Subject: *NEW* "Words On The Wire"  ("Saying The Words" epilogue)
Date: Mon, 11 DEC 95 21:58:10 -0500


Hi, all!  This is a follow-up to "Saying The Words", which in 
turn was a sequel to "Three Little Words."  I don't know--I guess 
I'm on my way to a series here.  If you haven't read those, just 
know that our favorite FBI agents have admitted their feelings 
for each other, and taken that big step--gotten physical.  This 
isn't as angst ridden as the previous stories.  Instead, what you 
get here is a little pillow talk courtesy of Ameritech (or whoever 
your local carrier is :) ).  I just felt like Mulder and Scully needed 
a bit more of an opportunity  to talk after all that had happened.  
I would rate this PG-13.  One seven letter word and lots of 
innuendo.  Nothing graphic.  Also, no third season spoilers.  
Just fluff!  Thanks as always to Helen (oh captain, my captain), 
Connie, Robin, Juliettt and the Troupe, and all the very nice 
people who have taken time to write me with feedback.  I'm 
a sucker for e-mail.  So, let me know if you think this works.  (Or 
is it a little too Rock Hudson/Doris Day?!--oh god, I hope not!  
Can you imagine Scully with that hair-do?)  You can reach me at 
krasch @delphi.com.  Thanks.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Words On The Wire 
by Karen Rasch


	"Hello?"
	"Hey, Scully."
	"Mulder?  Hi!"
	"What are you doin'?"
	"Exactly what I told you I'd be doing.  It's just like 
back in med school--I'm studying for tomorrow's quiz.  I'm 
sitting here surrounded by crime scene photos, forensic reports, 
suspect profiles, a laptop that's practically bulging with all the 
information I've typed into it tonight--I'm surprised there's still 
enough room left on the bed for me."
	"You're in bed?  What are you wearing?"
	Dana Scully chuckled, an affectionate smile settling 
upon her lips, and wearily tucked a piece of auburn hair behind 
her ear.  It was way past her bedtime.  And she had spent a 
long Sunday night preparing for a court appearance the 
following morning.  She was scheduled to present forensic 
evidence in a case she had consulted on as a favor to an old 
Academy friend.  Normally, she didn't mind this sort of outside 
work.  In fact, this time the request had coincided perfectly with 
Mulder's abruptly taken vacation.  The hours she had volunteered 
studying the autopsy findings on the victim, and the paperwork 
that had followed had neatly filled the void which had arisen from 
his absence.  However, a few short hours before, she and the man 
who had just so suggestively inquired as to her attire had been 
naked, locked in each other 's arms atop his bed's rumpled sheets.  
They had rested there, sated, blood flowing slowly and heavily 
through their veins, their pleasantly taxed limbs incapable of any 
movement save to twine more tightly together.  Listening only to 
the sound of each other's breath, each other's heartbeat, they had 
laid, her head on his chest, his hand buried in her hair, and 
watched night lower over day like a lover.  She had not wanted to 
leave him.
	"Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder," she said in a voice 
pitched just a touch lower than her usual husky timbre.  "But if 
you're looking for an exciting answer to your question, you've 
hit the wrong button on your speed dial."
	"You're the only number on my speed dial."
	She said nothing, not knowing whether he meant that 
literally or figuratively, but pleased regardless.
	"You and Tony's Pizza," Mulder amended after a beat.  
"After all, a guy's gotta eat.  And believe me, whatever you're 
wearing has got to be more . . . inspirational than those stupid 
hats Tony's makes their drivers wear."
	She chuckled again.  "Well, in that case, allow me to 
inspire you--I've got on a pair of gray sweats with a hole in the 
knee, an old blue checked flannel shirt, sweat socks, no make-up, 
my hair is tied back in a pony-tail, and I'm wearing my glasses."
	"Oooh--stop.  You're killing me here."
	She giggled.  "You're easy."
	"Only with you," he smoothly replied.  "Regardless of 
what you might have heard to the contrary."
	"What are you doing?"
	He sighed.  "Channel surfing.  Just trying to catch 
a wave."
	"Any luck?"
	He mouth-guitared the opening riff to "Wipeout."  
She chuckled again.
	"It's after eleven," she said helpfully.  "The news is on."
	"And watch highlights of the Redskins getting 
clobbered yet again.  No thank you."
	"Poor Mulder," she said in mock sympathy.  "It's late.  
Maybe you should just go to bed."
	"Mmm.  I know I should, but my mind refuses to shut 
down."
	"Why?  What are you thinking about?"
	Silence.  
	Then, as if words indeed had been spoken, unbidden, 
the image of him braced above her, his head thrown back, his 
eyes shut, his mouth open on a cry danced before her.  She 
shivered.  For a moment, she could almost smell the scent of 
his skin.  She wondered just what picture of her he carried 
around inside his head. 
	"Oh."
	More silence.
	"I have to tell you, Scully, before last night I had 
never realized that you had freckles."  His voice had gone low, 
dark.
	"I do =not= have freckles, Mulder."
	"Denial if ever I heard it."
	"Not denial.  Certainty.  I know my own face.  If I had 
freckles, I'm sure I would be aware of them."
	"I never said they were on your face."
	She felt a lush wave of heat suffuse through her from 
head to toe.  "Oh, and just where do you think I have freckles?"
	"Hmm, let's see . . . " he said softly.  The intimate tone 
worked on her like a caress.  "Well, you have one behind your 
right knee.  In the crease.  Just a little off center."
	Scully took off her glasses and laid them on her 
night stand, then pushed the pile of papers from her lap to sit 
beside her on the bed.  With the way this conversation was 
developing there was no way in hell she would be getting any 
more work done that evening.  "A person doesn't have =one= 
freckle, Mulder."
	"Oh, and where did you learn that Dr. Scully?  Anatomy 
101--the Freckle Lecture?"
	She kept her voice light and completely rational in tone, 
even though a smile was tugging with determination at her lips.  
"No.  It's common sense.  As you yourself has said, a person may 
or may not have 'freckles.'   However, you never hear it said that 
they have 'freckle.'  As someone who has fought them her entire 
life, believe me--they come in clusters.  What you're thinking of 
is probably a mole."
	"Beauty mark."
	"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to."
	She heard him chuckle.  "=Anyway=.  You didn't let 
me finish."
	"Oh, I'm very sorry," she said in a voice that implied 
she wasn't at all.  "Please go on."
	"You do have freckle=s=.  There's another one on your 
shoulder.  Your left shoulder.  It's right along side the 
shoulder blade, in the hollow there."
	"I think this is a conspiracy, Mulder.  You're 
supposedly spying these freckles in places you know I can't see 
without contorting myself into a pretzel."
	"You've been working with me too long, Scully.  You're 
seeing conspiracies everywhere."
	"What can I tell you--you've rubbed off on me."
	"Considering the last day or so, I'd say that's almost 
a physical possibility."
	She leaned back against the pillows she had piled 
against the headboard earlier, and smiled ruefully.  Blasted man.  
It had been years since she had suffered with an honest-to-god-
blush.  And yet, here she was, teetering on the brink.  How was 
it he was able to get to her so easily?  And, more importantly, 
could she return the favor?
	"So, is that it, Mulder?" she asked dryly, straightening 
out her legs in front of her, and lazily stretching out the kinks in 
her back.  "Is that the sum and total of my freckles?"
	"No, no," he assured her.  "I saved the best for last.  
There's even a cluster of them."
	"Where?"
	"The small of your back."
	"A cluster?"
	"Well . . . two."
	"Two is not a cluster."
	"Who died and made you Freckle Police?" he demanded 
in pretended outrage.
	She giggled.  He joined in.
	They were silent once more.
	"You know, Scully," he said quietly after a moment.  
"Even without the freckles, the small of your back would be . . . 
memorable."
	She felt her insides clench and release.  The restless 
feeling she was beginning to associate more and more exclusively 
with the man on the other end of the telephone line was back with 
a vengeance.  So, this is phone sex, she thought with a hint of 
humor.  Despite the fact that his words were nothing more than 
PG in rating, she recognized that he was seducing her as surely 
as if the dialogue was a good deal more explicit.
	"You think so, huh?" she asked softly, releasing her hair 
from its tie, and running her fingers through it to loosen and fluff it.
	"Mmm.  I know so.  God knows I haven't been able to 
drive it from my mind all night."
	"Tell me why," she said, daring him to share that with 
her.  This kind of intimacy was new to them, and a bit frightening.  
But addictive.  She wanted more.
	He paused a moment, and she could almost hear his 
mind formulating its answer.  "It's the curve, I think.  It slopes in, 
and then flares . . . . below.  It's like that dip was put there for my 
hand.  You know?  The fit is perfect.  And the softness . . . . you 
have the softest skin, Scully."
	Another rush of heat sluiced through her.  This was not 
fair.  He was arousing her so easily, so effortlessly, and yet she 
knew that, for that night anyway, the arousal would only lead to 
frustration.  Was it the same for him, she mused.  
	She closed her eyes, and tried to imagine him as he must 
look at that moment.  He was undoubtedly laying on his couch, 
hair mussed, hazel eyes sleepy, but with twin sparks of 
amusement and intelligence burning in them like tiny flames, 
perhaps one arm curved behind his head to cushion it.  He had 
been wearing jeans and a black long-sleeved mock turtleneck 
when she had left him.  She remembered how the clothes had 
clung lovingly to his lanky frame.  His long legs would be 
stretched out before him; his stockinged feet, propped on the 
sofa's arm.  He had finally shaved when hunger had driven 
them from his bedroom around noon.  His face would probably 
still be smooth.  Picturing him in that way, she had a nearly 
overwhelming urge to run the back of her hand along his jawline 
to test her hypothesis.
	"Do you want to know what I can't escape?" she asked, 
her eyes opening once more, their newly revealed depths a 
deeply tinted shade of blue.
	"Hmm?"
	"The sensation of the muscles in your back moving 
beneath my hands."
	Pause.
	"Really?"  His voice sounded rough all of a sudden, as 
if it had been mined from somewhere deep inside him. 
	"Mmhmm.  I can close my eyes and almost feel the 
muscles bunch then lengthen against my fingertips.  I remember 
the heat of your skin, the texture, how it grew moist, hard to 
hold on to.  The way you arched more sharply, more quickly as 
you. . . as it got nearer to the end.  I can recall all of it, Mulder.  
Almost like it's happening now.  This minute.  It's very  . . . .vivid."
	For a moment she heard nothing but the sound of his 
breath.
	"You did that on purpose," he accused finally, just the 
slightest hint of humor taking the edge off his voice's suddenly 
uneven quality.
	She smiled into the phone.  "Maybe.  But it's true.  
Every word of it.  And besides, you deserved it."
	"Me?  What did I do?"
	She purposefully lowered her voice, a little shy with her 
confession.  "You made me miss you."
	"Oh."  He said, matching her voice in volume.  "Well, 
. . . that's all right then."
	She wanted to laugh at just how absurdly pleased with 
himself Mulder sounded at that moment.  "Speak for yourself."
	He chuckled.  "So, do you think you're ready?  For 
tomorrow, I mean."
	"Yeah.  I should be.  I just don't want to get caught 
off-guard.  Alan says the defense attorney is awfully sharp.  
Supposedly, he does his homework.  I've been warned to be 
ready for anything."
	"Alan?"
	"Alan Barnes, the Assistant D.A.  He's good.  With 
the evidence we've got, I think we'll nail this guy."
	"Do I know him?"
	Scully hesitated, hearing something she thought she 
recognized, but certainly didn't normally associate with Mulder, 
creeping into his voice.  "Alan?  I don't think so.  When I told 
him that we worked together, he said he had heard of you.  But, 
he never mentioned that you two had met."
	"Oh, and what exactly had he heard?"
	She paused again, mentally kicking herself.  She had 
really blundered into that one.  Although Barnes struck her as a 
savvy attorney, and basically, a decent fellow, he had fallen prey 
to all the rumors still floating around as to Mulder and his 
obsessions.   Consequently, he, like so many others before him, 
was of the opinion that her partner sounded =spooky.=   She 
reasoned that while Mulder might be used to such reactions, he 
undoubtedly didn't appreciate the sentiment behind them.  Thus,
she painstakingly sifted through D.A. Barnes' remarks to find 
a safely neutral quote.  "Nothing much.  He asked me what it was 
like to work with you.  He said he had heard you were . . . intense."
	The sound of a bitten off laugh ricocheted down the 
phone line.  Scully knew that despite her efforts, Mulder had 
already filled in the blanks as to just what else the Assistant D.A. 
had probably said.  "And what did you tell him?"
	She wondered at this sudden interest in the opinion of a 
man Mulder had never met.  He can't be that insecure, she thought.  
Yet . . . this thing between them was so new.  Just over 24 hours 
old.  And fragile.  And it had been so very, very long since he had 
let anyone close to him . . . 
	"I told him I liked your intensity," she told him in a 
hushed voice, not intending her words to tease, just wanting to 
let him know his effect on her.  To make him understand its power.  
To reassure him.  "That I find it . . . exciting.  How when you 
focus on something it's as if the rest of the world just melts 
away."
	"That's what last night was like for me," he told her 
quietly after a moment.  "And today.  When you were here."
	"Like there wasn't anything outside the two of us?"
	"Yeah.  Like all the rest of the pain and bullshit had 
disappeared.  Like the only thing that was real was laying there 
beside me."
	She felt tears pricking the back of her eyes.  "It was like 
that for me too, Mulder.  You've got to know that."
	She could almost see him nod.  "I do . . . well, anyway 
. . . I had hoped so.  Do me a favor though--remind me from time 
to time.  Okay?  For a guy with a photographic memory, it seems 
like I forget the important stuff sometimes.  You know?"
	She smiled tenderly.  "Yeah.  I do.  Don't worry.  I'll 
do my part.  Besides, I owed you a favor anyway."
	He chuckled, then murmured, "Hey--that's right."
	"Oh, and Mulder--?"
	"Hmm?"
	"Alan Barnes is happily married and a father of two."
	He tried to laugh it off.  "I didn't--"
	"I know," she said swiftly, doing her best to at the same 
time soothe his male ego and his doubts.  "I just figured you 
should know, that's all.  Not that it would matter if he =was= 
single."
	This time Mulder's laugh was genuine.  "Oh, really?"
	"Mmhmm.  The guy wouldn't stand a chance, Mulder.  
You've ruined me for other men."
	His voice took on that teasing quality she loved so much.  
"I think I like the sound of this.  Care to fill me in on the specifics?"
	She smiled.  "Well, I would think it would be obvious.  
During the time we've been together you've shown me mutants, 
beast women, the occasional UFO, and god only knows how many 
government cover-ups.  Our lives may at times have their share of 
risks, but they're never dull.  I can't go back to the everyday, 
Mulder.  The illusion of security--of normalcy--just doesn't wash 
for me anymore."
	He paused a moment, considering.  "Hmm.  And here 
I was thinking you were referring to my talents in the sack."
	She chewed on her lower lip to hold back a giggle.  "Oh, 
yeah.  Well, . . . those too."
	She knew, even without being able to see his face, that 
he smiled.  Neither said anything for a time, each content merely 
to know that the other was on the opposite end of the line.
	Finally, Mulder spoke.  "This is real, isn't it?"
	She smiled fondly.  "What?"
	"Us.  Being together.  All of it."  Before she could 
answer, he continued, the words tumbling from his lips as if they 
had been precariously perched there, and only just now lost their 
balance.  "You know, I think that's why I haven't wanted to go to 
bed.  I've been half afraid to close my eyes.  Thinking that when I 
woke up I'd discover that last night, . . . your coming over, our 
making love . . . that it would all end up only having been a 
dream."
	"No," Scully said softly.  "It's real.  I'm real."
	"I wish you were here.  Or, I was there."
	She smiled again.  "Right now, so do I."
	He sighed.  "Will you be in the office tomorrow at all?"
	"No, I don't think so.  Alan wants to put me through a 
mock cross-examination before I take the stand and to go over 
a few last minute things, so I plan on going to his office first, 
then to court."
	"Oh.  Well, what time do you think you'll get out?"
	"I don't know.  Late afternoon, I'd imagine.  I'm 
scheduled to take the stand right after lunch recess.  But you 
know how those things go."
	"Yeah.  So, do you have any plans for tomorrow night?"
	Her heart did a little leap.  "Depends.  What do you 
have in mind?"
	"How about if I pick you up from the courthouse, 
and we get something to eat?"
	"I think I'd like that."
	"Good," he said with satisfaction.  "Call me when you're 
done, and we'll take it from there."
	She smothered a yawn with her hand.  Much as she 
was enjoying this conversation, she had gotten little sleep 
the night before.  She was exhausted.  "Okay.  I will."
	He apparently heard what she had tried to hide.  "I 
should let you go."
	"Sorry.  I guess I'm more tired than I thought."
	"No.  I'm the one who should be sorry.  You need
your rest.  There's just one more thing, though."
	"What?"
	"Have I mentioned how well you wear black?"
	A wry smile tilted the corners of her lips.  "Would 
that be in reference to my sweater or . . . to what I wore under it?"
	"Oh.  Well, don't get me wrong--the sweater was great.  
But, I guess I was referring specifically to . . . something more
 . . . intimate."
	She chuckled.  "Black, huh?"
	"It does amazing things against your skin, Scully."
	"Hmm," she said in mock consideration.  "Well, I 
guess I'll have to rummage around in my lingerie drawer and 
see what else I can dig up that fits the bill."
	"Oh, man!" he comically moaned.  "Don't bring up 
your lingerie drawer and then expect me to go to sleep."
	She laughed.  "=Good night=, Mulder.  I'll call you."
	"Good night, Scully," he said warmly, the humor still 
lacing his voice.  "Sweet dreams."
	Somehow, she suspected that those would be the only 
kind she would have that night.

THE END