Nightmare on Elm Street 8?”

“No, silly.  It’s of that genre so sacred to your gender:  the
romantic comedy.  And it’s got Harrison Ford.”

“I think that deserves another kiss.”  I leaned up on my
tiptoes and suited my actions to my words.

“Have I done anything else that deserves a kiss?”  Mulder
asked hopefully as I rummaged in the fridge for a beer I
knew I’d stuck back there at some point.

“I’ll let you know,” I promised.  “What happened to your
big guys’ night?”

He grinned a little sheepishly.  “I was such miserable
company that they sent me over here.  Everyone says hi,
and Frohike says he’s ‘at your service, as always.’”

I chuckled.  “I’m not sure if I should thank them or strangle
them.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Any time.  Let’s start the video, huh?”

We settled onto the couch with the take-out, which we
demolished pretty quickly, then rested comfortably
against the cushions.  At least Mulder looked comfortable.
I kept telling myself to relax, but my spine remained
stubbornly rigid.  Mulder and I were close but not
touching, and my body was acutely aware of the fact that
he was only inches away.  I could reach out and touch him.
Take his hand.  Rest my palm on his knee.  Kiss him.
Snuggle up against his side.  He would put his arm
around me, I was pretty sure. We’d turned off the lamp
when the movie began, so I was free to cut my eyes and
watch his profile without Mulder noticing.  Damn, he
looked good.  And he loved me.  The knowledge made my
heart do a somersault off the high dive.  Fox Mulder was
sitting on my sofa with empty cartons of Chinese takeout
watching a Harrison Ford romantic comedy because he
loved me.  He wanted to be with me.

“Scully?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you staring at me?”

I felt myself blush.  Again, good thing it was dark.  “I, um
– Just thinking.”

“You think too much, Scully.”

“You’re probably right.”  I sighed and edged closer to him.

Mulder hesitated, then I felt his arm around my shoulders,
the pressure at first so light that I thought I had imagined
it, and gradually growing firmer.  I snuggled into his side
and he squeezed my upper body in a quick hug.  “What
were you thinking?” he asked.

I smiled slightly.  “How phenomenal it is to me that you’re
here watching this movie with me because you love me,
and how glad I am that it’s not Caddyshack or Plan 9 from
Outer Space.”

A chuckle rumbled from deep in his throat as Mulder
squeezed me tightly.  “Scully.”  He bent his head, nuzzling
the crown of my head with his nose and breathing deeply.
“Baby.”  His lips grazed the top of my ear and I felt his
warm breath on my cheek.

“Hmm,” I sighed, shivering at the gesture and the name,
and angled my chin slightly, hoping for a kiss.  Mulder
nudged my chin toward him, and in the space of a single
breath his lips whispered a caress across mine.

“Exquisite,” he murmured, and I smiled.  I felt his mouth
curve against mine in response.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I replied, pressing our lips
together in a real kiss.  A series of small nips and quick
forays stretched into one long, breathless exploration, and
it seemed like the most natural thing in the world when
Mulder lowered us both to lie on the sofa, although that
could have had something to do with the fact that by that
point I was completely oxygen deprived.  I think I’d
forgotten oxygen existed, much less that I needed it to
survive.  I could survive just fine on a diet of pure Mulder,
thank you very much.

The movie was forgotten as I threaded my fingers through
his crisp, short hair and his tongue plunged into my
mouth.  It slid slickly across my teeth, swiped across the
roof of my mouth, then moved roughly against my own
tongue as I sucked firmly and thrust my tongue into his
mouth.  We dueled hotly for dominance for several
minutes until he surrendered and let me have my chance
to explore, which I did slowly and thoroughly.

Now, I wasn’t so far gone that I failed to notice the play of
Mulder’s right hand along my hip and stomach.  Pressing
very lightly, he used his whole palm to draw circles along
my hip, creeping up across the cotton fabric of my loose
shirt.  He tugged on the hem, then I felt two fingers curl
through the belt loop of my jeans.  I caught his upper lip in
a rather voracious nip, and his fingers moved from my belt
lip to curl under the waistband.  At some point his left
hand had worked its way inside my shirt, and now his
warm palm was gliding veeery slowly up my back.  I was
reminded of various other evenings throughout my high
school and college careers and even one embarrassing
incident back in my academy days, and I couldn’t hold
back my mirth.  A stream of giggles erupted between my
mouth and Mulder’s, surprising us both.  He drew back a
couple of inches, his eyes wide, and I laughed harder, sure
that my face was so red it looked violet.  “Fox Mulder,” I
gasped delightedly, “are you trying to feel me up?”

His facial muscles seemed to go slack, and his mouth
moved a few times, as if he were trying to speak, and his
color heightened.  “Umm – Scully, really.  Feel you up?
The last time I checked, we were both over eighteen, and I
don’t think we’re behind the bleachers at the homecoming
game, so –“

I grinned, squeezing his shoulders.  “Mulder.  Answer the
question.”

Mulder’s features relaxed and he grinned, bringing his
forehead to mine and resting more of his body weight on
me.  “Am I trying to cop a feel, Scully?  After working side
by side with you for eight years, risking my life for you
and seeing you do the same for me, watching you dice up
corpses like carrots for a tossed salad, having you shoot
me in the shoulder, and developing a relationship built on
trust and total respect? Hell, yes.”

I laughed and tried to shift, but I was penned beneath him.
“Well?” I challenged.  “What are you waiting for,
partner?”

He mumbled something about not needing to be
persuaded, then his warm skin stroked across mine,
making my stomach muscles quiver.  The fingertips of
both his hands brushed over the delicate flesh swelling
over the cups of my bra at the exact same moment when
his lips found the erogenous zone just behind my ear.  I
sucked in a quick breath and almost strangled, then
giggled some more.

He had my breasts in his palms, lifting and weighing them
through the silk of my bra, just those simple caresses
making my nipples harden.  Mulder, being the astute FBI
agent that he is, didn’t miss this little detail, and began to
pay the aching little nubs extra attention, drawing tight
circles, swirling, scraping with his fingernails.  His mouth
was still busy with my ear, so I contented myself with
brushing my lips and tongue against every square
centimeter of his flesh that I could reach, mainly in the
vicinity of his temple and right eyebrow.  My restless
hands found his firm athlete’s ass and, as if those parts of
my body were completely autonomous, began to stroke,
dragging my fingernails lightly down his denims.

“Like that?”  His words were really just a vibration against
my skin.

“Hm.  Yeah.”

“Let’s get rid of this.”  He began unbuttoning my shirt, and
drew it down my arms when he had finished.  I shrugged
the fabric aside and watched Mulder watch me.  The bra I
was wearing was a pale blue number from Victoria’s
Secret – not the sexiest item of lingerie I own or anything,
but acceptable.  Mulder wasn’t complaining.  Did I have
on matching underwear?  I tried to think.  Dammit.  I
couldn’t remember.  Too bad I hadn’t known –

“Oh!” I yelped, surprised.  Mulder’s mouth descending on
my still-clothed breast, speedily derailed my train of
thought.  His other hand came up to firmly pinch and roll
my neglected nipple, and he lifted his mouth to speak, the
stubble on his chin rasping against my stomach.  “You are
so beautiful, Scully.”  He punctuated his words with a
delightful kiss right on my belly button.  “I always knew
you would be this beautiful.”

All I could really think was God, he even likes my scars.  I
threaded my fingers through his hair and held his head in
place, smiling down at him.  “Tell me more,” I heard
myself murmur.

I don’t know what it was – something I did, a movement I
made, my words, my tone of voice, the look on my face or
in my eyes – but something made Mulder decide to get
serious.  Before I could blink he was lying next to me,
hauling my face up next to his and my body against his
chest.  He attacked my face with kisses, peppering my
eyelids, cheeks, nose, chin, forehead, and finally, the
corner of my mouth.  “Oh, Scully, I love you,” he growled
into my skin.  “I love you so much, baby.  I love your mind
and I want to love your body.  Please let me do that.”  His
hands were already frantically working at the clasp of my
bra, as if he wanted to have it unfastened before I could
say no.

I said something really eloquent and profound, like
“Yeah,” and in about five seconds he was tugging my bra
straps off my shoulders and down my arms.  I raised up to
get the scrap of silk loose, and Mulder took the
opportunity to latch onto my newly uncovered nipple,
first pressing a gentle kiss, then beginning to nuzzle and
lick at me before progressing to determined suckling.  I
sighed deeply and arched my neck.  Mulder’s other hand
had gone still against my other breast, and my hand came
up to cover his, teaching him to exert a firm pressure, then
to grip the nipple and roll it hard.  His teeth joined in, and
my synapses started firing like crazy, causing an anxious
ache to pool between my legs, tightening my muscles all
the way up into my stomach.  I felt my own moisture, slick
and hot, soaking through my panties to my jeans, and I
shivered, clawing at Mulder’s shirt.

It took both of us to get it over his head, and then I went
for bare skin.  It wasn’t fair to let him have all the fun, I
reasoned, my hands roaming all over him, gripping his
biceps, counting his ribs, pulling at the hair on his chest.  I
heard a low, animalistic growl and realized it was coming
from deep in my throat.  I was so hungry for Mulder,
biting at his chest, at his small nipples, my hands finding
his ass again, molding it to my palms.  His lips trailed
across my chest and up my neck to my mouth, and we
kissed sloppily, our enthusiasm more than making up for
any lack of technique.

He insinuated one of his legs between mine, and I
clamped my thighs around it, savoring the rub of his firm
muscle and bone against my heat, the pressure pushing
the thick seam of my jeans satisfyingly hard into my
moisture.  I slowly rubbed my leg against Mulder’s cock,
which prodded me insistently, hard and hot even through
the twin barriers of his clothing and mine.  He tore his
mouth away from mine with a strangled kind of groan and
zeroed in on my neck again, his tongue soothing even as
his teeth grated my skin and his fingers came up to toy
with my nipple, pinching it hard.  I rolled my head back,
my eyes closed, lost in a haze of erotic pain.  My hands
burrowed busily beneath his jeans and boxers, gripping
his ass so hard that my fingernails sank into his flesh,
tensing my muscles around his thigh and drawing it more
securely against my aching cunt.  As I kneaded his flesh,
my hips rocked gently in an instinctive rhythm I couldn’t
begin to stop or control, and which he began to echo,
thrusting against me.  His sharp, shallow thrusts felt
wonderful, and I rocked harder, tilting my pelvis for a
better angle.  The slide of coarse denim against my
sensitive core was breathtaking.  I squeezed my eyes shut
more tightly, concentrating.

Mulder’s short bark of laughter pulled me back to reality a
little and I opened my eyes.  “What?” I asked, dazed.

His eyes sparkled darkly with mirth and desire, and he
looked absolutely wonderful.  “Has it occurred to you,” he
breathed against my skin, his lips caressing the bridge of
my nose, “that we’re dry humping on your sofa like a
couple of horny adolescents?”

I laughed, meeting his gaze.  “Yeah,” I agreed.  “But, Jesus,
it feels good.”

His chuckle turned into a moan.  “Scully, sweetheart,
you’re so – Jesus, you’re so beautiful, so sexy.  I want to – I
need –“

He started unbuttoning his jeans with one hand, reaching
for mine with the other.  I brushed his hand aside and
quickly undid the button and zipper, and he raised up so I
had room to pull my jeans off.  I shimmied them down my
legs and peeled my socks off as Mulder did the same.
Mulder draped his body over mine like a blanket, the only
barrier between us his boxers and my soaking panties --
which, I noticed, did not in fact match my bra, not that my
partner seemed to notice or care.

“These too,” I hissed, sliding his boxers over his lean hips.

“You don’t have to ask twice,” he promised, then moved
down my body, gripping the waistband of my underwear
in his teeth and pulling them down with agonizing
slowness.  I looked down at him, so unbearably sexy with
his tousled hair and bedroom eyes, then felt myself blush
as I observed the contrast of my panties – white cotton
granny panties with little pink, blue, and yellow hearts
and flowers, courtesy of Hanes Her Way, bought in an
eight-pack from Wal-Mart.  Christ.  I was almost relieved
when they cleared my toes and I was completely naked,
then it occurred to me that, hey, I was completely naked,
and I blushed again.  I knew I had to be quite the sight,
mottled splotches of pink spreading over my whole face
and down my neck to my chest.

Mulder moved back up my body, pressing a kiss to the
valley between my breasts, and looked into my eyes.  He
grinned as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Hey,” he said.

“H-hey,” I stammered, and cringed.  Brother.  I hadn’t been
this nervous since my first time, and even then, in all
honesty, it was dulled by a few vodka screwdrivers.

“Hey,” he repeated, his thumbs tenderly brushing back
and forth over my cheekbones as he framed my face.  I
forced my eyes open to find his gaze soft and concerned.
“Relax, Scully.”

His usage of my last name, as I’d heard it from his lips day
in and day out for the better part of a decade, only served
to remind me that I was about to have sex with my work
partner and best friend, which did nothing to alleviate my
embarrassment.  Not that I wanted him to start calling me
Dana – Eesh.  That would just be too damn weird.

“Scully, do you want to stop?”

My eyes widened in horror.  “No! No. I’m fine, really.  Just
– this is all so new, I just-”

“I know,” he said reassuringly.  “It’s a new thing, but we’re
going to be so good together, Scully.  Just you and me, just
like always.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding, and thinking that this would
probably be a hell of a lot less awkward if we just got _on_
with it.  “Yeah… Mulder…”  I turned my head and
pressed a kiss to his ear.  “Kiss me,” I whispered.

His lips found mine.  “Where?” he murmured.

“Everywhere,” I sighed, still watching him.

Our pace was anything but leisurely as he dove onto me
and I received him in a frenzy, hands and mouths
everywhere.  I thought we’d done pretty well in the
foreplay department, and it was time to get the show on
the road.

Apparently Mulder agreed.  One hand slipped down my
back to trace the crack of my ass, then his fingers spread
my lips while his thumb sampled my moisture.  “Yeah,”
he mumbled, his long fingers drawing little circles around
my clit.  I pushed myself harder against his hand and he
rewarded me by slipping three fingers inside me, the
sudden penetration making me gasp and tense for a
couple of seconds.  When I relaxed, he began to pump his
fingers in and out very slowly, going deeper with each
thrust.

“You like that, huh?”  he growled into my ear.  Nodding
weakly, I drew my knees up and spread my legs further,
all my embarrassment forgotten.  Feeling remiss, I
summoned strength into my boneless wrist and cupped
Mulder’s erection firmly in my palm, slowly squeezing
and releasing, feeling his cock twitch.  A thrill of delight
running through me, I used my free hand to cradle and test
his balls.

“Sculleee…”

I sighed contentedly and wrapped both of my hands
around his dick.  Grinning wickedly, my eyes fastened on
his, I arched my pelvis and brought him just close enough
to rub against me.  I used my hands to direct his
movements, the head of his cock sliding back and forth
against my slippery inner lips, sending shocks of pleasure
through my nerves.  We both moaned lustily.

After a moment Mulder knocked my hands away and
seized his cock, positioning it just above my opening.  I
heard myself whimper as I arched up toward him.  Was
that my voice chanting
“PleaseMuldernowpleasenowMulderplease”?

He used his forearm to hold my lower body still against
the sofa cushions, his erection poking and prodding
lightly at my entrance, teasing me.  My moans turned into
a wail and I clawed at his back, forcing my eyes open to
watch him.  “Mmmuuhh…”  I tried to say his name but
my voice refused to cooperate, so I relied on my eyes to
communicate.  _Now, Mulder_.

Mulder had never denied me anything.  He raised up and
arched his back, then slammed down into me, penetrating
me fully on the first thrust.  I think I may have screamed.  It
hurt, but it felt sooo goood.  I crossed my ankles behind
his back, my heels digging into his buttocks as he set up a
rhythm, thrusting deeply, just the way I like it.  I rocked in
a counter-rhythm, moaning and sobbing, thousands of
years of civilization forgotten as our bodies joined.  He
had started out saying my name, but his words
disintegrated into grunts and sighs, and his body arched
like a bow so that he could reach my breasts, his mouth
latching onto the tender skin as we held hands, our
interlocked fingers gripping tightly.  I felt his teeth
scraping, his whole mouth sucking, his cock pumping in
and out of me, in and out, and I cried out sharply, my eyes
flying shut as my muscles spasmed and my body flowed
like molten lava.

“Fuck!” Mulder groaned hoarsely as my muscles milked
him, and he thrust once, twice more, then I felt his semen
shooting into me in a hot, frothy spurt.

I didn’t go to sleep, but I think my mind left my body for a
few minutes, and when I came to myself again, I felt the
sweat cooling on my body.  Mulder had slipped out of me,
but our naked bodies were intertwined like some bizarre
contortionist pretzel.  I was half beneath him, half on top,
and his knees were on the cold wooden floor.  My sofa was
too small for both of us to lie comfortably.

“Hmmm,” I sighed, twisting my neck to look at him.
“Mulder.  Let’s go to bed.”

His arms tightened around me.  “Mmm, Scully.  You’re
wonderful.”

Mulder’s words of praise made me ridiculously pleased.
“Thanks,” I murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his throat.
“We – that was – you’re a fabulous lover.”  I felt myself
blushing, but it was a good, happy blush.

“All I want is to please you, Scully,” he said solemnly, and
I felt tears pricking at my eyes.  How was I to know all
these years that Mulder was a closet romantic?  I sniffled
and insisted, “Bed.”

Having Mulder in my bed was wonderful and comforting.
It made the whole evening more real and made his
presence in my life seem more permanent.  As I snuggled
up to him beneath the crisp sheets and eyelet comforter, I
breathed in the scent of his bare skin, of man and sex.  My
man.  My lover.  I smiled happily as his arm snaked
around my belly.  “God, Mulder, this is so good,” I said,
my hands covering his.  “I didn't think this was going to
happen tonight.  I'd prepared myself to wait weeks,
months… It is so good to have you here – to love you – It
took us so long…”

“But we made it this far eventually,” he said, nuzzling my
hair.  “Here we are.”

“I love you with all my heart,” I whispered.  “Everything
that’s in me, Mulder, the good and the bad.”

“It’s not all going to be easy.”

I smiled slightly.  “When has it ever been?”  I squeezed his
hand.  “We’ll fight.  We’ll hurt each other.  But I think we’ll
always find each other again.”

“Scully.”  He repositioned us so that I was looking into his
eyes.  “When that happens, when we get lost and hurt each
other, think of this moment.  Know that I will always,
always love you.”

“Always,” I echoed his promise.  In the darkness, my lips
quirked into a smile.  “Good night – baby.”

I felt his smile.  “Good night, Scully.”

…………..

We were late to work Friday morning.

It was not my fault.  I set my alarm early enough so that
Mulder would have plenty of time to go home and get
ready, and we would both be at the office bright-eyed and
bushy-tailed at 9 a.m. sharp.  Well, we’d be there, at any
rate.

Things seldom go according to plan when they involve me
and my partner.

The alarm went off and I reached over to turn it off.  I
rolled onto my side to speak to Mulder.  “Mulder, it’s time
to get up.”

“Mmph.”  His arm went around me, pulling me beneath
him, and he snuggled up to me like I was a life-sized
stuffed animal.

“Mulder,” I repeated from my new position, penned
beneath him.  “Come on, wakie wakie.”

“Scully,” he sighed, “you smell so good… Just a few more
minutes.”

I ruffled his hair.  “Mulder-“

“Please.”  He pressed a trail of warm kisses up my neck
from my pulse point.  “It’s almost the weekend.”

I sighed, knowing I was going to relent – it’s not like I
wanted to get up and leave this warm bed with this
gorgeous warm man in it – and we shared a long, slow
morning-breath kiss.  I’ve always been a little too
fastidious to be a good person to wake up next to – I know
that my breath is bad, my hair looks funny, and parts of
my body smell like something dredged up on the beach
after high-tide.  Today, somehow, was different.  The way
Mulder was touching and kissing me made me feel
beautiful and desirable, not self-conscious, and I felt so
damn good.  Before long we were making love again, and
we didn’t even have the decency to make it a quickie.  Our
movements were slow and languid, and as Mulder
stroked in and out of me and his hand trailed lazily up
and down my spine, I came, not with the ferocity of the
night before, but with just as much intensity.

So we were late for work.  Big deal.

I was so looking forward to spending the weekend with
Mulder – his place or mine, it didn’t matter.  We could
cook dinner or eat takeout, then we’d go to bed and make
love, and we wouldn’t emerge until Sunday evening.  I
pictured us curled up reading the paper together,
smearing cream cheese on bagels, and I smiled blissfully.
I was walking down the hall to Skinner’s office at the time,
so I must have gotten some odd looks, not that I noticed.

Mulder was already in with Skinner when I got there, and
Kimberly waved me on in.

You know how I said nothing goes according to plan with
Mulder and me?  Yeah.  This was no exception.  Skinner
was sending us to Montana to track down some tree-
hugging nut who had kidnapped a Senator’s daughter.

“It’s not even a goddamn x-file,” Mulder muttered sourly
in the elevator.

I pressed my lips together and arched an eyebrow.  “De ja
vu.”  I was thinking of the last non-x-file we had worked –
all those months ago in California, when Michaela had
shown up.  Just thinking of it made me shudder.  Riding a
wave of Mulder resentment, I exited the elevator and
walked briskly toward the office.

“Scully –“  he grabbed my arm and looked pleadingly at
me, his mouth open to speak again.  What was he going to
say?  That he was sorry?  That there were no more
Michaelas lurking in the background?

I forestalled him, saying, “Come on, Mulder.  We have
work to do.”

………….

My anger at Mulder didn’t last long – it usually doesn’t,
unless he’s done something exceptionally arrogant or
maddening.  Once we were seated on the plane, he
reached for my hand and held it throughout the flight.

Part of me, the little devil seated on my left shoulder,
insisted that just because we were on a case, it didn’t mean
no sex.  We had a perfectly good motel room waiting for
us, after all –

And we were on the clock, the angel on my right shoulder
chimed in.  Absolutely not.  No fraternization on a case.

I sighed.  “Mulder, we’ve got to make some rules.”

He sighed too.  “No sex.”

My thumb traced his knuckles.  “No sex,” I agreed
regretfully.  “Not in the field.”

“Gee, Scully, I was kind of thinking we could do it in the
motel –“  I punched him in the arm, and he relented.  “I
know.  No ‘fraternization’ on cases.  We’re professionals.”

Relieved that, for once, we were on the same wavelength, I
rested my head against my partner’s shoulder and allowed
myself to doze.

………..

By the time we got a lead that the kidnapper was holed up
in a cabin a couple hundred miles outside Helena, he had
already moved.  We followed him and Senator
Worthington’s sixteen-year-old daughter to Idaho, then
doubled back to Utah, and finally to Colorado.  We
rescued Alicia Worthington safe and sound and only
slightly the worse for wear, and as Earl Miller was loaded
into the squad car to be taken to jail, I suppressed the urge
to shoot him in the back of the head.  Not only had he
terrorized an innocent young woman and her entire
family; the fucker had cost us two damn weekends.

I was disgruntled and, frankly, horny, and I knew Mulder
was bearing the brunt of my bitchiness, but I was too
exhausted to do much about it.  As much as I wanted
Mulder, what I wanted even more was to sleep, and
maybe take a nice hot bath.  We parted ways at the airport,
Mulder pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead as we
pledged to see each other at work the next morning.

The next morning found my spirits not greatly improved.
I entered the office and made a beeline for the coffeemaker,
cursing aloud when I realized it still hadn’t been fixed.
“Goddamn stupid fucking-“

I was interrupted by a discreet throat-clearing behind me.
“Ah, Agent Scully.”

I whirled.  “Oh, uh, good morning, sir,” I stammered,
feeling my face flush.  Skinner regarded me warily.

“I just wanted to come down and see how things are
going, and remind you and Agent Mulder that the report
on the Worthington case is due on my desk tomorrow
morning.  Where is Agent Mulder, Scully?”

“I’m not certain, sir.  I imagine he overslept.  Again.”

“I did not.  Good morning, sir.  Morning, Scully.”  Mulder
paused at my side and brushed a kiss to my cheek, then
continued to his desk.  “Did you need to see me, sir?”

“I’ve spoken with Scully.  Agents,” he nodded brusquely
and was gone, but I was fairly certain I hadn’t imagined his
raised eyebrows.

I smacked Mulder on the shoulder as soon as our
supervisor was out of earshot and hissed, “Mulder, just
what the hell did you think you were doing back there?”

He gazed at me with wide, baby-innocent eyes.  “What,
Scully?”

“Don’t ‘What, Scully?’ me, you arrogant –“ I stalked across
the room, slamming a stack of file folders down on my
desk.  I huffed out an angry breath of air, blowing a strand
of hair straight up in the air.  “Jesus Christ on a pony,
Mulder!  Are you trying to get us fucking fired?”

Mulder shrugged as he went about making himself
comfortable, slouching in his desk chair and crossing his
ankles on top of his desk.  I thought he might be
pondering my rather colorful turn of phrase.  “I don’t
know what you’re getting so worked up about, Scully.”

“You kissed me!  In front of Skinner!” I howled
indignantly.

“On the cheek, Scully.  It’s not like I threw you down on
top of your desk and we played tonsil hockey.”

I sat on the edge of my desk, my arms crossed tightly over
my chest.  I felt as if my lungs were in a vice.  “It doesn’t
matter, Mulder!  I thought we had an understanding!  After
all of these years, we have – I have worked so hard to be
respected, to maintain a professional image – Do you have
any idea how hard that is as a woman?  Do you, Mulder?
It’s damn hard!  I have put up with so much shit – Dana
Scully, the Ice Queen, good ol’ Slice and Dice, that’s me –
and all that stupid gossip about the two of us being
involved, and now what?, you’re trying to fucking validate
it?”

“Scully, you know that’s bullshit.  You know it.”  Mulder
had straightened up during my tirade, and now he stood
and advanced toward me.  He didn’t stop until he was
within arm’s distance, planting his feet on the linoleum
and his hands on my shoulders.  “I would never do
anything to undermine our partnership or you.  If I was
out of line, I’m sorry.  I just - You looked so adorable
standing there, and I wanted to have some fun.  I didn’t
think you’d react like this.”

I sighed heavily, studying my navy spiked heels.  I took
several deep breaths and released them slowly.  “I know,”
I said grudgingly.  “I’m sorry,” I muttered.  I hate
apologizing.  I could say it’s a Scully family trait, which I
guess is true – the only ones of us who could ever do it
worth a damn were Mom and Charlie – but the truth of the
matter is I’m stubborn as hell and I know it.  Mulder
knows this about me, so I knew he would accept my
muttered words of remorse with the sincerity with which
they were intended.

His thumbs brushed firmly over my shoulders, the
chaffing bolstering me as our eyes locked.  “What’s this
really about?”

I shook my head.  “I think it’s about me being tired, and
frustrated, and worried –“

“Worried?”

“About what’s going to happen – here – if – when people
find out –“

“Does that mean you want this – us – to be a secret?”

I shook my head vehemently, not realizing until that
moment how strongly I felt about this issue.  “No!  No,
Mulder.  Absolutely not.  Like you said last night – it has
taken us so long to get to this point, but we’re finally here.
We’re together.  I love you so much, and by God, I want
everyone to know.  I love this job, Mulder, but it doesn’t
love me back, and I’m not in love with it.  So if it’s this or
you – It’s not even a question for me.”

Mulder’s shoulders slumped with what I realized was
relief.  His forehead dropped to mine.  “Scully?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I hug you?”

I smiled tiredly.  “Please.”

Mulder’s embrace was firm and reassuring.  “I’m so glad
to know you feel this way,” he whispered in my ear.  “I
love you, Scully.  God only knows why you love me, but
I’m so proud that you’re mine.  If anything happens, we’ll
face it together.”

I nodded, drawing back enough to look into his face.
“Hey, G-man,” I murmured, “you got plans tonight?”

“What have you got in mind, G-woman?”  His voice
rumbled in my ear.

“I thought maybe I could come over to your place.  I could
bring dinner this time – maybe a video.”

Mulder leaned down and kissed my on the mouth.  “I’d
like that.  But all you have to bring is you.”

I brought dinner anyway, take-out from a decent Italian
fast-food place, and a bottle of good red wine.  Mulder met
me at the door with a hug and a gentle kiss, then took my
coat.  “You didn’t have to-“ he began.

I grinned.  “Shut up, Mulder.  I’m starving.”  I sauntered
past him into the kitchen and got two plates out of the
cabinet.  Mulder had followed me, and I turned to him
expectantly.  “Wine glasses?” I asked, not holding out
much hope.  He shook his head, grinning sheepishly.  I
shrugged and found two juice glasses instead.

We settled on the floor of Mulder’s living room, the couch
at our backs, and watched Jeopardy! while we ate.  I
kicked Mulder’s ass in the science and language-related
categories, he took music easily, arts and history were a
draw, and he blew me away when it came to sheer
random, useless information.

Our dinner demolished, we climbed up onto the couch
and Mulder patted the cushion beside him.  I curled up at
his side, my head tucked cozily under his chin.  He
wrapped his arm around me and lazily stroked my arm
from my shoulder to my elbow and back up.  The caress
was soothing, and I closed my eyes and sighed, my body
relaxing for the first time in days.  “This is nice,” I said
softly, Mulder’s solid presence lulling me into a peaceful
half-slumber.

Mulder dropped a kiss on the crown of my head.  “Very
nice,” he agreed, “and very normal.”

I smiled softly.  “Normal,” I echoed lazily, drawing circles
on his thigh.  My smile turning feline, I moved my hand
inward, brushing against Mulder’s unmistakable erection.
“Is this normal, too?”

“Only with you, baby,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse.
I rewarded him by taking his full weight in my palm, my
thumb stroking up and down.  I pressed my thumbnail
against the denim, drawing a slow line from the tip to the
root.

“Jesus, Scully,” my partner hissed, capturing my hand.

“You want me to stop?” I teased, rising to my knees and
leaning over him, my hand still moving steadily.

“Uhn… no…”

“You’re beautiful,” I praised huskily, watching the desire
smolder and flare in his eyes.  I unbuttoned and unzipped
his jeans and my hand slipped inside his boxers, very
lightly brushing his straining cock.  Mulder’s breath had
become harsh and ragged, and I hadn’t even gotten started
yet.  “Raise up,” I urged.

Mulder lifted his hips and I peeled his jeans and boxers
down, leaving him fully erect and exposed.  I watched his
newly bared skin twitch in the cooler air, then formed a fist
around his cock, moving up and down slowly.  “Does that
feel good?”

“Scu – uh –“

“I’ll take that as a yes.”  My wrist moving faster, I
redistributed my weight and pressed a chaste kiss to the
straining head of his penis.  He shuddered and his hips
thrust toward me, but I moved beyond his reach.

“Not yet, lover,” I admonished, continuing to stroke him
with my hand.

“Scully – Jesus – you’re so beautiful.  I love you so much –
oh – baby, yeah – that feels so good – you’re so sexy,” he
moaned in a continuous stream.

My skin flushed with pleasure and a distinct ache
throbbing for attention between my legs, I rewarded
Mulder’s words of praise with a long lick from tip to root
and back again, lapping up the drop of pre-cum I found
there.  Finally I took him in my mouth, but just the head.

“Ahh – Scully – Please,” he groaned helplessly, his hips
shifting restlessly.

“More?” I asked evilly.

“Uhhhn-“

Slowly, slowly, I took his cock into my mouth, gently
grating the sensitive skin with my teeth, swirling my
tongue, while one hand gripped his thigh and the other
stroked his balls.  I hadn’t thought it was possible, but he
was growing harder in my mouth.  His vocabulary had
disintegrated into a series of broken syllables that might
have been my name interrupted by the occasional
expletive.  I knew Mulder was trying to hold himself still,
but his hips had begun to make little jabbing thrusts into
my mouth, bumping the roof of my mouth.  Now for the
grand finale, I thought, taking a deep breath through my
nose.  I leaned forward, engulfing his cock, taking him
down my throat until my lips reached the base of his shaft.

Above me, Mulder emitted a strangled gasp and a loud
“Holy shit!”, his hands fisting in my hair.  I could tell that
he was trying very hard not to thrust into my mouth.  I
stroked his thigh, swelling with pride at the pleasure I was
giving him.  I urged him on, and he seemed to choke,
thrusting raggedly.  He bumped against the back of my
throat and I gripped his leg, forcing myself not to gag.  He
stroked my hair in what I knew was apology, then gripped
me hard, trying to lift me away.

“Scully – ah – You’ve gotta stop, baby.  I’m gonna come –“

He meant it as a warning, but I wanted to feel him.  I
hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard, and he bucked up off
the sofa, his semen filling my mouth, hot and bitter.

After a long moment I felt his body relax limply, and I let
his cock slide out of my mouth, lapping him with my
tongue like a cat, cleaning his genitals and thighs.  Mulder
endured my ministrations for a few minutes, then hauled
me up next to him on the couch, kissing me soundly.
“Scully,” he breathed into my neck, “God, that – you were
amazing.  Sweetheart, you don’t have to –“

I shushed him with my fingers against his lips.  “I wanted
to,” I answered.  “You have no idea what seeing you like
that does to me.”

“Tell me,” he growled in my ear.  “Show me.”  He was
already reaching for the waistband of my slacks, and I
helped him unfasten them.  I pushed my panties down my
legs and his hand was there, on the center of my heat,
making me sink weakly to my knees on the sofa.

He stroked me gently.  “You’re so wet, Scully, so wet and
slick.  I love to feel you here,” he said, his voice soothing
even while his caresses further inflamed me.  Getting
Mulder off had almost been enough to give me an orgasm,
and I knew it wouldn’t take him long to finish the job.  He
slid one finger into me, pumping slowly, and my hips
rocked with the motion.  I moaned his name, gripping his
shoulders for balance.  He inserted two more fingers and I
cried out, riding him harder.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, his voice deep and
sultry.  “You like that.”  His thumb pushed the hood of my
clitoris back and began to stroke the tight little bunch of
nerves.  I groaned wordlessly.

Mulder’s arm went around my lower back and he lowered
me to lie on the couch.  His thumb abandoned my clit, but
before I could protest I felt his warm breath on my moist
inner lips, then he planted a soft kiss there, as if he were
kissing my mouth.  Then his tongue snaked out and he
began to lick me from top to bottom, his fingers pumping
harder.  Trying to stay quiet, I bit my lip so hard that I
tasted blood.  I tried to tell him that I was close, but I
couldn’t get the words out.  I felt my nerves tightening, the
wire stretched between my clit and my belly pulled taut,
and then Mulder’s lips closed around me, sucking hard at
my clit, and I cried out in surprise.  That was it – I was
coming, my hips thrusting, moisture gushing onto his
hand and into his mouth.  I heard a high, keening wail and
realized it was coming from me.

Mulder rode out my orgasm, slowing his pace but still
thrusting gently, his tongue tracing over my clit, until I
moaned, the sensation overload too much to bear.  He
crawled back up my body and cradled my face, and I
covered his fingers with mine, kissing him deeply, my
tongue plunging into his mouth.  I could taste myself on
his tongue, I realized, and was surprised by how erotic the
flavor was.

Leaving our discarded clothing where it had landed,
Mulder and I went to bed, and spent the night dozing and
talking, waking in the wee hours to make slow, tender
love that was so sweet I didn’t try to stop the tears running
down my face.

By the time I left to get ready for work, a plan was forming
in my mind.  The long-awaited weekend was only three
days away, and it was going to be an experience neither of
us would ever forget – I would make sure of that.

………..

Mulder and I had dinner together after work the next
night, which was Wednesday.  As he was finishing off the
last bite of our shared crème brulee, I leaned toward him
and said in a sexy sing-song voice, “I know what you’re
doing this weekend.”

He raised his eyebrows.  “What’s that?”

“Coming to my place,” I replied.

He grinned.  “I like the sound of that.”

I leaned back.  “You should,” I smiled.

He reached across the table and grasped my hand.  “I’m
counting the minutes,” he promised, and I felt my pulse
speed up.

“So am I,” I echoed.

By Friday afternoon I was filled with a combination of
expectation and nerves.  I left work early and did a few
errands, getting the last of my supplies for the weekend.  I
was back at my apartment by six.  Mulder shouldn’t arrive
for another hour and a half, which gave me plenty of time.
I bustled around the apartment, setting everything up as I
wanted it, then took a steaming shower and washed my
hair.  I had just finished blowing my hair dry and my
seldom-used hot rollers were plugged in when I heard a
knock at the door.  I looked at the clock and frowned.  6:45.
If that was Mulder, he was dead.  He was forty-five
minutes early.

“Just a minute,” I called, cinching my bathrobe more
tightly around my waist and padding to the door.  I undid
the deadbolt and opened the door, and my jaw dropped.  I
found myself facing my older brother, sister-in-law, and
their son.

“Hi,” Tara gushed, giving me a big hug.  “Say hi to Auntie
Dana, Matty.”

Bill was carrying a child-sized overnight bag.  “Hey,
Danes,” he said, smiling.  “You’re a life-saver.”

I was still staring at them, dumbstruck.  Then my mental
calendar clicked in.  Shit. It was the twenty-fourth.  I’d
promised to keep Matthew this weekend while Bill and
Tara went back to New York.  I’d agreed the last time they
were in town, and I’d completely forgotten.

As soon as the door closed, I slumped against it.  I looked
at my beloved nephew and swore loudly.  “Shit!”

“Shit!” the two-year-old echoed gleefully.

I sighed.  “Don’t say that, sweetie,” I said.  “Have you had
supper?”

Mattie nodded.  “Yup.  At Gwama’s.”

Did I mention that he’s a talkative two?

“I bet you’re tired, huh?” I said desperately.  “You and
Mommy and Daddy have been on the airplane and in the
car all day.”

That’s the ticket – get him down early.  Shit shit shit.  Fuck.
I love Matthew dearly, and I’d usually give anything in the
world to have one of my own just like him, but tonight his
presence made me want to gnaw my arm off.  I looked
around my living room.  Everything was perfect.  Soft jazz
waiting to be turned on in the CD player, candles waiting
to be lighted, crystal goblets on the table waiting for the
champagne to be poured.  The tiny, form-fitting dress
Cancer Man had presented to me on our ill-fated journey
last year (Mulder never had to know where it came from, I
reasoned) was laid out on my bed, waiting to be slipped
over my head.  I had lacy black garters and fishnet hose
and a red silk teddy in my lingerie drawer.  I’d already
lightly spritzed myself with my new perfume, a fragrance
called Ecstasy.  The thought of it all going to waste made
me want to cry.

I rapidly changed Matthew into his pajamas, got several
toys out of his overnight bag and set him up in the guest
bedroom with a Barney video.  “I have to finish getting
ready, Mattie,” I told him.  “Aunt Dana’s friend Mulder is
coming over and we’re going to have dinner – boring,
yucky grown-up foods,” I added.  “So you just play back
here, and I’ll come tuck you in later, OK?”  Fortunately,
my nephew is a pretty autonomous little guy.  He didn’t
need any help to go to the bathroom, and I knew if he
needed a drink of water he’d go into the bathroom and get
one.  I told him that if he needed anything he could come
get me.  I really hoped he wouldn’t need anything.  I felt
like the worst aunt in the world, but damn it, this was a
special night!

I rolled my hair and applied my makeup quickly.  I put on
the stockings and garters with my dress and added my
special four-inch fuck-me stiletto sandals.  My makeup
was heavier than usual, added eye makeup making my
eyes look dark and smoky, my lips coated in a Barbara
Stanwyck-esque crimson shade.  I wore no jewelry other
than my cross.

At exactly 7:30 my doorbell rang.  Punctuality meant
Mulder was anticipating this as much as I was.  I opened
the door for him, but only partially, peeking my head
around the edge so he couldn’t see my body.

“I have a surprise for you,” I began.  “Well, actually, I
planned a surprise for you, and now I have a sort of, ah,
unplanned surprise to go with it.”

Mulder looked befuddled, but I chose that moment to
open the door fully, and he didn’t question me.  Instead,
his jaw dropped.  “Wow, Scully!  You look – amazing.
Absolutely amazing.”  He reached out to gently touch my
hair, then his palm glided across the velvet of my bodice.
“You are so gorgeous,” he said, his eyes glowing with
love.  He looked around the dim apartment at the
flickering candlelight and the sparkling wine glasses on
the table, and shook his head.  “You planned all this?”

I smiled.  “Yeah,” I admitted.  “I wanted us to have a
special night, Mulder.  But maybe my timing wasn’t the
best.”

He frowned.  “What do you mean?”

As if on cue, a little voice called, “Aunt Day-na?”
Mulder’s eyes widened, whether with shock or horror I
don’t know.  Matthew appeared from the guest room,
looking cute as a button in his little dinosaur pajamas.  I
looked apologetically at Mulder.  “I promised,” I said
softly, “but I forgot.”

Matthew stopped a few feet from me, looking uncertain.
“It’s all dark,” he said anxiously.

Mulder stooped in front of him.  “Hey, buddy.  You must
be Matthew.  I’m Mulder.”

At that moment my love for Mulder swelled my heart until
I thought it would burst.  Matthew said hi, then looked up
at me.  “Whatcha doin', Aunt Day?” he asked.

I tried to smile reassuringly.  “We’re going to eat dinner,
then I’ll come tuck you in.”

“Whatcha gonna do af'er I go bed?” Matthew asked.
Damn.  I was just like him as a kid – I never wanted to go
to sleep because I was afraid I’d miss something.  How
could I have forgotten that?  I seemed to be forgetting a lot
of things these days.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Mulder was on the ball.
“We’re going to bed too,” he said simply.

“You'we sleepin' ovew?” Matthew asked.

“Yup,” Mulder confirmed.

Mattie nodded wisely.  “My fwiend Patwick’s big brudder
has sleep-overs sometimes.  Mommy and Daddy say I'm
too wittle.”

I jumped on that.  “Right.  Maybe in a few years-“

“Dat's why I go bed eawly?”

“Right,” I agreed, very much relieved.  Matthew seemed to
accept this, and went back to the guest room to play.

I turned to Mulder, smiling ruefully.  “I’m really sorry,” I
said.

Mulder drew me into his arms.  “Cute kid,” he said.  “So
Bill’s in town again?”

I sighed.  “New York.”

“Hasn’t he been out a lot lately?”

I nodded.  “He’s hoping to be transferred to a base there.
Mulder, I just feel awful-“

“Well, I don’t,” he replied, dipping his head to kiss the
corner of my mouth.  “Look at you, Scully.  Jesus.  You
look like a wet dream.”  I blushed.  “Come on.  We’re not
letting anything go to waste.  You cooked, too?”

I giggled.  “I didn’t have time.  Take-out from
Francesco’s.”

The food had been warming in the oven.  I spooned
roasted chicken, sautéed baby green beans, and potatoes
au gratin onto two plates while Mulder popped the cork
on the champagne.  It frothed over the top of the bottle and
into the floor, and we both laughed.  Mulder caught me
around the waist and kissed me, murmuring “Love you”
into my mouth.

I turned on the CD player and we ate dinner by
candlelight, talking softly and laughing, comfortable and
intimate.  Like lovers, I thought, and smiled happily into
his eyes.  “It’s time for dessert,” I said finally, and walked
to the kitchen with a little swing in my step, giving him
plenty of opportunities to admire my legs and my ass.  I
came back with one serving of white chocolate truffle
mousse with raspberry sauce.  I perched in Mulder’s lap
and we fed each other with one spoon, not really speaking.
Mulder nuzzled my cheek and kissed my ear.  “I don’t
know which is more delectable – you or this,” he said.
“I’m leaning toward you.”

“Why don’t you find out?” I invited, grinning.  Mulder
watched as I dipped my finger into the raspberry sauce in
the serving dish, coating it thoroughly.  I lifted my
gleaming digit for his inspection and offered, “Taste.”

Mulder drew my finger into his mouth, sucking and
licking until long after the sauce was gone, then moving to
my other fingers and finally my palm.  His eyes never left
mine through the whole process.  When he finished, he
said simply, “You,” and pulled my chin down to kiss me.
We kissed long and deep with plenty of tongue.  I could
feel Mulder’s cock stirring beneath me, and a warm
dampness had been pooling between my thighs since
Mulder had begun to suck my finger, but it wasn’t time for
that yet.  I stood up, taking my partner by the hand.
“Dance with me,” I commanded.

Mulder and I danced and kissed in my living room
through several songs.  He dropped his head to suckle at
my neck, and I knew I would have a good old-fashioned
hickey there in the morning.  I found the thought oddly
thrilling.  My fingernails scratched lightly across the back
of Mulder’s crisp white dress shirt, then my hands moved
lower to cup his ass.  I sighed in pleasure.  “I love your
ass,” I admitted, squeezing firmly.

“I’m kind of attached to it myself,” he teased, kissing the
tip of my nose.  One of his hands came up to toy with my
earlobe, while the other remained curved around my
waist.  “You are so beautiful,” he said again, and kissed
me hard, his tongue doing wonderful things with mine.
His cock prodded insistently at my belly.

I stepped back slightly and gazed at him.  “I think it’s
bedtime,” I announced.

“Yeah?  I think so too.”

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him quickly.  “I’m going
to tuck Matthew in,” I said.  “Take off all your clothes,
light the candle on the dresser, and get in bed.  I’ll be there
in five minutes – and then I’m going to blow your mind.”

I sashayed into the other room, leaving a stunned Mulder
in my wake.

A few minutes later I entered my bedroom, closing the
door behind me with a soft snick.  As I’d asked, Mulder
was completely naked and in my bed.  The covers were
thrown back, revealing his entire beautiful bronzed body.
I couldn’t stop the huge predatory smile that spread over
my face.  “I want to eat you alive,” I murmured, and began
to take off my clothes.  Slowly I peeled the black from my
body.  Mulder gaped at me.  I was wearing thigh-high
fishnet stockings and the black garters, and my heels, and
that was it.  “Jesus,” he groaned, reaching for me, but I
didn’t come to bed yet.

“I have something else for you,” I said, walking to my
bureau.  I opened a drawer and removed the red teddy,
holding it up for him to see.  “Would you like for me to
put it on?”

Mulder’s eyes were wide and I saw his adam’s apple
working furiously.  He nodded mutely.

“Okay,” I cooed, and slipped the garment on.  It revealed
more than it covered, the neckline plunging indecently
between my breasts, my nipples covered by only the
sheerest red lace, the strip of lace over my crotch even
sheerer.  The way the bodice was made boosted my
breasts like a push-up bra, making them look fuller, larger.
I spun around, modeling for my lover.

He stared at me, his eyes glazed over.  “Come here,” he
finally ground out, his voice harsh with desire and
demand.

I went to the bed and he pulled me down on top of him,
kissing me fiercely while he stroked my legs, my ass, my
arms, my breasts, whatever he could reach.  When we
broke apart he showered kisses all over my throat and
shoulders, whispering words of love and admiration.  My
back arched with pleasure as his mouth fastened on my
nipple through the material, and I reached down to stroke
his cock.  Feeling him so hot and hard, seeing what I did to
him, had already made me unimaginably wet, a fact of
which I knew he was aware.

“You want to fuck me?” I demanded in a low voice,
tossing my head.  “You wanna fuck me hard, make me
come?  I want to come, Mulder.  I want to come and come
and come like I never have before.”

He growled savagely and tried to pull my hips to his, but I
wriggled away.  “No,” I panted, getting on my knees.  I
balanced the rest of my weight on my hands, sticking my
ass in the air, and looked at him over my shoulder, my
eyes smoldering.  “Like this.  I want you to fuck me like
this,” I enunciated clearly.

Mulder rose up on his knees behind me and pressed his
palm to my right ass cheek, rubbing in a circle.  I looked
back to watch his face and saw pure wonder.

“You want it like this?” he demanded, and in the next
instant he was sliding into me, huge and hard, not
stopping until he was embedded to the hilt.  The sudden,
complete penetration made me cry out, and Mulder’s hand
covered my mouth.

“Shh.  Don’t want to wake Matthew.”  I nodded and his
hand dropped away, finding my breasts and caressing
them, pinching the nipples hard.  He withdrew and
plunged into me again, faster this time.  I bit my lip as the
sensations raced through me on a wave of wildfire.

One hand on my breasts, the other pulling me back against
him, Mulder began to fuck me in earnest.  He slammed in
and out of me, making my teeth rattle, and I couldn’t stop
the little whimpers of pleasure that erupted from my
throat.  With each thrust his balls slapped against my ass.
“Yeah, baby, fuck me,” I moaned.

Mulder’s hand dropped from my breasts to my clit and he
began to rub it firmly, almost savagely.  It was so stiff and
engorged that every touch sent a jolt of electricity up my
spine.  “Ohh, Scully,” he groaned.  “So sexy – so hot – fuck
– come on, sweetheart, come for me.  Come for me,” he
coaxed.

“Yeah,” I hissed, feeling my muscles tighten.  I was so
close.  “Oh, Mulder – I’m gonna come so hard –“

Mulder thrust into me again, his cock seemingly
penetrating my womb, his balls slapping my ass, his
fingers grinding into my clit, and I was gone.  I called his
name desperately, my arms giving way, and fell face
forward into my pillow, my whole body spasming.  I felt
my orgasm everywhere – in my clit, up my spine, in my
stomach, my arms and legs, my fingers, my toes.  Mulder
thrust raggedly two, three more times and spilled into me,
biting my shoulder to stifle his shout.

Mulder collapsed on top of me, and I let out an “oof” at
his weight.  Mumbling an apology, he rolled both of us
onto our sides, facing each other.  He pressed a gentle kiss
to my lips, then, looking directly into my eyes, said, “God,
Scully, I’m so completely gone.”

I laughed.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he answered quietly, “that I am completely,
wonderfully, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you,
Dana Katherine Scully.”

Tears pricked at my eyes and I smiled my biggest Miss
America smile.  What’s a girl supposed to say to that?

“I love you too,” I managed, and we both fell asleep a few
minutes later, grinning like idiots.

During the night I got up, checked on Matthew, scrubbed
my face free of makeup, and finished undressing.  I
crawled back into bed with Mulder and was blissfully
unaware until my senses were assailed all at once – the
smell of bacon frying, the feel of the bed dipping as
Mulder sat beside me, rubbing my back, and an insistent
pounding coming from – somewhere – nearby…

“Scully, honey, there’s somebody at the door,” he said.  “I
thought you might want to get it.”

I sat up and yawned.  “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.  I’m going to get Matthew up.  Breakfast is
almost ready.”

I couldn’t imagine who would be knocking on my door at
– I glanced at the clock – 8:15 on a Saturday morning.
Normally I would assume it was Mulder, but that wasn’t
an option.  I got out of bed, picked up Mulder’s slightly
rumpled white dress shirt from the floor, and put it on.  It
hung nearly to my knees, so I decided I was decent
enough for whomever might be knocking at my door at
this early hour.  If it was the Gunmen, they were dead.  If it
was Skinner, what I did in my off time was none of his
damn business.  If it was my mother, she was about to get
an eyeful.

I opened the door.  Fuck.  I was wrong again.  I found
myself facing Bill and Tara.  I blinked.  “You’re… really
early,” I said lamely.

Bill beamed.  He actually beamed.  “We got everything
wrapped up.  My transfer should be going through in a
couple of months.  Isn’t that fantastic?”

“Fantastic,” I echoed blankly, wondering if there was
anyway I could get my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew
out of my apartment without Bill or Tara knowing Fox
Mulder was here, or noticing the big, purple, obviously
human-inflicted bruise on my neck.  Somehow I doubted
it.  I sighed.  Tara, being a woman and thus, you know,
genetically more observant, was eying me strangely, and I
knew she was wondering why I was answering the door in
a man’s dress shirt, and who was frying bacon and
scrambling eggs in my kitchen.

Mattie came running out of the kitchen.  “Daddy!” he cried
delightedly, running to my brother.  He shouted over his
shoulder, “Muller!  My mommy and daddy awe hewe!”

Bill looked from me to Matthew to Tara and back to me.
“Dana,” he said, his voice calm but his face getting very
red, “did my son just say-“

Mulder walked out of the kitchen, and even at this
inopportune moment I couldn’t help but think how
wonderful he looked in his navy and green plaid pajama
bottoms, his beautiful chest bare.  “Hello, Bill,” he said
calmly, “Tara.”  He came to my side and wrapped his arm
around me.  “Scully, is everything okay, baby?”

There, Bill.  That ought to make it clear enough, I thought,
gratefully leaning into Mulder’s side.  Do you need a
paint-by-number?

“Everything is fine,” I replied.  “Bill finished his business
in New York and he and Tara came to get Mattie.  We were
just about to have breakfast.  You guys are welcome to
stay, although I’m not sure Mulder made enough for five.”

“Matthew,” Bill said hoarsely, “get your things, son.”

I was really glad Mattie was present, because that meant
Bill had to keep his mouth shut, and by the next time I saw
him he would’ve calmed down at least somewhat.  Bill
didn’t say a word, just looked at me and Mulder, the vein
in his forehead throbbing.  I slipped my arm around
Mulder’s waist and waited.  I risked a glance at Tara – I
swear she was trying not to smile.  I always knew I liked
my sister-in-law.

Matthew came trotting back with his bag.  He was still
wearing his pajamas.  “Bye, Aunt Day,” he said, and I
knelt down to hug him.  In turn I received a sloppy kiss on
the cheek.  “Bye, Mulder.”

“See you around, man,” Mulder replied.

Bill lifted Matthew into his arms and strode out the door
without a word.  Tara followed, looking over her shoulder
with a little smile to say, “Bye, Dana.  Bye, Mulder.”

In the hall, Mattie was jabbering happily.  “…And den
Muller came ovew, an' he an' Aunt Dana had a
sweepovew, but she said I’m too littwe to go too, an'-“

I pushed the door closed and turned to look at Mulder.
We both burst out laughing.  As Mulder wrapped his arms
around me, I said, “Well, that was successful.”

Laughing, Mulder kissed me.  Against his lips I
whispered, “Love you.”

When we broke apart I said, “Breakfast smells wonderful,
but are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He followed me toward the kitchen.  “I don’t know, Scully.
What are you thinking?”

I grinned.  “Coffee.  Strong coffee.  And my coffeemaker
works.”

………….