Title: No More Demons, The Collector's Edition Author: Penny Daza E-MAIL: xfile@skyinet.net Rating: NC-17 and I mean it. Boy do I EVER mean it. DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, The X-Files and all its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Network. We are NOT making any money out of this experience. In summary, no copyright infringement is intended. These characters I've written about also belong to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, who gave them life, who gave them soul and gave me enough inspiration to keep going. And if you're reading this part, I'm surprised I haven't bored you enough to run away. Classification: S, A, minor X-File Spoilers: Small mentions from various episodes. Timeline: Cancer arc, before Scully's cure; and before the discovery of her infertility Summary : Mulder and Scully find a way to keep the nightmares away. ARCHIVE anywhere. Permission first, please. Retain author's e-mail and disclaimer. AUTHOR'S NOTES: I wrote this story more than a year ago, my first ever fan fiction. Throughout the months, I wrote several more stories but always came back to this one, my first child, my favorite. For some reason, adding to this story was a guaranteed way of relieving writer's block, so it grew and grew and grew. For something that started out as 23 pages and grew to more than 50, I guess you could say I had enough writer's block to make the Starr Report look like a haiku. When I first posted this on the X-Files Mailing List, I was asked a number of times where I got the idea to have Mulder and Scully sleep together, without any sex involved, as a way to combat their nightmares and demons had come from. I found that the answer to that lay in the arms of who I dedicate this story to below. I know the poem below is pretty long, and you could skip through it if you'd like. However, it remains one of my favorites, and very apt for the story. This is dedicated to Michael, who is proof undeniable I have found my soulmate. xxxxxxxxxxx TONIGHT I CAN WRITE By Pablo Neruda Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, 'the night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.' The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing, my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight cries to find her as though to bring her closer. my heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same. I no longer lover her, that's certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses. Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer lover her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Through this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her. _________________________________ Special Agent Fox Mulder's Apartment 2 AM _________________________________ The afghan was soaked with sweat. So was the sofa. As Mulder writhed in his sleep, throw pillows flew to the floor or over the backrest. His head shook from side to side, his feet kicking as he battled with invisible monsters or aliens, depending on how well you knew him. Had it not been for his foot making contact and overturning his coffee table, the nightmare would have continued long into the night. The crash that jolted him back to consciousness was the best thing that could have happened. Slowly, Mulder sat up, burying his face in his hands, as he did thousands of times before after his episodes. He forced his mind to clear, pushing the visions out of his head, taking deep breaths as he stood to wash his face. He winced as he saw his shirt soaked in sweat, his tie rumpled almost as badly as his slacks. With a ragged and resigned sigh, he headed for the bathroom, stripping his clothes away, leaving a trail behind him as he reached the sink. Clad only in his boxers, he stooped, opened the fixtures and let the water run through his fingers before splashing his face, arms and chest several times, commanding his heated body to cool down. Mulder looked at his reflection, the expression on his face stoic and hardened. There was nothing funny about his nightmares, nothing to look forward to at night when he closed his eyes. Fairy tales were non-existent in his subconscious mind. He dried himself with a towel and headed for the kitchen, deciding that another attempt at sleep would only waste his time and senility. He was sick of his dreams, just plain sick of them. The images were different, but the euphemisms of images always amounted to the same interpretations. Samantha being abducted, Samantha being tortured, Samantha being dissected and probed. And most recently, Scully had been added to the roster. Just when he thought his repose couldn't get any worse, they did. The very night Scully had told him, Mulder woke up screaming and crying at the heavens because his partner had cancer. The nights that followed only got worse. After every nosebleed, after every little pant, after every look into her eyes, he would assume it was because of the malignancy growing inside her. Because of him and his selfish quest. Slowly he walked out of the bathroom, not noticing his apartment was stifling from the heat his body had given off during his nightmare. He opened his fridge and retrieved a pitcher of iced tea inside, a small smile managing to find itself playing on his lips. It was Scully who had mixed it for him just the other day. She'd come over to finish up some paperwork with him, and was dismayed at the contents of his refrigerator. A single can of Diet Coke, some junk food and a burger that was more green than any other color. "What happens when you drink the Coke, Mulder? You planning to drink from the tap? Remember the last time that happened?" she asked. His only response was a shrug of his shoulders as he continued to flip through the files in his hands, unaware she had started boiling some water and washing out a pitcher from his dusty cupboards. She mixed a pitcher of iced tea, plunked some ice cubes into a glass and served him, telling him there was more in the fridge if he wanted. Mulder had taken the glass from her, surprised at his partner's thoughtfulness, but said nothing, afraid a wisecrack would irk her. It was just what he needed to relax a little bit, as he raised the pitcher to his lips and drank gratefully. The single thought raised a multitude of other questions in Mulder's head, because it wasn't just the iced tea. Mulder sat himself on the sofa, pitcher of iced tea still in hand, as he mulled his recent thoughts over and over. He was really too cerebral for his own good, but his late night ruminations kept him from yearning for sleep. he asked himself. An angry voice in his head shouted and Mulder squeezed his eyes shut as his photographic memory chose that same instant to give him glimpses of all that he had put his partner through. Duane Barry. Donnie Pfaster. Melissa's funeral. Modell. Nosebleeds. Cancer treatment. Leonard Betts. Tears started flowing freely even as he fought them back. The self-imposed sermon continued even as another part of his consciousness slowly started thinking as well. Of how lonely he was, of how lonely Scully was because of him. No social life, no time to look for a man and have kids with. He knew Scully wanted a family, and being in such close proximity with her, a doctor, he was well aware of how much time she would have left to be able to bear children. Although he couldn't help her in that department, maybe he and Scully could ease a little of the loneliness away. He dressed mechanically. Jeans, T-shirt, socks, hiking boots. Watch. Cellphone. Wallet. Gun. Car keys. And another set of keys he tucked into his pocket. He drove to Scully's apartment at 3:05 AM, half-wishing to see a car parked beside hers signaling she had company, but the relief he felt when there was none was just as blissful as the time she had hurled herself into his arms half-naked so long ago, or the moments she chose to hold his hand to comfort him. He got out, still somewhat dazed, not really thinking straight, just allowing his body to move trance-like without an argument from his analytical brain. He fished through his pockets, searching for the key marked "SCULLY" and opened the door to her apartment. Her bedroom light was still on. Silently making his way to her room, he paused at the door, softly knocking on it. When there was no response, he opened it a crack and poked his head inside. She was lying down in bed, eyes closed, an X-File on her chest, glasses dangling precariously from her fingers over the bed. He gently took them from her hand, eliciting a soft snuffle, and placed them on her bedside table. He carefully raised her arm a bit, removing the files which joined her glasses. He stared at her for long moments, loving the way her hair spilled across the white sheets, how her skin was aglow even in sleep, devoid of any make-up. He could smell her bath gel and shampoo, and he luxuriated in it, as his mind relaxed at the familiar and womanly scent of her. He found it comforting. He stared at her sleeping figure for a few moments, unable to decide if he should wake her up now, or just get into bed beside her. He was fast slipping into dangerous territory, never having done anything like this since their partnership four years ago. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he removed his hiking boots and lay on his side, observing her a long time, before extending an arm to shut the bedside lamp. She roused a little as his weight sank the mattress. "Scully," he whispered. "It's just me." "Mulder? What's wrong?" she asked, her voice already concerned but still half-asleep. "Nothing," he assured her. "I just got lonely at my apartment. Do you mind if I stay here?" Under more normal circumstances, Scully would have gotten up, took some sheets out and made the sofa for him. He often slept over at her apartment, and Mulder knew the drill by heart. But tonight, something about his voice, and most probably because she was only half-awake, made her reach behind to seek out his arm and place it around her while she muttered, "Course not, Mulder. G'night." Mulder had to scoot closer to her as she pulled his arm to surround her. His sigh of relief she hadn't thrown him out of bed was so loud he thought for sure she'd wake up again, but didn't. This new turn of events was unexpected, but in Mulder's state of mind, greatly welcomed. He was baffled at what had just happened - Scully wasn't the type to allow this kind of close physical proximity. It was too intimate and she was the consummate professional. He was the more tactile one; she chose to touch him only when absolutely necessary. When, perhaps, she felt he needed a reassuring hug, or the brush of her hand to tell him they were going to be okay. These are the moments that I live for, he thought. He buried his face into her hair and inhaled deeply, and was incredibly touched when she moved backward to get closer to him. His arm tightened around her as a tear fell from his eye. For the first time since he was 12 years old, Fox Mulder's dreams were devoid of nightmares. At 6 AM sharp, Scully's consciousness burrowed itself out of sleep. She felt more refreshed than usual for some reason, and a little voice inside her said, "Scully?" but it wasn't her voice. It was Mulder's. Then the little voice said, "Nothing. I just got lonely at my apartment. Do you mind if I stay here?" and last night's surprise visit from her partner became clearer. It was then that she realized she was lying on his chest, his arm around her shoulders, one of her legs sprawled over his. Her left arm was snaked under his shirt, laying warmly between his pectoral muscles. Her face was tucked into the crook of his neck. She could feel his warm and steady breath gently ruffle her hair. She tried to estimate what time he'd come to her apartment, putting it around the vicinity of maybe 4 AM. One of the last things she remembered was looking at her clock at 3:30, before she fell asleep a few minutes later. Some time after that, she had felt the mattress sag underneath Mulder's weight, and his quiet request to share her bed. Had Mulder and Scully not been partners for five years, risked each other's life for the other, seen each other at their physical and emotional worst or spent long hours talking about life and consciousness, nothing would have stopped Scully from jumping out of bed and rebuking Mulder for his unprofessional behavior. But they HAD been partners for five years. And they HAD been through all of that. A realization dawned on Scully at that moment. Mulder had slept 2 full hours without waking up from a nightmare. She was a fairly light sleeper, more so when it came to her partner's sleeping habits, especially because it was her self-imposed duty to gently rouse him or talk to him soothingly on the occasions she was witness to his nightmares. It had been difficult at first, getting used to waking up in the middle of the night after an exhausting day on the field in some cheap motel room to the moans and sounds of thrashing next door. Gradually, she learned what to do. The first time it had ever happened, she had tried to wake him up forcefully, but that had only resulted in more violent reactions. So the next time she had walked into his room during a nightmare, she sat by the bed and rubbed his back gently, cooing like a mother to her son that things were alright, it was just a nightmare and nothing would hurt him because she was there. She remembered the first time. Mulder had almost instantly calmed down. She had whispered to him, "It's me, Mulder, it's Scully. Calm down, you're okay. We're okay. I'm here." The rapid movement of his eyes under his eyelids slowed suddenly, and his clenched fists relaxed. The ragged breaths he was inhaling and exhaling slowed as well, and he settled down for the rest of the night. For years it was a routine she learned to do well. Sometimes, a subtle telepathic bond would wake her up even before Mulder started moaning, and she would already be at his bedside before his first cry of help. A turning point in their relationship came shortly after she had been diagnosed with her cancer. It was the very first time he had called out her name instead of Samantha's, and it frightened her so badly she almost wept with him. She had stayed with him for a few hours before returning to her bed. Before he woke up, and saw that she too, was afraid. One of them had to be strong for the other. He refused to take any of the mild sleeping pills she carried around with her, insisting it would only worsen his nightmares. She learned to stop asking after offering them to him twice. Sometimes, he would wake up and apologize profusely for having disturbed her, and she would always smile at him and tell him it was okay. But most of the time he didn't, and was never the wiser the next day. Scully never told him, and Mulder never asked. They just had that kind of relationship. She wondered why she barely remembered him coming into her room last night, and lying down beside her. Exhaustion from their current case was the most likely contributor, and it was a blessing in disguise that she didn't. If all her faculties had been with her, she and Mulder would have surely missed out on this heavenly experience, because Special Agent Dana Scully wasn't one to let a man who wasn't her lover or husband share her bed. This morning was a rare moment. It would probably also be one of the last for a long, long time. She could have told herself it was because of her strength and warmth that Mulder was sleeping so peacefully, but didn't. Practical and logical Scully would never have allowed that. Instead, she chalked it up to coincidence that Mulder happened to decide he wanted a slumber party on the single solitary night the demons in his mind decided to give him a break. She tried to extricate herself from his grasp without waking him with no success. His grip around her shoulders tightened, and he mumbled semi-vehement protests. Scully sighed and gave it up. It was a Saturday morning, she didn't have anywhere to go, neither did Mulder. The earliest appointment she had was to meet her mother for some coffee at 2:30 at a nearby cafe, and there wasn't a chance in the world she was going to sleep that long. Instead, she chose to relish this quiet time she had with Mulder. How he had sounded last night, like a lost boy. He must have had the nightmare of all nightmares last night, she thought. He usually called to talk about it, but something prompted him to come over instead and ask for some of her security. She remembered vaguely how he had spooned himself around her, and how he folded his arms around her, afraid she would leave him. She realized her fingers were toying absently with his chest hair, and she quickly pulled them away. That was just a little TOO intimate, she decided. But still, she wanted him to make the most of this rare occasion, so after soothing down his shirt, she lay her hand over it and caressed him reassuringly again. She smiled as he murmured, "Are you cold, Scully?" She responded by nodding her head, and was surprised when he reached over her and pulled the blankets higher, to just under her chin. He tucked her prone figure closer to his, sharing more of his body warmth with her. "Better?" he asked. MUCH, she thought. She snuggled closer to him, and was pleased to see his smiling and sleepy reaction, happy he'd been of service. Studying his face, Scully noted just how physically attractive Mulder was. That jaw...those long lashes...those eyes...his soft hair. Everything was attractive about him, and what was more attractive was that he didn't give a damn. But if anyone ever asked Dana Scully if she thought her partner was cute, she would most likely answer something along the lines of "I guess," because like most good things in life, one would start taking for granted what one saw or had on a regular basis. She was no fool she knew that men stared at her, and she knew that women stared at Mulder. Hell, even she stared at Mulder occasionally. She took comfort in telling herself it was payback, for all the times she caught Mulder's gaze arrogantly sizing up her legs, chest, arms, and... well, Mulder pretty much stared at everything. And there were times Scully thought that maybe, she was just imagining things, but it seemed that Mulder WANTED other people to see the way he looked at her. A visit with the Bureau's psychologist once had been very enlightening. It was just a routine check-up to see how partners were doing, and as usual, Mulder had made one excuse or another not to see her. But Scully had, and Dr. Lambros had remarked how Agent Mulder was "quite territorial when it comes to you, Agent Scully." And of course, her curiosity piqued, she asked in what sense. The good doctor shrugged, lackadaisically replied it was quite obvious. She had often observed both her and Agent Mulder on several occasions in scattered locations over the building. His body language was the most obvious. The little touches on the small of her back, an arm around her shoulder, bending his head a little lower than necessary when she was speaking to him, and the way his shoulder purposefully bumped gently against hers when they were sitting side by side. Dr. Lambros had asked her if this bothered her, and Scully truthfully answered no. "Agent Mulder is very adamant about his personal space, Agent Scully. Have you noticed that much?" she asked. Scully nodded. If someone Mulder was speaking to moved in a little too close, Mulder always took a step back. If someone tried to touch him, he would flinch almost imperceptibly. When he moved through a crowd, his stride elongated, as though anxious to get it all over and done with sooner than later. "But he likes treading into yours, and doesn't become defensive when you step into his." "That's only because we've been partners for so long, Doctor," Scully replied, with little conviction in her voice. The shrink tapped her pencil on her desk vigorously. "And I've heard through various sources that Agent Mulder does not allow EMTs to touch him if you're around." "I AM his doctor." "Quite possibly," she conceded. "And I'd like to tell you I'm actually quite relieved. Given Agent Mulder's background, I had doubts he would ever allow anyone into his personal space." The pen dribbling stopped. "And touch, Agent Scully, as I'm sure you well know, is imperative to all human beings." she thought, before nodding off back to sleep on Mulder's chest. Special Agent Dana Scully's Apartment 2:03 PM Mulder woke up with a very unfamiliar feeling all over his body. He was totally relaxed, refreshed and at peace. He had forgotten that what he was feeling was what normal people all over the world felt after a good night's sleep. Even more unfamiliar however, was the soft, white and warm body curled around him. It was his partner, Dana Scully. They were both fully dressed, he in his jeans, T-shirt and socks. Scully in her pajama top and bottom, but it was undoubtedly the most erotic sight Mulder ever had the pleasure of waking up to. Her hand was on his shirt, her face tucked into his neck, breathing steadily and deeply. He was still surprised about early this morning. She had let him into her bed without a single qualm, when the Scully he had known for the last several years would never would have allowed that. She never protested when he invaded her personal space, which he took a profound pleasure in doing, but he sensed that there were many times she rathered he didn't. People liked talking, and they liked making their own assumptions about the most innocent of things. Of course, he conveniently turned on his dense mode and invaded away. Others would have accused him of staking out his territory, letting the other males in the pack know that he was alpha leader, and he had chosen his mate. Scully was hands-off. He didn't mean for it to look that way, he told himself. But if that was the impression some people got, he sure as hell was going to make the most out of it. He raised his arm without waking her to check his watch. It was past 2 PM. <10 hours...I can't believe I actually slept 10 whole hours.> He was still shaking his head in amazement when Scully woke up, looked into his face and smiled lazily. "G'morning, Mulder." Her eyes closed again as she settled back down into his neck. "Actually Scully, it's 2 PM." He felt her tense right before bolting into a sitting position. But her hand, being where it was under Mulder's shirt, practically pulled him up right behind her. He gave a yelp as he sat up too, afraid he'd have to go home shirtless if she ripped this one. "MY MOTHER!!" she yelled. "What about your mother?" he asked, voice still husky. "I have half an hour to meet her!" Scully jumped out of bed and leapt into the bathroom, leaving Mulder in bed, sheets around his waist, scratching lazily at his hair when his toilet kit came hurtling out, to hit him smack on the head. "OW!" "Shave and brush your teeth in the kitchen, Mulder. You're coming with me!" Mulder wanted to ask her what the big deal was. It was half an hour, and if he knew his partner and Mrs. Scully as much as he liked giving himself credit for, they'd be meeting for coffee at the nearby mall, only 5 minutes away. Half an hour was a lot of time, he wanted to tell Scully, but decided against it, thinking the least he could do for last night was be extra nice to her today. He padded to the kitchen, then took his shirt off not wanting it to get wet in the process of shaving and brushing. Toilet kit in hand, he placed it beside the sink. He took out the razor and shaving cream, and paid extra attention to his stubble, wanting his jaw extra smooth today for Scully and Mrs. Scully. He knew why Scully wanted him there. If she was late, she'd use him as a buffer, because Mulder knew that Scully knew that Mrs. Scully had a soft spot for him. Her eyes always lit up when she saw him, and he noticed they'd sparkle like Christmas lights every time he demonstrated un-partnerlike behavior towards her daughter. Pulling out her chair for her, whispering into her hear, touching the small of her back. Exchanged looks of silent communication. They never failed to put lights into Mrs. Scully's eyes. God only knew how she could like him if he were in her place, he'd want him dead as a doornail. Her daughter would be much better off without him. He brushed his teeth next, humming softly to himself as he heard the sounds of Scully's shower going full blast. He chewed on his toothbrush as he rummaged around his toilet kit for the tiny bottle of Giorgio Armani he had bought specifically for the kit, after Mrs. Scully had given him the first smell of it from her Christmas gift to him. He washed his mouth out, wiping it with a nearby paper towel, and sprayed a little of the cologne on his neck, chest and stomach. He wet his hair a little, then took a small brush out, successfully taming his sleep-tousled hair, and walked to a nearby mirror to check himself out. Not bad, he thought. Mulder poked around the cloak room and found what he was looking for. An overnight bag he had left in Scully's car and had forgotten about. Inside was a gray t-shirt he frequently used when he went jogging, but it hadn't been used and didn't have any holes. Perfect, he thought, before changing into it. He checked himself again, amply satisfied his grooming was acceptable. Scully was only half-way through with her shower, mentally pulling out the clothes she would wear to meet with her mother when her thoughts drifted to Mulder. Last night was a revelation of sorts. Some good, some bad. The good thing was that although Mulder was very much a man, the fact he had not taken advantage of her sexually during the course of the night re-enforced Scully's hypothesis that Mulder and she had a silent agreement to keep their partnership at a professional level. In spite of all they had been through - the turbulent emotional wars, the psychological trials, the physical exertions there could be no room for sentimentality or romance. And she had spent years convincing herself that as an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and as Mulder's partner and his doctor, of just that. Her physical attraction to Mulder was strong. It had been from the first time she had ever laid eyes on him, even before venturing to the X-Files basement office. It had been at Quantico. Scully was on her way to class when she spotted Mulder; tall, handsome and intense, speaking with a teacher she later learned was his mentor. Mulder had been visiting the professor, just a few months after his graduation from the academy, to return some books he had borrowed. He stood out not only because of his good looks, but because some of the older students were talking about him. His brilliance, how he was the favored student in his batch, and how his instincts in criminal psychology were downright...spooky. Her friends from college always said she'd never find the man she wanted - good-looking and intellectual. You can never have both, they said. If you do, there's always something else wrong. Gay, too old, conceited, warped, serial killer... Scully thought. She tried picturing herself the way Mulder probably saw her. Independent, strong-willed. But was he attracted to her physically? She shook her head in disgust for thinking this way. In the four years she and him had worked together, the boundaries of professionalism were always strong and sure. Unquestionably, they loved each other. Cared for each other more deeply than most married couples. The first time she stepped foot into his office and actually SAW him and TOUCHED him, was like seeing and touching an enigma for the first time. A sharp rap on the door interrupted her thoughts. "Hey Scully," Mulder called. "It's 2:20." She grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her before bolting out the door, shooing Mulder out of her bedroom, but not before she saw the way his gaze traveled appreciatively over her body. He grinned before he shut the door to let her dress in peace. Scully slipped her underwear on, then pulled out a pair of jeans. She shoved her legs into them, while hopping towards her cabinet to pull out a white T-shirt. Slipping it over her head, her hands blindly felt their way around, looking for her hairbrush. That done, a little lipstick was applied before whooshing out the door to see Mulder on her sofa, playing with the remote as he watched TV. She passed the back of the sofa, grabbed his T-shirt by the neck and hauled him up. They made a dash for her car, Scully falling behind as Mulder opened the door for her. He grinned, as though knowing what she was thinking. He rounded the car and got into the driver's seat and drove off, still grinning at her reaction to his chivalry. The silence in the car after he stopped was not uncomfortable for Scully, although it was for Mulder, who was trying to determine what his partner's thoughts were on the previous night's occurrences. She didn't appear to be mad at him; her invitation to coffee with her mother proved as much. But he was positive she would find something to disapprove of. They arrived at the mall, Mulder smoothly pulling into the parking lot. He and Scully got out, and walked briskly to the cafe, where a very poised and collected Mrs. Scully sat, drinking coffee, a magazine in her lap. "Hi mom." Scully greeted, kissing her on the cheek. "Sorry we're late." Mrs. Scully looked up at her daughter. "We?" It was only then did she see Mulder, just as he was about to give her a kiss as well. "Hello, Mrs. Scully." Both Mulder and Scully noticed her mother's mouth break out into a grin as she reached up to touch Mulder's cheek. "Hello, Fox. Nice to see you. And you're wearing that cologne I gave you for Christmas, aren't you?" she asked. "I sure am Mrs. Scully." he grinned, pulling out a chair for her daughter, who was silently congratulating herself for bringing Mulder as a diversion. Margaret Scully's eyes narrowed on the couple. She was no fool. She knew, as only a mother would know, something had happened between her daughter and Fox last night. They both looked well-rested, and the usual dark circles under Fox's eyes were absent. They were also exchanging more silent looks between them than usual, and her eagle eye caught Fox's hand in the act of brushing along Dana's neck after she sat down. Her eyes twinkled in glee when she saw him reach out to grab a menu from a passing waiter and hand it to Dana. As Dana opened the menu, Fox leaned forward, then pulled his chair closer to Dana's. He read over her shoulder, his chin a mere inch from the curve of her shoulder and asked into her ear, "What're you having, Scully?" Dana turned her head to look at him, and didn't pull back at all in spite of Fox's closeness. "Something heavy, I guess. Not just coffee. We woke up pretty late, Mul - " Scully suddenly broke off, her eyes widening as she realized what she had let slip. An awkward silence filled the table, Mulder's eyes darting from mother to daughter, waiting for what Scully had just said to sink into Margaret's mind. He didn't have to wait very long. Margaret's eyes widened a teeny bit. "Did you sleep over at Fox's, Dana?" she asked sweetly. Mulder couldn't wait for Scully to try to get out of this one. "Um, no, mom. Mulder," she stammered. "Mulder... slept over at ummm.. my place." Margaret leaned back into her chair and eyed the couple before her. She hardly knew what to say, nothing was coming to mind. She looked at her daughter, who was looking at her menu with great interest, then at Fox. When his face broke out into the hugest grin she had ever seen in the several years that she had known him, Margaret Scully knew everything was going to work out perfectly. The rest of the afternoon, Mulder accompanied mother and daughter around the mall window-shopping and picking out little trinkets here and there. He acted almost like a dutiful son-in-law, carrying their bags for them, and opening doors. He had also picked up the bill from their coffee break, shushing Scully when she protested. But Margaret was on Mulder's side, telling her daughter, "Sweetheart, a man pays for a meal because he wants to. Don't give him any grief for it," so Scully shut her mouth. Mulder went through the routine willingly. He promised himself he would spend the whole day being as nice to Scully as he possibly could, refusing to listen to the persistent voice that prodded him to ask her about the latest case they were working on. I'm not going to let shoptalk ruin this day, he promised. Scully relishes this time she spends with her mother, and the last thing I want to do is take even that away from her. There was something gnawing at him, telling him he should be feeling uneasy with this whole situation. He was sure anyone who'd see him would assume he was Scully's boyfriend or husband, and that really didn't sit well with him. They were partners in the FBI granted closer than the average pair but that was all. Already he had to deal with all these issues of Scully's being stigmatized because of him. When Margaret and Dana walked into a lingerie shop however, Mulder decided it was going a little too far. He excused himself from the exercise, blushing a little bit, and settled himself on a bench right outside the shop. His feet were surrounded with shopping bags, and it was only then that he remembered he hated shopping malls. That's because you shop alone, Mulder, he told himself. Never with people you enjoy being with, and certainly never with Scully. Inside, Dana braced herself for the question she knew her mother was dying to ask. When Margaret perused a rack full of lingerie instead, Dana didn't think she could stand anymore. "Ask me already, mom!" Margaret Scully looked at her daughter curiously. "What about dear?" Dana was on the verge of throwing her hands up in the air. But instead, she stared at her mother trying to decipher whether or not she was genuinely wondering what she was talking about, or was baiting her for the sake of baiting her. "About what dear?" she repeated. "Never mind mom." Outside, Mulder was getting a tad impatient. A little girl whose mother was busy examining luggage on display had walked over to him, an ice cream cone in hand. Maybe four or five years old with her blond hair in pigtails, she thrust the melting mess at him asking, "Wan somma my ice kweam, mifter?" He had politely said no thanks, hoping she would go back to her mother. She sat down beside him instead, nearly crushing some of the packages of the Scully's before Mulder managed to scoop them out of the way. "Are you here wiff your famiwee, mifter?" she asked, licking first her ice cream, then the cone, then the trail on her wrist. "Err..no." "Then who're ya wiff?" "A friend. And her mother." "Honey?" "Excuse me?" "Is she your honey?" "What?" Mulder asked, completely lost and taken aback by the child's presumption. "That's what my daddy calls my mom. Honey. So is she your honey?" Mulder understood. The little girl was asking if Scully was his wife. "No, she's just a friend." He hoped that would be the end of that, but he was sadly mistaken. She inched her way nearer, gazing at him as though he was the first glimpse of masculinity she had ever seen in her life. It was then that Mulder decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. He stared right back at her, pushing his face closer to hers. Her eyes widened in surprise, but to Mulder's amazement, the little girl didn't go running back to her mother screaming. Instead, she stared right back, holding his gaze unwaveringly, ice cream momentarily forgotten, dripping to the floor. He gave her the same look he'd given the Stupendous Yappi out in the hallway after Yappi had told him how skeptics like himself made him sick. The little girl creased her eyebrows a little more, giving him a run for his money. When Scully and her mother emerged from the shop to find Mulder and his new friend in the stare down, both of them smiled in amusement. It amazed her that in the last fourteen hours, there were things about Mulder she was discovering that she never knew, or never noticed. She had seen him with children before, preferring to keep his distance. But they always responded to him positively whenever he made first contact. Children felt a bond towards Mulder, perhaps sensing the lost child in him. Others were intimidated by his demeanor, but others, like this blond little girl, were drawn to him nonetheless. "You blinked." Mulder suddenly said, a look of triumph on his face. "Oh izzat what we were pwaying?" she asked. He grinned and leaned back into the chair, and was startled to see he had an audience. Mrs. Scully and Dana smiled at the child, as she smiled back and scampered off to her mother who had finally taken notice her daughter was missing and was looking to her left and right, in the general vicinity of her knees. "I can't leave you for two minutes without getting picked up by some blond, can I, Mulder?" Scully asked. Mulder rose to his feet, gathering the packages. "It was just puppy love, Scully." The grin he tossed her made her heart do a very un-Scully like pitty-pat. "At least on my part." "Fox," Mrs. Scully said. "Come to dinner tonight at my house with Dana?" He hesitated for a split second, then caught himself just in time. "Sure, Mrs. Scully. What time do you want me over?" he asked. "Around 7:30 will be perfect." "I'll be there at 7:30 sharp then, Mrs. Scully." Dana smirked. "Don't count on it mom." Mulder tossed Scully a dirty look. She stuck her chin out at him, daring him silently to contradict her, her brain already recalling how many times and on what specific instances he was late for appointments. Margaret could only smile at the picture they made. Her tiny daughter, poised for battle against Fox's towering frame. She's not afraid of him, but he's not afraid of her either, she thought, and wondered what kind of arguments they had, and how they possibly decided who had won. Margaret and Dana had the occasional spat as mothers and daughters do. She had also heard Dana argue with her father, brothers and sister. She had spoken to Fox often enough to realize he was a man of superior intelligence. She figured if she ever eavesdropped on an argument between the two of them, she'd need a dictionary, encyclopedia and thesaurus in hand to keep up with them. Now, however, it was Fox who backed down. That much was obvious. His features visibly softened and he took a small step back while Dana tossed him a smirk. The banter was unusual for both of them, and Margaret was left to wonder exactly what had gone on the night before. After parking Mrs. Scully's half of the shopping bags in her car, the trio said their good-byes. Mrs. Scully wanted to go home with enough time for a nap before she started dinner, and Mulder needed a change of clothes. Mrs. Scully smiled knowingly but said nothing. Opening her car door for her, Mulder was surprised when Mrs. Scully opened her window, reached out and cupped his cheek. "You look wonderful when you've had a good night's sleep, Fox." And with that, she was off, leaving Mulder and Scully in the parking lot, watching her car disappear into traffic. Turning to the red-headed woman beside him, Mulder put his arm around her shoulder and hauled her to his side. His eyes shut for a moment, working up the courage to say what he needed her to know. "Thanks to you, Scully." Scully stared at her partner, his gesture completely taking her by surprise. It was not Mulder behavior, but then again, neither was last night. She put her arm around his waist and hugged him back. "You're welcome, Mulder. You know I'm always here for you." He pulled back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I'll be sure to remember that, Scully." After retrieving his car from Scully's house, Mulder headed back to his apartment. Suddenly, he wasn't afraid of going home to it anymore. It was still dark, it was still a pigsty, but he felt at peace with himself and the knowledge he was no longer lonely. And hadn't been for the last five years. Scully walked into her apartment, heading straight for the kitchen. Although she and Mulder had eaten a lot for their late lunch, her stomach demanded a little more nourishment. She caught a glimpse of Mulder's toilet kit, picturing what she would find. His razor, shaving cream, cologne and brush would be out, making a little mess beside her otherwise spotless kitchen sink. It seemed Mulder had a lot of surprises for Scully today. The toilet kit was zipped shut, no evidence of anything left on the counter, not even a little dollop of toothpaste in the sink. Scully smiled to herself. Even if Mulder could really be a pain in the ass sometimes - well, most of the time - what with his theories, self-centeredness and megalomaniacal nature, he could also be sweet and protective when he wanted to be. Like early this morning and this afternoon with her mother. Her mother. Yet another complicated piece of the puzzle. Margaret Scully never directly blamed Dana or her job for Melissa's death, but Scully knew the thought had crossed her mind. Nor could her mother blame Mulder, after she saw what Scully's 3-month disappearance did to him. She also knew her mother and Mulder saw each other several times during this bleak period in their lives and whether or not Mulder wanted to admit it, he had given someone else, besides Scully, a glimpse of his soul. Heck, he even let Mrs. Scully call him Fox, in spite of Scully's insistence she call him Mulder like everyone else. She took out a bag of pretzels, ripped the bag open and started munching, as she headed for the TV. Plopping herself down on the couch, she fumbled with the remote and flicked it on, channel surfing, hoping something would catch her attention. She grimaced as the infomercial of the Stupendous Yappi came on, remembering Queequeg and missed the little monster. She flipped through the channels again, finally giving up and decided to change her clothes then head for Mulder's instead. At least he has an extensive video collection, she thought. Even if a lot of them aren't really my taste. Mulder stepped out of the shower, toweling himself off. He'd decided to buy a cake and some wine before going over to Mrs. Scully's. It was only 5:30 PM, a lot of time of time on his hands to get there before 7:30. He was still bewildered at how well the day had been going. First, the incredible night he spent in Scully's bed, actually BESIDE her and holding her close. Then the very pleasant date he had with her and Mrs. Scully who seemed very open to her daughter spending a night with him, and finally, an invitation to dinner a home-cooked meal! at Mrs. Scully's home. If Mulder didn't know any better, he'd actually think he could classify himself as a normal man with a normal life. He pulled out a black pair of jeans, then a T-shirt before deciding it was too casual for dinner with Mrs. Scully even if was over at her house. He had just taken it off when the doorbell rang, sprinting to answer it, wanting to get rid of anyone who might distract him from getting to Mrs. Scully's on time. If it's Frohike, he thought, I'm shoving my video collection into his arms and telling him to amscray. He opened the door wide, surprised to see Scully there. "Wasn't I going to pick you up, Scully?" he asked. "I got bored at home, Mulder." She breezed past him, distinctly smelling his freshly-showered scent. "Am I hallucinating, or are you almost ready for dinner at my mother's?" Mulder followed her to his sofa, sitting beside her, ignoring that he was half-naked. Scully had seen him stark-raving naked before, albeit he was unconscious on each occasion. "Actually, I was planning to get out early to pick up a cake and some wine, Scully." Scully's eyes widened in mock amusement. "You're just full of surprises today, aren't you, Mulder?" "Yeah...me and Mighty Mouse." he deadpanned. "Let me finish dressing up, and we can go Scully. Help me pick out something your mom will like." He stood, heading for his bedroom. "Are we talking cake and wine or clothes, Mulder?" He turned and looked at her seductively. "Sure Scully...and you can pick my boxers out too." He caught the throw pillow she threw at him with ease, and sauntered away to change. Less than a minute later, he walked out buttoning a silk, long-sleeved white shirt. His hair was tamed to perfection once again, the faint smell of cologne trailing right behind him. Scully stood, eyeing him with approval as he opened the door for her. She inhaled deeply, but not obviously, luxuriating in his scent. Mulder always smelled clean for some reason, unlike other men. She wondered how he managed to do that. In the car, he asked her what kind of cake her mother liked. "Carrot cake. There's a little cake shop near her house she likes. It's got that homemade taste." "Okay. But what about the wine?" "You don't drink, Mulder. And mom will most likely have her own anyway." "I'm open to suggestions. Flowers?" "Mm-hm. There's a nice flower shop about two stalls down from the cake shop. Mom likes tulips." "Okay. Just give me directions." After paying for the cake, Mulder and Scully headed to the flower shop. He bought a dozen tulips, of all colors, even as Scully kept muttering 'overkill'. Mrs. Scully greeted them at the door, her arms around both of them. Mulder had to stoop low for Mrs. Scully to be able to reach for him, while she accepted their kisses. "Mulder bought you carrot cake and flowers, mom." "Oh how sweet of you, Fox." she said, taking the flowers from him. "You can put the cake in the fridge for the meantime." Mulder stood silently in the middle of the living room for a few seconds, his olfactory senses reeling in heavenly delight as the smells from the kitchen reached his nostrils. He couldn't recall the last time he had a home-made dinner. There was Christmas dinner with his mother, but a meal prepared by the old and stuffy maid didn't really qualify. He watched as Mrs. Scully walked into the kitchen, smiling to herself as she smelled the tulips he had given her. It felt good that she genuinely appreciated his gesture, and it wasn't just a front so as not to hurt his feelings. "Mulder? Help me set the table, will you?" "Sure, Scully." He obediently followed her into the kitchen, reaching for the plates she couldn't reach, and brought them to the table. She laid down the cutlery, and motioned him to get the glasses. That done, he and Scully checked on Margaret, who was just spooning some stew into a serving bowl which Mulder brought to the table too. Scully brought the salad and bread over, Margaret brought out a bottle of wine. Scully gave Mulder an I-told-you-so look. They were both surprised when she brought out a pitcher of iced tea. "I know you don't drink, Fox. Will iced tea be okay?" Mulder grinned. "It must be love." Scully laughed, all the more to see her mother's confused expression. "That's perfect, mom. Good thing it wasn't rootbeer." They sat down at the table, Margaret serving Fox some salad before her daughter, who had her hands full. Mulder felt like a kid surrounded by female grown-ups. One was dumping salad onto his plate, the other was filling up his glass with iced tea. He looked on helplessly as mother and daughter started updating each other about the other Scully siblings, while Margaret kept piling on the lettuce. He coughed a little bit, hoping that would do it. Margaret looked down at Mulder. "Oh Fox...is that too much for you?" "No, Mrs. Scully. It's just right." Scully passed him the salad dressing and resumed catching-up with her mother. It amazed Mulder how both women at the table could do two things simultaneously without breaking a rhythm. Dishes and drinks were passed, but the talking kept going. Mulder poured the salad dressing on and cut his greens, and ate while watching the two women with interest. Mrs. Scully had brown, curly hair. She had a perennial look of peace around her and her movements were small but graceful. Her voice was always gentle, and she always looked people in the eye. Mulder assumed it was from her mother that Scully inherited her inner peace. Margaret watched Fox through the corner of her eye, making sure her houseguest was comfortable and had enough to eat. It was always a pleasure cooking for men, most of them had ravenous appetites and Fox was no exception. He didn't expel sighs of pleasure after every bite, but judging from the way he reached out to fill his plate every two minutes or whisper to Dana to pass something, it was obvious Fox thought highly of her gastronomical talents. She silently congratulated herself for teaching Dana everything she knew in the kitchen. It would definitely come in handy. Conversation was surprisingly easy that night. Not a single awkward silence intruded. Scully took the cake they'd brought out of the refrigerator, and served each of them a slice. They drank tea and coffee, while Mrs. Scully regaled Mulder with stories about her daughter's childhood, much to Scully's embarrassment. As Mulder grew more and more absorbed with the humiliating anecdotes her mother was tossing to him with like flyers, Scully pulled herself a little closer to the table, and quietly observed him. His back was against the chair, legs crossed, with his left ankle resting on his right knee. His right arm was extended to rest on the backrest of the chair beside him, while his left hand was on the table, absently playing with his coffee mug. His middle finger toyed with the mug's rim, caressing it, feeling every groove, every nuance in the ceramic; all the while as he spoke to her mother, a large grin welded to his face. , Scully asked herself. After dinner, Mulder and Scully commandeered Margaret's couch to watch some television. They had already cleaned up the dishes, Margaret and Scully washed, Mulder dried and replaced the cutlery, dishes and glasses back into the shelves and drawers. Margaret noted the way Dana and Fox's hands would touch every time she passed him a wet plate, and that neither noticed the small, tactful gestures as usually uncommon. Although Margaret and Dana were talking the whole time and Fox merely listened, commenting only from time to time, she noticed that he and her daughter looked at each other frequently, silent gazes to make sure the other was alright. She had ordered them to the couch while she took care of the left-overs, and was pleased to see that Fox had chivalrously retrieved Dana's legs, taken her shoes off and deposited both her feet into his lap as he flipped through channels. Margaret held her breath momentarily, as Dana looked as if she was about to protest. But the smile Fox had given her effectively silenced her. If Margaret hadn't decided to check on her laundry only a few minutes after that, she would have danced naked under a full moon, thanking the gods for what Dana and Fox talked about. Mulder was rubbing Scully's feet soothingly, squeezing the muscles and rubbing her ankles. She looked at his suspiciously, an eyebrow arched and a finger rubbing into her temple. He pretended nothing was out of the ordinary, she Scully gave up trying to figure him out and trained her eyes on the TV. She did however, swivel her head to look at him, after catching him staring at her out of the corner of his eye. "What, Mulder?" she asked. He lowered his head momentarily, then looked at her with obvious embarrassment. "I've...I've been trying to think of how to say thank you properly for last night, Scully." She smiled at him, finally figuring out what all his good behavior was for. "Should I bring it up every chance I get to be treated like a princess all the time?" He used his index finger to poke the center of her foot. "Hey!" she yelped, yanking her leg out of his lap. He caught her ankle and brought it back. "That'll teach you to pick on me." She smiled again. "Why don't you just say, 'thanks for last night, Scully'?" His response was directly from a quintessential Twilight Zone moment. Both his hands clasped her knees tightly as he hauled her to him, practically planting her on his lap. Both his arms encircled her shoulders, so that she was in his arms. He pressed his forehead to the side of her face, closed his eyes and reverently said, "Dana, thanks for last night." His tender touch, his soft words, lulled her senses into contentment. There was a rush of sexual awareness, but she forced it deep down. Her eyes closed too, as she pressed herself closer into his embrace. "You're welcome Mulder. I enjoyed it too." Mulder's eyes opened slowly, millions of thoughts running in his head. How, till now, he had never realized how much he truly cared for this woman. And how, although he never said it allowed or even acknowledged it in his mind, Dana Scully was the only woman he truly, irrevocably loved. When Margaret Scully walked in on the two, she couldn't decide what to do. Turn around and leave them be, or walk by casually and pretend it was a normal, everyday occurrence. She decided on the latter and breezed by, laundry basket in her arms. Mulder and Scully jerked apart guiltily, like a couple of teenagers caught in the act of necking in their parents' living room. Mulder shot up to his feet, smoothed his hair back into place and held out his arms. "Let me help you with that, Mrs. Scully." Margaret allowed Fox to take the basket from her, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced at her daughter who gave her a sweet, happy smile. She directed Fox to the laundry room, where he placed the basket on an open shelf. She pitied how he couldn't look her in the eye, and instead looked down, his feet shuffling beneath him. She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. "You're absolved, Fox. No need to look like a guilty little schoolboy." He smiled lazily and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Mrs. Scully." He strode swiftly back to the couch, pulled Scully back to his side and swiped the remote from her. "Did she give you the third degree?" asked Scully, a small smile playing on her lips. "Nope. Your mother likes me Scully." "God only knows why." Mulder gave her a dirty look. They watched TV well into the night. Margaret came into the room only to say goodnight. Mulder and Scully stood, Scully hugging her mom and promising to lock up right after the show. Mulder thanked her for the wonderful dinner and iced tea and Margaret cupped his cheek in her hand again for the second time that day and wished them both safe trips home. She disappeared into her bedroom, happy for her daughter and happy for Fox. They left Mrs. Scully's house at 2AM. They'd fallen asleep together on the couch at around midnight, Mulder waking up to the laugh-track of an old episode of Three's Company. He watched her a few more minutes, her hand clutching the front of his shirt, her mouth open just a tiny bit. He wondered briefly what would happen if he slipped his tongue into it, and shook his head, warning himself to keep such thoughts at bay. His arm, still around her, tightened to rouse her. When it didn't work, he raised his hands to her cheek, and caressed it gently. Her eyes opened slowly and he smiled at her. Scully looked into his hazel eyes and melted. "We better get moving, Scully." he said, but his arm remained around her, his fingers still caressing her cheek. Scully reluctantly pulled away and stood up to shut the TV, as Mulder re-folded the blanket they used. She opened the door and let him out first, having to lock it behind them. In companionable silence, they walked back to the car, listening to the crickets and a dog barking somewhere in the distance. It was a moment of serenity, and together they stopped in front of the car. Mulder sat on the edge of the hood and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Scully as she covered her mouth and let out a yawn. He chuckled softly. "I'd invite you to spend the night at my place Scully, but there isn't enough room for both of us on the couch." he joked. She smiled, tilting her head to the side. "That's all right Mulder. Let's just stick to using my bed, okay?" A ray of hope flashed across Mulder's mind. It was. Mulder and Scully developed a pattern after that memorable weekend. If something reminded Scully of her mortality because of her cancer, or a case involving women or children had disturbed her in some way, it was a sure fire bet Mulder would be over at her house to sleep beside her. The same went for Mulder. Something would remind him of Samantha, or a flashback of the worst times in his life would wake him in the middle of the night and he'd go over to Scully's, slip into her bed, hug her close and fall asleep. Their demons were afraid of showing up when the other was present for some reason. Scully knew instinctively when Mulder would come over. He would know, just as she would, and she always left her bedroom light on. The second time it happened, Scully had woken up to see Mulder sitting on the floor, at the foot of the bed, his jacket wrapped around him asleep. She stood and took his hand, Mulder had woken up, gave her his patented puppy-dog look and let her lead him into bed. Not a single word passed between either of them. He just pulled the covers back, let Scully slip in and followed her under the sheets. Both of them were asleep in a matter of seconds. It happened about once, maybe twice a month, and they had formed a routine for when it did. They would fall asleep in each other's arms, till Scully's alarm would go off. She would wake Mulder up either by gently jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow or reaching behind her to pull on whatever was closest. Ear, shirt or hair. Scully would have the bathroom first, while Mulder made the bed and set the table. She'd come out, fix breakfast while he showered, and they'd eat together. Depending on whether or not he had a ready suit in her closet, he would either go home to change before meeting her at work, or would change at her house in the living room. Once, Mulder had come over after Scully performed an autopsy on a woman who had been kidnapped and raped more than a dozen times in the four days her captor had imprisoned her. It was by no means an X-File, but Skinner had requested Mulder to look into it when the Violent Crimes Section had come to a dead end. Mulder read the file, Scully had done the autopsy and given Mulder her theories on the perpetrator and together created a profile so precise the kidnapper/rapist was caught within 6 hours. Scully was badly shaken at the extent of the woman's injuries, and hadn't wanted Mulder to be there for the autopsy but he insisted. When Scully opened up the body bag to reveal a woman roughly the same age as Samantha would have been with the same long, curly dark brown hair, he had understood why. That same night, he came earlier than usual for their ritual, drenched from the rain outside with a big box of pizza under his trench coat, and three videotapes in his hand. The rain had soaked through his clothes, and they watched Dead Again, Sneakers, and The Princess Bride with Mulder in nothing more than boxers and a bed sheet. They sat on opposite sides of the couch, almost as though afraid they would burn if they got any closer to each other. They hit the sack after that, and it was the first time Scully shared her bed with him so devoid of clothing. Sleep eventually came to both of them that night, but it had been difficult. They were both painfully aware of Mulder's nakedness, but both of them were afraid to speak up about it, fearing that raising the topic would open a floodgate of many unwanted questions that demanded immediate answers. But all the qualms they seemed to have in the waking world were thrown out the window, when through the course of the night, they moved closer and closer to each other like magnets. After only an hour and a half, they were spooned together with Mulder's arm circling Scully protectively, with Scully's hand laying softly against Mulder's. Mulder had woken up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and extricating his arm from around Scully incited a snuffle of protest from her. For reasons Mulder still could not fathom, he had kissed her cheek like a new husband and promised her he'd be back in a minute. She settled back into the covers and went back to sleep. The tender moment burned into Mulder's memory, and he felt his heart wrench itself into knots. And he stared at Scully, a rainbow of emotions colliding inside him that he couldn't identify. He came back to bed 52 seconds later as promised, observing how the rain had strengthened during the night. It was colder than usual, and he enveloped Scully into his arms to keep her warm. He stayed awake for a few more minutes, relishing the sound of the rain beating on the roof and the beautiful woman he loved in his arms asleep, before pulling the covers under her chin and falling asleep again. His dreams that night were filled with images of making love to his partner, his best friend, his confidant, the woman he loved more than he did himself or anyone, but couldn't have. Unknown to him, Scully's had taken a similar turn as well. If either he or Scully had woken up after that in the next several hours, both of them would have been very embarrassed to discover that Mulder's hands had taken liberties from his dreams to carry over to reality, but so had Scully's. It was probably for the best that they had woken up in a non-compromising position. On regular nights, when Mulder didn't come over, he and Scully would call each other as soon as they thought the other was home to check up, but Scully would never ask if he was coming over, and Mulder never asked if she wanted him to. Both of them thought persistently about the habit they had formed, convincing themselves that although it was odd for two FBI agents who were, granted, partners, both needed the therapy for healing. Scully once had a good laugh alone in the shower thinking of how Mulder or she would have coped if his or her partner had been of the same sex. What they had been through over the last four years, the near-death experiences, emotional roller-coasters, saving each others' lives and countless nights worrying about the other had taken its toll. Both of them silently conceded that they had earned the right to at least sleep peacefully just a few times out of the month, and if peace would come only when the other was there, then so be it. It was a silent understanding between the two of them not to talk about the lines they were stepping over. But both of them cherished each minute they were together, sleeping in each other's arms. Perhaps they felt that so long as they didn't have sex, their partnership and working relationship could continue as it had been since the beginning. And so continued their ritual. There were still times when Fox Mulder and Dana Scully were visited by their demons. A man enveloped in cigarette smoke. A room filled with devices poking and prodding. Unseen forces taking away a loved one. A psychopath with fetishes for death. A female vampire. A mind controller. So many demons, so many shapes and sizes. Two strong yet vulnerable people. Each taking refuge in the other's arms. As long as Fox Mulder had Dana Scully, and Dana Scully had Fox Mulder, the demons were kept at bay. In the realm of reality, forces could harm them but in the realm of sleep, nothing could keep them apart. ____________________________________ NO MORE DEMONS PART II: Ruminations ____________________________________ DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT 2:00 AM She's nestled against me. One arm is draped across my chest, the other tucked against her. I can hear her breathing, strong and deep, and I can smell the sweet scent of her hair and bath gel. It's intoxicating, it's familiar, it's erotic. It's been driving me insane. The last six months have been the best and worst six months of my life. The treatment for her cancer has not been going well, the sickness spreading faster than any of the doctors anticipated. Every treatment she receives leaves her tired and drained and I sit there, incapable of action not knowing what to say to make her feel better. I've never felt so helpless in all my life. Me, the strong and proud Fox Mulder who never needed anyone, feels helpless. But I do need someone, and god help me, it's her. And I never realized just how much till she told me about her condition. All I can do is sit there and pray. Pray to a god I never spoke to, or believed in, because right now, faith is all I have. Faith that she will make it through this. Faith that I will find a way to make everything better. She tires more easily now, but she lets me take care of her, unlike before. It's one of the few battles I've won with her since we met five years ago, but it's a bittersweet victory. But in spite of her weight loss, she's still the most stunningly beautiful woman in the world to me. Her eyes are tired more often now, but they haven't lost their brilliance. I don't know why, but she smiles more often, and she's more tactile with me than ever. I guess sleeping together, even if sex isn't involved, does that to people. It's raining outside now. I woke up a few minutes ago to her sleeptalking. Good thing I've gotten used to it. In Oxford, I read that a lot of women who spoke in their sleep enumerated grocery lists and appointments. If there was one thing in this world that proved she wasn't like other women, it was that she talked about autopsies instead. The first night it happened, my eyes widened and I thought I was dreaming. I rolled over and watched as her lips moved, hearing the words spill out, so nonchalantly. She started with a time of death and one by one began enumerating how many pounds and ounces internal organs weighed. I chuckled when I realized what she was doing - the professional doctor even in slumber. I congratulated myself that night. Any other man would have ran out the door, but I stayed there, listening, with a stupid grin on my face. Our sleeping arrangements then moved to once a week, and now it's evolved to almost every night. We need each other's warmth and security. Too many things are happening, things that I wish would just stop and leave us alone. God knows we need the break. I was having dinner with her the other night when she made an observation. She couldn't look me in the eye the way she usually does when she told me she never had nosebleeds when we're beside each other. It was the first time either of us spoke about it, but I had noticed it too. She told me that nosebleeds were just as afraid of me as her demons. I couldn't think of words to say, just like always. So I bought her a cheesecake instead. Her mom knows what we've been doing. I walked out of Scully's bedroom one morning shirtless, scratching my chest, my hair mussed, only to practically smash into Mrs. Scully. Thanks god she didn't shoot me, the old adage, "Like mother like daughter" ringing in my ears. Instead she smiled, greeted my a good morning and told me she brought food for lunch over, and to go wash my hands. I can hear the rain coming down really hard now. She nestles against me more closely and lets out a little sigh. I pull the covers up and under her chin and give her a kiss on her forehead. She smiles and clasps my shirt and lets another sigh out. My eyes close, and visions of her float around, and hopes that may never be fulfilled dance through my mind. If the circumstances were different. If she weren't sick. If she weren't my partner. If I weren't so incapacitated. If, if, if, if. It's a chant that I have no control over, like my breathing. Like my living. I've never been the kind of man to make trades. But I would give anything, even my life, yes, my life. For her. I would do it in the blink of an eye, without hesitation. For this woman. For my friend. For my partner. Breathe to make me breathe. 3 AM Your arm has just tightened around me. I still don't know how or why, but you sense even before I realize myself that I need to get up. The reactions differ. Sometimes, you half sprawl over me, and other times you growl a protest. Either way, it's very flattering, and very sweet that you miss my presence before I've even left. I see your hand burrowing under the sheets. I know where it's headed. It's gone there every single night since we started sleeping together. Under the quilt, under my jammies, and over my stomach. Your thumb makes slow and lazy circles there for a few minutes before stopping. When I tried to stop you once, your eyes snapped open and gave me a dirty look. I ran out of lemon scented shampoo last week, and I found out you prefer the one I'm using now, apple-cinnamon. You love plopping your head next to mine and I hear you inhale deeply. Then you comes closer. Plop. And closer. Plop. And closer. Plop. And closer. Plop. Till I'm positive all you can smell is my hair. If you get any closer, you'll be smothered. The way your eyelids drift shut when you get sleepy has become endearing to me. I watch your hazel eyes cloud over, and the way your body moves to get more comfortable. Even in your sleep, your concern over my comfort is constant. I wonder sometimes if you realize this, because in the waking world you are much different. My personal space has become as much yours as mine and vice versa during our slumber, but nowhere else. As I lay here in bed with you beside me, I realize it is the first time in my life since I met you that I wished circumstances were different. If only you weren't my partner, if only I weren't so sick. I do not regret the choices I made, but I can only hope to fathom what things would have... COULD have been like if our paths had crossed at a different intersection. You've given me glimpses of your soul, and I have shared your pain just as you have shared mine. Six months have passed. The cancer in my body has spread, and more than ever I feel time like a heartbeat, each pulse a beacon to the specter of death. And my soul nears the shore, but it is not to safety. The light at the end of the tunnel will get clearer soon. But now that you're beside me, the darkness that was behind me has been replaced by a light just as bright. When the time comes, and I must make a decision which light is my destiny, I will not make the choice based on what fate has chosen for me. If I need to spend my last breaths to ensure this, I will. I know with infinite certainty that the light where you are now will soon burn stronger and be warmer, and tonight, as I feel my body weaken, I start the slow journey like a salmon swimming upstream, struggling to keep a hold of something I cannot grasp in my hand that only my soul feels. It is where you are. It is where I want to be. I kiss your lips gently, and you remain oblivious in your sleep. My voice is the only sound in the room. Where you are, Fox. _______________________________ NO MORE DEMONS III: Redemption _______________________________ Seattle, Washington Holiday Inn 12:31 AM The only source of light in the motel room was coming from her trusty laptop. The only sounds to keep her company was the steady pitter-patter of rain on the roof, the low drone of the TV, and Mulder's slow and deep breathing from her bed. He had come into her room about an hour ago, playing an imaginary game of basketball as he pretended to dribble his way inside. He headed straight for her TV, as though he didn't have a perfectly working unit in his own room and picked up the remote before sitting down. Scully didn't even raise her gaze from the computer. She knew him well enough to know just what he was doing just by the shuffle of his feet, the rasp of his clothes and her general knowledge of his mannerisms and habits. She looked up momentarily to watch him channel surf. Mulder's choice in programming said a lot not only about him, but the mood he was in. Mulder with a remote was a happy Mulder, not unlike little boys with their puppies. You could leave them alone and check on them from time to time, but the responsibility to look over them was cut in half. Click. NYPD Blue. Click. The Mask. Click. Home TV shopping. Click. Melrose Place. Vehement click. Rear Window. Volume raise. Mattress squeaking. Pillow fluffing. Scully turned back to her computer. Mulder was now occupied, and content to lie down into her bed, his feet over the edge, an arm swung to the back of his head bracing a pillow. Their case had finished earlier than anticipated, but their flight back to Washington had been postponed due to the foul weather. Both she and Mulder were actually quite relieved, their physical exertions having taken a toll on them. They both surmised they hadn't done so much running, jumping, sprinting, dodging and crouching in a very long time. They'd had dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant. Mulder had wanted a taste of her pasta, and Scully had pushed her plate forward. Mulder had looked at her and opened his mouth, fully expecting her to feed him a forkful using her own fork. She'd given in but raised her eyebrow first, deciding that a verbal retort would just prolong dinner all the more, and she was anxious to get back to her room to take a shower and get some sleep. Scully swirled some pasta around her fork and fed him, Mulder leaning across the table and took his mouthful just as a waiter had brought another round of drinks. The waiter whirled around, afraid he was interrupting a romantic dinner much to Scully's dismay. Mulder had nodded his head slowly, savoring the flavors in his mouth as he settled back into his chair, oblivious as usual to the rest of the world. They headed back to the motel right after that, the rain rendering almost zero-visibility with its intensity. Mulder had chivalrously shed his trench coat to shield Scully from the rain as she opened her door, and waved off her concern when he didn't wear it again as he ran to his own room. Half and hour later, she was already waiting for Mulder Bored to come knocking at her door, and come knocking he did, of course. After the cursory "It's open, Mulder!" he settled himself down and left her to her work. Scully rubbed her eyes as her laptop whirled, happily saving her file. She sat back into the chair and checked on Mulder again, knowing almost for certain he had fallen asleep. He'd been too quiet for too long for anything else. By now, he'd pushed himself up into her bed and was sleeping soundly. The pillow that had been under his head was now in his arms, hugged tightly against him. His breathing was deep and easy and his mouth slightly open. She smiled in bemusement and decided to let him sleep a few more minutes, just till after her shower, before rousing him to get back to his own room. The room was getting colder now, and the rain was getting much harsher. Scully turned the TV off, rubbing her arms to heat them up and switched on a small light that wouldn't glare straight into Mulder's eyes and wake him up. She spotted a spare blanket in the cabinet and pulled it out, draping it over him to fend off the chill he would surely feel, dressed only in his jogging pants, sport socks and a shirt. She bent over a little, trying to judge how damp his clothes were from his jog to her room in the rain, and decided he was dry enough not to catch a cold. Scully thought. Satisfied now with Mulder's comfort, she stepped into the shower and scrubbed away all the grit that had accumulated during the day under a hot spray of water. She knew that Mulder had finished with his own shower, having smelled him when she spread the covers over him. He was devoid of his cologne and sweat, and the aroma of soap hovered around him instead. She toweled off and got into her pajamas, and walked back into her bedroom, fully intending to wake Mulder up. Even if she and Mulder had been sleeping together for the last several months, they had tacitly agreed that sleeping in separate bedrooms when they were out of town was imperative. The last thing the Bureau would want to get a wind of was two of their agents sleeping in one room while they were on a case. They didn't think "saving the taxpayer's money" would be a believable excuse. All her plans went down the drain however, at the site before her. Mulder was in a semi-fetal position, holding up the corner of the blanket to his cheek, his thumb rubbing across the corner. Never in five years had she seen him look so vulnerable. Almost child-like. she decided. She settled into the opposite side of the bed and picked up a magazine to flip through while Mulder's sleeping extension passed by. She heard a snuffle from him, and peered at him closer when his head cocked to the side. "Mmppff," he muttered. Scully thought he'd half-woken up. "What did you say, Mulder?" she asked. "Huh?" "I said, what did you say, Mulder." "Why're you calling me Mulder?" he asked, his voice genuinely perplexed. "My name's Fox." Scully moved closer to him to get a better look, the dim light making it difficult. His eyes were still closed, but his eyebrows were still frowning at what she had called him. she realized. A flash of guilt hit her in the gut momentarily, but Scully pushed it down and promised herself not to get carried away. Just as long as she didn't invade his privacy, this was all harmless. "How old are you, Fox?" she asked, a little nervous he might wake up and discover she was playing mind games with him. "Nine. How old are you?" "A little older than you." Mulder settled into his pillow a little more. "Mom says I won't need a babysitter anymore after a couple of years, and I'll be old enough to take care of Samantha by myself." Scully's heart ripped a little. "I'm sure you'd be a great babysitter, Fox." Using his first name sounded so foreign to her own ears. "Thanks," he smiled. "I'm sorry, what's you name again?" he asked politely. Mulder must've been such a charming kid, she thought. At the very least, before Samantha was taken. "Dana." She watched him as he settled once again into the covers deeper, and his thumb rubbed a little more frantically at the corner of the blanket. "Where's Samantha?" he suddenly asked. Scully thought fast. "Don't worry about her, Fox. She's in the tub having a bubble bath." He seemed satisfied with her answer and relaxed. Scully peered closer, wondering if it was over, when his lips broke into a huge grin. She thought for instant he had actually been pulling her leg, but he whispered to her with closed eyes, "Want some candy?" "Candy?" Scully asked amusedly. "Yeah, I got some under my bed. Don't squeal, okay? I just have them for when Samantha cries and our babysitter's mean. But I think you're okay, right?" Scully smiled again. "Fox?" she asked. A question had suddenly popped into her head about Mulder as a child, and the opportunity for an answer was just to delicious to miss. "Hm?" he answered sleepily. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" He cocked his head off to the left a little and inhaled. "A super basketball player." You'll certainly be tall enough, she wanted to say. "I bet you're a great basketball player now." He smiled, obviously appreciating her confidence in him. "Dana?" "Yes?" "I'm getting sleepy. Could you tuck me in already?" She had come out of her shower fully intending to wake Mulder up and send him back to his room. Instead, she stood up and walked to the other side of the bed and took his sneakers off, placing his sock-clad feet under the blanket. Next, she tucked the sheets around him, making sure no part of his body was exposed to the cold bite of the air in the room. She stood over him and brushed away some hair from his forehead, and instinctively kissed him there. He smiled boyishly, and gulped a little bit before settling down. "Good night, little boy." Scully whispered, before shutting off the lamp and getting back into bed beside him and falling asleep herself. FBI Headquarters J. Edgar Hoover Building Basement Office 9:00 A.M. Mulder and Scully were well into their second cup of coffee when a loud knock sounded on the door. Neither even bothered acknowledging the intruder. Both of them knew he was going to come in regardless of whether or not they granted him entry. Sure enough, the fresh, young face of Agent Jameson poked itself into their office. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully. Office of the AD Now." he said, and with that he was gone. Scully stood, placing her cup on Mulder's desk, while Mulder remained seated, his legs propped on his desk, concentrating on the file in his lap. He was still holding his cup of coffee until his partner swiftly plucked it out of his hand and set it beside hers. "You know the drill, Mulder. Let's get going." Dropping the file to his desk, Mulder finally stood and grabbed his jacket, obediently following his partner out the door. Both Mulder and Scully knew what Skinner had in mind. They had heard through various channels the Assistant Director was grossly unhappy with the Violent Crimes Section's performance over the last six months. More so when he had asked Mulder and Scully to step in on one case in particular. They ended up putting a profile together that helped capture the perpetrator in a matter of hours. Scully didn't like what she'd been hearing. If Skinner chose to transfer both of them temporarily to the VCS because of her and Mulder's help in the last case, the agents in the VCS would more than likely resent Mulder even more. He had, after all, been one of them for a time before he opened up the X-Files and if the powers above felt they could use some help from "Spooky" Mulder, then Skinner was just asking for trouble. They were led into the AD's office, Skinner sitting behind his massive desk, curtly nodding for the agents to sit down. "First of all, I'd like to congratulate both of you for your work on the Wiggum case." Mulder and Scully murmured their thanks, both anticipating the proverbial ball to drop. "In light of your success," continued Skinner. , thought Mulder and Scully. "I'm temporarily reassigning both of you to the VCS to assist them with their current case." Mulder and Scully shifted in their seats uncomfortably, looking at each other, reading the other's thoughts. Skinner observed the two, his eyes narrowing in wonder as to what his agents could possibly be talking about without using any words whatsoever. He stared at them and watched, fascinated as Mulder raised an eyebrow in Scully's direction. Scully raised hers in return. Mulder tilted his head a fraction to the left. Scully inhaled deeply. Mulder nodded. Scully's index finger raised. Mulder noted the movement. It was like watching a Ping-Pong match. "Sir, are you asking Agent Scully and I to leave the X-Files to devote our time to the unfinished business of the VCS?" asked Mulder. Skinner's brow furrowed to a frown. He had expected this reaction from Mulder, and was prepared for it, but Mulder's attitude still did not sit too well with him. "All I'm asking, Agent Mulder, is for you and Agent Scully to look into the case for clues or leads the VCS might have overlooked. That is all. I am not asking you to go into the field and do their dirty work for them." Skinner watched as Scully threw a look at her partner. It forced a relaxation of Mulder's features as he leaned back into his chair, but he remained weary. "Sir, Agent Mulder and I are merely concerned that such involvement might affect our pending cases, as well as draw unnecessary and unwanted attention to us." So this is what this is about, thought Skinner. "Agent Scully, if you mean the VCS will be pissed that I decided to call you and Mulder in on their incompetence, then let them. And since when did either of you care what other people had to say about you?" Mulder threw Scully a he's-got-us-there look. She responded by closing her eyes momentarily, then looked at him again, her lips puckering. It was her "You can call the shots" look. "Doesn't look as though we have much of a choice." The AD's eyes hardened. Mulder could really be an ass when he wanted to. "No, actually, you don't." He buzzed the intercom on his desk. "Yes, Assistant Director?" replied his secretary's electronic voice. "Get me the files I requested from the VCS." "Yes, Sir." Scully, Mulder and Skinner filled the room with silence, waiting for Skinner's secretary to stride in. It took her a minute or so, and when she handed the files to her boss, she vaguely wondered what trouble the two agents were stirring up again. Skinner opened up the folders, dividing the paperwork and handed them to the agents. As usual, they barely had any reactions, even though the crime scene photos were gruesome and horribly violent. Once the files they had been perusing were closed, Skinner dismissed them with a curt nod and watched them leave his office. The AD sighed in relief as they left. Hopefully, the case they had taken on would be solved within the week and some of his problems would be solved. The partners headed back to the basement. Some agents from the VCS were hanging around the corridor, observing Mulder and Scully, who had opened the folders again and were passing each other crime scene photos. Agent Robert Cartel was one of them. Notorious for his lack of ability to mince words, he elbowed one of the younger agents beside him. "Check it out, Hanson. Agent Spooky Mulder and Agent Dana Chilly are on the case! We'll have the perps in custody before you can say, 'Beam-me-up-Scottie'!" Cartel had recognized the photos, and it seemed damned insulting to him that AD Skinner chose to call in the dynamic duo from outer space to finish what he had already started. The young Agent Hanson chuckled nervously. Like the other newer agents, he was scared spitless of Mulder. They had heard stories about how those weird instincts of his were always 101% accurate, and how his fierce protectiveness over his partner bordered on insanity. But since Cartel seemed comfortable egging them, then it was probably safe to assume Mulder would not respond with a violent reaction. He was wrong. Before anyone in the corridor could say 'Beam me up, Scottie!', Mulder threw Cartel against a wall and shoved his right arm into the considerably shorter agent's neck. The younger agents each took one step back, all those vignettes they heard about Mulder's temper flashing through their heads. One in particular, of Mulder attacking the Assistant Director in that same corridor. Scully, ever poised and calm, looked up at Mulder and quietly asked him to let Cartel go. Mulder shoved his face into Cartel's, till he was sure Cartel could feel his breath. "Call my partner anything vaguely derogatory again, and I'll stick my phaser where the sun don't shine, Cartel. Got that?" Despite the position of Mulder's arm jammed into his throat, Cartel managed a weak nod. Mulder released him immediately, and placed his hand at the small of Scully's back, leading her away. Once Scully was sure they were out of earshot, she turned towards her partner and crossed her arms over her chest. "We have to work on your social skills, Mulder. I thought you were used to that by now." Mulder was silent as he opened the door to the basement office and let her inside. He leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest. His answer was so simple, so uncomplicated. "I just didn't like what he said about you," he whispered. Scully stared at him long and hard. His head was bowed low, trying to hide his face but when Scully took one step nearer, what she saw in Mulder's eyes was a dam full of pent-up anger, fear and guilt waiting to burst. Never could she have imagined the Mulder she had known to lose control like that. He had always been protective, but this was different. She watched as his face contorted, vainly trying to blink back the tears that poured down his cheeks arrogantly in spite of his efforts. There were things Mulder wanted to tell his partner. How in the last several months that she held him in his sleep, her warmth and her compassion gave him the strength to move on. That every time he looked at her, he was deadly afraid of losing her to the cancer. That he knew she was afraid to leave him alone in the world. And that because of him and his selfish quest, she would not know the joy of holding a child of her own flesh and blood. She cupped his cheek in her palm, took a step forward, and hugged him tight. Mulder surrounded her in the strong circle of his arms, burying his face into her shoulder and wept. Scully held him, and Mulder clung to her. Dana Scully's Apartment Annapolis, MD 10:30 P.M. Scully shut the computer and rubbed her eyes. She was more tired than usual, not only from the events at the office which left her emotionally depleted, but physically as well. After Mulder cried in her arms, he had excused himself for a few minutes to go to the bathroom. When he came back, they began working on the cases Skinner had given them. They were silent most of the day, both of them too absorbed in the cases they were working on to say much, and too absorbed thinking of each other. What the past had done to them, what the present would lead to, and what the future had in store. She stood and walked into her bedroom, finally remembering she was still in her office clothes. She changed, then turned down the bed, knowing Mulder would be there in a few hours. She blinked back a tear, and went back to her living room. That single thought kept pestering her, making her concoct all sorts of images in her head of Mulder, getting more and more dreary. She pulled a chair to the front of her window and watched the rain. There was no telling what time Mulder would come to her apartment. They had said their good-byes at the office at around 8:00 P.M., and headed home. Scully had called his apartment half an hour later but only got the machine, and his cellular was turned off. She had a feeling he would be at the reflecting pool, and almost followed him there but realized he needed some time alone. She never mentioned the incident in Seattle, where he had started sleep talking. He might be embarrassed for showing her a vulnerable side to himself, and she knew that Mulder wanted to project an image of strength and determination especially now while she was fighting her cancer. Opening her refrigerator, she pulled out a bowl of food, and put it into the microwave. She also set the table for one person, then wrote a note for Mulder on a post-it note which she placed in the center of her dining table. Walking back into her bedroom, she lay down and hoped Mulder would hurry up so he could warm up his side of the bed and her. She smiled as she thought of what she had learned about Mulder and his sleeping habits. How he liked placing his palm flat on her belly when he thought she was asleep, and how his other hand would always find hers to interlace with his fingers. The way he protested whenever she moved away from him, and his sigh of contentment when she moved closer. The only thing she still needed getting used to was his habit of sprawling over her when he sensed she was about to get up. It was touching and cute, yes, but she sensed there was a deeper trauma to what pushed Mulder's subconscious into behaving that way. He was afraid of losing her, and wanted to touch her as much as he could before he did. It was the last thing on her mind before she drifted off to sleep. Somewhere in Washington, D.C. 12:31 A.M. There had been a time in his life Mulder maintained contact with several friends he made at Oxford. The dawning of the new age that was the Internet made it easier. One of his friends, Matt McKinley, was a close confidante. Matt was gay, but not obviously so, and genuinely cared for Mulder as a friend. He was never attracted to Mulder, and they got along well enough to maintain a friendship first through snail mail, then through e-mail. Matt was a good friend because he knew how to keep secrets, and so did Mulder. As the years dripped by, Mulder lost touch one by one with his Oxford friends, but Matt remained a constant. Matt became a professor at Oxford, at St. John's University, teaching psychology. It was at his prodding that Mulder accepted the recruitment to the FBI, telling him he would do the world a great favor with his talents. He was also the first prognosticator to tell Mulder Phoebe the Floozy was bad news. Unfortunately for Mulder, he only listened to Matt about 50% of the time, and his cards were already up because he had accepted the FBI's offer. When Mulder went back to the United States, they gave each other bear hugs at the airport and promised to keep in touch, Mulder volunteering to be the first to write. It took him several years before he kept his promise. But instead of writing about where he was and what he was doing, Mulder wrote about a bright-eyed, wet-behind- the-ears female agent who had just been assigned to 'debunk' his work. What began as a quite tolerance for the 'spy', changed steadily to respect. Then a deeper, much more profound respect. And then a fondness. And then a dependency. Then fierce protection. It was a good thing Matt was quite intelligent, and was able to piece together vital information scattered throughout the letter to make sense of it. Matt would read Mulder's letters with interest, giving him advice if it appeared that was what Mulder wanted. You could never really tell with Mulder, but Matt gave himself some credit and he was usually right. His unbiased views were welcomed, and Mulder was always grateful. Mulder had been evasive even when they were in college; generalizing his thoughts, never giving out many details, and was ambiguous about particulars. He was paranoid then, as he was paranoid now. 4 years had already passed since they started corresponding, and Matt STILL didn't know what Mulder's partner's name was. Mulder was one lucky son-of-a-bitch it didn't matter to Matt. The last letter Mulder had written depressed Matt for two weeks. He was one to empathize with what his close friends were feeling, and Mulder's latest e-mail was full of grief. Mulder had tried his best not to let it show too much, but failed miserably and once again, Matt saw right through it. ------------------------- MMK- I think that life is supremely indifferent to what happens to us measly human beings. It treats us with a quiet tolerance, vicariously watching us like little ants marching, going through our lives searching for our mountains of sugar, but rarely finding them. Some of the ants end up in an old folks' home for insects. Others die. Others are murdered. And others still, lose their place in the line and wander around alone for the rest of their mortal and insignificant lives. My partner has been diagnosed with inoperable cancer. How much guilt can one man take; I am my own case study. There is no known cure for cancer, is there? Perhaps you know of one, I beg you to tell me. I can only remember some lines from Pablo Neruda at a time like this: "Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing, my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her." Your friend, Mulder. ---------------------------------- And Matt had hit the reply button, and pounded in only four words. "Have you told her?" Eighteen hours later Mulder responded, "Told her what?" "That you love her." And Mulder hadn't written him back since. He wondered if perhaps he should, as his eyes roamed over the Washington Monument. Idly, he tried remembering what it stood for and couldn't remember. All he could think of was his partner. No one could ever compare with everything they'd been through. Not by a long shot. Mulder walked back to his car. It was drizzling now, but he sensed it would get stronger in a few minutes. The smell of a coming storm was filling his nostrils. His trench coat had warded off the water, but not for much longer, and he was sure if he walked into Scully's apartment and she were still awake, a sermon about pneumonia would surely fall on his ears. He regretted what happened in the office that morning. He had let her seen how afraid he was, and the selfish reason behind his fears. The time alone he spent at the reflecting pool had been good for him, time to mellow down and remember who he was, and who he was in the life of Dana Scully. Sure enough, by the time Mulder had parked his car in front of Scully's, visibility was almost down to zero. He ran up to her building, already fishing out his key to her apartment to save some time. Once inside, he shed the trench coat and walked in quietly. He spotted the post-it note and read. Mulder, Mom's coming over tomorrow. If she sees left-overs from the food she brought, she'll think you've gotten sick of her cooking. It's in the microwave. Defrost it for about 2 minutes, and leave the dishes in the sink when you're done. P.S.: You're probably soaked. I checked your duffel bag and left a clean shirt for you on the dresser. Mulder tucked the note into his jeans pocket and headed for the microwave. Not even bothering to check what was inside, he fired it up and looked around the kitchen to keep himself occupied while waiting. Some dishes that had just been washed were out, and he placed them back on the shelves. Ditto for some cutlery and glasses. The microwave pinged, and he pulled the tupperware out and brought it to the dinner table. He ate mechanically, still preoccupied with worry about Scully again. Somehow, he promised to himself, no matter what it took, he would find a cure for her. She had cancer because she was HIS partner. 'They' wanted leverage over him, so 'they' gave her a terminal illness. "Sick bastards," he hissed under his breath. He would make them pay as sure as grass was green and the sun was hot. Scully was the only person Mulder had ever genuinely cared for in his life for reasons he couldn't even fathom himself anymore. Was it because he hadn't trusted her, and she had painstakingly stuck around to earn that trust? Or because she kept him in line, and pulled him back when he was going over the edge? A myriad of other explanations crossed his mind, all of them deeply-rooted to five years of trust, partnership, friendship and love. He knew he loved her. He just didn't want to know how much. Once Mulder finished, he cleaned up, shut the lights in the kitchen, and walked into the bedroom. The bedside light was on as usual, and his promised tee-shirt was laid on the dresser. He walked over to the sleeping Scully, checked the sheets around her and pulled them closer under her chin. A wayward strand of hair was on her cheek, and he gently tucked it behind her ear. He walked back to the dresser, stripped off the shirt he was wearing, and donned the shirt quietly waiting for him. Walking to the window, he leaned against the wall and watched the rain pour. The last time he had spent the night at Scully's and it was raining, sleep had come with much reluctance. True, he had been wearing nothing more than his boxers and he was only a man, and Scully had been asleep when she pushed herself into him. He almost panicked when he felt his arousal suddenly jump to life, and it took a whole lot of willpower to pull back. Images of her ran amuck in his head. The porcelain white skin. Her red, red lips. Her blue, expressive eyes. Her smooth arms and neck which he had come to know intimately when she was nestled against him. He reprimanded himself and his hormones angrily, feeling guilty that sex was on his mind when he and Scully had other things, more frightening and much more serious to deal with. He ran his hand through his hair, making sure it was dry before slipping into bed. Gently, he pulled on Scully's shoulder to let her know he was there, and placed his arm under her head the moment she lifted it. He heard her inhale deeply, and watched in awe as she so trustingly adjusted herself to fit him like a spoon, so that every part of her back from head to foot came into contact with him. Scully finally settled down, content with the position she was in and softly murmured, "Did you see my note, Mulder ?" He nodded, then extended an arm to reach for the lamp. "Thanks, Scully." He kissed her hair and turned out the light, but could not sleep. Mulder leaned over Scully, listening intently to her breathing. After a few moments, she inhaled more deeply, and drifted back to sleep completely. His hand trailed downward to her belly, feeling the silk of her pajamas and gently parting them to feel her warm flesh. His hand caressed her, enjoying the slow rise and fall of skin. He had done this many times when he slept beside her, but it was done much the same way a father would to a child with a stomach ache. Tonight, the only ache Mulder could feel originated from his belly downwards. His thumb made slow and lazy circles, as his palm traveled from her belly to the side of her waist and back. Scully shifted. Mulder held his breath, and Scully moved in closer. Mulder sighed in relief. He felt guilty that he wasn't feeling guilty for what he was doing. Gently, he took her hand into his, playing with it absently. He pressed her palm into his, noting how small and delicate it was. Her hand was soft, her fingers barely reaching halfway to his. Funny, he never thought of her as delicate. Seen her kick some serious ass, and wave off injuries like a seasoned hockey player. Even if she was shorter than him by a good foot, Mulder's opinion of Scully was never fragile. Until now. He remembered a song he had heard once over the radio. The woman's voice was deep and soulful, and it had reminded him of the time he had cupped Scully's cheek in his palm after learning her father had passed away. There was a line in that song that went "'Coz you treat my skin like porcelain. Rare and special porcelain," and Mulder wished to God that one day she would understand that's exactly what he wanted to do. He marveled at her tiny frame sleeping close to his. The trust she placed in him to keep her safe from her nightmares. How he and the tiny woman in his arms had developed this ritual, and how it had evolved into it. They were truly sleeping together. But not having sex. Strange but true, he thought. She shifted again, giving him more access. Mulder remained on his side, but Scully was lying on her back now. The sheets had fallen around her hips, and the top of her pajama had ridden up because of his hand. He could make out her porcelain-like belly in the moonlight and the dark impression of his hand against it. It was maddening, it was blissful, it was... exciting. Mulder wished he didn't look like a smooth operator. People expected less from people who didn't. After a few more minutes, Mulder finally felt himself slowly get sleepy. His eyes drifted shut, and he breathed in deeply, pulling gently on Scully. Immediately, she nestled closer and nuzzled his neck, looking for her spot. That done, he fell into a deep and restful sleep. 2:07 AM Scully was dreaming. She was in her car, not really knowing where she was headed when her cellphone started ringing. Her hand dove into her coat pocket, but it wasn't there. She groped at the passenger's seat, but it wasn't there either. Finally, she realized it was her cellphone in the real world that was making the shrill sound, and she forced herself to wake, if only to stop its irritating scream. Her hand targeted her bedside table, picked it up and punched a button. Her voice was raspy and guttural when she answered. "Hello ?" A long pause from the caller, then a surprised, bewildered and embarrassed "Agent Scully??" "Who's this?" she asked. "It's Frohike. Isn't this Mulder's cellular I'm calling ?" Scully scrambled into a sitting position, her eyes flying to the phone in her hand, realizing it WAS Mulder's, then her bedside clock to formulate a plausible sounding excuse. By now, Mulder too had woken up. When Scully jolted, she had launched herself out of his arms, which he didn't appreciate much. He thought she had a bad dream, or a nosebleed, and sat up next to her, his hand already rubbing her shoulder soothingly, till he saw her with the cellphone to her ear. His big mistake was when he murmured huskily, "Who is it?" in his just-got-out-of-bed bedroom voice, which Frohike heard. Scully's eyes shut painfully at what the situation was leading to. "Is that Mulder?!" Frohike sounded hurt, mollified, and shocked all at the same time. "It's him, Frohike," she said, looking at Mulder, her hands waving frantically, trying to explain what had happened with the cellphone mix-up. He wasn't much help - all he did was shrug his shoulders and lay back down in bed. Scully grabbed Mulder by his ear and hauled him back up, while Frohike started spurting out apologies for his late night call, along with some innuendo about sleeping arrangements between FBI partners. Mulder finally took the phone from her, still somewhat dazed, but awake enough to realize his earlobe was throbbing where Scully had pulled on it. "What's up Frohike?" he asked. "I should ask YOU that question, Mulder. But then again, the answer is obvious, right?" "Shaddup and tell me why you're calling at this ungodly hour." Scully watched as she listened to Mulder's end of the conversation. He didn't give an explanation to the Lone Gunman, which led her to believe one of two things: either Frohike was bugging him about it, but he was doing a great job of evading an answer, or Frohike was just too shocked at what had just happened to ask anymore questions. Mulder's end of the conversation was made up of "uh-huhs" and "okays". He hit the end button, replaced the phone and lay back down next to Scully. "What'd he want, Mulder?" she asked anxiously. "Langly's favorite cousin is getting hitched in a few hours. They wanted to borrow my porn collection because the stripper they hired caught a case of chicken pox." With that, he flopped back down into bed, his hand pulling Scully down with him, as he valiantly attempted to re-position her against him. Her squirming made it difficult. "Mulder! Frohike's going to think we're sleeping together! And that means, so will Langly and Byers!" Mulder's eyes didn't even open. "We ARE sleeping together Scully." "You KNOW what I mean Mulder." "Look... They're all soused. They've been partying for the last six hours. I could smell Frohike's alcohol-ridden breath through the cellphone. Don't worry about it. I'll come up with a reasonable explanation, okay ?" Scully wasn't convinced, but Mulder seemed confident he could concoct a story good enough to keep the Three Stooges' curiosity at bay. She lay back down, tucked herself into Mulder's arms and worried for a few minutes more, just until she heard the hypnotic rhythm of Mulder's sleep-steady breath against her ear and fell asleep. 5:40 AM An insistent knock on her front door pulled Scully out of the wonderful cocoon of slumber she was in. Her cheek was resting against Mulder's chest, and it was more delicious than usual this morning because his shirt was pulled up all the way to his chin. She blushed when she realized it had been her hand holding it in place, but nothing beat the feeling of warm flesh to warm flesh. She sat up carefully, rubbing at her eyes. Whoever you are - I hate you, she thought. Mulder uttered a small protest, but remained blissfully asleep. The knocking was becoming more insistent, sending Scully into a small gallop for the door, afraid that if it got any louder Mulder too might wake up. As she swung the door open, there stood The Lone Gunmen, peering inquisitively into the apartment. Great, Scully thought. Byers spoke up. "You're a liar, Frohike." Frohike didn't even wait to be invited in. He and his two comrades stormed straight into Scully's living room, leaving a trail of alcohol fumes trailing behind them. "Guys... You woke me up and I really don't see that it's any of your - " Frohike's triumphant "AHA!" interrupted her as he proudly showed Langly and Byers Mulder's overcoat. "Wow. So it wasn't the scotch after all," quipped Langly. "So is it safe to presume Mulder's in your room in your bed as we speak, Agent Scully ?" asked Byers. "Like I said before the three of you stormed in here, it's really none of your-" "But he's here, right ?" Frohike interrupted again. "Yes, Frohike..." Scully enunciated, punctuating each word as though speaking to an eight-year-old. "But he's asleep, and he really needs -" "To recover his strength?" asked Langly. "Because of a sudden protein deficiency?" added Frohike. Why do I feel homicidal all of a sudden, wondered Scully. This was Mulder's fault. He was supposed to think of something, but there he was in her room, in la-la land. Byers spoke up. "Gentlemen, I believe our curiosity has been satisfied. We have the information we were looking for. We should leave, since it's really none of our business what Agents Mulder and Scully do with their personal lives." "That's right." The voice came from Scully's bedroom door. There Mulder stood, his hair tousled and his jaw covered with stubble. The top button of his jeans was opened, his shirt rumpled and his eyes trying to focus. If he hadn't been dressed, one could've said he was the just-fucked archetype of a man. A hush fell over the room. One person thought, Another was thinking Another noticed his beard needed some trimming. And finally, Frohike glanced over at Scully. She was staring at Mulder funny, kind of like the way he looked at cheeseburgers after his doctor had told him to stay away. "So the three of you are poking your noses where they don't belong again, huh ?" asked Mulder. "I just needed to prove I wasn't hallucinating, and now that I HAVE," - his voice broke at this point - "we can go." Scully was waiting for Mulder to say something. Anything. He didn't. She watched helplessly as the trio exited her apartment, Frohike's shoulders slumped, as the two other Gunmen patted his back consolingly. Once the door clicked shut, Scully watched as Mulder lazily made his way back to the bedroom. She heard him slump back into bed, and call out for her to join him. In the room, she stood over him, her hands on her waist. "What happened to that story you were going to concoct, Mulder ?" "Too early." he muttered. "Gimme a few more minutes." "I have a news flash for you Mulder. They've left!" He sat up then. Scully tapped her foot, waiting for him to defend himself. Instead, he took her hand and bodily hauled her into bed with him. Scully found herself ungracefully sprawled across him, feeling the heat emanating from him as he contorted her to fit her against him. "Mulder-" she began. "Sh." "Mulder-" "Sh!" "But Mul-" "Hush up." She did. And when Mulder felt her inch closer and close her fist around his shirt, he smiled in the early morning darkness. 10:28 AM Margaret Scully was a little early. She was supposed to run quite a few errands before going to her daughter's apartment, but the most time consuming had been canceled. Her favorite hairdresser had called in sick and she wouldn't let anyone else touch her hair. She opened the door to Dana's apartment with her key and let herself in. A trench coat caught her eye as soon as she made her way to the kitchen. she thought. She picked it up just to be sure and caught a whiff of Armani. She took a hanger out from the cloakroom and hung it up, smoothing out some wrinkles as she did so. It was a good thing she saw it, or Margaret might've walked into the bedroom and seen something that might embarrass everyone. Dana had already informed her that she and Fox were sleeping together, but not in THAT sense. When Margaret looked at her daughter with a raised brow, Dana rushed in to explain her and Fox's ritual. Margaret Scully thought she'd seen and heard everything. But this certainly took the cake. She found it sweet, of course... but could anyone blame her if she also found it a wee bit peculiar? A man and a woman, both obviously attracted to each other in close proximity who managed to restrain themselves from consummating their passion?! But Margaret always gave Dana a little leeway. After all that she and Fox had been through over the last four years, and so long as her daughter was happy, then it was fine with her. She knew Dana would assume she would not approve of what she and Fox were doing. Dana had forgotten that her mother could understand what it felt like sleeping alone without a warm body to be close to, and Margaret Scully was a mother before she was anything else, and she hugged Dana as tightly as she could and kissed her forehead. To show her daughter she was really quite comfortable with their routine, Margaret started bringing enough food for Dana and Fox. She puttered around the kitchen, looking for the Tupperware she had lent Dana for the last batch of food she'd brought over. It was empty and cleaned, and she placed it on the counter to avoid forgetting to bring it home. It was still a little over an hour before she was actually supposed to be there, so Margaret brewed some tea and took out some crackers while she read the morning papers. Scully woke up, hearing sounds coming from the kitchen. She groaned when she realized it was probably her mother early for their brunch. It was going to be tough for Mulder to walk out of the bedroom with her mom there, but not all that much. It was a good thing she told her mom what she and Mulder had started doing, because if she hadn't...oohhhh boy. She glanced at Mulder, spooned behind her with his hand resting warmly on her belly and an arm extended upward. His lips were shaped into a little pout, and his bangs had all fallen over his forehead while he slept. She decided to give him a few minutes more, so she could introduce her mother to the idea that he would be walking out of her bedroom in a little while. Picking up his hand, she laid it on the bed as she gently moved away from him. His arm tightened reflexively, but relaxed again as he continued sleeping. "Where you goin'?" he murmured. "Just to the bathroom, Mulder. I'll be back soon," she whispered back. "M'kay. Back soon." Scully stood, tiptoed to the door and delicately opened it, then walked out to the living room where her mother was sitting at the dining table, newspaper in front of her and a cup of tea in hand. "Hi mom," she greeted, kissing Margaret's cheek. Margaret looked up from her paper and smiled warmly. "Good morning, honey. I hope you don't mind I came early." "Of course not, mom...but I think I should tell you -" "That Fox is in your room?" Scully's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you know?" "I put his coat into the cloakroom. And you smell like his cologne." "Oh." Scully sat down in front of her mother, who silently noted she was fully dressed in her pajamas. She wondered for a second or two what Fox might be wearing. "Mom?" "Hm? What dear?" "You were looking kind of preoccupied about something. Want to talk about it?" Margaret smiled, and took her daughter's hand in hers. "No honey, it's nothing, really." For someone who knew Dana Scully inside out, Margaret should have remembered answers like that could only provoke her daughter into digging more. Scully's eyes softened, but she would not let this go. If her mother, who had appeared to be fine with her and Mulder's peculiar sleeping arrangements was having second thoughts, then she wanted to clear the air right now. "Something, mom. Tell me what it is." Margaret's sensed her daughter's thoughts. It saddened her that Dana would think she had gone back on her earlier approval, but understandable. She smiled and decided to come clean with what she was thinking. "Is Fox in his jammies too, honey?" she asked mischievously. "Excuse me?" "Well, honey...you come out of your bedroom dressed in your jammies, with a handsome man asleep in your bed. A mother wonders, you know?" Scully sighed in relief. She even giggled a little bit. "You want to see, mom?" Margaret blushed and looked into her tea. She looked up at Dana, who had stood and was taking her hand, pulling her into the bedroom. Margaret was protesting loudly, but Dana shushed her, whispering they didn't want to wake Mulder up. She gripped the doorknob and turned it slowly. Mulder felt as if he were being watched. He'd been watched before, and his gut instinct was never wrong. He was unsure however, thinking it might be something he had dreamt and carried over, and for one reason or another, his instinct also told him he wasn't in any imminent danger. he thought, and reached for her side of the bed to check. Empty. Warm, but empty. He groped around a little more, and scooted off to her side of the bed, thinking she had moved over to the edge. When he still came up with nothing, he decided to give her a minute if she was just in the bathroom and made a mental note to finally open his eyes if she still hadn't come back. Mother and daughter stared at the sleeping Mulder. Margaret had raised a hand to her chest at seeing him asleep, his shirt hiked up halfway and the sheets around his waist. She could make out his jeans and socks peeking out. He looked like a 12-year old exhausted from a full day at the park, except for the stubble shadowing his jaw. When Fox had reached over to check if Dana was still beside him, her heart went out to him all the more. Dana was standing beside her, a smile playing on her lips as she watched him too. The minute Mulder had given himself to check for Scully was over. He reached for her again but the bed was still empty. He finally decided to go look for her, and maybe help her with breakfast if that's what had pulled her out of bed without waking him up like she usually did. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and saw two women staring at him in the doorway. More smiles from the women. He flashed her, in his opinion, his most boyish grin. "G' morning Mrs. Scully." "Good morning, Fox. Sleep well?" Mulder looked at Scully. "I'm sure he did mom. Let's get out of here so he can change, okay?" They left the room, Mulder sighing in relief right before he jumped out of the bed and into the bathroom to change. FBI Headquarters J. Edgar Hoover Building Basement office Monday, 9:00 A.M. Mulder felt like banging several VCS agents' heads against one another when he saw all the oversights in the files. Whoever had concocted the probable profile for the serial killer must've been some snot-nosed fresh graduate who was either too cocky for his own good, or plainly a moron. Idiotic assumptions had been made left and right, but what irked Mulder the most were all the flowery and highly redundant terms he used to smokescreen his incompetence. It was just a question of collecting all the clues and statistics, then canceling out facts that didn't match. Research was also imperative of course, and by the looks of it, the VCS agents weren't even familiar with the term. Mulder and Scully had spent the better part of Sunday night surfing the Net and accessing FBI dossiers, digging up old case files and doing research. By 8:45 P.M., they were able to turn in a list of profiles that, unfortunately for the VCS agents, was radically different from the profile they'd concocted. What's worse was that it was accurate. Again. Only two days later, maverick agents Mulder and Scully had their man. The VCS agents were not happy campers. For the second time in a matter of months, "Spooky" Mulder and Mrs. Spooky had made them laughing stocks. And to top it all off, the governor knew all about their involvement. The basement was abuzz with activity that morning. Agents were drifting in and out of the X-Files office, fetching some last minute paperwork or consulting Mulder and Scully about the reports that needed to be turned in. Mulder watched them with quiet contempt, as they wore what Scully liked calling "game faces". If only 24 hours ago, sneers and jeers had greeted them, smiles that would make Colgate jealous were now plastered on. Every single moronic agent knew one snap of Mulder's fingers and they could all be censured for gross incompetence. Scully watched him wearily from across the room. He was seated behind his desk, feet propped on the table as usual, as his eyes watched agents walk across, into and out of their office door. Pursed lips, angry arm muscles, and a slight twitch in his eyebrow. Scully hoped the day ended before Mulder snapped. Assistant Director Skinner had paid them a personal visit as well, giving his thanks and congratulations and handed them a personally handwritten note from the governor, praising them for finally putting an end to the case. As satisfied as Walter Skinner was, his hard and cool facade remained impassive as he gave the agents the rest of the day off. His only give away was a brusque "Good work, you two", followed by pats on Mulder's back and Scully's shoulder. When the hubbub was finally dying down, Mulder stood up and closed the door. He noticed that Scully was tired, her eyes unable to focus on what she was doing for long periods of time. He checked his watch, noting they were both due for some lunch. He walked over to her, offered his hand and pulled her from her seat. "Where are we going, Mulder?" "Lunch. My treat. Italian sound okay?" "Yeah, it sure does. But I might not be too much of a lunch partner. I'm pooped." He smiled at her reassuringly. "You don't need to worry about that, Scully. I can always talk to the voices in my head." She rolled her eyes up and grabbed her coat and handbag. "Let's go, G-man." Dana Scully's Apartment Annapolis, MD One hour later "Mulder, when you said Italian, I was picturing something more like a scene from The Godfather. Not take-out pizza and spaghetti with meatballs." Mulder was sitting on the floor of Scully's sofa, with her perched on it, legs extended to the side. Choosing not to comment, and instead handing her another slice of pizza, he grinned when she sighed resignedly of all that she'd eaten but took it anyway. They were watching 'The Silence of the Lambs' for the umpteenth time, courtesy of Mulder's video collection, albeit the censored section. When Dr. Hannibal Lecter was fitted with a straightjacket and hockey mask, Scully grinned. "If only it were that easy to keep OUR perps from getting away. Tooms would've cinched that." Pause. "Maybe, and it wouldn't have stopped Eddie Van Blundht either." The second the words were out, he regretted it. His eyes closed as he mentally pictured hitting himself over the head with an anvil. Over and over again. Silence from Scully. More silence. Mulder turned his head, ready to defend himself physically. She sat there, her face impassive. "I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean anything by it." More silence. It was deafening. Mulder kneeled on the floor, and turned to her. His hand cupped her cheek, expecting her to either push him away or storm off. Instead, she sighed at the memory, knowing this was bound to come up, but regretting it did at a time she didn't feel like discussing it. She didn't need this right now, would much rather not talk about it and forget the whole incident with Eddie. She hadn't been able to look him in the eye weeks after the incident, and was thankful that Mulder had been evasive about it as well. Maybe TOO evasive, actually. The one and only comment he made, "Yeah, but I'm no Eddie Van Blundht either... Am I?" had her blushing for six hours. Mulder pressed his forehead to hers, his thumb caressing her cheek. He stood then, and gently took her hand to pull her to the bedroom, hoping she'd be willing to take a nap he could join her in. In spite of the relaxed atmosphere for the last couple of hours, save for that moronic quip of his, she should be more relaxed now but wasn't. He cursed himself silently, making mental note after mental note not to burden her with his insecurities and failures at times like this. That last remark of his should get him at least another 20 years in purgatory, he thought. Scully's brain snapped to alarm. She hesitated for a moment, and Mulder paused, turning to her. "What?" His baffled and innocent look gave her a stranglehold into perspective, but her reaction shocked Mulder. Really, really, really shocked Mulder. Scully started laughing. Uncontrollably hard. Her face became red from the effort, one hand started thumping against her thigh, as the other squeezed Mulder's hand so hard that his circulation was cut off. "I've never had a woman laugh while I lead her into the bedroom." His deadpan made Scully laugh all the more. It sounded like she was having a bad asthma attack and tuberculosis at the same time. Mulder stood there like a scratching post, waiting for the fit to end. He seriously considered finding a sharp instrument to poke her with, just to make sure she didn't spew green blood. It took almost five minutes, but his persistence paid off. As Scully wiped away her tears and tried her best to compose herself, he waited, shifting from one leg to another, anxious for an explanation. "I thought... Hahahaha !!! I thought... Hahahaheehee... you were... aheeehaha..." "I was?" he asked. His hands waved diminutively in the air, as though by doing so, her explanation would be swifter. "Going to... hahahahaha... teach me a... lesson... hahahahee... or something, because of Van Blundht." Mulder cocked an eyebrow. "And what if I was?" Her laughing fit came to an abrupt and screeching halt. She risked taking a peek into Mulder's eyes. Mulder tugged on Scully's hand, and she was suddenly dangerously close to him. They were chest to chest, or at the very least, chest to Mulder's lower rib cage, and she could feel his warm breath on her face, smell his scent and feel the heat emanating from his body. His eyebrows were knitted together, his eyes piercing and penetrating. Slowly, and even a little lazily, his palm traveled to her hip, pulling her even closer. His other hand reached for the other hip and treated it with the same reverence. Scully gasped quietly, but Mulder didn't miss it. Slowly, he lowered his head and placed his lips an inch away from her ear. "What if I was," he murmured again. Slowly, he pulled his face back and searched her eyes. They stood there, gazes locked, for what seemed like an eternity. Their breaths the only sound in Scully's living room. It was the stand-off of the century. It could have gone on for a decade. If only Mulder's cellphone didn't ring. Mulder ignored it, or honestly didn't hear it. The high-pitched shrill rang stubbornly, but Mulder had other things on his mind. One of his thumbs had started doing some exploring. Scully thought it was a reprieve from the forces above. It rang continuously, insisting it be answered. When Mulder STILL refused to pick up, Scully, her eyes still locked with his, reached into his jacket, her fingers brushing against his chest as she did so and pulled it out herself. She handed the phone to Mulder, who took it from her, and angrily punched the talk button. "This better be good." he answered. The voice on the other end paused momentarily before answering. "And what if it isn't, Agent Mulder?" asked Skinner. "I'm sorry Sir. I'm..." he looked at Scully. "...quite distracted at the moment. My apologies again." "Well then you'll be delighted to know that this will be worth your while. You forgot to sign your name in your final report, Agent Mulder. Get your ass down here and finish it off before the secretarial pool goes home." "Yes, sir." "Is Agent Scully okay?" "She's fine, sir." "Very well." Click. Mulder put the phone back into his jacket pocket. "I forgot to sign my report. I need to go back to the Bureau." Because your bare legs distracted me while I had the damn pen in my hand, he added silently. "Okay," she exhaled, visibly relieved. He strode to the door, and opened it. Suddenly turning around, he looked straight at her a few feet behind him. Scully held her breath. His voice was low. "Got you, didn't I?" Scully's eyes widened. Mulder grinned from ear to ear. "Yep. I got you goooooood." Even as he shut the door behind him, she could picture him grinning all the way to the elevator. She grinned too. Not because it was funny, but because she was imagining all sorts of nifty ways to strangle him. San Francisco Day's Inn Motel 1:50 AM Wednesday "You HAVE to have a spare key." "I'm sorry, sir. The spare to you room was recently lost by the previous occupant," explained the frazzled desk clerk. "We haven't been able to make a new spare yet." "Well how the hell does the cleaning lady make the room up if not with the spare?" asked Mulder, his voice rising, his cheeks flustering. It had been a long, long, long day and he was filthy, dripping wet, exhausted, and unbelievably sleepy. He and Scully had separated shortly after lunch, she having to do three autopsies in a row, he to follow up a lead that turned out to be bogus. "She has a skeleton key, sir. But she's gone home, and we don't know where she keeps them." A long line of expletives poured out of Mulder's mouth. He was on the verge of shooting the lock to his door down if need be, when an idea popped into his head. "Do you have a spare key to my partner's room?" The clerk looked at him suspiciously. "Why?" "Why??!!" Mulder exploded. "Because I smell bad, I'm dripping wet, I'm cold, I'm sleepy and I'm pissed that you don't have a spare key to my room, that's why!" It was enough to make the balding clerk jump and hastily check for the spare key to room 304. With a shaky palm, he handed them over to Mulder, praying to every saint in the bible the temperamental FBI agent wouldn't shoot him. "THANK YOU," Mulder yelled. He pivoted and headed out of the lobby and ran to Scully's room, tenting his coat over his head. He didn't want to wake her, really. Three autopsies in a row had probably exhausted her just as much as he, and with the new closeness that they shared, he was sure she wouldn't mind if he bunked in her bed for the night. Surely, he justified, she wouldn't mind breaking their rules on sleepovers just for one night, and it was late enough in the evening for no one to be around when he went into her room. He assumed correctly too that the desk man would keep his trap shut, Mulder having successfully terrorized him enough. Quietly, he inserted the key into the lock and turned it, relieved it hardly made any noise. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room, as he draped his trench coat and jacket on a nearby chair. He looked over to Scully's sleeping form, bundled in comforters, with only a lock of her red hair peeping out. It was terribly cold even with the heater turned on, and Mulder felt the icy bite as soon as he removed his wet and soaking coat. Since the one and only lead to the case he and Scully were working on was an obvious fraud, their presence in San Francisco was no longer needed. Mulder had already spoken to the detective in charge from the SFPD, and he agreed they could handle the case from there as well. Which meant, hip hip hooray, he and Scully could sleep in before taking the next flight out to Washington. He entered the bathroom and shut the door before turning the light on, not wanting it to disturb her sleep. There was something oddly comforting in knowing he was much more aware of her comfort now, he thought. His brutal density ebbing as each day passed. He was glad, really. It was nice to be able to find someone you could let your guard down with and not be afraid of repercussions. Mulder undressed fully, allayed that at least his boxers and undershirt were still clean. He turned the shower on, adjusting the temperature till a strong warm flow shot out of the shower head. He soaped and shampooed, at the same time trying his best to soothe his aching muscles and dried off. The clean boxers and undershirt were slipped on again, and he quietly left the bathroom. He slid under the sheets, sighing when warmth surrounded him. Craving for even more warmth, he scooted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her naked waist. Momentary panic and a flash of arousal zinged through him, when a logical part of his mind concluded that her pajamas had most likely ridden up during the night. His palm took the logical root, and came up with more skin. Mulder froze. He gulped hard and tried again, only to have the tip of his middle finger brush against the underside of her breast. Between the shock and his cock jumping into action, Mulder found himself totally dumbfounded what to do next, until Scully woke up and shrieked her head off. "MULDER!!!!!" she screamed, bolting out of bed and taking all the sheets with her. "What the hell is going on??! Are you drunk?!" Mulder's extensive vocabulary suddenly left him. "B-b-b-b-but....! I-I-I-I-I!!!" "ARE YOU DRUNK OR NOT?!" Scully roared. "N-n-n-n-no!!!" he finally managed to squeak. "Then WHAT the hell are you doing in my bed copping a feel?!" Mulder hastily sat up in bed, still trying to find the rest of his marbles. Taking a deep breath, he held his hands up and swallowed hard, forcing his tongue to unfurl. He explained about losing his room key, the lack of a spare, and his conclusion that she wouldn't mind if he slept with her for just this one night. Scully's eyebrow was arching higher and higher, till it practically hit her hairline. he panicked. He crossed his heart and swore on every grave he could remember he wasn't bullshitting her. Scully moved back towards the bed. Mulder scooted over, giving her space, hoping she was calming down, and not looking for an ideal position in which to lunge and strangle him. She took one look at him, harassed and obviously tired, and smiled resignedly. "Seems like this day just wasn't meant to work out for either of us." "What do you mean?" "I left my overnight bag in the trunk of the car and forgot to tell you it was there. Then the battery of my cellular ran out, and I couldn't get a hold of you using a landline from all the rain. And since my clothes were less than fresh, I decided to sleep in the buff." Mulder grinned. "I noticed." "Shaddup," she lightly chastised. "We agreed no sleep overs out of town on a case, remember?" "Yeah, but all these extenuating circumstances kept getting in the way," he defended. "Scully?" Mulder asked, not being able to meet her eyes. "Yeah?" "You aren't going to make me sleep in the car, are you? Because um.. because -" he stopped in mid-sentence, watching the glare forming on her face, and her eyebrow arching back into her hairline. "Because what, Mulder? I'm naked?" "Um. Yeah?" "And what if I do?" she asked, glowering at him, hiking the sheets higher. "I'd volunteer to be your undies," he deadpanned, a very mischievous glint in his eyes. Scully calmly tied the sheet around her together at the ends, knotting it firmly and made a grab for a pillow, hurtling it at Mulder so fast the only thing he saw was a white blur. He leapt off the bed and snagged her around the waist with a long arm, bodily throwing her into bed, both of them conveniently forgetting that Scully DID have clothes, because the car was already parked outside. They started giggling and laughing so uproariously the desk clerk came pounding on their door moments later. But he scuttled off without a word when Mulder opened the door, dressed only in an undershirt and boxers with a seemingly naked FBI partner wrapped in bed sheets panting heavily in bed. J Edgar Hoover Bldg. Basement 2:30 PM Friday "I'm stopping by the grocery tonight, Scully. What do you want?" he asked, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his lower lip. "Diet Coke. I can't believe how fast we went through the last case. You guzzle it down like water, Mulder." "I LIKE Diet Coke. Anything else?" "Depends. You buying tonight?" A short pause. "Depends. You in the mood to grill some of the marinated chicken your mom left over?" "Depends. You willing to clean the grill?" A soft chuckle from Mulder. "Small price to pay. Okay, you have a deal." They both settled back to the forms they were filling out. The silence, just like it had always been, was comfortable. Neither could pinpoint the exact moment the metamorphosis had begun. For the last several months, they had taken refuge in each other's arms, and little had changed in the way of verbal communication. No, their souls did all the talking in the realm of slumber. And it would seem to an outsider they had been lovers for years, but no outsider ever saw the soft goodnight kisses Mulder gave Scully on her cheek, or Scully's suddenly natural habit of laying her head in his lap when they watched TV. They had settled into a comfortable routine. Scully's apartment by 7 PM. Mulder usually stopped by his apartment after work just to check on his answering machine, or bring over supplies of his that were dwindling. If Scully didn't feel like cooking, he would call and ask her what she wanted, and stop by a restaurant to pick up dinner. Sometimes, they felt like eating dinner in the dining room, but most of the time, they enjoyed sitting on the floor with their plates on the coffee table to watch TV. Afterwards, they'd clean the dishes together and settle down on the couch. In the beginning, they started out at opposite sides. As the days wore by, the space between them shrunk till they were side by side. Mulder's arm soon experimented and stretched to the backrest directly behind Scully, but the only physical contact between them were their hips touching. That arrangement lasted all of one night. 24 hours later, her head nodded off and softly landed on his shoulder, and he knew she had fallen asleep. "C'mere," he had whispered, and cupped the curve of her shoulder with his palm and pulled her closer. She sighed and made no protest, then settled in. The TV show he was watching was forgotten, as he stared at her, still marveling at how beautiful she was to his eyes. PART-NER. PART-NER, he chanted to himself, as his scrutiny began taking on a lascivious nature. A dastardly little voice lethargically started changing the mantra to LOV-ER. LOV-ER. He carried her in his arms that night into the bedroom. And had a very pornographic dream about Special Agent Dana Scully. If their ventures into each other's physical space were once restricted to her bedroom, the nights thereafter altered that. Mulder rarely ever got sleepy watching TV, so Scully would just lie down with her head in his lap until they both decided it was time to move into the room, and Mulder's hand had found a place to call home on her hip. He wasn't even surprised the first time it happened it seemed like everything was leading up to that kind of intimacy. Exactly how far it would go was an altogether different matter. One night in the office, Scully felt, rather than heard Mulder move up behind her, as he usually did to peruse something she was reading or looking at. For some reason, things that normally bored him took on a whole new light of excitement if he read them over her shoulder. But today, his palms softly came to rest on each hip, and she felt his warm breath puffing gently on the side of her nape. She struggled to keep her breathing normal, and although her mind was screaming out for her to turn around and find out what the hell was going on, her body refused to listen. Instead, it waited in gleeful anticipation of what Mulder would do next. Soft lips gently bumped the side of her ear, the same ear her hair was tucked behind. "What are you looking at?" he asked softly, completely ignoring the fact he was touching her so intimately. "A file," she lamely answered. "Interesting?" he asked, this time gently nipping her lobe. Scully felt her knees turning into melting rubber bands. A palm cupped the hair behind her head and swept it aside gently. Mulder's lips sought out the warm and smooth skin, gliding over it erotically. "Mhm," was all she could muster up to reply. She felt him press against her, felt the evidence of his arousal. "Feel that?" he asked, pulling her closer. She couldn't answer. He pressed gently against her again. "Cat got your tongue, Agent Scully?" Her heartbeat suddenly started to jackhammer. And oh-so-casually, his hands reached forward and cupped her breasts through her blouse, molding them in his palms. Her head snapped up, hitting Mulder's chest as she sought his lips out. His tongue forcefully sought entry into her mouth, thrusting in and out, and Scully thought she had gone mad. No one could taste this could, she was telling herself. A man can't have lips this soft. A man can't know exactly how I like to be kissed the very first time he kisses me. "Please, Mulder-" she pleaded, trying to turn around, but his hands kept her still. "Please what, Scully?" he hoarsely asked. "Please put us both out of this 4 year misery?" Her head nodded vehemently, just as Mulder finally allowed her to turn, taking her wrists and guiding it to the buttons of his shirt. The moment his chest was revealed to her gaze, Scully's fingers moved to touch his warm and furry chest. Too bad her alarm clock woke her up. The mechanical devil was flung to the wall, startling Mulder awake. He shot up in bed in surprise. "What the hell was that?!" Scully groaned. How was she going to explain her violent outburst? "I hate the damn thing because it interrupted my wet dream of you"? "You know, if you wanted to sleep in, Scully, all you had to do was hit the snooze button." She growled and got out of bed, stomping off towards the bathroom. Mulder wondered if he'd missed something. Monday Washington, DC Mulder had been having bad premonitions the moment he and Scully woke up at 6:30 AM. DC police, infamous for not enjoying FBI intervention in their cases, actually called the Bureau asking for help pronto. The minute Mulder and Scully walked into the J Edgar Hoover building, Dale, the security guard at the entrance, informed them AD Skinner wanted them at his office. As they sat there reading the files, the hair on Mulder's arms stood on their ends. He glanced over at Scully, who seemed non-perturbed at the gruesome details. The serial killer was cunning, extremely intelligent, and ruthless. He kidnapped men, women but mostly children. Chillingly, he sent his intended victims grisly oil paintings of themselves, a prognostication of what he calculated to do to them. A few days after each kidnapping, bodies would be found missing their internal organs. They left Skinner's office and began constructing a profile immediately. Mulder was queasy the entire time, making frequent glances at his partner for any indication if she too felt it was more disturbing than usual. After the fourth glance, she noticed. "What's wrong, Mulder?" she asked him, a quizzical look on her face. Mulder shook his head. "I don't know. There's just something ... disturbing about all of this. Don't you think?" "We've handled cases more gruesome than this, Mulder. You and I have seen worse." "I know. But back at Skinner's office, when I opened up the file, the hairs on my arm stood up like needles, Scully. That hasn't happened in years." She was beginning to worry. "Do you want to have it assigned to someone else? Although I have to tell you I don't think that's an option." Mulder nodded. "I know. It's probably nothing. Let's get back to work." At 11:26 AM, the agents met with Detective Tony Harrison, assigned by the Washington PD to be head investigator, was at least more open to extreme possibilities than Mulder and Scully had initially given him credit for. At 6'8 and 275 lbs., he towered over both of them both horizontally and vertically and his joviality was just as heavy. He listened intently to all of Mulder and Scully's hypotheses, never once blinking an eye no matter how insane they sounded, choosing instead to give Mulder a whack on the back when he was reaching his limits. By 4:23 PM, news broke about the FBI's involvement. Accusations were flung left and right, about how incompetent the police investigation must be if they needed to call in the FEDS. When Mulder and Scully walked out of the station 3 hours later, the media was waiting for them. Mulder almost decked a boom man when his fat and foamy microphone nearly hit Scully's jaw, and at 6:05 PM, Scully's cellular started ringing, Skinner bellowing that his agents' faces were all over the news. 7:21 PM Mulder had spent the last 49 minutes staring at each of the killer's oil paintings. His paint strokes were edgy and brisk, the setting always the same. He would use only five colors red, black, orange, gray and yellow. His victims were depicted lying down on a ceremonial table, surrounded by candles, on a pentagram. To the side, there were shadows of seven demons who watched silently, and an empty throne surrounded with torches in the center. Mulder ran a finger over the painting, getting into the killer's head. What he was thinking as he was painting, and what he might have been feeling. Something caught on his fingers, rolling against his flesh as he did so, and he pulled it away to find flecks of paint stuck to the tips. "Hey, Scully," he called. "Look at this." Scully walked over and peered at his index finger. "Where'd you get that?" "Came off the painting. What does that look like to you?" "Dried blood?" Mulder nodded. "Let's get a DNA test on that." She moved to her medical bag and took out a petri dish and blade. Carefully, she removed the small bits on his fingers, then sealed the sample and labeled it. "If we drop this off at the lab now, we can have the results before midnight." Mulder nodded. He was bushed, and still uneasy about this case. Both of them needed a short break. "Think maybe we can grab some dinner, Scully?" "Nothing else we can do until the lab results, Mulder. And you need a break from looking at all those macabre paintings." She retrieved her bag and rubbed the back of her neck. "Restaurant, or my place?" "Your place. The notion of having to look fairly alive for the benefit of the general public doesn't appeal to me. And I'd like to change my clothes too." Dana Scully's Apartment 10:22 PM Anxious to get back to work as soon as possible, Mulder and Scully agreed the quickest way to satisfying their growling stomachs was to reheat left-overs. They worked in companionable silence, both dissecting every detail of the case from two completely different points of view. As they sat down to eat, Scully's cellular rang. "Scully." "Agent Scully, we have the test results ready." She glanced at her watch. "Already? Okay. I'll be down there in half an hour." The phone was put down, as she walked back to the table. "What was that about?" asked Mulder. "The lab has the results back. Pretty quick, I'm impressed. Whoever it is must already have a record with the Bureau." They finished their dinners hastily, Mulder wolfing down his food to give him some time to change. He stripped his suit off as Scully finished her dinner, and changed to civilian clothing. His cellular rang as soon as he stepped out of the bedroom. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, Det. Harrison asked me to call you. There's been another murder." "What's your location?" "1231 Lee Avenue." A tingle sounded off in Mulder head. he thought. "I'm on my way." He walked back to Scully, who was placing their dishes into the sink. "There's been another murder, Scully. Give me a call when you've gotten the results. That okay with you?" She nodded and slipped her coat on. "We need to catch this guy, Mulder. Quick." Mulder didn't answer. They left the apartment together, locking the door behind them. As they sped away in separate cars, a dark figure hurriedly made his way back into Scully's apartment building, checking to make sure the cork he had inserted at the security gate was still there. He would remember to remove it later, after slipping an oil painting under the lovely agent's apartment door. 1231 Lee Avenue 11:12 PM Mulder stepped out of his car and viewed the building. No police cars. No ambulance. No coroner's van, no nothing. The silence was deafening. Frantically, he called her cellular. "Scully." Mulder heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank god! Scully! It was a trap! Where are you?" She had just arrived at the Bureau, and was taking the elevator up to Forensics. "What? Mulder, I can't hear you, I'm in the elevator!" "Scully, you're breaking up! Dammit! You're at the Bureau, STAY there I'm going to get you!" "What? Mulder, let me call you back!" The second she hit the end button though, the lights went out. The last thing she remembered was hearing the bang of the transom above her head forcefully opened. 11:54 PM By the time Mulder got to the Bureau, his worst fears seemed to have been realized. A forensic team was combing the insides of the elevator, its doors permanently jimmied open. Skinner was standing a few feet away, his features grim. Mulder barely managed to speak. "What happened? Where's Scully?" Skinner took his arm, but Mulder pulled away violently. "WHERE'S SCULLY!?" "We don't KNOW, Mulder. Whoever it was looped the security cameras both in the elevator and the shafts. Security didn't think anything was wrong until someone on the fifth floor reported it wasn't moving. But by then it was too late." He pushed past Skinner and stormed towards the elevator. "What did you find?!" A startled investigator looked at Skinner, who gave him a nod. "Just Agent Scully's cellular phone, sir." "FUCK!" An anguished scream erupted from his throat, before he broke into a run back out to his car. "Mulder!" Skinner called out, "Where are you going?!" "To get my partner back!" Dana Scully's Apartment Tuesday 12:20 AM He was panting and sweating profusely when he found it. And that was nothing, compared to the feeling of his heart ripping when he raised the oil painting to the light. There was Scully, a haphazard version of her rendered through a few strokes of a brush, lying down on an altar. The now-familiar shadows of demons surrounding her. His heart was beating so loudly he could hear it in his ears, his hands shaking with little tremors as he struggled to hold the painting still so he could look at it. Eyes tried in vain to focus, even as blood roared through his veins. he screamed inwardly. Mulder brought the painting inside, laying it on the dinner table he and Scully just shared a meal on. It took a tremendous amount of willpower not to crush it, or tear it in half from the rage. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, and stared at the painting again. The paint used for Scully's hair was still a little wet. Mulder punched the Bureau's number into his cellular. "Forensics!" he barked. "Agent Scully was there to retrieve the results about the DNA test." "Yes, Agent Mulder. They came in just now. We were about to call you." "Who is it?" "A man by the name of Jared Gibbons." Mulder left the apartment, quickly making his way to the car. "Give me all of his known present and past addresses, and any property he may own." "That may take awhile, Agent Mulder. Gibbons is a very rich man. We have the list right here, but it's a mile-long." Mulder pulled away from the curb, tires screeching. "Start talking. NOW." 102 Jackson Blvd. Belial Laboratories, Inc. 12:38 AM Jared Gibbons knelt, his arms outstretched, his upper torso glistening with sweat. Behind him, on a makeshift altar lay Scully. She was unconscious, but only for a few more minutes as Gibbons invoked the demon known as Belial. His passion for demonology had come early. As a teen, he was an outcast in a preppy Ivy League private school. All his classmates had no fear of his father's wealth or power their parents being more wealthy or more powerful themselves. Nary a day went by that he wasn't beaten in the bathroom, had his lunch poured over his head, or had his glasses stepped on. Things changed when he stepped into a little bookstore and found a book about demons. The moment his fingers caressed the hard and dilapidated cover, something inside him tingled. Hurriedly, he purchased it and took it home and studied the ancient Arabic text. The next day, he bought the bizarre ingredients he would need to invoke spirits, and failed. For six months, every single day he studied the literature and did his research until finally, he succeeded. His first target, one of his many tormentors, was tackled viciously on the football field and suffered permanent spinal injuries that left him paralyzed from the neck downwards. Gibbons had no remorse. A small smile played over his lips when he overheard the news, and when he got home, he placed a gentle and reverent kiss on the book of demons. From that day on, nothing was sweeter than sweet revenge. As the years dragged on, he made his way up in the world with the help of his shadowy and demonic friends. Accidents, illnesses, sudden grievous psychological problems of those of who got in his way were rarely noticed. He had found it easy to offer sacrifices, both human and otherwise, his conscience long ago forgotten. Anyone who was witness to his success would only think Gibbons was at the right place at the right time. No one would look at him and suspect devil worship. His ultimate goal was to invoke the demon Belial, said to be second only to Lucifer. He was reputed to be a compulsive liar with a rich and hypnotic voice, but to gain Belial's favor meant power over eighty legions in hell and scores of underlings. Gibbons wanted that kind of omnipotence, and was well on his way to his quota of human sacrifices when one of Belial's messengers took a liking to Agent Scully. He whispered softly into Gibbons' ear as he watched the news when the FBI were called in. "The Master would love to have that woman," he murmured. Gibbons' eyes narrowed. "Indeed, she has hair that challenges the flames in his kingdom, yes? If you give her to the Master, he will surely favor you over all the other mortals who seek his patronage." Gibbons nodded and stood up, and made a few phone calls to get the ball rolling. Now, the flame-haired agent was secured to his altar. Candles were littered all over the room, barely concealing the laboratory equipment. Gibbons had announced the lab's temporary closure for 'renovation' and had given all his employees two weeks off with pay. Everyone was delighted, but not half as delighted as Gibbons who had spent months preparing for his special evening. This will make Belial very happy, he thought. Very happy indeed. Carefully, he made sure all his instruments and ingredients were in place and ready. Silently he began chanting, as he delicately slit his left wrist and dropped some of his own blood into a chalice. Blood from the agent's own wrist followed suit. He turned around and watched her, still unconscious. Her lips were parted softly, her breathing deep if a bit labored. "Beautiful," he murmured to himself, and was almost sorry he couldn't keep her for himself. He walked over to a small tray and picked up his favorite dagger its handle said to be made from the bones of a unicorn - and caressed the glistening blade. He heard her stir and approached her, placing a finger on her lips. Scully opened her eyes and stared at the madman. "I'm sure you're planning to scream. In which case, I would strongly advise against it. I have a bit of a temper, and a dagger in my hand. Any sound you make will very much likely be your last. Am I understood?" "Who are you?" Scully tried to maintain a calm façade, one of indifference, but it was laborious. Her heart was pounding loudly, and her hands were beginning to shake. Gibbons smiled warmly. "There is no need for introductions, Agent Scully. But yes, I am the man you are looking for. And yes, you are going to die by my hands tonight." "Next we have the laboratories." Mulder was fast losing hope of finding Scully in time. Charlie from Forensics had just spent 12 minutes ticking off every single apartment, house, condominium, lot, printing press, and restaurant Gibbons owned or had owned. His final hope were the laboratories. He needed to keep it together, needed to think, and couldn't let his fear of losing her cloud his mind. Charlie took a deep breath. "Aquarius Labs, Pisces Labs, Taurus Labs, Belial Labs-" "Hold it! What was that last one?" "Belial Laboratories, Agent Mulder." "All the other labs are astrological signs. How many others are there?" A short pause and a rustling of papers. "Two." "What're the names of the others?" "Um... Loki and Shony." "It's Belial Labs. What's the location?" "102 Jackson Boulevard." "I'm 8 minutes away, send every fucking available agent there RIGHT NOW, Charlie!" The line went dead before Charlie could say, "Right away." Mulder switched off the lights on his car one block away. Swiftly, he stepped out and took his weapon out, running as fast as his feet could take him. He was nearer the front door, it's steel gates shut tightly, a large, shiny sign proclaiming "Belial Labs is temporarily closed for major renovations. We will open our doors to serve you again on 25 June 1999. Thank you for your patronage." He circled the building to access the backdoors, and made the same discovery. A quick ocular showed him there was no way inside the building without letting Gibbons know of his presence, and provided him with some necessary calculations and educated guesses where Scully and Gibbons might be. Extreme circumstances called for extreme measures. Mulder went back to his car, switched the engine on, and hit the pedal to the metal. The hood accordioned on impact. The airbags deflated, successfully preventing Mulder's head from making impact with the dashboard. Half the car was now inside Belial Laboratories as Mulder stepped out again and started his search. The sound of the crash shook the walls, sending Gibbon's sprawling for cover, still clutching tightly at his precious dagger. He tried to gather his wits, trying to decipher if it was an explosion, an earthquake or his master making a grand entrance. On shaking feet he stood up, blinking furiously through the smoke, dust and debris, agitated by whatever caused it. Strong lights shrouded a tall figure in darkness, walking menacingly towards him with a slow but deliberate and graceful gait. "Master?" he whispered. The figure raised an arm, ever so slowly. Gibbons bowed down and fell to his knees. "Your humble servant. My last sacrifice awaits you." He heard strong and rough breathing. "Jared Gibbons." The voice was low, hypnotic, and full of power. Gibbon's kept his head bowed to the ground and nodded. The next thing he felt was a slug entering from top of his skull and into his brain. Mulder moved towards Scully, pushing Gibbons' corpse aside with his foot. He checked on her, his manner detached. She was breathing just as raggedly as he was, gulping in breaths of air as she rubbed her wrists. "Thanks for finding me in time, Mulder," she murmured gratefully. Mulder didn't answer. He shoved a hand into his coat pocket and took his mobile out. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder. I need the paramedics at 102 Jackson Boulevard. Suspect Jared Gibbons has been shot." Without another word, Mulder walked out of the lab, leaving Scully at a total loss. Normally, he would be fawning over her now, touching her cheeks, asking repeatedly if she were okay, needed anything, wanted anything. But all she saw was his back, walking out the gigantic hole he made in the wall. She waited for a few moments, trying to figure out what had just happened. Could he possibly be MAD at her for some reason? With a frown she stood up, stepping over Gibbons' lifeless body and followed Mulder outside. He was facing a wall, arms braced against it, eyes closed. The sound of gravel crunching alerted him to her presence. His eyes snapped open to find Scully standing a foot away from him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Mind telling me what just happened back there, Mulder?" Again, he didn't answer. There were too many thoughts jumbling together in his head, and he was furious with her but was afraid to vent it all out. He knew he said things he didn't mean to when he was angry. Gratefully, the police and ambulance arrived. Harrison got out of one of the patrol cars and made a beeline for Mulder as Scully watched them from a distance, speaking in hushed tones. She saw Harrison motion to her, probably asking Mulder if she was alright. His reply was a slight nod, followed by a frustrated run of his hand through his hair. Again, Harrison said something. Mulder bowed his head and uttered a response. Harrison barked orders into his radio and 30 seconds later, two paramedics escorted Scully to a waiting ambulance. "Just making sure you're alright, ma'am," said one of them. "Detective Harrison's orders." Scully thought bitterly. As the EMTs fussed over her, the detective came over and sat down beside her. "How're you doin' Agent Scully?" "I'm fine, thanks." He chuckled. "That's what Agent Mulder said you'd say." "Well this time, I'm telling the truth. I'm not injured at all." Harrison looked at one of the EMTs, who gave him a thumbs-up sign. "Okay. Well, looks like this case wrapped itself up. I gotta tell ya, I'm glad Agent Mulder killed the sunuvabitch. Thanks for all your help." Scully smiled back at him weakly. Harrison was about to walk away, then hesitated and turned around. "Agent Scully?" he called. "Yes?" "I hope you don't take this the wrong way or anything. But 5 years ago, my partner almost died in the line of duty because of me. We didn't talk to each other after it happened either. It just hurt too much when I realized what I could've lost." Scully stared at him. "And you know something? Not a day goes by I don't thank God I married her a week later." They didn't speak to each other the rest of the investigation, even as FBI agents, policemen and the paramedics combed over the warehouse. Skinner arrived on the scene, checked on Scully and allowed her to postpone her reports to the following day. They were dismissed and rode in silence back to the office, not a single word passing between them. Once there, the silence continued. Mulder had fished his keys out of his pocket, jamming it into the lock so hard it almost broke, and stormed inside. When he threw his keys across the room, it was the final straw for Scully. "Just what the hell is your problem, Mulder?!" He swung around , his eyes flaming in anger. "You want to hear it Scully? The whole god-honest 100% no-holds-barred fucking truth? I LOST it, okay? I LOST it. I ignored my gut instincts and told them to shut up, and I almost got you killed!" "What the hell are you talking about?!" she demanded. "SOMETHING was telling me to be more careful, to not let us get involved in this case. I didn't listen. It was MY fault you almost died tonight! AGAIN!" Indignation rose into her throat. "Why does everything have to be YOUR fault Mulder? Your responsibility, your decision, your choice?! You're an emotional masochist, and you regale in it." He shoved his face into hers. "Who the hell are YOU to tell me what kind of a man I am?" Scully turned around, unable to answer him. She felt him grab her shoulder and try turning her around, but she shoved him away. "Answer me, dammit!" She walked to the other end of the office, refusing to face him. "Maybe the intimacy we're sharing is detrimental to our work, Mulder. This wouldn't have happened if we weren't sleeping together." He let out a snort of disgust, now more enraged than ever. "The 'intimacy' we have, Scully?" he asked sarcastically. The words tumbled out before he could even process them in his head. "We aren't 'intimate' as you put it, Scully. Because we don't even fuck." Her palm cracked across his cheek, leaving a red handprint in its wake. "You bastard!" she seethed. Bile suddenly rose in her throat, forcing her to gulp it down as she turned and grabbed her purse. Mulder stood stock still, still reeling from her slap as realization dawned on what he had said to incite her violent reaction. He cursed both vocally and internally, suddenly contrite for his tactlessness. he thought. He tried to apologize, but Scully was out the door, flinching her arm away out of his grasp. He let her go, perplexed himself on what he could possibly say or do to make things alright again. Scully stormed into her apartment, flinging her briefcase across the room. When it hit a wall and snapped open spilling all her things onto the floor, it took a lot of willpower not to scream. Dana Scully did not scream. Dana Scully did not have temper tantrums. Dana Scully fumed, and fumed very well. She took her coat off and decided to start on dinner. Without Mulder. She pounded on pots, slammed drawers shut, and almost burned herself turning the oven on as she valiantly bit her back her tears. It was unbelievable what Mulder had done. They had had disagreements before, raised their voices even, but that afternoon's war was an all-out screaming match. Exhausted, she forwent dinner instead, and turned the flame off on the oven. When the anger started giving way to what she was really feeling, she made a valiant attempt to calm down. Could it really be that what had just happened was a consequence of them sleeping together? What she had loved most about her working relationship with Mulder was the fact he treated her as an equal, sometimes valuing her input more than his own, and always valuing it more than anyone else's. She knew he was proud of how independent and strong-willed she was, had heard Skinner comment on it several times. It occurred to her then that was why although officially, the Bureau had no stand on partners consorting romantically with each other, it was frowned upon. One lost perspective. One lost their grip on reality. One lost their focus. It didn't used to make sense, but it certainly did now. And all that crap was just the beginning. His crass statement is what had really angered her, hurt her the most. Why it had hurt made her head throb all the more. Because it hit too close to home. Mulder stood near the door, his hands braced against the plank of wood. He was breathing raggedly, forehead littered with large drops of perspiration. Behind him, his couch was overturned and papers scattered all over the floor. Bruises were scattered over his knuckles, after having used them to pummel some of his frustration out. He hadn't resorted to violent outbreaks before to relieve stress, but it seemed that the meager physical pain of bloodied knuckles somewhat alleviated his emotional wounds. Could he have been anymore cruder? And to SCULLY of all people. He had treated her much the same way his porn bimbos were accustomed to. A mantra of curses had been running back and forth in his head. "You dumb fuck," being the most popular. He mulled over what Scully had said. Could it be true? That he was losing his perspective because of the intimacy? But aside from the suddenly close physical contact he was sharing with her almost every night, nothing else was different. As painful as it was to admit to himself, he had loved her for years now. Was he afraid of rejection? Most definitely. Scully knew him better than anyone else in the world, and that was a scary thought. He was damaged and what he considered to be irreparable goods. He had self-diagnosed himself many times, had even consulted a few psychologists and psychiatrists he had been friends with at Oxford and trusted. Short of prescribing lobotomies, they all shared the same grim conclusion. That Fox William Mulder was one fucked-in-the-head individual. Certainly, he was not a certifiable lunatic. Nor was he schizophrenic, a sociopath or potential serial killer. Mulder's demons were very much of this earth, products of his tumultuous history and character. And his will to survive and conquer was perhaps the only thing that kept him sane; he had mastered the art of shoving down his demons deep enough so that none from the world of wakefulness ever saw them. Until Scully came along. He had let his guard down with Scully because he trusted her, respected her, and... dare he say it? Because he loved her? After her two-hour bubble bath, Scully had managed to calm down. Her heart wasn't pounding in her chest anymore, and her blood pressure had seemingly regularized . Even the intense migraine seemed to have abated somewhat. She slipped into her most expensive pajamas, hoping that spoiling herself tonight would keep her mind off Mulder. A quick trip to the kitchen to fetch a glass of wine helped as well, as she curled up in bed and read the book she hadn't touched since she and Mulder started sleeping together. It was a small victory to see that the dog-ear she had made to mark her last page was still there. she thought haughtily. But 2 minutes later, she was looking at the empty space beside her longingly, and wondering why it was so damn cold in her bedroom. After making his decision, Mulder headed for Scully's. He hated this feeling, like an adolescent in the middle of a war with his first love. The usual sickening forgive-me scenarios had crossed his mind, but with an angry and very frustrated growl, he crossed them all out. He had to be teetering on the edge of senility to actually think Scully would forgive him by bringing her flowers or candy. His hands gripped the steering wheel even more strongly, practically turning his knuckles white. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, unable to jog his otherwise eloquent mind for something to say by way of an apology. When he got to her apartment, he shut the engine off and sat there in the dark for 10 minutes, just staring at the window. Her bedroom light was on, their signal from when they first started sleeping together that she was expecting him. Tonight he doubted the light bore the same significance. She was probably stabbing a Haitian voodoo doll of his likeness in the belly, which would really explain why he felt as though his stomach was being shoved into a meat grinder. Mulder thumped his forehead against the steering wheel, shutting his eyes tight. Taking a deep breath, he managed to pull himself out of the car without incident, and made his way into her building. Beads of perspiration started falling from his forehead as well as his palms, and his fingers were shaking something fierce. This was all very un-Mulder-like, and he knew it. He just KNEW he was going to say or do something that would fuck things up again. As Scully's door loomed closer and closer, Mulder's pulse and heartbeat pounded like bongo drums. He knocked. The door opened. Scully's face came into view. "Mulder." Immediately he cast his eyes down. "Hey, Scully." "What do you want?' He took a deep breath. "Just enough of your time to make an apology." She didn't say anything. Didn't even move aside to let him in. "I ...Dana, I mean Scully... I just - " His words were cut off as he suddenly turned around and stormed back towards the elevator. Scully strode after him, grasping his sleeve, yanking on it hard to face her. "Mulder," He faced her, lowering his head, not meeting her gaze. She peered at him and saw a tear falling from his eye. Hastily, he took a swipe at the errant drop of water falling over his cheek, and tried freeing himself from her grasp. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." "Mulder," she whispered, holding on to him for dear life. "Look at me." Timidly, he raised his face. "I've never seen you cry before," she said, more to herself than to him. "Come here." She enveloped her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest and waited for him to do the same. There was a little hesitation as she felt the muscles in his arms twitching, then slowly raising to hug her. It felt good, Scully thought. Hugging Mulder in his familiar leather jacket, smelling his familiar scent, having her body pressed against him. She felt safe in his arms. Warm and safe and protected. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "So, so, sorry, Scully." Then he began crying, whimpering into her shoulder. "Shh," she comforted. "It's okay, Mulder. I forgive you. Let's go inside." She used her thumbs to wipe his tears away, amazed at how beautiful he looked. She cupped the back of his nape with her palm, pulling him closer to give him a kiss on his forehead. "Come on." She tugged on his hand, pulling him away from the elevator, away from leaving her. They went back into her apartment, heading straight for the bedroom. Scully sat him down on the edge of the bed, stood between his legs and hugged him to her breast. Her fingers soothingly sifted through his hair for a minute or two, waiting till the last remnants of his crying came to a stop. She cupped his face in her hands, prodding him to look up at her. "Hey. It's been a bad day for both of us, right? Let's just get some sleep, okay?" He nodded, and shocked her as he took her palm and kissed the inside. It was a soft, chaste kiss, but it surprised her nonetheless. It seemed perfectly natural to him. After he let her hand go, he flopped into bed, crawling his way up while kicking off his boots. Scully turned the bed and lay down beside him. "Aren't we going to get under the covers?" He smiled boyishly at her. "Okay." Mulder lifted his butt, reaching for the sheets as Scully mirrored his movements. Once they were settled in, they faced each other, saying nothing. She watched him, his eyelids beginning to droop and realized how exhausted they both were. Her hand involuntarily reached out, cupping his cheek just as he let out a little yawn. "Scully," he whispered softly. "Hm?" Her eyelids were quickly dropping as well. "Thank you for forgiving me." She smiled. Mulder didn't even have to open his eyes to see it. Less than an hour had passed during their sleep, and already they were entwined with each other. Scully roused, something pushing her to wake up to find herself half-lying over Mulder. Her hand was resting on his stomach, his palm over it. He stirred a little bit, hugging her more closely. "You make it easy," he mumbled. "What?" she asked, unable to determine if he was still asleep or not. "Easy to say I love you." She came fully awake. "Then why haven't you?" "I always say it," he answered, eyes still closed. "Every time you turn around. Every time you leave the office. Every time you put the phone down. Every time I know you can't hear me." Mulder opened his eyes. He'd actually been awake. "I'm not going to ask you how you feel about me, Scully. Because whether or not you feel the same way, I have no idea what I'd do." He cupped her cheek in his palm. "There's only one thing I can be certain of. Depending on your answer, I can be one of two things the happiest man to ever walk the face of the earth, or the saddest." "Mulder, I-" He placed a finger on her lips, gently silencing her. "Don't say anything Scully. Let's let the night decide for us. Say what you want to say when you know one hundred percent how you feel." Scully swallowed hard. How could sleep be possible, now knowing what she did? As if reading her mind, he said "You'll make it." And with that, he hugged her even closer, running his palm over her arm until she did. Fox Mulder was having a bad dream. His subconscious couldn't believe it was happening. It was still partially aware that in the waking world, Scully was in his arms and that the demons were afraid of her, and soon they would scurry back to the dark corners of his mind. Mulder was in a large castle for some reason, and it was cold, dark and damp. There were monks in dark hoods who stood behind shadows, silently observing and guarding the room. Phoebe Green was relentlessly seducing him. He was tied to a chair and she was straddling him, licking his face, kissing his cheeks and chin. It was disgusting to him, and he fought hard against the bile rising in his throat. As if that were not enough, she turned into an alien, but not before turning into Samantha. He closed his eyes, willing her image to disappear, trying to force himself to wake up, with no success. When he opened his eyes again, Kristen was standing in front of him, her eyes devoid of white, only black orbs staring at him. It briefly crossed Mulder's mind they looked like the eyes of a shark. Slowly, she walked towards him. And with her footsteps, the silent monks started chanting eerily, sending shivers up and down Mulder's spine. Kristen straddled him, as he valiantly fought against the ropes that bound him with no success. Impatiently, she pushed against his shoulders and placed her fingertips to his forehead to expose his nape, as she slowly lowered her head. The chanting of the monks grew louder. Mulder felt her hot breath starting to sear his skin, and the cold hardness of her incisors making contact with his flesh, then breaking through, and finally the rush of his own blood pumping into her mouth as she suckled voraciously. In his dream, he must have fainted. He saw black, and the pain left momentarily. But the next image forced him to face another nemesis, as Kristen reappeared. She looked utterly pleased with herself that all the life had been literally sucked out of him, and stopped when he had no more strength to even squirm. She stood in front of him, looking him over, a smile playing on her lips. Her eyes came to rest on the work she'd done to his neck, then noticed the little piece of jewelry there. Her fingers reached out and caressed the golden cross gently, and her eyebrow slowly raised. Mulder tried to dodge the contact with no success. He watched her through glazed eyes, terrified and fascinated at the same time. "You're still wearing this false talisman, Fox." she whispered. "Hasn't the truth died along with it?" Her words and their meaning sank in deep. Mulder tried to scream, but he had no more strength. It came out as a strangled cry. "No!... No... It can't be..." Tears started pouring down his cheeks. He watched helplessly as Kristen's head tilted back, laughing sadistically, before she viciously tore the golden cross from his neck. Her hands clamped on either side of his head as he struggled violently, when Kristen forced him to look at a sphere she magically conjured floating directly in front of his eyes. An image of Jared Gibbons suddenly appeared. But it wasn't all Gibbons' face. His face was distorted, his teeth long and dripping of saliva. He was laughing maniacally, as he stared straight into Mulder's eyes and like a Vaudeville, his hand swept majestically, revealing his act behind him. Scully was tied down to his autopsy table, breathing heavily in fear. When Gibbons made a grab for a scalpel and winked at Mulder, Mulder screamed and passed out. This isn't happening, he thought. The dream finished then, and Mulder welcomed the blackness. For the next few minutes his mind was devoid of images, but the pain was still there. His heart was tearing itself to pieces, and his guts felt as though they were being wrenched out of him. He wanted Scully. Like a four-year-old, he wanted Scully to save him from the monsters, and he let himself keep wishing, pushing away the voice inside mocking and taunting him for his weakness. Mulder felt hands grasp him gently. He was enveloped in a special warmth, that his spirit immediately recognized and made him feel safe again. he thought. They were on water, he was kneeling in front of her, she was standing before him, her arms around his shoulders. The placid and serene ocean was beneath their feet, a wonderful and spectacular blue that was absolutely breathtaking, and above them, clouds raced by with amazing speed. His arms went around her, and she gathered him to her breast, and kissed his forehead. He looked up at her, and whispered, "I knew you'd save me." She nodded and wiped his tears away. He stood up, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. Tentatively at first, then with a little more confidence. His lips merely bounced lightly against hers, wondering whether or not she would permit deeper contact. Scully opened her mouth. His tongue slipped in, and he tasted her. All five of Mulder's senses, and a few he didn't even know he had, sparked to life. Gently, he laid her down in the water, watching in reverence as the water softly and willingly accepted her, pooling gently around her as he touched her cheek. He heard the soft lapping of the water, as if it too, yearned to make love to her, as he lowered his mouth to her waiting lips. Mulder prayed he wouldn't wake up anytime soon. Scully had been awake for several minutes. Mulder had started moaning, and she woke up, concerned. If it was a nightmare, it was the first since they had started sleeping together. It could be left-over trauma from Gibbons. So she gathered him close to her, sitting up in bed to soothe him and held him in her arms, and he had whispered, "I knew you'd save me." And then he was kissing her, but his eyes were still closed. His face had tilted up, and his hand rose to trap her head against his lips. Scully muttered protests, albeit with little conviction as she chastised her own lips for taking liberties and opening to kiss him back. Blood roared through her ears when Mulder's tongue invaded her mouth forcefully, just as a sweet ache from between her legs made itself known. For long moments, they feasted on each other's tastes and textures, but there was no urgency; just languorous exploration. But when Mulder's hand trailed down to unbutton her pajamas, and his heated palm cupped her bare breast, Scully's mind yelled out a warning. "Mulder... Wake up! Stop!" His hand stilled, and so did his mouth. Scully dreaded the next few seconds if Mulder remembered what he had been doing. Apparently, he did. His eyes opened slowly, trying to focus. He saw her looking at him, her eyes wide and her lips swollen and wet. And her taste was still on his tongue. Looking down, he saw his hand was under her shirt, the top button undone and Scully's hand circling his wrist. He inhaled suddenly, and his eyes widened, as he realized how much of his dream had carried over. "Oh Christ, Scully! I'm so sorry..." Embarrassed and ashamed, Mulder shot out of bed, and frantically searched for his shoes. He jammed his feet into them, all the while muttering apologies, then picked up his coat, violently shoving his arms through it. Scully stood as well, confused at Mulder's reaction. Didn't he realize he hadn't done anything wrong? He'd been asleep, and she had managed to wake him up before things had gone too far. "I need to get out of here... Out of your sight." "Mulder, stop. It's alright, nothing happened." "This was a mistake," he spat out, as he stormed away from her. Scully bit her lip to keep it from trembling. For Mulder to sum up all those nights they spent together as a "mistake" delivered unbelievable pain to her heart. However, she would not let it go. As Mulder headed towards the door, she forcefully put herself between him and the exit. He stopped and faced her. "You have to get rid of me, Scully. You should tell me to go away, and not come back." She looked straight into his eyes, her hand sternly reaching out to clutch at his sleeve. "No, Mulder." Mulder's eyes teared up quickly, his entire body shaking hard. His hand flew to his face, covering his eyes, not wanting Scully to see him like that. His voice shook, barely audible. "Tell. Me. To go, Scully." This was one battle of wills Scully could not afford to lose. For Mulder, as much as for herself. Her voice was firm. "No." "LET ME OUT OF HERE, GODDAMMIT!" Her voice was calm despite the violent outburst. "No, Mulder. Not until you tell me why you can't even look at me. You're upset, and I want to know why." Mulder realized he would not win this discussion. Except by resorting to violence. His fist flew to the wall, hitting it so hard the windows shook. She reached for his hand instinctively, as a doctor and his friend responding immediately. Bitterly, he pulled it out of her grasp. "Quit playing doctor, Scully. And tell me to get the fuck out of your life!" She stared at his tear-filled eyes, full of pain, anger and sorrow. She did not understand any of this, any of what was happening. All she knew was that Mulder wanted to leave, but she didn't want him to. Her next words were hard to say, and it took voluminous control on her part to say them clearly enough for Mulder to understand. "So it's all come down to this, Mulder? What it all boils down to is that all those nights I kept you safe in my arms amounted to nothing? What happened to 'I love you?'" A fierce whisper escaped his lips. "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. You should tell me to leave." "And if I don't ?" she asked. His breath was ragged as he ground out his words, fists clenched and trembling at his side. "Nothing... Nothing in this world is going to stop me from making love to you." It took two seconds for his words to sink in. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Mulder, I..." His reply was bitter, sarcastic. "Sorry if I shocked you Scully, but you were asking for it. And now that you know, it'll be a lot easier for you to make me leave." Scully's cast her eyes down. Mulder interpreted her reaction as one of embarrassment and disgust, but he was way off mark. She couldn't look him in the eye because she was having a hard time controlling the sudden waves of exhilaration and desire that had engulfed her at his revelation. Her insides were suddenly very hot, and her sense of smell was becoming frighteningly powerful. She could smell Mulder's unique scent, and it filled her head with desire for him. Even the heat that poured out of his body had a scent to it, one that made carnal desires run amuck inside her. Scully stood right before him now, but her expression was unreadable. He watched her as she took his hand again, and a voice inside him laughed bitterly. "Are you telling me this is all about sex ? Lust ? Nothing else ?..." she asked. "No... Of course not," he cried bitterly, fighting back the tears. "I needed to prove that to you tonight, that I'd love you forever even without it. I HAVE loved you forever, Scully. And my desire for you is a betrayal of that trust." "Mulder, the reason I woke you up wasn't because I wanted to stop you. I woke you up because I needed to know that you knew who you were going to make love to." And Fox Mulder's whole damn world fell out from beneath his feet. "Mulder, come here," she quietly demanded. Slowly, she caught his hand, and gently placed it on the buttons of her shirt. Her hand remained on his wrist as though ready to guide it should it lose its way. "Touch me." The world around them came to an abrupt halt. Mulder's jaw clenched reflexively. Scully's gaze did not waver. His fingers opened the button slowly, tentatively, and he waited for the moment he would wake up from this fantasy to come true. He didn't. This was authentic. This was undeniable. This was redemption. The button came undone completely, and he parted the soft cloth to reveal her skin to him. He heard her breath turn ragged as she closed her eyes, and it encouraged him and made him braver as his fingers slipped down to the next button to undo it. The others followed in succession. Scully's shirt was completely open now. Mulder felt almost faint from the pleasure of seeing her like this, the soft curves of her breasts peeking from behind the satin. His mouth opened, his breathing having become too difficult. A last stroke of guilt assaulted him. He had to give her one last chance of back off. He owed her that much. "Scully... We shouldn't... I shouldn't. Are you sure ?" Her eyes slowly opened as she looked at him seductively. "Undoubtedly. I want you, Mulder," she murmured. "Very much. Don't make me beg." She watched his index finger explore the valley between her breasts. It moved down to her stomach, then up again as his hand cupped her breast. The look of lust in Mulder's eyes made her drunk with pleasure. Her skin trembled wherever he touched her, and she wanted him to feel what she was feeling. Her hands slid up his chest, up to his shoulders to slide his over coat off. It fell to the ground heavily, but neither of them heard a thing. She opened the buttons of his shirt in kind, and repeated what he had done to her. Her finger trailed from the hollow at the base of his throat, between his chest, and the valley on his stomach. They mirrored each others caresses. When his thumb grazed her nipple, her sharp intake of breath didn't stop her from doing the same to him. Her nails grazed his sides, as his palms roamed over hers. This gentle exploration had nothing to do with possession. It had nothing to do with domination. It was about two souls, guiding each other in a fascinating adventure over an uncharted jungle. Giving each other. Trusting each other. This was all about trust. Gently, he took her hand and together moved back to the bedroom. Mulder fell back, Scully took the lead. She could feel him right behind her, so close. His hand wandered to her waist, under the silk of her pajama top, his fingers caressing her. They paused momentarily, right before the doorway as he gently pulled her, so that her back was against his chest. She could sense as well as feel his head lowering, to sensuously kiss the side of her neck. Her knees almost buckled when his hand possessively skimmed from the side of her waist, to her stomach, then under the garter of her pants. His fingers feathered over the curls that lay beneath teasingly. "Damn you," she hoarsely whispered. She tried to turn around, to tell him to stop tormenting before they could make it to the bed. But his hands trapped her from doing so. His head lowered, till his lips were against her ear. "Why?" he murmured. "Because I know exactly what to do to make you wet?" He sucked on her earlobe gently. Scully gasped again. His hand moved up, cupping her breast, squeezing it gently as his thumb and index finger pinched her nipple to even more hardness. she thought, as she rubbed her backside against his arousal. She reached behind her and ran splayed her fingers over his hardness, through his jeans. Mulder hissed a curse. He gripped her wandering wrist, to still her movement. "Point taken." Still holding her, he lead her the rest of the way into the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her between his legs so that her back was to his chest. She felt like screaming - up to this point Mulder still had not kissed her, and she desperately wanted to feel and taste his lips and tongue again. She reached up behind her, cupping his nape and pulling him close, cheek to cheek. She kissed his face, seeking his mouth out and finally, he obliged but refused to open his mouth. They kissed like innocents, lips merely grazing and breaths mingling. Scully felt intoxicated. Delicately, he lay down the rest of the way, pulling her down with him, then under him. She whimpered as his lips rubbed hers apart, before sending his tongue deep into her mouth. They both moaned in pleasure and hunger at each other's taste. It was a slow and lethargic mating of mouths for them, all the time in the world in their hands. As impatient hands began to explore, they realized they were both still fully clothed. Both their shirts were open, and Scully decided there was something maddeningly erotic about it. She moaned as she felt Mulder's hands trail upwards to cup her breasts, gently working on her nipples again. They caressed her lazily, burning her skin, making them full and heavy. Her head tilted back helplessly, as pleasure coursed through her. "I'm so wet," she whispered into his mouth. She felt him smile against her mouth. He was reveling in the information and making her insane. Mulder murmured appreciatively. "That's good. But I'd like to find that out for myself." His fingers moved down over her belly, to the waistband of her pajama bottoms. He felt her raise her hips and slide them off with her panties, which fell over the side of the bed. When his fingers tangled into the nest of her curls, she gasped against his lips. "Easy, Dana...." he whispered. His head reeled as he felt her hips raise and buck against his hand. Mulder had wanted to go as slowly as he possibly could, even if it meant going insane but God... Scully was in his arms, and he was touching her so intimately, and she was enjoying it. He could feel the heat of her, and her wetness. He felt like a god. She felt Mulder's fingers swirling around her, then slip into her, and she cried out in pleasure. She suckled on his tongue, truly tasting him for the very first time. His finger was pumping in and out of her, his thumb grazing her clitoris while his mouth feasted on her. She felt his other hand grasp the side of her waist, steadying her, because her squirming was making it difficult to concentrate on his task. She was rubbing painfully against his erection, the jeans he was wearing becoming unbearably abrasive. In and out, in and out. Mulder's tongue... Mulder's finger... Mulder, Mulder. My partner, my friend, my confidant, my conscience, my lifeline and now, my lover. Her release was more powerful than she could have ever imagined it to be. Her gasps and moans muffled as Mulder trapped her chin in his hand, anchoring it to stay with his mouth as the sounds of absolute pleasure were lost in the cavern behind his lips. His tongue thrust into her just as she reached her peak. Her internal spasms were clenching around Mulder's fingers, and he loved knowing he had made her come, and that every bit of wetness was there for him and because of him. He waited for every wave of pleasure to subside before he slipped his finger out, and he lay into the bed, taking her with him, kissing her reverently. "Christ, Scully... you're incredible," he murmured appreciatively. She was at a loss for the right words, and they came tumbling out before she could stop herself. "I've, I've never... that's never happened before," she gasped. "Shh," he soothed. "First time for everything." Her breaths were short and ragged, and Mulder tucked her face into the crook of his neck, to make it easier for him to feel when her breathing fairly normalized. Her hand clenched the side of the shirt he was wearing, almost fearing that letting go would result in the disappearance of the man beside her who could still be a dream. Mulder moved, and Scully tightened her grip in protest. He turned to his side, one arm bracing him so he could look down at her. His gaze traveled appreciatively over her, as he began to slide the last remaining article of clothing off her. The shirt she was wearing was slipped off, and his mouth lowered slowly to her breast, drawing her nipple inside. Sucking gently, licking contentedly, like a cat with a bowl of cream. "I knew you were going to be perfect," he sighed. Her fingers tangled into his hair, wanting to pull him away, to tell him it was too soon for her to undergo that kind of intense pleasure again. Scully wanted it to be his turn, and she reached for him, pulling his head up so they could kiss again. Her head raised the few inches needed to make the connection, her teeth nipped on his lower lip and her tongue licked it sensuously, then thrust inside. She slipped his shirt off as well, and when his chest made contact with her breasts, both of them expelled moans of satisfaction. She pushed him up a bit, to let her fingers trail down his chest, over his stomach, then the waistband of his jeans. His hand clamped over hers, and for a second she thought he was going to stop her. But his hand kneaded hers to his hardness, and he moaned hotly into her mouth. She inserted her hand into his pants, and enveloped his straining erection. His breath turned even more ragged then, and he frantically unbuttoned his jeans and lowered his zipper to give her more freedom. Her hand stroked him up and down, while she lazily continued her exploration of his mouth. The jeans were finally discarded, and he stretched out on top of her, eyes glazed like hers. Both of them looked heavily addicted to a powerful drug. Mulder's hand brushed hair away from Scully's forehead, as he placed a kiss on her lips. "You had no idea, did you ?..." he asked. She looked at him, confused. "How long I wanted to do this to you. To see you come because of me. To touch you and taste you..." He paused. "To worship you, to make love to you." "Yes, I knew... Four years. The same that I've waited. Oh!..." Scully squirmed beneath him. She could hardly understand what he was saying, the ache between her legs, with him so close, was becoming unbearable. His finger slipped down between them and entered her again. "This..." he said, pumping his finger in and out. "This is because of me, Dana. You're wet because of me. Slick and hot." His observation wasn't so much for her benefit than his. "Yes..." She wanted to scream at him. Conversation was not satisfying her. She thrust against him forcefully, and kissed him hard to silence him effectively. "I want you inside me, Mulder. Now, please..." Mulder's finger slipped out and found her hand. "Then show me." She guided him inside. He sank into her. Their moans mingled in the night. Mulder thought he was going to die from the pleasure of finally being sheathed inside the woman he had come to love and care for like no other. Scully couldn't even think. Her entire body became an entire nerve ending of pleasure, glorying in sensations. His eyes shut in ecstasy. "God, you're tight." They thrust together in perfect unison, Scully's hips meeting his thrust for thrust, as Mulder sandwiched her head between his arms, and lowered his head to send his tongue deep into her mouth while his hand squeezed her breast and roamed over her. Their coupling was more than physical. It was spiritual, cerebral and magical. Cosmic. Their eyes locked. The pleasure was more intense than anything either could have possibly imagined. It was not just that they fit each other perfectly, or were so attuned to the other's needs and wants. Mulder moved inside her more deeply, sensing she was close, and she was. Her ankles locked behind his lower back, as she arched up to grab him and crush him to her as their cries of release were lost in the caverns of each other's mouths. When Scully felt Mulder's searing release deep inside her, she clutched him closer to her breast. It was catharsis. Mulder collapsed on top of her. Scully ran her hands over his back lazily, spent and euphorically exhausted. She was depleted beyond words. She kissed his forehead and nuzzled his cheek. He rolled off, afraid he was crushing her. Scully grabbed at his shoulder, not wanting him to go. He smiled and half lay on her instead, gathering her close. The second time they made love, she'd only been asleep an hour, still exhausted. She was roused from her contented slumber as she felt rough, warm palms skimming her arms and down her sides and soft lips kissing her belly, then lower and lower. Shyness suddenly set in and she grasped his hair, protesting. "Mulder, I... I can't. And I've never let anyone.." "You can, and you will." Gently, he kept her thighs open and applied his tongue. Scully's back arched off the bed, her fingers tangling into his hair as his mouth tasted her folds, his lips closing gently over her nub and sucking oh-so-gently. Her breathing turned ragged again, as she fought against the urge to thrust her hips against him, but learned it was a losing battle. She squirmed uncontrollably, groaning in pleasure. Her cry of release was music to his ears. Languidly, he lapped at her folds, moaning at her taste, cleaning her of all her juices. She grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him back up and pulling his mouth down over hers as her other hand took his hardness and guided it inside her. "Fuck," Mulder hissed, shutting his eyes tight. "You're so damn hot and slick, Scully. Perfect." She groaned a passable response, concentrating on the pleasure of feeling him thrust into her deeply and slowly, relishing every second. Her nails raked down his back as she looked up to see his face, his eyes shut tight in pleasure. Her ankles came to cross behind him, pulling him in deeper still, and it was Mulder's undoing. A hoarse cry escaped his lips as his thrusts increased in urgency, as Scully met them willingly, gladly and needily. They both expelled deep sighs and fell asleep together, Mulder still inside her. They woke up several more times throughout the night, blindly seeking more contact with the other. It was fast becoming an addiction. Chest to chest wasn't enough; legs had to be entwined with each other, both sets of fingers had to be interlaced with the other's, and they both discovered that there was something wonderfully intimate and soothing about breathing in each other's air. She would wake to the erotic sensations of Mulder's hand softly kneading her breast, his thumb fanning her nipple. Or to soft kisses on the corner of her mouth. Or to his fingers already getting her ready for him. He would wake up with her already on top of him, sliding her breasts sensuously against his chest, or with her tongue quietly seeking entry into his mouth. And once, with her mouth surrounding his hardness. Mulder thought he had died and gone to heaven. The only thing that remained the same was the sensation they were making love for the first time over and over again. 8:00 AM Something was sensuously rubbing against his chest. Very warm, very soft, and very smooth. Mulder opened an eye. Scully was twined around him, still asleep, a small secretive smile on her lips. Her palm smoothed over his skin, her thumb gazing across his right nipple. Gently, he pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. When it didn't wake her, he let his hand have its way and rest gently on the curve of her waist, squeezing it softly. She murmured appreciatively and kissed his pectoral muscle. Mulder raised himself and lay over her, bracing his weight with his arms, and softly kissed her awake. "Hi," she greeted sleepily. Mulder kept kissing. Scully opened her eyes, twining her fingers into his hair. "I said hi," she insisted amusedly. "What? Oh. Hi. Now leave me alone, I'm busy." She laughed and held his head up. "If I left you alone, you'd have nothing to be busy with." Mulder pouted. She pulled him down for a kiss. He groaned as their lips touched, and groaned louder when her mouth opened to let his tongue inside. Quietly, they kissed for long moments, Mulder silently observing the slow rise in heat emanating from between her legs. When Scully thrust her hips against him, he parted her legs with a knee and gently entered her, nary a word spoken. She whimpered softly as she reached her climax, Mulder panting heavily against her neck as he reached his own. "Say it," she softly requested. "Say what?" he asked. "Say it straight to my face. What I make so easy to say." He smiled at her. "I love you." No more demons. -------------- THE END -------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----- A study in the Washington Post says that women have better verbal skills than men. I just want to say to the authors of that study: Duh. -- Conan O'Brien They say when you talk to God, it's called prayer. But when God talks to you, it's schizophrenia. -- Fox Mulder