One Ordinary Day
Author: Diana Battis
Distribution: OK for Gossamer. Anywhere else, just ask. I usually say yes!
Classification: MSR
Rating: NC-17 
Spoilers: Slight one for Three of a Kind 
Summary: One ordinary day, with fortune cookies.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never have, never will, damn it!! 
Author's Comments: A big thank you to Kristy, whose memory rivals Mulder's. You give good 
beta!

*****

It's a little after ten on a Friday night. We're in the midst of our weekly paperwork routine, 
sitting on my couch, surrounded by files and half empty food cartons. I am rereading a report 
for the third straight time, but I can't focus on it. I'm too busy watching Mulder. I seem to spend 
an inordinate amount of time doing that, and I wonder if he is the tiniest bit aware of the fact 
that I want him.

"Hey Scully, listen to this." Mulder starts to read something from one of the files. I hear his 
words, but they don't penetrate. I am still looking at him.

Though I've changed into jeans and a sweater, Mulder still wears his work clothes. His tie hangs 
loose, and the first three buttons of his shirt are undone. Shifting my gaze to his face, I note his 
hair is mussed, from impatient fingers thrusting through its luxurious darkness. Those sexy 
glasses are perched precariously on the edge of his strong nose. I move my eyes to his mouth, 
watching it as it forms the words with those sensuous lips . . .

I really should be paying attention to what Mulder is saying. I watch his arm as it waves a half-
eaten egg roll he holds for emphasis. Looking at the elegant hand holding the egg roll, with its 
long, sensitive fingers. My eyes follow the fingers as they move to his mouth, popping the 
remnant of food into it. His tongue comes out to lick a spot of something, probably duck sauce, 
from his thumb. Lucky thumb . . .

"Scully? Scully! Have you heard a word I said?" I start, and can feel the color flood my cheeks. 
Hopefully he won't notice.

"Sorry, Mulder. I was miles away. Guess I'm just tired." I feign a yawn, hoping that will fool 
my normally astute partner.

"You should have said something." Tossing the file aside, he steals a glance at his watch. "I 
didn't realize what time it was."

"That's okay. I wasn't paying attention to the time either." Standing, I move away from him, 
picking up the cartons and taking them into the kitchen.

I work hard to maintain the fiction that I am all business. It isn't easy, especially when you work 
with a tall, intense, and extremely attractive partner like Mulder. The really funny thing? He 
doesn't know just how attractive he is. His ego is centered in other areas. 

"Do you think I could have some of that to take with me?" He has followed me, and is standing 
in the kitchen doorway, stretching, flexing his muscles that are stiff from prolonged inactivity. 

I hear the hopeful note in his voice, and can't help smiling. "Mulder, I'm sending it all home 
with you. God knows what garbage you'll put in your mouth otherwise."

I am searching for those disposable plastic containers I'd purchased with just this in mind. I 
can't seem to find them anywhere. Opening and slamming cabinet doors, I finally locate them, 
at the topmost shelf in the far cabinet, of course. Hitching myself onto the counter, I turn onto 
my knees, then start to stand. 

"Scully, what the hell do you think you're doing?" I hear him move from the doorway, coming 
towards me, but I don't stop. I've gotten things from top shelves in the kitchen this way many 
times before, without mishap. But this time the countertop is wet, my foot slips on its damp 
surface and I lose my balance. Reaching out for the cabinet door, I try to regain my footing, but 
it's too late. I hear myself call Mulder's name as I start to tumble head first off the counter.

It happens so quickly. My body arcs forward, sailing into space. But instead of hitting the cold 
tiles, I hit the hard warmth of Mulder. He's managed to catch me, his face pressed against my 
breast as his arms encircle my waist. My hands grasp his shoulders for balance, as my body 
slides down his until my feet reach the floor. His hands move over me, comforting me as I rest 
my cheek over his heart. 

"Well, that was close." I try to make light of the situation, but it falls flat. 

"Too close. Damn it, Scully!" His arms tighten, and I hear the words, muffled against my hair. I 
am trembling, though not from my fall. And breathless, as though all the oxygen in the room is 
gone. 

I want to stay like this, to cling to his strength and lose myself in his arms. I long to kiss him, to 
make this man tremble as he makes me. But I banish those thoughts from my mind.

"I'm okay, just a little shaken. See?" I push away, to look in his eyes. They examine me, 
gauging the truth of my words, before his arms release me. 

"Christ, Scully! What were you trying to do?" He's leaning against the counter, his arms folded 
as his eyes bore into me, waiting for my answer.

"I was trying to pack up the leftovers for you." I gesture to the cabinet. "Top shelf, disposable 
containers. Microwave safe and you can just throw them away when you're done."

"Why don't you get a stool?" He turns and opens the door, easily reaching the containers, and 
placing them on the counter for me.

"God, you sound like my mother, Mulder! For your information, I have a stool. It's just a pain 
to get to, so I usually . . ." I start to hitch myself onto the counter again, wanting to show him 
that I'm not normally so clumsy, when he moves to stand before me. My breath catches in my 
throat as his hands grasp my waist and lift me, placing me back on the floor.

"Don't Scully, just . . . don't." His face is close to mine, and he looks so anxious. I want to reach 
up and smooth the slight frown that wrinkles his brow, but instead I turn in his arms, moving 
away to put the leftovers in the containers he handed me.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. Go sit down. Let me finish putting the food away and then I'll make the tea. 
We do have fortune cookies . . .?"

He smiles. "That's the most important part of a Chinese dinner, Scully. Of course we do."

Fifteen minutes later we are sipping tea from the little cups my brother brought back from 
Japan. I like this part of the night best, when all work is put away and I can pretend, for a little 
while, that my evenings always end like this -- Mulder, relaxed and slightly sleepy, his hunger 
appeased, sipping tea and sharing his thoughts on life.

"So, Mulder, where's my dessert?" I've put my feet up, and my head is resting against the back 
of the chair.

"Catch!" I look up in time to see a cellophane wrapped cookie fly through the air to land in my 
lap. 

Unwrapping the cookie, I am reminded of a game that Missy and I used to play. The fortune 
cookie game. At the end of every Chinese meal we would solemnly sit and read our fortunes, 
always adding the words "in bed" to the end of the phrase. Juvenile, but fun. Just thinking about 
it, I smile.

"So, Scully, what's your future hold?" Mulder is looking at me expectantly, and I open the 
wrapping. Breaking the cookie in two, I remove the strip of paper and read: 'A friend will tell 
you the truth -- in bed.' 

I gasp, afraid for a second that I've said the words aloud, but a quick look at Mulder's face 
reveals nothing amiss. I pop a piece of the cookie into my mouth, chewing slowly. The cookie 
tastes like cardboard, but eating it gives me time to compose myself.

"Bad news? What, you're not going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger and live happily 
ever after?" He leans back on my couch, arms stretched along the top of it, eyebrows raised and 
eyes wide. Mocking me.

Taking a deep breath I read aloud the words printed on the tiny slip of paper. "It says, 'A friend 
will tell you the truth'."

I notice the change in him almost immediately. He's very still, and there's a certain wariness in 
his posture now. These differences may not be noticeable to others, but I've made a case of 
studying Mulder, and am instantly on the alert. He's hiding something! "So, Mulder, what 
'truth' aren't you telling me?"

He leans forward, brushing the hair from his brow, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. 
He doesn't meet my eyes. "You know all there is to know, Scully. I'm not a complicated man."

I snort in derision. "Yeah, and Watergate was just a simple little burglary. Mulder, you are 
*the* most complicated person I've ever met. I have an easier time understanding your global 
conspiracy theories than I do you! Tell me the truth, you really were in Las Vegas with the 
Gunmen, weren't you?"

"In Vegas? With the Gunmen? Sorry, Scully, but I wasn't there. Looking up bad Elvis 
impersonators ain't high on my to-do list."

"Come on, Mulder. Those guys pass on to you every bit of information they acquire. You know 
something about the trip that you're not telling . . ."

"No, no I don't, Scully. That's not what I'm holding back . . . I mean I'm not holding anything 
back."

"Mulder, you fraud! There *is* something you haven't told me!" I don't know why I push him. 
Why it is suddenly so important to hear from him on the subject. Some imp of devilment prods 
me forward, and I leave my chair to sit beside him. Turning to face him, I repeat, "What is it? 
Tell me the truth."

There is a change in the atmosphere of the room. The air is thick with tension, so thick that I 
almost think I see it hanging there, permeating every corner. I sit there, one leg tucked beneath 
me, my body turned toward him, waiting . . .

*****

I don't know why a simple cookie should suddenly turn into a gauntlet, but it has, and Scully 
has dropped it right into my lap.

How do I tell her what I've been hiding? That what she seeks has become *the* principal truth 
in my life, the most significant thing in the world to me.

I don't remember who first suggested these weekly work sessions. We just sort of drifted into it. 
Now I spend the week looking forward to these few hours when I get to share a small bit of 
Scully's life. I don't really get much work done. She's just too much of a distraction, and I'm 
usually too busy finding opportunities to gaze at her as she works.

Tonight's no different. I've been watching her and fighting the arousal that this woman 
provokes. Watching her body, usually encased in very businesslike suits, but now in jeans and a 
sweater that gently hug the curves those suits hide. Watching her full mouth, lips lush and 
slightly wet, eating, speaking, smiling. Watching eyes, sometimes soft and luminous, 
sometimes flashing with anger, but always expressive. They say the eyes are the windows to the 
soul, and in Scully's case, I think that's true.

She scared me tonight. When I first saw her performing her acrobatic routine, I wasn't sure 
what she was trying to do. By the time I realized her intent, she was already slipping. I don't 
know how I managed to catch her before she hit the floor, but I did. 

I can't forget the emotions I felt -- fear, relief, desire. My face, brushing against her breasts 
after I caught her. Her body, warm and trembling, sliding against mine as I lowered her to the 
floor. It was only sheer force of will that kept my body from trembling with her. Taking a 
chance to press a light, secret kiss into her hair. And trying hard to control the desire this 
accident triggered. 

Her words and her eyes assured me she was fine and I let her go, only to have her try and repeat 
the performance. This time, I stopped her.

Looking at her now, I see her eyes, once sparkling with mischief, change. She's aware of the 
undercurrent in the room, can sense the sudden tension, and I see that in her eyes as well.

She's leaning toward me, waiting for my answer. Expecting it. And suddenly all the evasive 
responses and smart-ass remarks I've been concocting are forgotten. I want to answer her 
question. I do. But what will she say if I tell her what I've been holding back? What will she say 
if I tell her I love her . . .?

I'm scared of loving Scully. It's just another chance to get hurt, and I've been hurt before. But 
now I suddenly realize that sometimes you just have to risk it, and to hell with the 
consequences. 

My hand reaches out to cup her cheek, my thumb moving slowly over her soft lips. I lean closer 
to her, breathing in the delightful fragrance of her perfume as I whisper in her ear, "You really 
want to know, Scully? You want to discover what I've kept from you? I can tell you, but are you 
prepared to hear it?"

I've startled her, I can see the surprise in her face. She may not grasp what I've said, but I have 
no doubt my actions will be understood. My lips gently caress the lobe of her ear, suckling it 
lightly. Her head falls back, her neck seemingly unable to bear its weight, and my lips seek this 
newly displayed territory. Her skin is like silk, soft and smooth, and my lips move over her, 
tasting her sweetness. I move them over her shoulder, nipping lightly before discovering the 
line of her throat. My tongue laps lightly along her neck, moving upward to explore the hollow 
behind her other ear.

Lifting my head, I wonder if I've made a mistake. "Do you want to learn more?" My voice is 
husky. I look at her, awaiting her response.

"Yes . . ."

She's soft and yielding as I place light, teasing kisses across her face. Pressing my lips every 
place but where I most want to -- her mouth. "No," Scully moans the word, and I pull away to 
look at her.

I am unprepared for the way her expression changes as anger flares in her eyes, hardening them 
to an icy blue. But as quickly as it appeared, the anger is gone and I watch as other emotions 
tinge the canvas of her face -- fear, doubt, uncertainty.

"You want me to stop?" My voice is gentle, and I carefully brush back a lock of her hair. Her 
body tightens like a bowstring, pulled taut by her inner conflict. 

"No, don't stop. I want more." She sighs deeply, her tension draining. "I want you . . ."

*****

I can't believe this is happening. This is Mulder. My partner, my friend. And something more, I 
can see it in his eyes, and I'm both thrilled and terrified.

The seconds tick away, as we gaze at one another until finally, he kisses me. Softly at first, his 
tongue tracing the outline of my lips. I've dreamt of this kiss, wanted it for so long. I don't know 
if I'm making a mistake, and I don't care -- we've come too far for regrets. One way or another, 
whatever else happens tonight, I'll have this to remember. I open my mouth slightly, inviting 
his possession, but he ignores the invitation, content to keep the kiss gentle.

His kiss is sweet, almost reverent. Not at all as I'd imagined our first kiss would be. He's a 
passionate man, and somehow I'd expected him to be provocative and dangerous. Expected his 
dark side to control his desires. His gentleness is a surprise. He is taking it slow, giving me a 
chance to learn the taste and texture of him.

I reach up and thread my fingers through his hair, and drag his mouth down to mine, deepening 
the kiss. His tongue enters, sliding erotically into my mouth, hot and probing, enticing mine to 
swirl seductively around it. This is how I'd imagined kissing him . . .

Mulder has made kissing into an art. He is soft lips and darting tongue. I wonder for a second 
how he got so good at this, before all rational thought ceases.

He pulls away, his chest heaving. I feel his hands, smoothing my hair as my head comes to rest 
against his heart. I can't believe this is happening, that he seems to want me as much as I want 
him.

"Scully, we can stop now. It's not too late." His voice is low and deep and I realize the effort it 
has taken him to say this. But it *is* too late. I love him, and I don't know if we will ever reach 
this point again.

I shift into his lap, my hands clasped behind his neck, and kiss him. All my pent-up feelings are 
in this kiss, the longings I've disregarded, the need I've so carefully hidden. The love . . .

His arm encircles me and in one fluid movement I am lifted and cradled against him. He holds 
me easily, resting his head against mine. Turning, he carries me to the bedroom.

Setting me on the bed, I watch him as he yanks the tie from his neck, dropping it carelessly to 
the floor. His hands move to the belt of his trousers, unbuckling it, his eyes never leaving me.

I reach for the buttons on my sweater, pulling the first one open, and he kneels before me, his 
hands joining mine in working each one free until the sweater hangs open. He slowly separates 
the sides, exposing my lace covered breasts. I pull one arm free, then the other, and the sweater 
is off, joining his tie on the floor. 

My hands move toward my breasts, the tight nipples visible through the sheer material. I cup 
my hands under them, lifting them, before bringing my fingers to rub over the distended fabric. 
I slip my fingers inside the cup, and run them over my skin, stopping to stroke the hard nubbins 
of flesh. I hear his groan, and my eyes close, imagining his fingers there instead.

"Take it off." His voice is deep and rough, grating across my already inflamed senses. I comply, 
moving my hands to the front clasp, releasing it to pull the scrap of silk from my body. His 
fingers instantly replace the silk, rolling the flesh, brushing his thumbs over the engorged 
peaks. I watch his hands, dark against my pale flesh, as they caress my body, and feel my 
senses spiraling out of control.

His lips replace his fingers, suckling the tip before grazing it with his teeth. My nipple tightens 
further as his tongue licks at the pebbled flesh, and I feel the sensations in other places, too. 
Back and forth, tongue and lips and teeth, playing against the heated tips, arousing me to fever 
pitch. 

My hands stretch out to him, separating the few still fastened buttons of his shirt. He shrugs out 
of it, and I reach forward to touch him. He is all heat, and his skin is like silk over the steel of 
muscle and bone. I feel him shudder as my hands move over his ribs to his back to play over 
that smooth expanse. 

My mouth is busy, kissing the taut strength of his chest, moving slowly upward. My lips find 
his nipples, and I lavish attention upon them, using my teeth and tongue to tease them. I hear 
him groan, feel it as it rumbles in his chest, then his arms are pushing me away.

He lurches to his feet, his hands unfastening his trousers. I hear the rasp of the zipper and watch 
as he steps out of the them and stands in his boxers. I can't seem to stop staring at him, 
specifically at the bulge that strains against the silky material. My throat is suddenly dry, and I 
swallow hard, imagining what the fabric conceals. I don't have to imagine long, for his thumbs 
hook in the waistband and drag the boxers off, kicking them away.

I am so wet. I can feel the moisture pooling within me, and I ache to replace the clothes 
covering my lower half with him. I unfasten my jeans, and stand to thrust the offending 
clothing down, taking my panties with them, before turning to face him.

His body is lean and lightly muscled. The skin, so firm and tanned, feeling like silk beneath my 
hands. The light covering of hair on his chest, hair that thickens below his navel, arrowing 
down to the impressive erection. So big . . .

"Oh, my." I breathe the words, and it seems to grow bigger still as I watch in awe.

"Right back at you, Red." A small smile touches his face. His eyes sweep across my body, and I 
feel his glance as surely as if it were his hands touching me.

Sinking back on to the bed, I reach out for him, pulling him down to the cool sheets. He leans 
over me, his eyes clouded with passion. His skin is hot and slick, the sheen of sweat visible on 
his chest as it moves to graze my breasts. He kisses me again, his teeth lightly nipping my 
lower lip before the swipe of his tongue eases the slight ache. I open my mouth, letting my 
tongue play against his, before exploring the texture of his mouth.

I feel him, pressing against me. He's so big, so hard. My hand reaches down between us, 
claiming his arousal. It is silky and hot in my hand, and I explore the hardness, feeling it throb, 
enjoying the smooth texture of him beneath my fingers. 

He lays back, pulling me above him, my hand never leaving him. I vary my strokes, from soft 
to hard, slow to fast. His hips rise from the bed as I continue the movements, running my hand 
from root to tip and back again. He seems to grow larger and hotter with each sweep. I hear his 
moans, deep and passionate. I can tell by the tenor of his breathing that he is losing what little 
control he has left. He's on the edge, and I am ready to take him over it.

Mulder has other ideas. His hands grab my waist, flipping me onto my back in one smooth 
movement. My hips are raised, seeking him, looking for him to ease the ache. I am ready for 
him. These past six years have been nothing but foreplay, as we danced around any feelings we 
might have.

I guide him to me, the look in my eyes conveying my readiness. He is poised above me, his 
arousal parting the curls, and with one push is sheathed deep within me.

He fills me, I can feel the heat of him deep within me, my muscles protesting as they shift to 
accommodate him. We stay that way, joined but not moving, savoring the feeling of oneness. 
And then he begins to move, slowly at first, pulling out almost completely. I groan in protest 
until he slides back into me, finding his rhythm as he moves faster. I move with him, pushing 
up to meet each thrust. His face is tense with effort, I can see that as it dips toward to capture 
my lips again. 

The pressure is building, and I urge him on, raising my legs to lock them around him as he 
plunges into me. Low moans issue from his lips, punctuated by the sound of flesh meeting 
flesh. My hands slip along his ribs to settle on his hips, forcing him deeper. I am groaning into 
his shoulder, my lips open, tasting the salty tang of his sweat soaked skin as he continues to 
drive me to the peak. I am so close, so close, and suddenly I have reached it, crying out his 
name as ripples of pleasure engulf me. He continues thrusting, intensifying the sensations 
flowing through me.

His movements are erratic now, less controlled. His back arches and with one last plunge, I feel 
him pulsing deep within. My muscles clench around him, holding him in me as he, too, 
climaxes.

*****

"I love you, Scully. That's not a truth, that's *the* truth." My voice is ragged, husky with 
emotion as I whisper the words against her neck. She is already asleep, exhausted by our 
lovemaking. I know she doesn't hear me, but I still can't seem to stop saying the words.

This must be a dream. Yet I'm not asleep. I don't want to sleep. If I close my eyes, she might 
disappear, fade away like a ghostly illusion. And I'll awaken on my couch, alone. It's happened 
before. But not tonight. This time I can feel her, lying against me, hear her breathe. It *is* real, 
she's real.

I can still hear her softly murmuring "I want you." See her slowly removing her clothes, an 
erotic memory that will stay with me for a long time. I still feel her body moving against mine, 
and hear her moaning my name as she comes. I've had a glimpse of Paradise tonight. I've tasted 
the forbidden fruit, savored its sweetness and I want more. I want it all.

I look down at the woman cradled in my arms, her hair spreading softly across my chest. Her 
skin is like alabaster, smooth and translucent. I want her to wake up, so I can touch that skin, to 
leave my mark on it. To brand her as mine.

Many times I've imagined us this way. In the darkest hours of the night, with loneliness my 
only companion, I dared to envision a time when she would be mine. Fate, tantalizing me with 
illusions of what could be. Those dreams were bittersweet ones, reflections of a man who 
knows that what he most wants is unattainable, always just out of reach. 

And yet, here we are.

She loves me. She hasn't said so, not in so many words, but I'm not really worried. I know 
Scully too well to think that she would treat the intimacies we shared lightly. I've seen a 
number of men shot down with a glance in the years I've known her. One look from those 
wintry blue eyes, and they turn and run with their tails tucked between their legs.

Those beautiful eyes are looking at me now, filled with a warmth that sets my pulse racing. 
Scully is awake, and a sweet, languorous smile touches her mouth. "Mulder." 

"Hey, how are you feeling?" I'm almost afraid to hear her answer. What if she regrets this? 
Fighting back a touch of dread, I press a kiss into the soft hair tickling my chin, inhaling the 
clean scent of it. 

"Sore, sated, sublime." She stretches, shifting her body, moving closer to me. "You're a little 
more than I expected for dessert." I hear the humor in her voice, and feel an instant sense of 
relief.

"I'm low-cal, too. You could have seconds. . ." And thirds, and . . . well, at my age seconds is 
probably the best I can hope for, but if Scully's the woman, I'm willing to explore the issue. 
"You know, speaking of dessert, Scully . . ."

Her mouth is moving along my chest, pressing light kisses into the skin, and I feel my body 
responding to her touch. She nibbles her way to my mouth, tracing my lips with her tongue. 
"Mmmm, a low-cal dessert that tastes great. What a combination."

"Scully, what are you doing."

"Seems pretty obvious, Mulder. I'm having more -- you *did* offer seconds, remember?" She 
raises up on her elbow, brushing her hair behind her ear, to look at me questioningly.

"Yeah, I know. But I never got *my* fortune cookie."

"You didn't get a cookie, Mulder?" I hear the amusement in her voice. "You poor baby! I'll have 
to see what I can do about that." She is out of bed in a flash, unselfconscious in her nakedness, 
to retrieve my dessert.

Returning seconds later, I hear her call out to me. "Catch."

A cellophane wrapped cookie lands on my chest. She moves to sit on the bed as I open the 
wrapping, extracting the cookie and my fortune. The piece of paper is in my hand, and I read it 
silently. Again I read it, this time aloud. "It says 'The impossible is often the untried'."

"I liked mine better." She stretches, reminding me of a sleepy cat, moving each limb slowly, 
arching her back, before curling up beside me. "Though yours does present some interesting 
possibilities . . . Tell me Mulder, did you ever play the fortune cookie game?"

"No. How do you play?" It's difficult for me to concentrate on anything else when I'm holding a 
very warm, very soft, and very sexy Scully. My fingers are involved in a little game of their 
own, playing tag along her luscious curves.

"Oh, it's easy, really. Nothing too complicated for a simple guy like you, Mulder. You just read 
your fortune, out loud of course, and add the words 'in bed' to the end of it."

Ah, that kind of game. Suppressing a smile, I reread my fortune, following the rules. "'The 
impossible is often the untried -- in bed'. You're right, Scully, it does sound intriguing, put that 
way." She does that eyebrow thing, but I can see she's pleased I've decided to play along. "I 
think I'm going to like this game. Tell me, are there many cookies left?"

Scully rolls away from me to reach down beside the bed. I hear the crinkle of paper, then see 
the triumphant grin on her face. "There's over a dozen left. Do you think that's enough?"

I grin back at her. Enough? When it comes to her, it'll never be enough for me. "It'll do . . . for 
tonight."


The End