TITLE: By the Time AUTHOR: Cynthia Douglas cynthiadouglas@worldnet.att.net RATING: NC-17 CATEGORY: SAR MSR SPOILERS: Big ones for The Pine Bluff Variant, a couple for Demons. Summary: Real life smacks Scully and Mulder upside the head. Picks up where "One Week" left off. Gotta read that and "Third Night" to understand. DISCLAIMER: They're not mine. They belong to CC and Fox, but i Chris won't be nice to them, neither will I. No infringement is intended. THANKS!!: To Rachel for getting my butt in gear and keeping me on task, and to Jesse for a beta read that made me look at the tough questions. Y'all're the best! FEEDBACK (read aloud as bedtime stories for the kittens!): cynthiadouglas@worldnet.att.net By the Time ============================ By the time you swear you're his, Shivering and sighing, And he swears his passion is Infinite, undying-- Lady, make a note of this: One of you is lying. --Dorothy Parker ============================ At first I thought Mulder was acting strangely because he was sulking over my telling him I needed some space. We'd spent every night since that first Sunday together, and, by the following Monday, I was feeling a bit cramped. Which is not to say I hadn't enjoyed those seven days, because I had. But Mulder, ever eager to find fault in himself, didn't seem to believe me. I knew going into this situation that the man can put on a sulk like nobody's business, so I didn't think too much of his dodging at first. I *had* enjoyed the week. Immensely. Despite what he might believe, Mulder's intensity and passion--coupled with his powerful and otherwise annoying need to take care of me--make him an extraordinarily attentive and generous lover. Even if the first time wasn't fireworks and multiple orgasms for me, for which I'm sure Mulder berated himself, the sex got exponentially better as I got used to the idea of us being together. In seven days I had sex with Mulder fifteen times. Well, to be accurate, not all of those times included actual intercourse, but at least one of us achieved orgasm at each go. We spent Saturday morning and afternoon in a rollicking attempt to break some personal records, and had succeeded brilliantly But by Monday morning I was ready for some quality time by myself, not to mention that I was hovering on the edge of what had the potential to be a wicked bladder infection. It's very common when a woman becomes sexually active after a long period of abstinence--hence the archaic nickname, "honeymoon cystitis." The female anatomy is unfortunately poorly equipped to deal with lots of strange new bacteria getting rubbed vigorously and repeatedly around the urethra, and I was paying for my overindulgence. I was in the bathroom for the third time that morning, thinking as I zipped and buttoned my skirt that I should write myself a prescription for some antibiotics before I got hit full force, when I caught my newly torn thumbnail on my waistband. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands then automatically opened the far left- hand drawer to get my emery board to file down the offending rough spots. But instead of my neatly arranged nail-care accessories, I found an inconceivably ugly leopard-skin make up case, behind which my emery board was crammed, bent and splitting, into the corner of the drawer. I pulled out the monstrosity of a tote and zipped it open. Inside, I found a toothbrush, a razor, travel-size toothpaste and shaving cream, and, to my utter dismay, an aerosol can of athlete's foot spray. Mulder. He'd moved his stuff in without asking, and broken my nail file in the process. I wasn't even going to think about where his feet had been in the last week. I pulled the ruined emery board out of the corner where it was wedged and threw it testily into the waste basket. Then, hoping to release some of the annoyance that had bubbled up, I smacked the ugly bag back into the drawer and slammed it shut as hard as I could. On my finger. "Ouch! Damnit!" I yelped and quickly stuck my throbbing fingertip in my mouth. Glaring at myself in the mirror, I cranked the faucet and ran the cold water hard, moving my hand under the stream. "You okay, Scully?" Mulder was at the door in an instant, and I wondered irrationally whether he'd been listening to me pee in the same surreptitious manner I'd caught him watching me dress earlier in the week. After a second, he opened the door a crack and peeked in. What is it with that man and his aversion to knocking? "Fine," I said more coolly than I felt. "I just slammed my finger in a drawer." Mulder let himself the rest of the way in and leaned on the counter next to me. "Something else wrong?" I shut off the water and dried my hand. "Just fed up. My nail file's gone. Now I need it twice as badly." Mulder picked up my right hand. The index finger was red and painful from its run-in with the drawer; the nail was snapped neatly at the quick but still three-quarters attached. Next to it was the rough edge of what was left of my thumbnail. Mulder kissed my finger, soothing it with his tongue. "At least you had fun breaking the other one," he said, clearly pleased with himself. I blushed, but pulled my hand away sharply. "What?" he asked as I took the Band Aid box down from the medicine cabinet. "Scully, do you have any idea how sexy that was?" I looked at him sideways while I struggled with the pull-string on the Band Aid's wrapper. "For goodness sake, Mulder. The way you talk, you'd think I'd passed out from it or something. Nails break all the time." That was bullshit and Mulder knew it, but he let me get away with it. He took the Band Aid from me and caught my hand, pulling the rest of the wrapper off the bandage with his teeth and spitting it in the sink. Carefully avoiding putting too much pressure on my tender finger, he wrapped the broken nail snugly. "So do bed frames, I hear," he said offhandedly. I had to laugh at myself then. He was right. It was sexy. But only because I'd been clinging desperately to the round knob that topped the bedpost as he pushed into me from behind in an increasingly frantic, rocking rhythm. My hands were slick with sweat and God knows what else, and with every thrust they slipped on the post. We'd been at it for what seemed like hours when, in those amazing moments when the sweetness gathers and coils tightly in anticipation of springing release, the ball at the top of the post came unscrewed on the backswing of a particularly powerful thrust. The momentum slammed me back into Mulder, which set him off, but the sudden pain in my thumb as it scraped over the sharp corner of the post--along with the general panic and confusion of having the bed fall apart in my hands--nipped my orgasm cleanly in the bud. Bless his eager-to-please heart, Mulder finished me off with his mouth between fits of giggles. Finished with his first aid, Mulder turned my hand over and placed a kiss on my palm, then moved in closer and pressed me up against the counter. "Hmmm..." he murmured, leaning to brush his lips over my ear, "we haven't made it into this room yet." His hands slid down over my breasts, then up under my arms, and I felt him start to lift me. Even as my pulse quickened at the sly, low note in his voice, I remembered my earlier annoyance with his presumption, and I grabbed at the counter's ledge to anchor myself. "Mulder, don't," I said firmly. He backed off immediately, and the look of hurt and rejection on his face tested my sudden resolve. "What?" he asked softly. "I'm just not in the mood, okay?" I said, determined not to feel guilty for turning him down. "And I don't appreciate being manhandled." The instant I said it, I wished it back. Mulder, in all his passion and enthusiasm for our new sexual relationship, had never once made an aggressive move on me. He sweetly asked me what I wanted every time and asked my permission before initiating anything. I know him well enough to be sure he hates himself for overpowering me on the couch that first night, and I know that he's taken the more passive role in an attempt to prove to us both that he isn't a monster. All of this has been quietly understood between us. Mulder lovingly paints his remorse across the canvas of our bodies, and I take the lead by default, unsure of how else to help him find absolution. I don't know how to tell him he's forgiven without peeling back the scab. I do know that throwing it back in his face because he broke my nail file surely isn't the way. I reached for him, but he flinched away from me. "I'm sorry, Scully," he said quietly, turning to leave. "Wait, Mulder. Look at me." He did, and I held his gaze for a moment before closing the space between us and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his crisp shirt. "*I'm* sorry," I said. "I know that's not what you were doing. I'm just cranky this morning. I'm tired, and I don't feel well." His arms closed around my shoulders, and I felt his breath hot against my scalp. "Forgive me?" He squeezed me and kissed my head. "Mmmm hmm. Forgive *me*?" "Nothing to it, Mulder. Really." "Are you sick?" he asked, stepping back from me and running an assessing eye over me. "Not really. Just a little worse for wear." He nodded, and I saw that he didn't understand, but he didn't press, so I didn't volunteer any more information. I didn't feel like sharing the intimate details of my urinary tract with him right then. "Here," he said, tilting his head toward the hall, "I made coffee." As we settled into the second part of our new morning ritual--hot sex, then coffee--I was once again aware of how at home Mulder was here, and felt claustrophobic again. I've lived alone for so long, and Mulder takes up a lot of space. "Um, I was thinking, Mulder," I started, "and I don't want you to take this the wrong way..." His dark eyes jerked up to meet mine and he waited, mug poised at his mouth. "But I was thinking that I'd like to be alone tonight. I need some time by myself." "Did I do something wrong?" he asked quickly. "No, Mulder. I'm just... I'm not getting the sleep I need, and I--" "We don't have to have sex, Scully. I hope you don't feel like I expect that from you. I mean, I love it, but I know we can't keep up this pace. I'd be happy to just be here with you." I took another sip of my coffee and set the mug down. "That's it, though, Mulder," I said carefully. "It's not the sex, it's the constant togetherness. We spend all day together at work, then there's the hour break while you go feed your fish and grab a change of clothes, and then you're back over here for the night." "You don't want me around?" I sighed impatiently. I knew he would take it that way. "Mulder, you're not hearing what I'm saying. I *do* want you around. I just can't be with you 'round the clock. I need my own space, or I get stir crazy. Like back there--all of a sudden, you're all moved in and have a drawer in my bathroom with your shaving kit and toothbrush, and I didn't even know it was happening." The sharp clack of Mulder's mug hitting the table made me realize I'd said that wrong. "Well, shit, Scully, what do you want me to do? You freak out because I use your toothbrush, and then you freak out when I bring my own. I can't win." "Don't do this, Mulder. I'm glad that you have a toothbrush here. I just feel like you've moved in with me, and I'm not ready for that. We said we'd go slowly. And I need it to slow down a bit, that's all. Not spend every minute together. We're going to drive each other nuts otherwise. If this is going to work--and I *do* want it to work--you're going to have to give me some breathing room from time to time. Okay?" Mulder pursed his lips and nodded jerkily. "Got it." He stood up and cleared his mug to the sink, and I knew he was still hurt. He's so easily wounded, and the part of me that had been trained over the last five years to protect and take care of Mulder railed against me for adding to the lifelong stash of pain in him. But I resisted the urge to give in. I was right about this, and I was going to stick to it. He'd get over it. ============================= For the first time, work that Monday was awkward for me. Mulder was quiet all morning, and, unwilling to break my own rule about discussing us at work, I quickly decided to find things to do other than watch him studiously not look at me or talk to me as I worked. I started at the local drug store, picking up my antibiotics, and then busied myself away from the office. I came back from the archives around three to find the door locked. Keying myself in, I was startled to see Mulder glowering at his desk, phone wedged between his face and shoulder. He directed his scowl at me and said sharply into the phone, "I'm just going to come up." He set the phone down, glared intensely at his blotter for three seconds, then shook his head and looked up at me. "Something up?" I asked. He sucked on his lip. "Nah," he said, releasing it and shaking his head again. "Skinner wants a piece of me for some damn thing." "Need some backup?" I asked, watching him don his jacket. Mulder's head snapped back to me. "Huh?" Oh, Mulder, I thought, please don't get jumpy on me. "You want me to come with you?" I rephrased my question. Again, he appraised me intensely. "No need for you to get involved. Thanks, though," he replied. "See you later." I watched the door swing shut behind him and wished I'd kept my mouth shut that morning. =============================== Mulder didn't come back to the office that afternoon, and I went home right at five, determined to enjoy my evening and not wait for him to call and check in. He didn't do it before we started sleeping together, and there was no reason for him to now, I told myself. I asked for space, and he's giving it to me. I took a long, hot bubble bath with a book, fixed myself a huge mug of hot chocolate, and got into my freshly made bed. I lay quietly in the dark between the clean, cool sheets and tried not to think about the day's stumbling blocks. By eleven, it was clear that I wasn't going to be able to pull it off, so I gave in and called him. He picked up on the first ring, and I smiled, perversely pleased that he'd been waiting for my call. "Mulder," he announced tersely. Some things never change. "It's me." "Scully?" he asked, and the surprise in his voice caught me off guard. "Expecting someone else?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer. I've seen Mulder's phone bills, and I know what kind of 900 calls he makes. "No," he answered quickly. "I just didn't expect you to call. Time alone and all," his voice had an edge to it that I didn't like, though I wasn't surprised to hear it. "I know. Listen, about this morning..." "It's okay, Scully," he cut me off. "I understand. Really. It was just hard to hear. I'm sorry if I was a jerk." I smiled into the phone and enjoyed hearing his breathing next to my ear again. "Me, too." "Are you feeling better?" "Mmm hmm." I'd caught the cystitis before it bloomed completely, and, with the help of the antibiotics and several Tylenol, I was back to normal bathroom habits. "Listen, I'm going to let you go now, okay? Sleep well tonight. I'll see you tomorrow." "Okay. Goodnight, Mulder." "'Night," and then the phone clicked in my ear and went silent. ===================================== I did sleep well that night, but I didn't see Mulder the next day. There was a message from him on my work voice mail, saying his mother had called early that morning, and he'd gone to see her and expected to be back some time on Wednesday. I tried to call his cell phone, but I got his voice mail and wasn't sure what to say, so I hung up without leaving a message. When he hadn't called by Tuesday night, I started to get angry. Problem was, I didn't feel like I had any real reason to be mad at him. I was the one who insisted that our working relationship stay the same, after all. So how could I bitch when he did exactly what he'd been doing for five years? Mulder's never been a big one for calling to chat unless I'm the one who's away. Or unless he's found another way to get blown to bits and needs rescuing within the next five minutes. I decided that this must be his way of giving me more of the space I'd asked for, and resolved to enjoy it. But the fact was, I missed him. I'd gotten alarmingly used to having him this close to me. I loved the weight of him in my bed. I loved waking up against the heat of skin. I loved the sweet things he whispered in my ear when he thought I was asleep. And though I'd been half-convinced that I'd never masturbate again after our marathon week, I found myself longing for Mulder's touch and begrudging my fingers, which had kept me self-sufficient for so long, because they were not his. By Wednesday night, I was worried. I had an idea about the kind of head games his mother played on him and couldn't stop thinking about the last time I'd seen her. Despite Mulder's insistence on talking with Teena in private, I'd heard every angry word they'd thrown at each other as well as the resounding smack of her hand on his face. I'd almost drawn blood biting my tongue as I waited for a taxi to show up after Mulder'd screeched away from the house and his mother had stormed up the stairs, leaving me alone in the front hall. I had some choice words for his parents, and with his father dead, his mother was my only target left. At ten, I called his cell again and left a message this time, asking him to call me, trying to sound calmer than I felt. Then, putting two chamomile tea bags into an inch of hot water and letting them steep into a brew that I hoped would help me sleep, I went to bed. I dreamed about finding Mulder in that Rhode Island motel's shower again, naked and shocky, but this time he was steadily dripping blood from the small hole at his hairline. He looked up at me through the steam and the blood-tinged water dripping off his browbone and reached out a hand, pruned from the water. Unable to speak, I took his hand and tugged, trying to get him out of the tub. He sputtered my name over and over, choking on the water and blood, and then started to wail, his eyes wide and wild with fear. I looked to the end of the tub and saw to my horror that he was dissolving in the water and was being sucked down the drain in a spiraling mess of blood. I found my voice at last and screamed his name, yanking desperately on his hand to try to get him out before he melted away to nothing, but the drain was pulling at him now, drawing him away from me faster and faster. I jerked on his wrist with all the strength in me and screamed in agony when it came off in my hands and the rest of him disintegrated and slipped away down the drain. I woke up with a sucking gasp and sobbed in horror to find that I was still grasping his dead hand and that Mulder was still calling for me. I flung myself across the bed and flailed around, panting, until I found the lamp. "Scully! It's okay. It's just me!" With the light on, I could see Mulder crouching at the side of my bed, face tight with concern. I clapped a hand over my mouth and scrambled to the bathroom. I made it to the toilet in time to empty my stomach into it and sank back onto the cool tile floor, laying my head on the seat. I couldn't stop shaking. I heard Mulder's footsteps behind me. Water ran in the sink, and then I felt his heat as he knelt down beside me. He touched my cheek gently, then laid his hand against my clammy forehead. "Here, baby, rinse your mouth out," he said. The endearment reached me through the panic that was gradually subsiding, and I lifted my head and reached shakily for the glass of water. He supported the bottom while I sipped and spit into the toilet, then sipped again and swallowed warily. "Bad one, huh?" he asked, and I knew he understood. I nodded and wiped my mouth. "Want to talk about it?" He closed the lid of the toilet and flushed it for me. I leaned back against the tub and closed my eyes, shaking my head. "Okay. That's okay." One of Mulder's hands, warm and full of life, stroked lightly up and down my back between my shoulder blades, and the other rested on my arm. "You're shivering. Come on, I'll take you back to bed." The hand that had been on my back slipped down under my arm, and he helped me to my feet. "Wait," I said, my voice cracking. "Want to brush my teeth." "Okay." His voice was soft and soothing--one you'd use to coax a hurt animal to you. I managed to do a quick job on my teeth, pausing to scrub hard on my tongue, which tasted vile. I spit and rinsed my mouth out several more times. By the time we made it to bed, I was shivering badly. My pajamas were soaked with sweat, and the dark satin stuck to coldly to my body. Mulder unbuttoned the top and slid it off my shoulders and onto the floor, then smoothly pushed the bottoms down. "Climb in," he said, straightening the covers I'd mangled in my sleep and patting the mattress. I did, and he tucked the sheets and comforter around me, then quickly undressed and slipped in next to me, spooning me against his warm, dry body. "You're not sick, are you?" he asked after my breathing had returned to normal and I'd stopped shaking so badly. "Stomach bug?" I sniffled, wishing for a Kleenex. "No, it's not the flu. What were you doing there, Mulder? Where have you been?" Mulder kissed the back of my neck chastely. "I'm sorry I scared you, Scully. I just wanted to see you, to watch you sleep for a few minutes, then I was going to go home. I didn't mean to scare you. You were calling for me." "I was dreaming about you. You died, Mulder. You were dying and I couldn't help you. It was terrible." His arms tightened around me and he rocked me very slightly. "It's okay now, baby. It was just a dream. I'm here now. We're fine." "Where were you, Mulder?" I asked again. "I called you. What did your mother want?" "Sshh, Scully. It's not important now," he cooed in my ear, still rocking me. "Go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning, okay?" Exhausted, but finally starting to feel safe again, I breathed deeply and let my body relax, taking in his smell and the comfortably solid heat of his chest against my back. I slept. ========================================= When my alarm startled me awake, I was alone again. I wondered if I hadn't dreamed the whole thing, but I noticed the skewed lampshade and my pajamas on the floor, and the sharp taste in my mouth told me it had been real. I staggered to the bathroom, pulled on my robe, and moved into the kitchen. A cup of still-warm tea sat on top of a note. Scully, Sorry to leave you alone. Early appointment with my lawyer about my mom's will--needed to change clothes but didn't want to wake you. Love, Mulder I sipped at the tea, taking it with me into the bathroom, where I brushed my teeth again. The fruity tea clashed badly with the toothpaste, so I dumped it down the sink. The sight of the reddish liquid sloshing into the drain made my stomach lurch in vivid recollection of my nightmare, and I turned my back quickly and got into a shower of the hottest water I could stand. When I got to work, there was a message from Skinner's secretary asking us to be in the AD's office at eleven. I waited until five of eleven, then went upstairs alone. At three after, as I shifted uneasily in my chair, Mulder ducked into the outer office. Kimberly looked pointedly at her watch and got up from her desk. "Sorry," he mumbled. Kimberly leaned through Skinner's door, and Mulder took advantage of our moment of privacy to brush his hand over mine. "You get my note?" he asked. "Feel any better?" I nodded yes to both questions as Kimberly backed out of the doorway and motioned us into Skinner's office. "Agents," he greeted us in his usual curt manner. "I need your help." He handed me a file folder, which I opened and held so both Mulder and I could look at its contents. "Jacob Haley," Skinner explained. "Big-wig in a militia group called the New Spartans. We've received information that we hope will lead to his capture. This is going to be a joint operation with the CIA, and I want you both in on it." I glanced at Mulder, who was studying Haley's mug in the file. "Why us, sir?" I asked. "We need as many bodies as possible, Agent Scully, people these guys aren't going to recognize. And, on my end, I want good people there--people I can count on." He paused and let this bit of unexpected praise sink in. "You'll both report for a more detailed briefing and for assignment within the operation. Our source indicates that this is going down in the next forty-eight hours, but we may not know the exact time and location until a few hours ahead of time. After you get your assignments, you study up, stay close, and be ready to roll at any time. Got that?" Mulder and I nodded in unison. "Good. This is an opportunity for you two to make some friends and show some people what you can do other than chase lights in the sky. Don't waste it by messing this up." Abruptly, he picked up the phone on his desk and started to dial. I faintly heard it begin to ring on the other end, and Skinner looked up at us, seemingly surprised that we were still there. "That's all, agents. Kimberly will tell you where to get briefed." By the Time (2/3) Date: Sun, 14 Mar 1999 09:31:03 -0000 Disclaimed and summarized in Part 1 ============================= We spent that afternoon at the joint FBI/CIA briefing, then were split up. Mulder joined the group that was working up a profile on Haley and the New Spartans, while I camped out with the techies, going over the possible meeting sites and otherwise coordinating the surveillance. We saw each other only in passing after the briefing, spotting each other in the halls occasionally and exchanging tight- lipped nods. The entire group worked through Thursday night, napping in shifts long enough to count as sleep, but too short to afford any real rest. Word came down Friday afternoon as I was rereading the New Spartans' manifesto for the hundredth time, that the source had confirmed the rendez vous for Saturday, some time after noon. I was lucky enough to be part of the group allowed out of the building. We were directed to get some sleep, keep our cell phones on, and be ready to go at a moment's notice. I went straight home, showered, changed into sweats, and napped fiercely on the couch. I snapped awake when my phone rang. My apartment was dark, and I had to fumble around to find the phone on the end table, and I banged it loudly against its base before I got it up to my face. "Scully," I answered. "It's me," Mulder announced. "I heard you'd been relieved." I rubbed my hand over my eyes, trying to wake up a bit more. "Mulder, where are you?" A car horn bleated twice on the street, and I heard it through the phone as well. "Right outside," Mulder replied. "Mind if I come up?" "Mulder, why didn't you just come up to start with?" I asked as the phone brought me the sound of his door slamming. "It's late, Scully. I didn't want to sneak up on you again. See you in a minute." The line went dead, and I rattled the phone back into its base, hating the lingering awkwardness between us. Sighing, I squinted at the clock on my VCR. 12:02. I'd "napped" for six hours. Mulder's key clicked in the lock, and I stretched for the lamp on the end table as the door opened and shut. Mulder leaned against the door, garment bag slung over his shoulder. He looked like hell--bruises of exhaustion under his eyes, hair sticking up in oddly shaped, spiky lumps, face pale and tight. He let his bag slide to the floor and moved toward me. "You look tired, Mulder," I said, feeling awkward. "Did you get any rest last night?" Mulder shook his head and stooped to shut the lamp off again. I looked up at his face, shadowed now. "You never got to tell me what your mother needed. Is she okay?" I asked, but he didn't respond. He just stood in the dark, hands clenching and relaxing at his sides. Finally, I reached for him, grabbing one hand and holding it still. "Mulder, what's wrong?" He snapped out of it then and put his free hand out to touch my cheek. "Sorry. I'm just tired, I guess." His voice was soft and mumbly. "Is everything okay with your mom?" "Mmm hmm..." "Your note said something about her will, Mulder. Is she sick?" "No, she's fine. Just needed to sign some stuff--the houses." His hand slid down to my shoulder and his thumb was stroking my collarbone. "Things okay between you two?" Mulder's hand tightened on my shoulder and he shook his head sharply, taking a quick breath. "Scully, I don't want to talk about my mother right now," he said roughly, and annoyance flared up in me. "I noticed that." "Please, Scully," he said, his other hand coming up to thread through the hair at the side of my head. "I don't want to talk. Don't talk." "Mulder, why won't you tell me what's wrong?" I pressed, concerned. "Sshhh." He cupped my face in both hands and ran his thumbs over my lips. "Sshh, don't talk." Mulder closed the remaining space between us and his mouth fastened over mine. His arms encircled me as he fervently kissed my face, my neck, my hair. "Please," he murmured wetly against my skin between kisses. "Please. I just want to feel this. Feel you. No talking. Just us." The desperate pitch in his voice and the heat of his breath against my lonely skin sent all of my blood pooling to my loins, and I felt lightheaded. I clung to Mulder and pulled his face back to mine, seeking and finding his mouth and drawing his tongue in to tangle with my own. His hands were everywhere on me, pushing and pulling at my clothes to get at my skin. I made similar efforts with his, and very soon we were kneeling naked on a snarled pile of discarded garments. "Scully," he moaned into my breast. "Please. I need you so much." I pushed him all the way onto the floor and bent over him, admiring the strong leanness of his body, the muscles drawn tightly over his graceful limbs. His penis was swollen and bobbing on his trim stomach. I wrapped my fingers around it and tugged, and was surprised to feel Mulder's hands in my hair, pushing my head down to meet my hands. He'd never asked for this before. He'd happily accepted when I offered, but this direction, these hands pulling my hair and this body thrusting gracelessly up at my face--this was all new, and the change excited me. I used my hands to guide him to me, then slid my lips around the head of him, and his hands clenched more tightly in my hair as he groaned. He held me still, and I flicked my tongue across the tight, soft skin until he started guiding my mouth over the length of him. I busied my hands, stroking his legs, his stomach and twitching waist, tightening scrotum, reaching around to massage his ass as I moved my head to the pace Mulder set. I was getting to know Mulder's noises, and I could tell he was getting close by the breathy quality of his groans. I tried to move faster, but he roughly pulled me away, yanking my hair hard enough to make me yelp. "Sorry," he gasped. "Sorry.' More gently, he pulled me down on him and kissed my mouth, rolling over on top of me. Still jumpy with his need, he pushed my legs apart and sank into me with what I took for a sigh of relief. Or maybe it was my own relief I was sensing. I was almost embarrassingly wet from sucking him and seriously keyed up from our changing dynamic, and it felt so indescribably good to have him inside me. "I missed you, Mulder," I hissed between clenched teeth as he began to thrust in earnest. Mulder hauled himself up onto one arm and wrapped the other around my head. His eyes were bright with pleasure and his mouth was quivering. He shushed me again, moaning it this time. "Ssshh, don't talk. We don't have to say anything." He punctuated this statement with another low moan and dropped his weight on me again. I pressed a hand against his cheek, pushing his mouth tighter against my neck, which he nipped hungrily. He caught my hand and pulled it down our bodies, then arched up and wedged our hands at our juncture. Propping himself back up on his elbows to make more space, he pushed my hand down until I could feel him sliding moistly in and out of me. He was making that noise again, and I caught his drift. Pulling back an inch, I found my clitoris and began stroking it, hurrying to catch up with Mulder. He looked down at us and groaned unintelligibly. The sound of it, combined with his jerking thrusts against me, urged my hand to move even more firmly, pushing me closer to the edge Mulder was clinging to so desperately. Suddenly the pitch of Mulder's wordless moans moved up a notch and his fingers clenched convulsively around my shoulders. His pounding was almost painful, but the sensation was driving me wild. Mulder was gearing up for a first-class orgasm, and he was going to take me right along with him. I craned my neck--I wanted to watch us moving together like this-- but I couldn't see much, and flopped my head sharply back onto the floor. Mulder's hand clapped hotly against my face, and I looked up at him, sobbing my pleasure at the look on his face. The sounds of his excitement, which had been incessant, stopped abruptly with a shuddering gasp. He froze above me, every muscle clenched, fevered eyes locked on me. His eyes rolled back and his mouth dropped open and a guttural cry came out of it. Then he bucked furiously again and fell heavily onto me, pushing my hand against my clitoris with every thrust. His arms clasped me tightly and it was all too much. I felt his wet heat in me and the pressure of his body and the music of his sighing and I exploded in a burst of light that burned the image of us into my corneas. ========================== Our cell phones woke us in a confusing round of electronic noise. I fumbled frantically for the bedside lamp, but then realized we'd only made it as far as the couch before passing out. The double-trilling continued, and I scrambled into the kitchen where I'd left my purse the night before. "Scully," I croaked, confused at the continuing ring from the other room. I clapped a hand over my unoccupied ear and frowned as I tried to wake up enough to understand what the voice on the other end of the line was saying. >From the other room, I heard Mulder bark into his own phone, which must have been one of the numerous lumps among our mattress of clothing that had spawned the move to the couch last night. "Right," I said, shaking my head to clear it. "I'll be there." I hit the End button and returned to the living room, suddenly chilly and conspicuously naked. >From within our little burrow on the couch, Mulder was wrapping up what appeared to be the same conversation. "Yes, sir. Seven thirty. Okay." His phone beeped on its trip back to the pile of clothes on the floor. "What time is it?" Mulder asked, lifting a corner of the afghan we'd nested under and inviting me in. I slid under the blanket and pressed my cold body up against the warmth of him and squinted at the clock on the VCR. "Ten to six," I answered, then added needlessly, "They must be rounding everyone up again." I felt Mulder nod against the back of my head, lips catching at my hair. Smiling, I rolled over and rested my head back on his bicep, facing him this time. "That was intense last night, Mulder. Though my bed is definitely better for sleeping than the couch. You must have been folded in half all night to fit here." Mulder's dark eyes were sleepy and hooded. "I was okay. You're nice to fold around." I rolled forward a little more and kissed him softly, hand resting heavily on his throat, where I could feel his blood surging under my fingers. "We should probably get up," he whispered, not moving. I waited for him to take some initiative, but he showed no signs of doing so. I patted his cheek and pulled away from his warmth, feeling a wave of happy wonder wash over me at how right it felt to be here with him. "I'll go first," I conceded, "but you'd better be up when I'm done." I showered quickly, then went to poke Mulder into movement. He lay, dressed now, on the couch with his phone clutched in one hand and his other arm folded over his eyes. "I gotta go home," he announced, eyes still covered. "It's going down in a park. They want me as a jogger." He pushed himself up to a sitting position and rubbed a hand over his hair, rumpling it more than I thought possible. "God, I'm so tired of this crap," Mulder sighed, digging around for his shoes. I separated his tie from the leg of my sweatpants and handed it to him. He stuffed it into his pants pocket and grabbed his bag and jacket. "It'll be over this afternoon," I reassured him, though I wasn't sure why he was so anxious about this assignment. "And then we'll be back in the basement with our mutants and aliens. Home sweet home." Mulder straightened up and headed for the door. He stopped at the door and half-turned, as he always did. I moved into his awkward embrace, his bag making his arm heavy around my shoulder. "I love you, Mulder," I said into his chest, thinking that I should have said it sooner. His arms tightened with a jerk, and he pressed a fierce kiss into my hair. "I love you, too," he whispered thickly against my head. Then he turned quickly and was out the door before I could say anything else. ===================================== He lied to me. That bastard looked me square in the face and lied to me. Repeatedly. The sad thing is that in the park that afternoon, I didn't even realize he'd been lying all week. The park was enough-- that "I lost him... He got away" bull left me reeling--but unfortunately, it was just the beginning. I can't prove it was Haley in that car. I couldn't swear to it. The late- afternoon light was shifting and tricky, and I only saw the driver for a second, as the car splashed away in one direction and Mulder bounded off in another. But I saw them. I saw Mulder standing next to a black, late-model BMW, looking around nervously; I saw him gesture for the driver to leave. And then I watched him dodge me when I asked what had happened. At first, I doubted myself. I caught up with him on the way back to the throng of agents gathered around what was left of Haley's contact. "Who was in that car, Mulder?" I demanded. He was frowning at the crew of agents in Haz-Mat suits who had appeared during our absence. "What car?" I grabbed at his arm to stop him, unwilling to take this shit any longer. "The black BMW, Mulder. I saw you next to it." Mulder looked at me blankly for a moment, then conceded the point. "Oh. I asked the guy if he'd seen anyone run by there." I squinted up at him and opened my mouth to ask him more when I heard Skinner call me. "Agent Scully! We need you here!" I turned toward his voice and raised my hand in acknowledgment. When I turned my head back to Mulder, he was on the move again. "Mulder!" I called, but he didn't respond. Biting back a curse, I jogged over to Skinner. "I want you in on the autopsy, Scully," he directed as I reached him. He cast a glance around us and grasped my arm, leading me away from the crowd. "What happened back there? Where's Haley?" "I don't know, Sir," I admitted mostly truthfully. "He got away." I wasn't anywhere near ready to string Mulder up yet. There must be a perfectly good explanation for what I'd seen. "Damnit!" Skinner spat, "We had this covered." He pulled his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "The autopsy, Sir?" I reminded him, eager to turn the conversation back into surer territory. "They're transporting the body now," he said, settling his wire-rims back onto his face. "Suit up and go with them. I want to know what happened here. There'll be a briefing as soon as we can gather our information. Have your report ready by then. You'll be notified of the time and location once we get situated." As I struggled into an environmental suit built for someone six inches taller, I mulled over Mulder's story, scant as it was. It did make some sense, I told myself. I hadn't gotten a very good look at the driver, after all. But most important, there was no reason for Mulder to let Haley get away. There was no reason for him to lie. I managed to calm my worries enough to focus through the autopsy, and through the writing of my preliminary report while I waited for our lab tests to come back. Mulder was no where to be found, though I didn't have the time to put on an intensive search. I assumed that he and the rest of the psyche team were putting a fresh spin on their profile. I was touching up my report and going over the labs in our office when the phone rang. I glanced at my watch, disoriented. Nine fifty- two. Please be Mulder, I thought automatically. "Scully," I answered. "Oh... Miss Scully. Is Fox there?" a woman's hesitant voice asked. "No, I'm sorry, Agent Mulder isn't in the office. Is there something I can help you with?" "Well... This is Teena Mulder, his mother." I paused for a split second before responding. "Hello, Mrs. Mulder," I said as cordially as I could. "Is there a message you'd like me to give your son?" She seemed disoriented. "Well, I left him several messages on his home machine, but he hasn't returned my calls. Will you please tell him that his father's brother, Mark--his uncle--passed away this Monday? I've been trying to call him since I heard on Tuesday, but I can't get hold of him. The service is tomorrow, and--" "Mrs. Mulder," I cut in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, and I'm very sorry to hear about your brother-in-law, but wasn't he with you on Tuesday?" There was an awkward pause. "Excuse me?" "Mulder--your son--he told me he had visited you earlier this week." Mrs. Mulder's exasperated sigh echoed in my ear. "You must be mistaken, Miss Scully," she said, her voice cold. "I haven't seen my son in almost a year." I stammered annoyingly. "I... I'm sorry, Mrs. Mulder. You're right. There's been a mistake. I'll give Fox your message." "Thank you," she said, sounding relieved that the conversation was finally over. "Good bye." I hung the phone up slowly and stared at the desk, angry at the sting I felt building behind my eyes. He'd lied, and now I knew it for sure. All week he'd been lying. I took a deep breath to try to calm myself down, but I had a sudden, vivid flash of the night before, of how Mulder had deftly sidestepped my questions about his mother. I felt my face flame as I remembered how he'd stopped my questions--his strained whispers shushing me, his hands in my hair urging me to use my mouth for something else altogether. I swiped angrily at the tears that splashed onto my cheeks then spattered on the blotter. Sniffing loudly once, I wiped my face with my sleeve, took another breath, and picked up the phone. My hands were trembling as I dialed, but by the time I got connected to Ron, the agent who'd been in charge of today's surveillance tapes, my hands were steady and my voice was cool. "Ron, Dana Scully. Pretty good. Listen, I'm hoping to get my hands on a couple of the tapes from today's operation." ===================== Ron couldn't get me the tape immediately--there were hours of analysis to do before the hearing, which had been set for eight the next morning. Lovely way to spend a Sunday. But I did wheedle Ron into making me a copy of the time index I was looking for. I told him I'd pick it up at six, and then I went home, praying that Mulder wouldn't make another surprise appearance that night. When I flicked the light on as I locked the door behind me, the first thing I saw was the sloppy pile of my clothes on the floor in front of the couch. My chest constricted painfully, and I felt my face heat up with shame and anger at the way I'd waltzed into Mulder's little distraction-via-seduction scene. I was horrified at having let myself be so vulnerable to him and outraged at him for taking advantage of our intimacy to divert attention from his deception. I kicked off my shoes and stalked across the room, stooping to sweep the offending garments up in my arms then continuing into my bedroom, where I flung them viscously into the hamper. I stood in the dark for a minute, breathing deeply to keep my head clear, then I went into the bathroom, unbuttoning my clothing as I went, and locked the door behind me. I got into the shower and scrubbed brutally at my hair, shampoo stinging my eyes, then scoured my body raw with my loofa. As clean as I could get myself without going to confession, I sank down to the floor of the stall and leaned back against the wall, letting the pounding, scalding water run over me until it started to cool. Back in the bedroom, I dressed in clean pajamas, set my alarm for an unspeakable hour, and collapsed into bed, where I slept as if drugged for four hours. When the alarm bleated me awake at 4:30, I was up and out of bed immediately. I quickly took another shower, dressed, and headed back to the Hoover Building. I was early, but Ron, looking like he'd been up for twenty-four hours--which was probably true--had the tapes I needed ready for me. Steeling myself, I retreated to our office to try to figure out what the hell Mulder was up to. It took me a while to find the footage I was looking for, but I did find it. I recognized it immediately, even though the people I was looking for were only on screen for about five seconds. I replayed those green-tinted frames again and again until I knew them by heart. A man, Haley, runs into camera range from the left, turning his head midstride. A shadow on the right side of the screen becomes a second man--tall, lanky, tense. Haley turns, still moving, and reaches out to the other man, who's holding something out to him. With a turning hop-step, Haley runs off the screen to the left, and the other man melts back into the shadows to the right. I know it was Mulder. I know how he moves; I recognized his energy in the tight, bouncing motions of the shadow man on the video. I *know* the hand that reaches toward Haley. I've studied those long fingers, memorized those slender wrists, learned the creases on the knuckles. As I mastered the pattern of the two men's dance, I found myself starting a slow waltz of my own, to the rhythm of the damning footage--always pausing at the moment when Mulder is most visible. Forward, freeze frame, forward. Reverse, forward, freeze frame. Forward, reverse, forward. Freeze frame, reverse, forward. As I watched the same five seconds over and over, I prepared myself for Mulder. The cadence of the tape's dance was oddly calming, and I felt safer, stronger, with every cycle. My personal feelings for Mulder were not the issue here, I told myself. This is not about us. This is about the tape--about what happened in the park. About him betraying our professional relationship and about his allowing a dangerous criminal get away. Occasionally, Mulder's mother would pipe up in my ear, telling me otherwise ("I haven't seen my son in almost a year."), but I squelched her down again, choosing to concentrate on the part of my life that I had a modicum of control over instead. I heard him at the door at the first forward stage in my waltz. He came through the door fast and hesitated infinitesimally when he saw me. He jerked his head up in a strange little half-nod, and I hit the remote's Pause button. "I came in early," I announced as he moved to hang up his overcoat. "I wanted to look at the surveillance tape to make sure I wasn't crazy." I waved the remote toward the TV, but Mulder was looking down--avoiding my eyes. "What happened out there, Mulder?" My voice was cool--nothing like the one that had been choking back cries of misled passion thirty-six hours before. "What happened?" Mulder parroted, crossing past me to the desk. I was momentarily astounded that he was continuing to play dumb. He had to know that I was on to him by now. He's not that stupid. Shaking my head slightly in disbelief, I spelled it out for him as he rummaged around his desktop. "There were twelve agents yesterday in the park. We had ownership of the suspect. We were in position to make the capture, and you let him get away. And--and from what I see now," I continued, recovering quickly from my slight stammer, "you may have *aided* in his escape." My voice was getting a little shrill, and I took a quick, deep breath to steady it. Mulder was still pushing crap around on the desk. He flicked his eyes up to meet mine for an instant. "I dunno what you're talking about," he mumbled. "It's on the video, Mulder," I said firmly, and he finally met my gaze. I thought I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes as I continued. "I can't prove it was you, but I know what I saw." His attention was back on the desk again, gathering papers now, and I itched to grab his hands and slap him and make him listen to me. "This man is a murderer," I pointed out. "He is a terrorist." Mulder started bobbing his head in what might have been agreement. "I have a report to give this morning." His eyes snapped to mine again, then away. "I expect you to give me an answer," I demanded. "I expect you to tell me the truth." The second of silence between us felt like a year. Mulder's shifty eyes met mine again, and I saw nothing there that I recognized. "We're late for the hearing," he said flatly, walking around the desk. I turned around, expecting him to pause at the door, but he left the office without hesitation, leaving me staring dumbly at the TV screen, where he and Haley hung frozen in the middle of their dance. I bit back my anger and my hurt and forced myself to think rationally, to tamp down the mess of emotions that had been threatening to overwhelm me since I'd spoken to Mulder's mother. I couldn't allow them to jeopardize my judgement now. Find the proof, Agent Scully, I told myself. Same as always. Collect the evidence, and then confront him with it. Hard evidence that he can't ignore or walk away from. I set a deadline for myself: If, by noon the next day, I couldn't prove that he hadn't helped Haley escape, I would go to Skinner. I couldn't bear to think beyond that. After the hearing, which was a joke in and of itself, I gave Mulder one last chance to come clean. I caught up with him at the elevator. He shot me a look of pure poison when I laid my hand on his sleeve. "What?" he snapped. "I'm busy, Scully." The other agents waiting for the elevator looked intently elsewhere. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry about your uncle, Mulder." His glare turned into a puzzled frown. "What?" Enjoying my moment more than I probably should have, considering that a man was dead and I was skewering his nephew in public, I said, voice dripping with sympathy for the sake of our audience, "Your mother called the office last night, Mulder. She's been trying to reach you all week. Your father's brother died on Tuesday." The elevator binged, and the agents around us filed in quickly. Mulder--eyes wide and face suddenly clammy looking--gaped at me then turned and darted into the elevator, keeping his back to me as the doors slid shut. By the Time (3/3) Date: Sun, 14 Mar 1999 09:31:06 -0000 Disclaimed and summarized in Part 1 ================================= Mulder, by refusing to tell me what was going on, had left me with little choice. But no matter how betrayed I felt by him--personally and professionally--I couldn't just turn him in. Not without proof. In spite of everything that had gone wrong in the last week, I owed him more than that. I owed it to him because of everything that had gone right in the five years that led up to this. The Mulder I knew would not have done this, and I desperately hoped that there was more going on than I understood--could he be being blackmailed or threatened? But then, the nagging voice in my head countered, I'd given him every opportunity to tell me, and he'd dodged me at every one. Since he wouldn't talk to me, I followed him. I only had to wait a couple of hours before he slunk out of the Hoover Building and went home, where he stayed for a few more hours. When he left again, wearing khakis and a dark shirt under his leather jacket, it was almost dark. His trip to a lovely roadside motel led to my abuse of a hapless motel clerk, and his departure from the same motel led to my subsequent run in with the MIB carjacking squad--my first in a few years. Although you never get used to the initial rush of adrenaline that comes with the blinding lights and the steady tap-tap of semi- automatic weapons against your windows, you do--after a few such encounters--develop a certain Zen attitude when being manhandled by the bad guys' henchmen. There's a certain surreal air to the whole experience, and this time was no different. I kept my head about me as best I could and made a few smart-ass comments to remind them--and myself--that I hadn't lost my cool. I'm not sure who I thought they were bringing me to, but, flanked by four identically dressed thugs who marched me down a dramatically dark hallway, I felt ridiculously like Princess Leia being escorted through the Death Star by a group of Storm Troopers. Frankly, I would have been less surprised to see Darth Vader on the other side of the door that Thug Number One held politely open for me than the faces I encountered. Whatever sense of cool superiority I'd had in the hallway vanished as I realized I'd been betrayed yet again. Skinner and the U.S. attorney who'd headed up the morning's briefing sat facing one another across a desk. "Agent Scully, take a seat," Leamus suggested. I stood in the doorway, mouth hanging open, for a heated moment, then stormed into the dimly lit room. "What the hell is going on?" I demanded. Leamus started the spin control in immediately. "I apologize for our methods." Skinner knew me well enough to realize that answer wouldn't cut it, and he followed up quickly. "They may well have saved Agent Mulder's life." Fuck Mulder already, I thought bitterly, but managed a slightly more appropriate response. "What about *my* life? I don't appreciate being run off the road!" "We had our reasons," Leamus said. I felt a stab of hatred for the mousy man and threw him a scathing glare. Skinner's voice pulled my attention back to him. "You're suspicious Agent Mulder has betrayed his country." "I don't know what you're talking about," I said, shuddering internally at my recitation of Mulder's statement that morning. I refused to play into this little drama--not until someone gave me an actual explanation. Leamus spoke again in his mousy way. "Your discretion is understandable. In point of fact, Agent Mulder's actions are entirely honorable." I bit back a snort. Fat lot they knew. "What you've stumbled into is a classified action, a deep cover assignment." Skinner elaborated. "Until now, Agent Mulder's true mission was known only to the U.S. Attorney and myself." "His true mission?" I pressed skeptically. "The council we sat in was a front to make the New Spartans believe we were unaware of Agent Mulder's complicity," Skinner explained, and suddenly the last few days started to make sense. "Why him? Why choose Agent Mulder?" "We didn't choose him," Skinner said. "They did." Leamus chimed in again, explaining that Mulder'd been contacted after speaking at that UFO convention in Boston. I moved to sit in the chair next to Skinner as Leamus continued, and I remembered the headline on the paper Mulder had brought back with him, and the viscous doodles he'd made on his own picture. Apparently, Leamus said, someone was listening to his rant about the government and the military and their evil plans for the American people. Haley'd contacted Mulder last week, to see if they could use him and his position to further their cause. "To what aim?" I asked, when he'd finished. I had been piecing our own timeline together throughout the discussion, and suddenly I understood Mulder's odd behavior last week--his sudden distance, his midnight visit, his desperate lovemaking. I didn't like it any better, but I understood. "That we don't know," Skinner admitted. "You've put Agent Mulder's life in danger by not telling me." I directed my accusation at Skinner. "Agent Mulder came to me," he replied, nonplussed. "I advised him not to tell you. He's at a very delicate point. Everything he does now must work to build trust." Monday, I realized as he spoke. Monday was the day I'd asked for space, the day I'd found Mulder locked in the office on the phone with Skinner. He'd sulked past me on his way to get chewed out, telling me I didn't need to be involved. God, if I'd just kept my mouth shut that morning... Again I pushed my personal concerns down, instead focussing my frustration and fear for Mulder's safety at the two men who'd guided him into this mess, peripherally dragging me along with him. The conversation, though, was cut short by the terrible news that my fears about the New Spartans had been realized. They'd done it again. Skinner sent me home, escorted by one of the MIBs that had been sicced on me earlier since my car was still parked on the side of a Delaware highway. I changed my clothes and was ready to go when Skinner arrived to drive us to the airport. We caught a crack-of- dawn flight to Ohio to take a first-hand look at the bioweapon's latest victims. After arranging to have samples and bodies and every last particle of dust in the damn theatre shipped back to D.C. for analysis, we caught the fall-of-twilight flight home. On the drive from the airport, I offered to oversee the labwork, but Skinner picked up on my real focus. "Go get some rest, Agent Scully," he said brusquely. He must have heard the snort I tried to cover with a cough. His voice lowered into the near-growl that someone who didn't know him might interpret as aggressive. I've heard it often enough to identify the gruff edge as protectiveness, though. "They're not going to kill Mulder. They haven't gotten anything from him yet." I nodded shallowly, hoping that he was right, that the New Spartans wanted to use Mulder for something more than another test subject. We drove in silence for several miles, and when Skinner edged the car into an illegal parking space in front of my building, he squinted across the seat at me. "When he does show up, you make sure he's okay and then you send him to me, understood? We need to resolve this situation." I nodded and got out of the car without saying anything else. As I watched him pull away, I saw that my own car had been returned during my absence. My mouth twisted into a smirk and I snorted in disbelief when I realized that the tank was full and the car had been washed and detailed. Never again will I underestimate Skinner's resources, I swore as I pulled into traffic. ========================= And so here I was. For the first time in a week, I was as informed as I could be, and there was nothing for me to do but sit and think and wait through the night for Mulder, hoping that he was going to come home in one piece. His apartment was cold and stale smelling. I sat on the couch in the dark, trench coat wrapped around me against the chill. I dozed a little, and tried to sorted through the mess inside me as best I could, which wasn't very well at all. I was still too hurt and confused to think objectively about it, I knew, so I concentrated on the parts I could deal with--namely the toxin I'd just seen for a second time. I heard Mulder's steps, heavy and uneven, approaching his door in time to get to my feet and move out of the green light of the fish tank. He swung around the door and bolted it, and the rush of relief I felt at seeing him intact was replaced by concern as I saw him lift his left hand up and examine it with a pained frown. He dropped his keys and gingerly turned his hand to get a better look. "Don't be alarmed," I said, and he started violently as I stepped out of the shadows. Mulder ran his right hand over his face, blocking my view of his eyes. "Scully, get out of here," he ordered in a weary voice. "Mulder..." He tossed his head at the door in a frustrated, angry motion and yelled at me. "Get out of here!" I kept my voice as calm as I could. "I know what you're doing," I assured him. "Skinner told me everything." I took three steps toward him, and he looked blankly at me, eyes flitting down to the floor then back up. "I don't know what you're talking about." I'd vowed earlier that I'd lay him flat if I heard that from him again, but I reneged, keeping my cool. Without breaking his gaze or even acknowledging his dodge, I asked, "What happened to your hand?" "Nothing," he lied clumsily. He grimaced and flinched when I carefully picked up his hand and took my first good look, but he didn't pull away. The little finger was obviously broken. Blotchy and purple, the skin was stretched tightly over the swollen tissue, and his pinky jutted away from his other fingers at an ugly, awkward angle. "Oh, Mulder. What did they do to you?" I breathed, trying to determine the severity of the break. "God. This needs to be set. You're in pain." I laid a hand on his arm as I headed into the kitchen. "Yeah, if you keep pulling it around like that," I heard him grumble as I snatched up a dish towel. I gathered together some ice and bundled it up in the towel, then I went back into the other room. Mulder sat on his couch, eerily lit by the fish tank. "Let's get the swelling down," I said, sitting facing him on the coffee table. As gently as I could, I applied the ice pack to Mulder's tender hand. We sat quietly for a few moments. I wasn't sure where to start. There was so much damage control to be done, on so many levels. Remembering my emergency room rotation years before, I performed some mental triage and dove into the problem with the highest potential of fatality. I sighed, then started in. "They've killed again, Mulder. Fourteen people in a movie theatre in Ohio. The same toxin they released in the park." Mulder looked right at me for the first time in days, eyes locked on mine and intent, and I almost wept with relief that I could read him again. "Fourteen people?" he repeated. "That doesn't make sense." "Unless it was a test... for something bigger." I shifted the ice pack, resting his hand on top of it now to get at the underside of his finger. He winced and bit his lip. "Why do this to you, Mulder?" I asked, nodding down at his hand. "They're testing me, too," he said. Running his free hand tiredly over his eyes, he continued. "Haley's paranoid--and spooked. I was sure he was going to kill me." My chest constricted in retroactive fear. "What stopped him?" He shrugged. "They still need something from me. And I'm sensing there's someone Haley trusts even less--the man giving him his orders." I raised my eyebrows at him, urging him on. "Someone I haven't met yet. A guy named August Bremner." I nodded and moved the ice again, concentrating on the side of his hand now. "He wants me to give him our files on his group. That and transfer schedules for the Federal Reserve Banks." He shook his head in incredulity. "Jesus, Scully. How did I get into this mess?" I smiled feebly at him and reached for his good hand. "Here, hold the ice, Mulder," I said, laying his hand over the leaky towel. "I'm going to get my kit. I'll be back." Mulder grasped the ice pack and shifted the ice to the bottom of his hand again. He put it on his thigh, rested his hand on top of it, and leaned against the couch. His head dropped to the back of the sofa and his eyes drifted shut. I hurried to my car, grabbing my first aid kit from the trunk. Mulder hadn't moved when I got back. I got a glass of water from the kitchen and set it down on the coffee table. The clack of the glass against the wood stirred him. "How long since you've slept, Mulder?" I asked as he opened his eyes and sat up straight again. I handed him three Ibuprofen and the water. He rolled his eyes. "I caught a nice nap on the way back from wherever they took me," he said bitterly. "I'm serious, Mulder. You need some sleep." He popped the pills into his mouth and chased them down with the water. "I need a lot of things, Scully, but I don't have time for any of them." I checked his hand again, but the swelling hadn't gone down significantly. Shooting him a look that I hoped would show him I meant business, I went back into the kitchen with the soaked and leaking towel of ice and came out bearing one bag each frozen peas and corn. "Lie down," I urged. He scowled at me and shook his head. "I don't have time for this, Scully." "Enough, Mulder," I snapped. "Look, Skinner wants to see you, yes, but you're not going to be able to do anything in this condition." "I have to get those documents." "You are going to get some sleep, Mulder, and you are going to eat something. I'll tell Skinner you'll be there in a few hours. It's only ten o'clock. He'll have plenty of time to pull a plan together." Mulder's head tipped back and bumped against the back of the couch again. "God, I stink. I need a shower." I took this as acquiescence and scooted out to the very edge of the couch. "Rest first, Mulder." Turning, I eased him down onto the leather cushions, positioning him on his right side, head pillowed on his bent arm. I arranged his left arm so his hand was elevated and supported on his hip. Lifting carefully from the wrist, I laid his hand on the bag of peas, then draped the corn over the top. "I'll be right here." I stood up and was sidestepping to get out from between the table and the couch when said my name, voice clear and open. I turned back and knelt in front of him. "I'm sorry, Scully," he said softly. "I'm so sorry." The conflicting mess I'd been icing over for days stirred within me-- anger, hurt, relief, pity, resentment, love, betrayal--and my eyes stung with it. Not now, I thought. I can't do this now. One thing at a time. I sighed deeply and leaned forward, pressing a kiss onto Mulder's creased forehead. "Sshh," I murmured, very aware of echoing our last late-night conversation. "Shh. We'll talk about it later." ============================== I woke him three hours later, forced a can of soup into him despite his groggy protests, and when he'd finished, I checked his hand again. The anti-inflamatory combined with the cold had brought the swelling down to a managable level. I rummaged through the first aid kit, which I'd learned early on to stock with a wide variety of emergency items, and came up with a splint and some tape. "Give me your hand," I prompted. "This is going to hurt. I'm sorry." I palpated his finger as gently as I could. It was a clean break, fortunately, and I was sure I could set it properly. Mulder had been right earlier--we didn't have time for a trip to the hospital. I looked up at Mulder and he nodded, mouth drawn tightly over his teeth. I gave a small tug, and the bones popped into alignment. A squeaking whimper slipped out between Mulder's clenched teeth, and I laid my hand on his clammy cheek for a second. "There. I just have to splint it now." When I'd finished taping the splint around his finger, I moved to the couch, settling in on his right side so there was no risk of bumping his hand. "How're you feeling?" "Ripe," he resonded, wrinkling his nose. "I gotta get a shower, Scully." I looked at his hand and realized our mistake. "We did this in the wrong order, Mulder. You shouldn't get that finger wet. How 'bout a bath?" Mulder cocked an eyebrow at me and said predictably, "You gonna join me, Scully?" I didn't feel like flirting. "Come on. I'll help you get undressed." In the bathroom, I started the water and then turned my attention to Mulder. We wriggled him out of his jacket, shirt, and pants, but when he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and leaned over to push them down, I turned my back abruptly, desperately wanting out of the room. I felt his hand on my shoulder, pulling me to turn back to him, which I did, reluctantly. "What is it?" he asked, and I was relieved to see that he'd left his underwear on. "I don't know. This just feels wrong," I answered lamely. "It's okay. Here, turn back around." I did, and after the slide of fabric, I heard the water slosh as he stepped into the tub and sat down. "All clear," he said, and I heard a small smile in his voice. "Give me a hand, will you?" Taking a breath of the warm, wet air, I turned back to face him. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and he was fumbling with a bar of soap. I took the soap from him, wet a washcloth, and scrubbed the soap against it, working up a thick lather. "Lift," I said, all business. Mulder raised his arm and let me scrub it wrist to armpit, then he twisted toward me so I could get the other arm. I circled quickly across his chest, staying well above his stomach, then moved a bit to get at his back. I stood and swiped the cup from off his counter, then filled it with bath water. "Close your eyes," I said and wet his hair. Shampoo, rubbed thickly into his hair and scalp, dripped lines of suds down his body. I doused his hair with clean water from the faucet, then rinsed out the washcloth, resoaped it, and handed it to Mulder. "Here, you can do your face." He washed his face and neck and dropped the cloth so he could rinse, splashing water from the faucet onto his scrubbed-pink face. Hygiene serviced, Mulder sighed, eyes closed. I shut off the water and stood up and leaned against the counter, shuddering when he reached his right hand out to me, as he had in my nightmare. I dismissed the feelings of dread as irrational and knelt beside the tub again, taking his hand and watching his face closely as he leaned back and stretched his legs out as far as the tub would allow. "Com'ere," he mumbled, and slid his hand up my arm, pulling me up over his face. His damp fingers tangled in my hair, and water dripped off his elbow onto my back as he drew my head down. "I missed you," he husked against my cheek. "I wanted to talk to you so much, to hold you..." And then his wet, slick mouth was sliding under mine, his tongue darting over my lips and then between them. I strained back against his hand, but he hummed into my mouth and held me to him firmly. "Mmmmph. Stop it." I mumbled around his lips. "I don't want to stop, Scully. Please, I need you." I pulled my head out of his grasp and covered my face. "I can't do this now," I insisted, voice shaking. Then I lifted my head to look at him again. "Please. It's too much." He slumped back into the tub. "It's ruined, isn't it?" "I don't know, Mulder," I said, meeting his intense green gaze. We sat in silence for almost a minute, then I asked the inevitable question. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you lie?" "God, it's so mixed up, Scully," he sighed. He ran his good hand up through his wet hair, then down over his face and then fixed his gaze on the ceiling as he continued. "Everything was so weird between us that day, and after you left I went out to get some air and try to figure some stuff out, and that was when this guy--one of Haley's goons--approached me. He didn't spell it all out for me, but I got the gist. When I got back to the office, you were still gone. I called Skinner, and he told me to keep it quiet. Before I even knew what was really going on, Skinner and Leamus had decided that this was the way to get at these guys. I wanted to tell you, Scully, I swear I did. But by the time you got back, it was too late." "You went to meet Haley that night, right? That's why you rushed me off the phone." He nodded. "I was waiting for Haley's guy to call me to set up the meeting." "And when you came to my apartment in the middle of the night?" His voice took on a pleading note. "I had to see you, Scully. And Friday. God, I just needed to be with you, to feel us together and know that you were still here and that we were all right. " I felt my face tighten and looked away from him. "How could we possibly be all right, Mulder?" I asked incredulously. "How, when you were--were fucking me to keep me from catching on?" He splashed loudly, and I felt warm water slosh over my legs, then his hand on the side of my head. "You can't believe that, Scully." I pushed his hand away and felt my eyes threaten to overflow. "Can't I?" God, I didn't want to cry in front of him, but it was too late. "I trusted you. I trusted you with everything, and you lied to me. While you were making love to me!" I lifted my head again. He looked stricken, sick to his stomach. "Jesus, Scully. You think I wanted this? You think I asked for this to happen?" Mulder's voice was suddenly hard and loud, and it bounced around the room. "I never wanted to lie to you. But I didn't have a choice, Scully. If you talked to Skinner, then you know that." As I struggled for control, I heard Mulder shift in the tub. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but still strained. "I never wanted to hurt you, Scully. I just wanted to make this all go away as quickly as possible. And that night, when I was finally able to see you again, all I wanted to do was to wrap myself up inside you and feel something sweet and clean and good again." I shook my head through my tears. "You should have found a way, Mulder. You should have told me." He made a frustrated noise that was almost a growl. "God! Skinner *ordered* me!" "Since when do you pay attention to orders?" I spat, angry at his tone. "People are dying here, Scully! This is not just about you, or me, or us. Don't you see that?" I didn't have a response to that. He was right. I'd lost sight of it in the whirlpool of ugliness that was drowning me. I pushed myself to my feet, legs aching from kneeling on the tile floor for so long. "Get dressed, Mulder," I said numbly, running a hand across my face to wipe away my tears. "Skinner's waiting for you." I turned for the door. "Don't you walk out on this, Scully. We're not done yet." "Get dressed," I repeated as I walked, zombie-like, from the room. "I'll be out here." I stood in the darkened hallway for a moment after I closed the bathroom door behind me, trying to breathe, trying to get some sense of perspective back. I was suddenly exhausted, and moved, feeling like I was wading through Jell-o, back to the couch. I sank onto the leather cushions and laid my head on my arms, folded across my knees. I heard the water run in the sink for a few minutes, and then Mulder's noises moved into the other room, where I heard him rummaging around, slamming doors and drawers and generally sounding pissed off. The banging lessened gradually, and had stopped completely by the time I heard him scuff back into the room. I didn't look up when he approached me, though I could feel the weight of his attention on me. Finally, he eased down next to me, and I had to sit up to keep from rolling into him when his weight tilted my seat. "I don't want to fight with you tonight, Scully," he said evenly, studying the tape on his new splint. "I don't want to fight with you at all." My throat was still clenching involuntarily, so I just nodded, not trusting my voice. "I know that I hurt you." His hand brushed over my cheek. "And I never wanted to do that. I want to try to fix it somehow. But we can't do it right now, okay? We have to get through the the next couple of days and stop these men from killing more people. Then we can go back and try to fix things between us." I nodded again, and Mulder slipped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me to him so that my face was pressed against the cool, smooth leather of his jacket. His other hand stroked my hair, my face. "Promise me you'll stick with me though this, Scully," he said against my forehead. "Don't make any decisions until we can talk about this for real." "I promise," I said, moving my hand up to the side of his face. He'd shaved, I noticed as I ran my fingers over his warm skin. He leaned in further, and I thought he was going to kiss me again. Instead, he pressed our cheeks together, breath rushing over my ear. We stayed like this for several minutes, until I spoke. "You promise me you'll be careful." He nodded against my face, then pulled back. "I should go. You talk to Skinner?" "Yeah. He's waiting for your call." Mulder clasped my hand and brought it swiftly to his mouth, pressing a quick kiss into my palm, then laying my hand back in my lap as he stood up. "Okay, then. I'll call him on my way." He moved out of the room, picking his keys up as he passed the table near the door. I got off the couch and trailed after him. "Be careful, Mulder," I urged again. He flashed me a wry but toothy smile and nodded. "I'll talk to you soon." And then he was gone. =============================== To be continued... If you made it this far, drop a line and let me know what you thought! cynthiadouglas@worldnet.att.net Thanks!