feedback: msnsc21[at]yahoo.com

March 10, 2003


Feedback: always welcome at above email addy
Distribution: Yes to Ephemeral, Gossamer, but if you haven't
archived my stories before, please drop me a line and let me
know, and leave headers, etc. attached. Thank you!
Spoilers: Pine Bluff Variant
Rating: NC-17
Classification: Vignette
Keywords: MSR. Mulder POV.
Summary: A little trip into AU territory after "Pine Bluff
Variant."

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to Chris
Carter, TenThirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. I am using them only
for recreational purposes, I mean no infringement, I'm making no
money.

For sallie.

=====

The Best Medicine
by ML

"Hey, Spooky, how'd you break your finger? A little green man
grab it?"

I barely look up. It's probably another self-appointed Blue
Flamer, fresh out the Academy. No doubt he was put up to it by
the grinning bunch of guys gathered around him by the coffee
maker, nudging each other and smirking. Got a rise outta ol'
Spooky, didja?

"Nah, he probably just slammed it in his car door."

Assholes. I bite back an equally lame-ass reply with the
weariness of long practice. I hate walking through the bullpen.
But for some reason, Skinner called the debrief meeting for the
conference room on this floor. Maybe his office carpet's being
cleaned. I'd like to care, but I don't.

It's been less than a week since the fiasco known as the New
Spartans case closed. All things considered, I got off very
lucky. No more than a broken finger and a couple more lies.
All in a day's work for Spooky Mulder. Doesn't matter what you
tell him or where you put him; he's expendable. Him, and his
partner, too.

I'm probably more pissed off for Scully than for myself. She
used to believe in the integrity of those we worked for. It's
getting harder and harder for her to believe, though. And I just
spent several weeks making her think she couldn't trust *me*,
either.

As I near the conference room door, I hear a fresh burst of
laughter from the Jerky Boys.

I repeat to myself, <assholes>. Let me rephrase that. *Fucking*
assholes. More replies occur to me, none of them socially
acceptable.

Especially since I see Scully standing just outside the conference
room door. I'd like to keep my cool exterior in front of her. I
don't like her to see them get to me. Her good opinion is the only
one that matters, as far as I'm concerned.

Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if she tore each of them a new
one herself. It wouldn't be the first time she's come to my
defense against some Good Ol' FBI Boys.

Scully waits until I'm at her side before she opens the conference
room door. A number of the members of the task force are present,
and also Skinner, standing at the far end of the table.

"Agents," he says formally.

"Sir." Scully and I reply almost in unison.

Rather than gesture for everyone to sit, Skinner comes forward.
"I have an official commendation for you, Agent Mulder. For
your meritorious service on the New Spartans case."

I look blankly at him and at Scully. "Excuse me?"

Skinner picks something up from the table. Sure enough, it's a
commendation, mounted on a walnut plaque, signed by the Director,
Skinner, and the Chief of the Joint FBI/CIA Anti-Terrorism Task
Force. He hands the plaque over to me, and stands back, leading
the smattering of applause.

"Also, Agent Scully, a commendation for you, for your investigative
work on the task force. We would never have found the right bank
in time if it hadn't been for you." He hands her a framed
certificate to more applause. "Good work, both of you."

Scully looks about to say something. Her eyebrow raises in a
dangerous way. I think the same thoughts are running through her
head as are running through mine. This is the last thing either
of us expected, after both Scully and I went ballistic on our buddy,
US Attorney Leamus.

The obvious conclusion? This is a sop to the bosses' consciences.
Give 'em a commendation and shut 'em up. I know the drill.

"Thank you, Sir," I say, to forestall her. It's one thing for me
to get my ass in a sling for yelling at our superiors, it's quite
another for Scully. It's a double standard I have, I admit it, but
why should we both go down in flames? Besides, she deserves the
commendation, even if it's offered as a sop.

After a few more certificates are handed out and a few closing
words are spoken, Skinner indicates we're dismissed. Scully and
I head out the door first, me holding it open as she passes in
front of me.

To my surprise, as the others come out the door, several of them
offer their hands and congratulations. Peripherally, I notice
attention being paid by the boys from the bullpen.

Suddenly I realize why Skinner chose this particular room for
this meeting.

Skinner is the last to leave the room. He pauses in front of
us, shakes both our hands, and booms out, "Congratulations again,
Agents." I'm happy to shake his hand; I have no beef with Skinner.
He nods and strides ahead of us toward the elevators, leaving
silence in his wake.

The silence, and the stares, follow us to the elevator, too.

I'm silent myself until we're the only ones left in the elevator.
Then I leer at Scully. "I'll show you mine if you'll show me
yours."

Without a word, but with the eyebrow still raised dangerously
high, she hands it over.

It's very nice, as these things go. Gold leaf picked out on the
engraved border, real signatures, not machine-traced or rubber-
stamped ones. And a wooden frame, not one of those cheap black
plastic jobs. I am a connoisseur of commendations. I notice
Assistant DA Leamus' name is not among those who signed. He
was conspicuously absent from the meeting, too.

"Congratulations, Scully. It's less than you deserve, but at
least it's something."

Scully looks at mine for a minute and hands it back, saying,
"Very nice, and well-deserved too, Mulder."

I roll my eyes at her. "Yeah, this and two bucks will get me a
cup of coffee at Starbuck's."

Scully frowns at me. "Mulder, will you stop? Regardless of how
you feel about the assignment, you did a good job. You did a
better than good job."

"So did you, Scully. But you deserve more than a piece of paper
telling you so."

We've reached the basement and the elevator door opens. "Mulder,
I know that this assignment didn't turn out to be what either of
us thought it was. But I got the outcome I most wanted from it,"
she says.

I walk through the elevator door and hold it for her. "I thought
my expectations were pretty low, but yours must have been *really*
low to be happy about the way it fell out."

"That's not what I meant, Mulder," Scully says, stopping on the
threshold of the elevator.

"What, then?" I ask, fumbling in my pocket for the office keys.
"Telling off Leamus?"

When she doesn't answer right away, I look up. There's a look of
resignation on her face. "Never mind, Mulder," she says. "I'll
see you later." She steps back into the elevator. The door
shuts, with Scully still inside.

She's ditched me.

What the hell?

x-x-x-x

I don't see Scully for the rest of the afternoon, and that means I
have a lot of time to think. Too much time, maybe.

I come to the conclusion that sometimes I'm as big a jerk as the
guys upstairs. I keep thinking of the look on Scully's face as
the elevator doors closed. It takes me a while, but I start
putting two and two together.

When Scully was first partnered with me, she used to make these
little speeches that underscored her faith in the government. One
of the side-effects of being around me is that she's learned to
distrust the powers that be almost as much as I do. This latest
case only reinforced that distrust. But this was the first time
she'd actually let loose on one of Them to his face. I guess
everyone has a breaking point.

It was strange to me that this particular case was Scully's
breaking point. I haven't told her everything, and I never will.
I'll certainly never tell her that she almost got me killed. When
I heard that surveillance tape, I thought the next thing I'd be
doing was kissing my ass goodbye.

It was my fault as much as Scully's. When she showed up, unasked
and unannounced, at my apartment that night, I ordered her to
leave, but it was half-hearted. In my defense, I'd just had my
finger broken, and had come damned close to having some sort of
biohazard sprayed in my face. Not to mention, I'd missed Scully
so much. It had been so hard to keep this from her, to not have
her to talk to about the case. So I let her wrap up my finger
properly, and we talked. And someone taped our conversation.

As it turns out, the tape may have been the thing that saved me.
It proved I was on the side of the Good Guys, however difficult it
is to tell them from the Bad Guys on any given day.

It hadn't particularly surprised me to learn that I'd been set up.
It wasn't the first time, and no doubt it won't be the last. My
angry reaction was just that: reaction, coming down from an
adrenaline high, maybe because it was expected of me. I think,
however, the set up may have been the last nail in the coffin of
Scully's faith in our superiors. I've seldom seen her so angry.
I'm *very* glad she's on my side.

I don't think I realized until now how hard this assignment was
on Scully. Yeah, I was the one who had to go undercover, but I
should know how hard it is to be the one left behind. I think
back to all the times I've been in danger. Scully has had my
back, has worried over me, and more often than not, has been the
one to save me.

How many times has Scully gotten a commendation since working
with me? Not once. She's been suspended and reprimanded, and
threatened with censure, transfer, and demotion. There's been
a notable lack of attaboys, or attagirls, since we've been
together.

Now, the one time she's actually recognized for doing good work,
I practically pee all over it with my smartass remarks. Way to
go, Mulder.

It occurs to me, belatedly, that I've seldom paid her a compliment.
I don't mean the "nice suit" kind of compliment, but telling her
that I appreciate her work. That she's doing a great job. We
spend more time arguing than agreeing, but that doesn't mean I
don't value her opinion.

I value everything about Scully though I've never really told
her. The effort of suppressing personal feelings has stunted
my ability to express admiration in any form, I guess.

Maybe it's time I did say something to her. Something more
than "good job," or "thanks for saving my ass again," though
even that's more than I've ever said before. Maybe it's time
to find out, once and for all, how she feels about me. Not just
as a co-worker or partner, but personally.

It seems especially important now, for some reason. Something
about being faced with death concentrates the mind wonderfully.

I think I'm having an epiphany here. I can't say that my whole
life flashed before my eyes when I thought I was going to die,
but it did trigger something. To wit: life is too short. Gather
ye rosebuds while ye may. Et cetera.

Thinking back now, I believe that Scully may have already come
to that conclusion when she recovered from her cancer. For me,
it was a relief to get back to normal -- normal for us, anyway.
But maybe Scully didn't see it that way. Maybe she was thinking
about things differently. Maybe she didn't want to go back to
the way things were. Being Scully, she expressed this in her
own oblique way, which made it too easy for me to ignore.

I admit it, I've had feelings for Scully for some time now. I
think I managed to mask them pretty well, until she was
hospitalized, and then I practically smothered her with
affection.

Then she got well, and started showing signs that she might
be interested in returning those feelings, and I withdrew like
a frightened virgin.

Case in point: our little adventure in the forest in Florida.
She may have thought I was just focused on the case when she came
to my room with the wine and cheese, but that wasn't it at all.
I noticed what she was trying to do, and it touched me.

It also scared me. Fox Mulder, all show and no go. All hat and
no cattle. Big Chicken Mulder. Take your pick.

Actually, I had plenty of go, thank you very much. But suddenly
it seemed like a bad idea. Instead of talking about it, as a
mature adult would have done, I ignored her tentative overture.
Every time she hinted that she might be willing to push the
boundaries of our relationship a little further, I deflected
her. It didn't take her long to take the hint. After a while,
she stopped making overtures.

It's a gross understatement to say that a lot has happened since
then. I can't help but wonder if some of the things we've endured
in the past few months would have been easier if we'd been a
little closer to each other.

I've thought about it a lot. Most recently, when I was kneeling
in the dirt with my hands behind my back, waiting to die. And
regretting that I'd never get the chance to tell Scully what I
really felt for her.

I think again about the things we've been through, separately
and together, and what it's cost us. Most of the time at the
end of a case, all we have to show for it is each other. I'm
grateful for that, really I am. Given a choice between the truth
and Scully, I'd choose Scully. I think I've already proven
that. Given all of that, why shouldn't we choose to take
comfort in one another?

I know that it's much more than that, that our relationship is
much more than giving and receiving comfort and support. At
least, it could be, if we let it. It all comes down to this:
at the end of the day, the constant checks we put on ourselves,
on our feelings, is an added strain in our lives. I shouldn't
speak for Scully, but my strength feels taxed almost to the limit,
and something's got to give.

Now, here we are at the end of a case and it's business as
usual. Am I going to let things go on as they have before?
I keep thinking of the look on Scully's face as the elevator
doors closed. Has she given up on me? I can't say that I'd
blame her if she has.

By the end of the day, Scully still hasn't come back to the
office. I fight back the worry that she marched up to Skinner's
office and demanded a transfer -- yeah, I know it's far fetched,
but I have abandonment issues -- and I decide it's high time I
did something to show Scully how much she means to me.

Professionally. I mean professionally, of course.

<Bullshit>, I tell myself. <Don't lie. You've never said
anything to her either way because you're afraid where it
might lead>.

Or not lead. I have rejection issues, too.

I tell myself to shut up and I try to call Scully at home. No
answer, and I don't leave a message. Doesn't matter; I owe her
an unexpected visit anyway. She's one up on me.

I run a few errands on the way home. I stop at my place to take
a quick shower and change. Then to the package store for a cold
six pack, and I'm on my way to Scully's. I call in a food order
from my car. If I'm lucky, I'll beat the pizza there. I have a
half-formed plan in my head.

I'm not a big fan of planning things to the last detail. I'm
clear on one thing, however: I'm not going over to Scully's to
try and seduce her. No flowers, no candy, no impassioned
declarations of need. I'm just making an equivalent overture.
I want to let her know that her earlier gestures hadn't gone
unnoticed. I want to give her the same opportunity to respond
that she gave to me. And if anything else should come out of
it, I'm open to it. This little bit of sophistry gets me out
the door and on my way to Scully's.

Not only do I beat the pizza, but I beat Scully to her place
as well. It's well after office hours; where is she? After
a moment's hesitation, I let myself in to her apartment.

It's dark and quiet and smells just faintly of her. No sign
that she's stopped here and gone out again after work. I decide
it's a good idea to give her a little time before I try to call
her again. The beer goes in her fridge, and another bag is
stashed behind a chair. I sit in the dark of her living room,
waiting her arrival.

I hear her voice before I hear the key turning in the lock. "But
I didn't order --"

I hear a mumbled reply. and after a few moments, her key turns
in the lock and I see her silhouetted against the hall light,
juggling a grocery bag and her briefcase. The pizza guy waits
behind her.

"Mulder, you'd better the hell be in here," Scully says.

I stand, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. "Yeah, I'm here
Scully," I say, and come forward to help her with her load.

"Did we have plans I forgot about?" she asks. "I didn't think
we had anything urgent to work on just now."

"We don't," I assure her.

There's the eyebrow again. She doesn't have to ask why I'm here,
and the quirk of her mouth says without words that it had better
be good.

"I wanted to tell you something," I say before I lose my nerve.

She waits.

"Go on," I urge her. "Go change, and I'll pay the pizza guy
and put your stuff away."

While she's in the other room, I set out the pizza on her coffee
table, and fetch a couple of beers. I start to pick up the bag
I've stashed, but decide that maybe I'd better wait and see how
things go.

I can't sit still. I jiggle my knees and clasp and unclasp my
hands. I reach to take a swig of beer but decide it would be
nicer to wait for Scully.

She appears in the doorway, still looking awfully formal for a
casual meal with a friend. She's got on dark trousers and a
tailored sweater. Her only concession is that she's wearing
some sort of low slip-on shoes instead of her usual stacked
heels. She must still think I'm here strictly on business.

Well, I am. Sort of.

She approaches the couch and sits next to me, knees together,
feet on floor, about a foot away from me. We sit closer
together when we're working on expense forms.

I hand her a beer and we clink the bottles and sip.

She turns a little sideways, her posture perfect and her bearing
still very formal. "What's going on, Mulder? You said you had
something to tell me? Does Skinner have a new case for us?"

"Not that I'm aware of," I say. She's not making this easy but
then, why should she? For that matter, why *should* she think
I'm here for anything but business? I haven't shown any personal
interest in her lately.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" she asks. "Are you still upset about
the meeting this afternoon?"

"Me upset?" I say. "I thought you were upset."

"Only on your behalf," she says. "Because it seemed to bother
you so much."

This exasperates me. "Scully, why don't you care on your own
behalf? That your own efforts aren't recognized as they should
be? That your work is taken for granted, especially since it's
on the X-Files?"

"I do care," she says. "But not just for me. For us. It's our
work, and I don't like to see it dismissed. I don't like to
see you dismissed. I never have."

I shake my head. "It isn't fair, Scully. You deserve so much
more."

"So do you," she counters.

"This isn't about me," I insist. I turn to face her fully and
reach for her. There's still so much distance between us. I
curl my fingers around her forearms so she can't pull away.
"And it isn't about some crappy piece of paper."

She looks down at her lap, and then back at me again. She makes
no move to pull away. "Then what is it, Mulder?"

My mouth has gone dry. I figured I'd know what to say when the
time came, but it's a lot harder than I thought. No, that's not
right. I knew it was going to be hard. I'm an articulate enough
guy, but I'm not sure how far to take this, how much to admit.
Her clear, honest eyes challenge me and I'm not sure I'm up to
it.

I start small. Clearing my throat a little, I say, "I just
wanted you to know that I appreciate you, Scully. And I'm sorry
it took so long to say it."

She nods but doesn't speak, eyes never leaving mine. Her
expression is wary.

I stumble on. "I just -- I mean, I should have told you a
long time ago what you mean to me, what your partnership and
friendship means to me. It means more to me than any commendation
they could give me, Scully, that you've stuck it out, and that
you've always believed in me."

"I know it, Mulder. I know you do without your telling me," she
says, and adds quickly, lest I think she's ungrateful, "but thank
you for saying it."

It's good she feels that way, I guess. Maybe the whole speech
isn't necessary after all. But I stumble on, determined to get
it out once and for all.

"Thank you," I add. I want to finish this properly. "Thank you
for watching my back, and being my friend." I lean in and kiss
her forehead, and I hear her breath catch as I do so. I gather
her in, holding her against me.

That wasn't so hard. In fact, it felt kind of good to say it.
I think Scully appreciated it, even if I didn't quite get the
reaction I'd hoped for. My conscience asks prosaically why, if
it was so easy, I haven't done it before. I tell my conscience
to shut up. I want to enjoy the moment.

After a little while, I feel her warm hand against my chest and
I loosen my embrace. She pulls back a little, but not entirely
away. I lean back into the sofa, settling my arm around her,
and she stays tucked against my side. She takes my hand, the
one with the broken finger, and holds it in both of hers. She
touches delicately all around the splint. It doesn't hurt any
more, not really, though I don't really want to test that theory.

She still hasn't said anything, and I'm beginning to feel a
little weird about it. But I sit quietly and try not to expect
anything in return. Being Scully, she's probably wondering what
brought all this on, and may be working up to ask me just that.

<Be cool, Mulder. This is probably enough for one night. Maybe
by tomorrow or the next day Scully will be ready to answer you.>

"Mulder?" she finally says very softly.

"Yeah?" I say equally softly, feeling confident enough for the
moment. She seems to be gearing up to ask me something. I
anticipate her question, which will, I hope, segue into the next
part of the evening: personal declarations, or at least tentative
inquiries, into our feelings for each other. Bring it on, Scully.

"What's in that bag behind the chair over there?"

=====

Her question is unexpected, to say the least. I'd forgotten
all about it. In fact, now I'm wishing I'd never thought of
it at all. "It's nothing important, Scully. Just something
I picked up on the way home today." It had seemed like a good
idea this afternoon. Now it just seems like another deflection.

"Is it something for me?" she asks, and I remember how much she
likes presents. Every year we say we aren't giving each other
presents at Christmas, and every year we do. I know the reason
I do is that I love to watch Scully open presents. She's always
so excited about them, even the jokes. Still, I'm suddenly not
so sure about this one. This time it could be a real mood-killer.
She might laugh, or she might take it as an example that I don't
take her seriously.

I remember how badly I'd wounded her another time, making a joke
about something that caught her on the raw, and widened a rift
that had already formed between us.

But then, the joke I made that time had been meant to wound. I
was raw, too, and wanted nothing more than to get a reaction out
of Scully. I can only hope that she can see the intent here is
vastly different.

I'm still hesitant. After all we've been through in the past
several minutes, hours, days, *years*, I don't want to blow it
again.

On the other hand, I can't and shouldn't keep anything from
Scully. This last case should have shown that, if nothing
else has. She needs to know me, warts and all. Bad sense of
humor and all.

"Go ahead and open it if you must," I say. "But don't say I
didn't warn you."

Just like a kid at Christmas, she snatches the bag up and brings
it back over to the couch to open it.

I watch her very carefully, my mind skittering around explanations
and excuses, and just hoping that none of them will be necessary,
that she'll get it.

She pulls out a small plaque and stares at it for a moment. When
I saw it in the store, I knew I had to get it. Scully appears to
be trying not to laugh but the way her lips are pursed she could
just as easily be holding in hurt and anger. "What is it?" she
finally asks.

What she's looking at is the north end of a southbound mule, meant
to be something like a "horse's ass" award. That's not how I
intend it, however, so an explanation is in order.

"It's my ass," I tell her. "You've saved it often enough. I
figured it was time to mount it and give it to you officially."

I don't think I've ever seen her eyebrow raised quite as high as
it is right now, and her lips are trembling. She can barely squeak
out a strangled, "Mul-der..." when a huge guffaw overtakes her.

I have her now. She's gone. Every time she tries to compose
herself, she catches sight of the donkey butt and she's off again.
It makes me want to laugh, just watching her. I know I'm grinning
from ear to ear.

Finally she's leaning back on the sofa, gasping for breath.
"Mulder," she tries, "you shouldn't have," and a little flurry
of giggles takes over again.

I just sit and watch her. It's been a long time since I've heard
her laugh, and I don't think I've ever heard her laugh like this
before. It's good to see her lose control, and good to know that
I'm the cause of it.

She's sitting up now, wiping tears off her cheeks with her
fingertips. I lean forward to do it for her, and she sits very
still, eyes on my face as I concentrate on my task.

"You okay, Scully? Can I get you some water or something?"

She shakes her head and takes a couple of deep breaths. Her
hair is all tangled and she smoothes it back behind her ears.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she says.

I give her my imitation of The Eyebrow, which I'm afraid looks
more like The Stupendous Yappi. It sends her into a fresh
paroxysm. She rocks back and forth, trying to compose herself
again. I offer her my hand and pull her to her feet.

She shakes her head, trying to clear it, and licks her lips.
She's still smiling a little.

"That was funny, Mulder," she says. "I can't remember the last
time I laughed like that."

"Then my job here is done," I say. "Don't forget to bring your
award to the office to add to our wall of fame." I don't really
want to leave just yet, but I promised myself that I wouldn't
push things too far. It's enough to get us back on the same
wavelength.

She's still holding my hand, and she tugs on it as I turn away.
"Wait a minute," she says. "Is this the only reason why you came
over here tonight?"

I feel a little panicky at this question. Did Agent Scully just
up the ante? She looks at me expectantly. I'm not sure I'm ready
to admit more just yet.

"Mulder." She says so much with that one word. I realize that I
can't take the coward's way out.

"Well, okay," I say. "I do have a question."

Her wary look is back. It's like the games we play; I ask a
question, she parries it with a request for clarification. Or
sometimes, she changes the rules. Or I do, if I don't like her
answer.

I hope that I like her answer tonight. I'm a little tired of
the games.

"So ask me, Mulder," she says, straightening her backbone and
looking me in the eye.

"I asked you a question this afternoon, and you didn't answer
me," I say.

She steps a little closer to me, and looks up. She parts her
lips oh so slightly, and the tip of her tongue comes out to lick
them. She's barely an inch away from me. I can feel her breath.
She can feel mine. We try to stare each other down.

"First I have to ask you, Mulder," she whispers. "Are you happy
with the way things are between us? Is this all you want? Just
to be friends?" I feel her words as much as hear them.

I'd call it a stall for time, except that this is a question I'd
like to answer. But all the same, it's not fair, Scully. I was
going to ask you first. I lean in a little closer. I crowd her
like this all the time, though I admit that I'm getting a little
closer than I normally do. She doesn't move, but she's not
looking me in the eye the way she usually does when I do this.
Nope, she's staring at my mouth.

Caught you, Scully. I lean into her further and press my lips
against hers. My pulse quickens as I feel her lips respond with
an answering pressure.

Her hands smooth down my face as her lips melt into mine. I've
never felt anything so soft, so warm, so yielding. Now her lips
pluck at mine, first taking the top one, then the bottom one, in
their warm enfolding caress. I could do this for a long time,
just holding her to me, letting my hands roam where they might.
I'm beyond conscious thought. I'm reduced to thinking in terms
of sensation and of desire: mmmm ... soft ... press closer ...
oh yes ... tongue oh so sweet ... closer, tighter ... oh, please
... your hands ... Scully I can't ... no, don't stop, don't let
go...

I'm not sure how long we stand together, pressed as close as we
can be. My eyes are shut, and my senses have migrated into
Scully, experiencing what she's experiencing. I'm not sure
what I'm doing, except to know that I'm touching her, holding
her, and feeling her touch me. I feel her soft sighs and halting
words in my own head, as I echo and speak them in unison with
her...

I never ... so good, don't stop, please ... put your hand ...
ah, Mulder, yessss...

I was bending down to reach her, and now I find that her lovely
mouth is on a level with mine, because she's straddling my waist
with her legs, and I'm gripping her ass with my hands and she's
got her arms around my head, and holding my mouth to hers and
we're kissing like kissing's just been invented and we're the
test subjects.

I stagger toward the couch but Scully squeezes her thighs
against me and guides me elsewhere, oh my god we're going to
her bedroom, and does she really mean me to go there with her,
or is it just goodnight and see you tomorrow?

I remember thinking earlier that I hadn't come here to seduce
Scully, but the opposite seems to be taking place. She's
seducing me.

"I want you to know something," she whispers against my mouth.
"I don't give a damn about that piece of paper. I got the thing
I wanted most when you came back safe."

Good answer, Scully. More than I expected, and certainly better
than I hoped for. I plan on reciprocating as soon as I get
custody of my tongue back, which I sincerely hope won't be any
time soon.

Slowly she releases the grip her legs have on me, and I bend
forward to lower her gently to stand on the floor, though I'm
reluctant to let her get even a millimeter away from me.

She sits on the edge of the bed, and I chase her lips down,
kneeling between her parted legs while our mouths continue to
explore, to taste, to savor. Scully eases herself back to lie
down, her feet still on the floor, so that I'm now draped over
her. Her mouth must be exerting some sort of magnetic pull
because I can't seem to break away from it. Finally, with a
super-human effort, I manage it.

I prop myself on my elbows so I'm not crushing her, and watch
her catch her breath while I try to do the same. She makes a
very pretty picture, breasts heaving and face flushed. Her
sweater has ridden up so I can see a few inches of her stomach,
and it seems almost unbearably erotic to see just that strip
of flesh. She licks her lips and I stare at them. They've
always been incredibly sexy to me but now they look even more
so, softer and fuller. Her lipstick is just about worn off
but she's wearing a new shade now, one I'd call Mulder Rouge.
I'll reapply that color any time you like, Miz Scully. I can
feel the heat of her body all around me, and the unmistakable
scent of a woman aroused. It may have been a while, but
that's something you don't forget. It causes a reciprocal
reaction in my own body, especially where it's pressed up
against Scully.

She looks at me languidly. "Have I answered your question?"

I give a kind of half-laugh and brush my hand over her face,
smoothing her hair back. "I don't remember the question any
more," I tell her. "In another minute, I may not even remember
my own name."

"I won't let you forget it," she says. "But I am hoping you
won't remember your way home."

She giggles as I stare at her. Score one for Scully.

"You're sure about this?" I ask, because it seems like the
right thing to do, the gentlemanly thing to do, while I'm lying
on top of her, pressing my erection into her crotch.

"Get your ass in bed, Mulder," she says. "I own it now; you gave
it to me, remember?"

I don't have to be asked twice.

It takes a little fumbling -- especially since I have to be
careful of my broken finger -- and more giggling from Scully,
but eventually we're lying together in the right direction.
We're still fully clothed, because I keep getting distracted
by Scully's mouth. She doesn't seem to mind that much. She's
lying on her back and I'm half-lying on top of her. Our hands
are wandering around unsupervised while our mouths get to know
each other. I find Scully's bare stomach and my hand finds its
way up underneath her sweater to her breast and Scully sucks in
her breath as my fingers brush over her nipple.

She arches into my hand and suddenly just kissing her face isn't
enough anymore. I get both hands under her sweater and she
raises her arms to make it easier to pull off. Then I bury
my nose in the valley between her breasts while I work on her
bra clasp. I used to be able to do this one-handed ... let's
see if I can ... oh yes, there it is. It's good to know that
I still have the knack, even though I've had no practice for a
looong time.

I have to pause and look at what I've just uncovered. I always
knew Scully's breasts would be perfect, from the soft swells to
the pink tips. The only improvement I can think of is a little
application of Mulder Rouge.

Mmmm, I knew it, they taste as good as they look. I love the
feel of Scully's tender little nipples hardening at the touch
of my tongue, and I *really* love the feel of her squirming
against me as I do it.

"Mulder," I hear Scully say breathlessly. If she still has
breath to speak, I'm not doing my job properly.

"Hmmm?" I sort of mumble, lips still pressed against her sweet
skin.

"My turn," she says, and tugs at my shirt.

I realize that I'm still fully clothed, down to my boots. Much
as I want to be naked, I hate having to stop what I'm doing. I
don't think there can be anything less erotic than struggling
with bootlaces, but Scully changes my mind about that. She pulls
me to sit on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of me,
resting one booted foot on her thigh. She very slowly and
deliberately unlaces the first boot and draws it slowly off
my foot, her small hands caressing without tickling, and peels
the sock off next. She takes a moment to draw her fingers down
the top of my naked foot, and then she massages it with a firm
and gentle touch. She repeats the same thing with my other foot.

I'm kind of hoping she'll remove my pants the same way. I'm
equally afraid that if she does, I'll shoot off like a rocket.
I groan a little in anticipation.

Scully looks up at the sound. "Mulder, are you okay? Does your
finger ache?"

Finger? Oh yeah. My broken finger, I hold it out like I'm
drinking tea out of a bone china cup. "I'm okay."

"You sounded like you might be in pain," she says.

"Well, I am feeling some pressure," I say, and I place my hands
on my thighs, fingers pointing inward. "Maybe I need a massage
there, too."

She looks a little annoyed. "Mulder, you're asking for it."

"I'm glad you noticed," I say, and she smacks me on the thigh.

"Ooh, a little higher, and to the left, Scully," I tell her,
just to see what she'll do.

"Keep it up, Mulder, and I *will* hurt you," she says in mock-
warning.

"Judging from the way you're acting, you might hurt me more if
I *don't* keep it up," I counter, unable to resist the lines
she's feeding me.

"Mulder..." she closes her eyes as if in pain, but she's
smiling. "Have you been practicing?"

<Nothin' but celibacy>, I think. <The one thing that doesn't
get better with practice>. Aloud, I say, "No, Scully, you
just inspire me to new heights."

She giggles and ducks her head, still stroking my feet. I think
she's blushing, which strikes me as utterly charming. Especially
in her current state of undress. I lean down and pull her to
stand in front of me. Her breasts are about eye level now and
I kiss them hello before pulling her onto my lap to straddle my
thighs.

More kissing ensues, with the added pleasure of feeling Scully's
bare skin as I hold her. Scully only got as far as taking off my
boots before I distracted her, but now she slips her hands under
my sweater and starts to pull it over my head, wriggling closer
to me for balance. She gets the sweater as far as my head and
I'm trying to help her, but my sleeve is caught in the finger
splint. For a brief, panicked moment, I'm back in the New
Spartans' headquarters with a hood over my head and my hands
strapped down. I fall back on the bed and fight to keep from
hyperventilating.

Then I feel the warmth and softness of Scully's skin against
mine and it immediately calms me. In another second, she's
got the sweater off my head and pulls my arm down so she can
carefully extract my trapped hand as well.

"There you are," she says softly, and just as softly presses
her lips against mine. I close my eyes and think more pleasant
thoughts.

I notice our positions are now reversed -- yes, I'm perceptive --
and I'm now lying on my back with Scully above me. I like the
view a lot. Apart from the fact that we're still clothed from
the waist down, it doesn't get much better than this.

Scully gives me the same attention I showed her. She rubs her
fingers over my nipples and kisses them, sucking lightly on each
in turn. I feel an instant jolt of desire throughout my body.
Every vein throbs, every muscle tenses. I want more, and more,
and more.

She rolls off me and starts to tug on my waistband but she
doesn't get much further than unbuttoning the fly before I
place my hands on her shoulders and move her away just a little
bit. "I don't want to wrestle," I say, smiling into her eyes.
Then I flip her onto her back and pin her down. "Besides, you'd
lose."

She lies there and smiles her enigmatic half-smile at me. "I
don't call this losing, Mulder."

Score another one for Scully. I push my lower body against hers
just to watch her eyes widen and go dark. "Wanna go for the best
two out of three?"

"At this point, I'd settle for a little one on one," she parries
my thrust with a stroke and a squeeze that makes me suck in my
breath. And I said I was tired of games. What was I thinking?

I roll to one side and try to undo the button on her trousers
but it's awkward with my injured finger. Scully covers my hand
with hers and does it for me, and shimmies her hips to work
them off. That's not the only part of her that shimmies while
she does this. She blushes again at my appreciative stare.

"Come on, Mulder," she orders. "I showed you mine, now you show
me yours."

It's an echo of what I said in the elevator earlier today, and I
can't suppress a surprised guffaw. Scully once said I just keep
unfolding like a flower, but she's a surprise package herself.

I crawl off the bed and stand with my back to her, slowly inching
my jeans down. I can tell she's looking at me, and I ham it up
a little, doing a little bump and grind as I strip to my boxers.
Of course I catch one leg as I try to pull them off on a suave
manner, and have to hop a little to regain my balance. Scully
stifles a giggle.

When I turn around and stand in all my naked glory, I can see
that Scully is no longer interested in laughing at me. Her eyes
rake over me, appraising.

I'm very aware of my scars -- both physical and psychological.
The broken finger is the least of them.

But Scully, while acknowledging their existence, isn't bothered
by them. I feel her seeing into my very soul with her clear-eyed
gaze. Has she always looked at me like this? Has she just kept
it hidden the way I have over the years?

I'd like to mark this moment with something profound. I lick my
lips, trying to think of just the right words. I look to Scully
for inspiration and see my expression mirrored in hers. We're
overwhelmed by the circumstances.

She sits crossed-legged on the bed, hands supporting her as she
leans back and displays her body for my delectation. It's
delicious-looking, too. Scully watches me look at her, and I
see uncertainty in her eyes. Surely she doesn't think I find
her unattractive?

I'm standing in front of the woman I love, naked and harder than
I've ever been in my life. She's equally naked, and waiting for
me to make my move.

We both burst out laughing at the same instant. How ridiculous
is this?

Scully takes the situation in hand, so to speak. "Get over here,
Mulder," she says breathlessly.

"Yes, ma'am," I manage to choke out between chuckles. I crawl
onto the bed toward her. I kneel in front of her. My cock bobs
insistently between us. I decide to go for the offensive instead
of defense. "I'm not scaring you, am I?" I ask her.

She looks down. "No," she says, "not at all." Then she adds,
almost as an afterthought, "I've seen scarier sights."

"As long as you don't equate `scary' with `bigger,'" I crack.

She smiles and then turns serious again. "I can see how you feel,
and I wish it was as easy for you to see how I feel," she says.
"But I have a remedy for that, I think."

She takes my hand and places it at the juncture of her thighs.
I can feel the heat even before I slip my finger inside and stroke
her slickness. I don't want to laugh or make jokes any more. I
simply want to worship this woman.

The feel of her is indescribable. I don't try to poke or prod.
I just let my finger part her inner folds enough to find her
clit. I've made her cry, I've made her laugh, now I want to
make her moan.

As I start to gently stroke her, Scully shudders and I know I've
found the right spot. I add my thumb to the action and I watch
in fascination as her breath catches and her body suffuses with
a rosy glow.

I've barely touched her and she's coming apart under my hand. If
I was hard before, now I could cut diamonds with my cock.

I scoot around so I can hold her and whisper into her ear while
I continue to stroke her. She clutches at my arm, and her whole
body goes rigid for a moment before she collapses into my arms.
A thin sheen of sweat covers her whole body.

I did that. With my voice and my touch, I did that for Scully.
I can forget my own driving need for a moment while I enjoy
watching her. I pull her fully into my arms and arrange us both
so that we're propped up against her pillows.

She opens her eyes as I pull the sheets up to keep her from
getting chilled. "Wow," she whispers, looking up at me.
"That's *never* happened to me before."

I smirk down at her. "You mean, I'm your first?"

She blushes some more. God, this woman is adorable. This is
the woman who has done her best to ignore my jokes and
innumerable innuendoes over the years, and tonight I have
her giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl.

I bask in Scully's afterglow for a while. I'm a little
uncomfortable myself, but I suck it up in exchange for seeing
Scully in such a blissful state. Besides, I'm pretty sure
she's good for it.

She doesn't disappoint. It's not very long at all (though try
telling that to my cock) before she rolls to face me and reaches
between us. I can't help it; feeling her hand on my cock makes
me hiss with the effort of not exploding at her touch.

"What are we going to do about this, Mulder?" she asks, letting
her finger tips brush lightly up and down the length of my shaft.

<Deep breaths. Think of something else. Think of Flukeman!>

I reply through gritted teeth, "You keep doing that, it's gonna
take care of itself."

She removes her fingers, which is disappointing, but also a
relief. "We can't have that," she says. She leans in to kiss
me while she reaches down to fondle me again. I push her hand
away so I can press her fully against me and before I know it,
she's pulled me over so that I'm fully on top, nestled snugly
between her thighs. She moves her hips a certain way, and I
can feel my tip at her entrance.

I rest on my elbows and grip her hands with mine. Her hips rock
against me and I feel the liquid heat of her center boil up against
me. I think we both gasp at the same time. Her eyes are darker
than I've ever seen them. I grip her hands more tightly, and
rise to thrust fully into her for the first time.

This is not how I imagined this happening. It's so much better.
How could I possibly do justice to this in my imagination? How
could I possibly create what I've never felt?

It's more than the physical, I feel joined to Scully in a way I
never thought possible. I lean in to kiss her, wanting to convey
the enormity of what I'm experiencing. I'm unable to form words
or thoughts with any coherence. She rises to meet me, and I can
feel the reciprocation in the touch of her mouth against mine.

I know I can hear soft sounds from Scully, sounds of pleasure
and affirmation; and I think I respond in kind. Mostly, though,
I'm only aware of the feel of Scully surrounding me, body and
soul, her arms and legs gripping me to her and her mouth and
body luring me deeper and deeper.

It's over much too soon. I've been on the edge for so long, it's
only the work of a dozen strokes before I feel the tightening in
my balls that signals imminent climax.

I see determination in Scully's eyes just before I close mine and
lose myself in an endless, mindless ecstasy.

When I come to, I'm still in Scully's grip, still deep inside
her, though in a sadly relaxed state. I can still feel Scully
thrumming like a live wire, and I'm not happy that I've
selfishly managed to come and leave her behind.

The last thing any guy wants to do is to apologize for his
performance, but I try to be brave.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out. "I tried to wait."

She strokes my back and says, "It's okay, really. You showed
amazing self-control. I don't know how you did it. I was
impressed."

She's way too generous, but I'm grateful that she remembers I made
her come once already. Relief makes me a little giddy. That's
the only excuse I have, and I'm sticking to it.

I smirk at her. "Tantric sex practices," I say. "I'm actually
still coming, maybe for hours yet."

I'd be more romantic if I could, but I'm afraid that smartass
will always carry the day. I've always used humor in tense
situations. It's a reflex. Lucky for me, Scully seems to
understand. After a moment of thought, she begins to laugh.
I feel the ripple effect of her laughter all through my body,
courtesy of our connection. I'm amazed to feel myself getting
hard inside her. She feels it, too, and her eyes grow wide.

"That's never happened to me before," I say with as serious a
face as I can muster. I've fed her the line and I know what's
coming, in more ways than one.

Scully is right on cue. "You mean, I'm your first?" she asks
coyly, tracing my earlobe and across my cheek down to my mouth.
I capture her finger and swirl my tongue around it before
releasing it.

I brush my cheek across hers and nibble at her earlobe. I do
my best Barry White and murmur in her ear, "'My first, my last,
my everything,'" as I begin to slowly move inside her again.

She's giggling still, burrowing her mouth into my shoulder to
stifle it until sensation overtakes her and giggles turn to sighs
and moans as she gives it all up to me. I follow not long after
with a minor aftershock of my own. Twice in one night: it's a
personal best for me. Helps to have a good partner.

Now we lay curled up together, too tired to do more than lie with
arms and legs entwined.

I really never imagined in my wildest fantasies that there would
be so much joy in our joining. So much of the time I can't see
beyond the darkness that surrounds us. I see Scully as the light
that shows me the way out of it. She does so much more than bind
my wounds.

I remember suddenly that we started our partnership with laughter.
On our very first case together, laughing hysterically in the
pouring rain. In a graveyard. It was an unusual beginning, and
it only got stranger from there.

I think we've found that we prefer laughter in a warm, dry bed.
In any event, laughter seems an auspicious way to enter this new
phase in our partnership, too.

"Comfy?" I ask as I tuck the blanket around us and spoon up
behind her.

"Mmmm," she says drowsily, snuggling against me.

"I got your back, Scully," I whisper in her ear. I snake my
hand around to cup her breast. "And your front, too."

If Scully's eyes were open, no doubt she'd be rolling them
along about now. "Mulder," she says in a warning tone, "go
to sleep."

"'Kay," I promise, and close my eyes, but not to sleep. I'd
rather stay awake. I know that for once, no dream that I have
about her will match the reality.

end.

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