Title: Pretensioner
Author: Diana Battis
Classification: S, MSR  
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Summary: After an office confrontation forces Mulder and Scully to re-examine 
their relationship, the situation is further complicated by the untimely 
appearance of a woman from Mulder's past.
Disclaimer: In the beginning there was Chris Carter and the word, and the 
word was made flesh, courtesy of David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, and 
dwelt among us. The characters belong to them, as well as to 1013 and Fox 
Broadcasting. I make no claim on them, and I make no money from them! 
Author's Comments: Thanks, Kristy, for the beta and the friendship. I never 
realized criticism could be so much fun!

******

Do you know what it's like to be stuck in a basement office with a bored Fox 
Mulder?
 
It's hell. 

That was how things were this week. Sheer hell. We had no new cases to 
investigate, nothing interesting to sink our teeth into. No UFO sightings, 
alien autopsies, or other unexplained phenomena. Just boring paperwork. 
Finishing field notes from our last two cases, filing, and the worst of all 
-- filling out those damned expense reports. I never thought I'd miss hearing 
Mulder's enthusiastic 'Hey, Scully, look at this!', his normal prelude to one 
of our unconventional case files, but I do.

Of course, he's not the only one who feels that way. I spent the better part 
of the week fighting boredom too, and losing the battle. I mean, how much 
paperwork can you handle and still retain your sanity? The first two days 
were difficult. And by the third I could actually feel my skin start to crawl 
at the sight of government forms.

We should have talked and come to some agreement about the equitable 
distribution of the work. But for whatever reason, we didn't. Now it's 
Friday, and my frustration level has risen to an all time high. Add that to 
the boredom and you have a volatile situation that could escalate into all 
out war.

Take the expense reports. They're fairly simple. You would think that two 
people with our educational background could fill them out quickly. Piece of 
cake, right?

Wrong.

Can you imagine it? Something as simple as recording receipts and tallying 
the charges seems to be beyond the capabilities of two relatively sane 
adults. I mean, we've faced demons both real and imagined without cracking. 
We've been shot, kidnapped, forcibly separated from the X-Files and one 
another, and managed to survive. Yet we are completely reduced to quivering 
cowards at the sight of a credit card receipt. Never mind the calculator.

We'd put off this particular chore. Only postponing the inevitable, but why 
do today what you can put off until tomorrow? Except tomorrow always comes.

So, it's time to pay the piper, or rather, account to the accountant. 

Mulder glances over at the receipts spread out in front of me as though he 
expects them to spontaneously combust, and is somewhat disappointed when they 
don't. But he continues to sit at his desk and makes no move to help me work 
on the report. Instead, he sighs, fidgets, spits sunflower shells in the 
general direction of the wastebasket, misses, and sighs again. He's no help 
at all.

No, I'm the one who spends hours sitting at my desk checking and 
cross-checking figures. The damned thing just won't balance. So I start over, 
re-listing all the receipts, tallying the charges, and coming up with another 
total. Also wrong. Finally, after spending too much time trying to find seven 
dollars and change, I take the easy way out -- I fudge the damned thing.

I look again at the pile of receipts. They have been sorted, logged in, and 
tallied, not without considerable effort on my part. The report is finished, 
and so is my patience.

Sighing, I tuck my hair back behind my ears before closing the folder 
containing the completed report. I look up in time to catch Mulder staring at 
me. He's got a speculative look in his eyes, and I know I'm going to hate 
myself for asking, but. . .

"What?" I sound belligerent. I feel that way, too. I'm exhausted by this, and 
frankly ticked off by his selfish assumption that I would take care of it 
alone.

"Scully, did anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you're angry?" I see 
a mocking grin flash across his face before he can suppress it.  That 
bastard's laughing at me! He knows exactly what I'm thinking, and it doesn't 
bother him one bit. Well, why should it? Again Mulder's gotten his way, and 
at my expense.

There's no hiding my fury. I can feel the tide of color rise in my face, 
heating my cheeks to the same temperature as my anger. 

"I'm glad you find this amusing, Mulder. Enjoy the joke. It'll give you 
something to do this weekend." I deliver these words with cold clarity. There 
can be no mistaking my meaning.

It gets his attention. His brow wrinkles, and I can practically see him 
mentally cataloguing what that means. No breakfast in bed, no long soaks 
together in my large, claw-footed tub, no cuddling beneath the down quilt 
after some great, make that exceptional, sex. All lost, because of his 
negligence, though I doubt he even realizes he's to blame.

He rises and walks over to stand behind me. His hands rest on my shoulders, 
fingers digging into my flesh, massaging the muscles that are tight with 
tension. And without thinking, I lean into him, allowing my head to rest 
against him as his hands continue their magic. I can feel the stress melting 
away, along with my initial anger.

His touch is mesmerizing, the cool, talented fingers stroking away my cares, 
making me forget for a moment where I am. His body, solid and dependable, 
supports me as I allow my thoughts to drift. I am floating, surrounded by the 
spicy scent of his cologne and the safety of his arms, in a world where 
nothing can harm me.

"So, what should I bring for dinner?" His lips are hovering over my ear, the 
whispered words caressing me. I shiver, concentrating more on the feelings 
those words generate than on their actual meaning. And then I realize what 
he's asked me. . .

Pulling away from him, I shove my chair backwards, slamming it into his body. 
I turn to look at him, so angry I can barely catch my breath. "Don't bother. 
I want to be alone." He steps backwards, hands settling on his hips as he 
takes in my words.

"You channeling Garbo, Scully?" He raises his eyebrows, a strange light in 
his eyes as his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip. The son of a bitch is 
still laughing at me. I want to slap that look right off his face, but I fold 
my arms instead. He can't try to make a fool out of me and get away with it.

Sighing in annoyance, I prepare to tell him off, in the nicest possible way, 
of course. I'll use that disdainful little voice that really grates on his 
nerves. That should wipe the amused look right off his face.

Staring him straight in the eye, I wet my lips, preparing to give him a piece 
of my mind. His sharp intake of breath surprises me, until I notice his eyes 
are focused on my mouth. Interesting. I slip my tongue out again, and notice 
his amused look has been replaced by one of desire. It doesn't take much to 
arouse Mulder, and despite my anger I can't help feeling slightly smug at the 
effect I have on him. It also gives me ideas, ones that I should be ashamed 
of even considering, but he asked for it.

I'm about to teach Mulder a lesson.

Crossing over to him, I rest my palm against his chest, feeling the hard 
muscle beneath my hand. Moving it caressingly over the starched whiteness of 
his shirt, I can feel his heartbeat accelerate. His tie is already pulled 
loose, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, and I let my fingers trail 
across the hair roughened skin exposed by this opening. His breathing 
quickens at my touch, and I lean forward to press a kiss where my fingers had 
been. My tongue traces slowly over the small area of flesh, tasting his 
slightly salty tang.

His voice is hoarse, and he holds his body stiff as though fighting his 
response. "Scully, what brought this on? You *do* remember where we are?"

"Are you complaining?" I look into hazel eyes that are brimming with desire.

"Hell, no! I was. . .surprised. You seemed a bit disturbed just a minute 
ago." The tension is draining from his body as I stroke over his shoulders, 
slipping my fingers beneath the collar of his shirt to touch the warmth of 
his skin. His head rolls back, resting against my hands for a moment as his 
eyes close in pleasure.

Standing on tiptoe, my lips find his throat. I nip my way along his neck, 
suckling lightly until I reach the sweet little spot behind his earlobe.  I 
dip my tongue into that hollow before moving to blow lightly in his ear. He 
shivers, moaning softly. Smiling at his reaction, I whisper seductively, "I 
think I may have been a little harsh. This is just my way of showing some. . .
appreciation for all you've done today. You can't tell me you haven't 
fantasized about doing this here -- I have."

A muffled cry escapes him, deep and nearly tortured. I look at his face, 
almost surprised to see his flushed skin and the little beads of perspiration 
dotting his forehead. He's so caught up in this that I start to feel guilty. 
But I can't stop now. 

"Mmm. This is nice." I rub my cheek over his heart as my arms drop to wrap 
around his waist. My voice is low, a husky note designed to further stoke the 
heat of his passion. 

His hands, no longer on his hips but on mine, pull me closer. I can feel his 
erection pressing against me, begging for my touch, and a wave of longing 
sweeps through me. Suddenly, I am wondering which one of us is being taught 
that lesson.

Though it takes all my willpower, I move my body slightly away from him. My 
eyes seek his, which are nothing more than narrow slits in a face taut with 
desire. Reaching down, I grab one of his hands from my waist, linking our 
fingers. Turning, I lead him over to his desk.

"Mulder, sit." I push him down in his chair, watching his body as it 
collapses into the seat. Good boy, I laugh to myself. He reaches for me, and 
I know he intends to pull me into his lap and finish what I so brazenly 
started a few moments ago. But, much as I want it now, that wasn't my 
original plan. 

This is about power, I remind myself. We're supposed to be equal in this 
relationship, both in and out of the office. Yet at times, like today, he is 
too ready to revert back to the primitive roles of the sexes in the 
workplace. I really resent being stuck doing the 'secretarial' work while he 
sits there checking his e-mail, surfing the net, and just idling away the 
hours. And he seems to think that the offer of a take-out dinner is enough to 
appease me. Now he'll know differently.

Swiftly backing away from him, I reach my desk, and stop only to grab my 
briefcase and coat. I glance back over my shoulder, and see the stunned look 
of realization cross his face as I open the door.

"Good night, Mulder. Have a good weekend." And I speed over the threshold, 
hearing his groan of frustration follow me.

He's not the only one frustrated.

This hasn't been my finest hour. I acted immature, I know. But after all 
that's happened today, I refuse to feel guilty. He's gotten exactly what he 
deserves.

Somehow, I make it home. Snapping on the lights, I automatically check my 
answering machine, expecting a message from Mulder, and fight a wave of 
disappointment when I see the unblinking light. Well, why am I so upset? Damn 
it, I wanted to be alone, didn't I?

Didn't I?

******

It's crowded in The Blarney Stone, the air thick with smoke and heated 
discussions. This place, like most of the buildings in my neighborhood, is a 
bit past its prime. The mirror behind the bar reflects the dingy walls and 
faded prints of a bygone era. Only the big screen color tv, tuned to the 
hockey game, is a concession to the present. 

This place isn't for casual drinkers, and women are not encouraged to drop 
in. Normally, that would piss me off, but not tonight. I've had enough of 
females for one day. Especially one in particular. Now, I just want to get 
drunk. Enough alcohol and I can forget. For a while, anyway.

I manage to elbow my way to the bar. McDaniels, the bartender, sets a double 
shot of Stoli in front of me, grunting out a grudging hello. Though it's been 
months since I've felt the need to visit this place, he still remembers what 
I like.

Throwing back the vodka, I relish the smooth slide of liquid down my throat, 
and the warmth it spawns in my gut. Slamming the glass back on the bar I 
gesture for another. I need it. I need to feel the temporary oblivion that 
alcohol can provide.

"S'matter, Mulder? Woman trouble?" McDaniels refills my glass, his pleasantly 
ugly face smiling at my suffering. Grabbing it, I down it in one gulp before 
replying.

"Is there any other kind?" Putting out the glass for more, I notice his eyes 
widen slightly before pouring me another double. Got to slow down, take my 
time with this one, don't know how many more he'll serve me.

"Wanna talk about it?" Must be a slow news night, because he actually seems 
interested. But I can't talk about it, to him or anyone. I just can't. 

How can I explain it to him when I don't understand what happened myself?

Talk about it? Hell, maybe that's something Scully and I should have done 
days ago, before things reached the boiling point. I guess it just didn't 
strike me as that important. The dynamics of our partnership seemed to make 
it unnecessary. At least, that's what I'd thought. . .

Scully is normally a very fair person. She wouldn't dream of expecting 
special treatment from anyone where work is concerned.  I rarely have to 
cover for her. She is always prepared to do her share, and hardly ever 
complains about it. So I don't mind too much if she occasionally has an off 
day.

Like today.

She put me through the wringer, and it wasn't easy to keep my cool. Even 
though I was willing to overlook her lack of cooperation and enthusiasm where 
the work was concerned, apparently it wasn't enough. I should be furious with 
her, but I'm not. Instead, I'm hurt and frustrated as hell.

I still can't believe it. She left me, just like that. One minute she was 
seducing me, right in the office, and the next thing I knew she was rushing 
out the door. Only the lingering scent of her perfume and the tightness of my 
trousers were left as proof of her actions.

I'm still not sure what caused her to act that way. It couldn't have been 
anything I said or did. I'd been a saint all week, which wasn't easy 
considering I was bored out of my mind. We had nothing new to work on. I'd 
checked all my sources, tried to find some cases to reopen, and even perused 
the tabloids for something worth investigating, with no luck. Instead, we 
spent our time tying up the loose ends from our last few cases. Paperwork 
isn't one of my favorite things to do, but I know it's necessary, and I 
managed to muster up some enthusiasm for the job.

Scully, on the other hand, did nothing all day. While I slaved over those 
fucking notes, trying to decipher her chicken scratch and translate it into 
something approaching coherency, she sat there, doodling and daydreaming. She 
filled page after page, the tip of her tongue showing between her teeth as 
she concentrated on her designs and inspected her handiwork. In the past, 
I've rescued some of the finished pieces from her trash can. Scully's quite 
creative. She can cover reams of paper with these unbelievably complicated 
patterns, whorls and shapes reminiscent of some biological cell heretofore 
unknown to humanity. Too bad she didn't put that creativity to use by doing 
some work today. 

As for me, I'm stuck finishing the field report using my usual torturous two 
fingered typing system. It happened to be one of the long, more technical 
reports, too. I'm not sure if the phrasing or even the spelling was correct, 
as a few of the medical terms were beyond me. But one look at her face, 
intently focused on the page before her, kept me from asking for her help. I 
just muddled through it the best I could. Hell, Skinner wouldn't know the 
difference anyway.

Shifting, I tried to get comfortable in my chair. My ass was numb, and my 
back was stiff from sitting there for so long. Stretching, I felt my 
vertebrae crack. Much better. I shifted my legs, crossing my ankles as I 
leaned back and resting my weight on my heels to take some of the pressure 
off my tailbone. Didn't work, and I shifted again, determined to ease my 
aching body. But how many ways are there to sit in a desk chair? Not many, 
and I'd tried them all before finally giving up. 

Reaching across the desk, I snagged my bag of sunflower seeds. Popping one 
into my mouth, I worked the flesh loose, spitting the shell into the 
wastebasket. Ha! Three points! The seeds managed to occupy me for about five 
minutes, before I buckled down and got back to work.

I finally finished the goddamned report and shoved it in my out basket. 
Looking over at Scully, I could see she was still concentrating, her forehead 
wrinkled and her teeth worrying her bottom lip. I wondered if she knew how 
hot it made me when she did that.

I love looking at her. I could spend all day doing that. I used to do it all 
the time, before we were together. One of my secret little vices, and I was 
careful not to get caught. Now it didn't matter. I was able to gaze to my 
heart's content.

She sighed, shoved some papers into a folder, and looked up, catching me 
staring. "What?" She wasn't a happy camper.

Even angry, she was still gorgeous. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes 
sparkled, their blue gray color reminiscent of stormy seas. She looked so 
goddamned sexy it was all I could do to keep myself from grabbing her, 
throwing her across my desk, and fucking her senseless.

Tamping down my desires, I said the first thing that came into my head. 
"Scully, did anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you're angry?"  I 
meant that as a compliment, but it didn't strike her that way. Instead, she 
told me to enjoy my little joke, because that was all I'd have to laugh about 
this weekend.

Things deteriorated quickly from that point.

It had been an impossible week, and we were both so damned frustrated by the 
lack of activity. To add to the unhealthy emotional mix, there was now an 
undercurrent of tension in the room, emanating from Scully's corner. The air 
fairly hummed with it.

I wanted to do something for Scully, something to relax her. A little 
massage, I thought, just the thing to work out some of the kinks and relieve 
the tension. I'd thought she was weakening when I gave her that back rub, but 
as usual I did something that managed to piss her off again. I was sure she 
was ready to serve me my balls on a silver platter when, suddenly, her whole 
demeanor changed again.

She came on to me. Uttering words in a breathless little voice designed to 
seduce. Pressing herself against me, touching me for Christ's sake with those 
cool capable hands, doing all the little things she knows drives me wild. 
Leading me on, only to leave me hanging and hard while she blithely skipped 
out the door.

Wishing me a good weekend.

I had to sit in my office for half an hour before my erection subsided. And 
by that time the only thing I wanted was a good stiff drink or two. Or more. 
So I headed here, this male bastion of booze and bullshit.

The alcohol is doing its job. I can feel my muscles slacken as the tension 
drains away. Though I feel a little lightheaded, I don't think it will make 
my walk home a problem. And at least I'll be able to sleep.

Alone.

Shit! This will be the first weekend without Scully in over a month. 
Suddenly, I'm no where near drunk enough to get through this. Waving to 
McDaniels, I order another one. Yeah, one for the road -- the road to 
oblivion.

Staggering into the elevator a half hour later, I'm beginning to regret my 
indulgences. It takes three tries before I manage to hit the right floor 
button. Once the elevator is in motion, I feel as I should ride back down 
again to get my stomach.

Holding on to the wall, I make my way down the hallway, stopping before my 
door. Finding my keys takes a while, and once in hand, the right one eludes 
my search. I miss the lock more times than my addled brain can count. For 
some reason, my mind latches on to the punchline of a dirty joke I heard 
tonight -- 'put a little hair around it and you can't miss'. That strikes me 
as so funny, until I start thinking about red hair. . . 

At last, I finally get the door open and stumble inside. The hall is brightly 
lit for some reason, and I can hear movement in the other room.

Fuck! Someone's in my apartment. My heart starts pounding, adrenaline kicking 
in to fuel my alarm. With unsteady hands I draw my weapon, realizing too late 
that my fumbling attempts at entry have already broadcast my presence. Trying 
to proceed with caution, I enter my living room, only tripping over my feet 
once before confronting the intruder. . .

Oh, Shit!

"Fox! I thought you'd never get here." She threw herself in my arms, nearly 
knocking me over in the process. Her long, dark hair flies in my face as she 
sobs on my shoulder. "I'm in trouble. You have to help me! There's no one 
else I can turn to. I don't know what I'm going to do if you won't."

I try to push her away, but she's all over me, blanketing me with her cloying 
scent. Trying to escape her embrace is like trying to get away from an 
octopus. She seems to have eight arms, and all of them are wound around me. I 
don't remember her being this clingy before.

How the fuck did she get in here, anyway?

Oh, hell! Scully, where are you when I really need you?

******

I'm soaking in the tub, the aroma of lavender filling the room. Candles are 
strategically placed around the tub, the flickering glow creating a 
grotto-like effect. Sipping at a glass of Merlot, I sigh with pleasure. This 
is what I need, the heat of the water burning away the tension and soaking 
into my body. I just settle back, allowing the clouds of fragrant steam to 
soothe my senses, when I hear the phone ring.

Of course! Now that selfish bastard calls me.

I'd promised myself I wouldn't answer it, purposely left the cordless in the 
living room, but I can't seem to help myself. The ringing is driving me 
crazy. And anyway, maybe he's calling to apologize. . . 

Grabbing a towel, I hastily wrap it around me as I pad into the bedroom. The 
air is chilly on my wet, exposed skin, and I can feel the goosebumps forming. 
Shivering, I reach for the phone.

"What!" I snarl into the receiver.

"Dana? Honey, is that you?" The tentative whisper of my mother's voice greets 
me, and I can feel my face flame in reaction.

"Oh, hi Mom." Terrific. If I hadn't been so eager to give Mulder hell, I'd 
have let the machine get it. Thinking wistfully of my cooling bath water, I 
sit on the side of the bed, hitching my towel more securely around me. This 
could take a while.

"Is everything okay?" No, Mom, nothing is okay. I'm here alone, cold, wet, 
and miserable. I want Mulder, but I'm pissed off at him, too. I don't know 
how to give in, and I want you to hang up so I can go back to feeling sorry 
for myself.

Shivering, I stand to tug the quilt off the bed and drape it around me. I'm 
grateful for its warmth over my chilled flesh. If only warming my heart were 
this easy.

"I'm fine. Surprised to hear from you, though. I thought you were going away 
on retreat this weekend?" Mom had been so excited about the retreat, and had 
tried very hard to get me to go too. But I didn't want to spend the weekend 
on my knees. At least, not in prayer. . .

Mulder, where are you when I really need you?

"Oh, I decided not to go. I'm coming down with a cold, and the thought of a 
strange bed just made me feel worse. Honestly, Dana, I don't know how you and 
Fox can stand it, staying in all those hotels and motels. It would drive me 
crazy."

Mom, you'd be surprised at what I'm able to do if Mulder is with me. And it 
does drive me crazy. For a second, I thought I'd uttered the words, but then 
I realize my mom is still waiting for me to reply.

"Well, it's part of the job." Taking a few deep breaths, I try to get the 
slight tremor out of my voice. And fail.  "It's really not that bad, Mom, 
relatively speaking. At least I'm not stuck in those places alone." Like 
tonight, I think, biting my lip in frustration. 

Hell, he's the one being punished. So how come it feels more like I'm the one 
paying the penalty?

"Well, I won't keep you, honey. I know you must be tired. I just wanted to 
let you know I'm home this weekend, and was wondering if you wanted me to 
pick you up for church on Sunday." I can hear the hesitant note in her voice. 
I haven't been to Mass in weeks, unwilling to give up my time with Mulder.

Looks like that won't be a problem this weekend. 

"Um, I'll let you know. Are you sure you're all right?" I've been so wrapped 
up in my clash with Mulder that I haven't really paid attention to my mother. 
Now I have guilt to contend with as well as anger. I probably will be going 
to Mass with her on Sunday.

She sighs in irritation. "Don't fuss! Yes, it's only a cold, and I have some 
Nyquil. I'll make a cup of tea, take the medicine and sleep. I'll be fine, 
Dana."

"Okay, then. Night, Mom." 

"Good night, Dana. Love you."  She hangs up, and I sit there for a moment, 
shivering under the quilt, the dial tone buzzing in my ear. I'm glad someone 
loves me. . .

Stop it! Slamming the phone back on its cradle with unleashed violence, I 
feel the anger course through me again, heating my previously cold body and 
causing me to drop the quilt from my shoulders. I called the shots today. If 
I'm unhappy with the results, there's no one to blame but myself.

I stomp my way back to my bath. Of course, the water is cold, and the idea of 
waiting for the tub to fill again doesn't appeal to me at all. Sighing, I 
reach down and pull the plug, listening to the gurgling sound of the water as 
it drains from the tub, leaving the porcelain cold and white and empty. Like 
me.

Brushing my teeth takes no time. Next, I slather cream over my face, leaving 
it on to soak into my skin. Not getting any younger, Dana old girl, I tell my 
reflection. Got to protect that complexion.

Leaning closer to the mirror, I take inventory. I see a woman, no longer in 
the first blush of womanhood, but holding up well for her age. Clear skin, a 
few of summer's freckles lingering to dot the aquiline nose. Blue eyes that 
seem a little clouded, and there's a certain dejected droop to the mouth. 
Nice hair, a little curly, but good color. And not from a bottle. Yet. A few 
more days like this one and that will no longer be true.

Is this all that Mulder sees when he looks at me? Does he ever try to get 
below the surface? To 'see' the real Dana Scully?

Does he love me, or that woman in the mirror? 

The boundaries of our relationship shifted so damned fast. One minute we're 
friends, the next we're lovers, with no chance to become accustomed to the 
idea of a deeper relationship. No, we plunge right into the deep end, over 
our heads as usual, with no idea if we'll sink or swim. . .

I know I love him. There's not a doubt in my mind. It may have taken me a 
while to recognize the symptoms, but once I did it was easy to make a 
diagnosis.

I love everything about him.

His mind, that agile organ capable of making leaps no ordinary human being 
could. Quirky, off-the-wall theories that turn out to be right more times 
than I care to admit.

And that face, with those beautiful, ever-changing eyes that see so much and 
give away so little. The proud nose, a strong feature that on a lesser man 
would look ridiculous. And those full and sensuous lips. Lips that do such 
wonderful things to me. . .

I love his long, lithe body, the construction of skin and muscle over 
skeleton, a work of art and proof to me at least, of a supreme being. Looking 
at Mulder, the words 'made in His image' can be nothing but the truth.

God help me, I even find his bad habits intriguing. I love his loud ties, his 
bad haircuts, his corny jokes -- everything.

I'm a sappy, sodden mass of emotions where that man is concerned.

So, if I love that son of a bitch so much, why am I here alone? Good 
question, Dana. So, what are you going to do about it? Squaring my shoulders, 
I reach for the box of tissues, and grab a few to wipe the cream off my face. 
I have someplace to go.

I'm nearly dressed when I hear the phone ringing. Snatching up the receiver, 
I cradle it between shoulder and ear as I finish buttoning my jeans. "Hello?"

"Scully?" Heavy breathing accompanies the voice, and if I hadn't recognized 
it as Mulder's, I would have thought it was an obscene phone call.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" 

"Please, I need you. Come over, fast as you can. It. . .it's important, very 
important." His harsh whisper sends a wave of fear through me. The hairs on 
my neck prickle in reaction.

"Tell me what's wrong! Please, Mulder, you're scaring me." My voice rises in 
panic, sounding shrill and discordant in the calm atmosphere of my bedroom.

"I really can't talk now. I'll tell you when you get here. Don't think about 
this afternoon. It's now that really matters. Please, Scully, please. I need 
you." He's begging, and that scares me even more. This is not the Mulder I 
know.

Snapping back to the matter at hand, I fire out questions. "Are you hurt? Do 
you need backup? Should I call Skinner, or the police? Work with me, Mulder. 
Are you in danger?" I am under control now, though anxiety isn't far from the 
surface.

"No, it's nothing like that. It's. . .just hurry, god, please hurry, Scully. 
I need you, only you." And he breaks the connection.

Hitting his number on the speed dial, I hear the rhythmic beep of a busy 
signal taunting me. I hang up, and quickly finish dressing. Grabbing my 
jacket and keys, I head for the door. No, not yet. Turning, I re-enter my 
bedroom and get my gun.

Now, I'm ready.

******
 
Babies. I'm having a love-hate thing with 'em. I've been seeing all these 
women with their kids, little curly haired, chubby ones. Dimpled knees, 
dimpled cheeks and I know they just have that talcum smell. Dressed in their 
stupid little outfits, in all those ugly pastel colors. Pink for a girl and 
blue for a boy. They're everywhere, laughing, crying, eating, sleeping, 
living. Sweet little babies.

Sweet for other people maybe, but not for me. Not that I have a choice 
anymore. You see, I'm gonna have a little rugrat of my own.

I keep asking myself, Ellie, how did this happen? Fucking stupid question, 
right? I mean, fucking IS how it happened and it's dumb to even wonder about 
it. If only I'd learned how to keep my legs closed. But he seemed so sweet, 
and man could he kiss. I was a goner the moment he laid lips on me. Now I 
have this baby growing inside me to prove it.

It was totally unexpected. I know about birth control, they taught us all 
about it in school. We always used a rubber, and they're supposed to stop you 
from getting pregnant. We sacrificed the pleasure of skin on skin for 
safety's sake. Fat lot of good it did me. Now, at nineteen, my life is over.

I don't look pregnant yet, at least, not much. My stomach is still kind of 
flat, with just a tiny bit of roundness to show there's a baby growing inside 
me. And my boobs seem a tad fuller, though I may just be imagining that. I 
remember my mom saying hers swelled up like balloons when she was carrying 
me. Not a very pretty picture, I can tell you.

My body's going to go through a lot of changes though, and there's a lot more 
to come. My legs and ankles will swell. Funny, then they'll match my belly. 
Oh, god, and stretch marks! I'll never be able to wear a bikini again. All 
that so I can 'glow'. Isn't that what people say about pregnant women? They 
glow? I figure that's to make them feel better about looking like they 
swallowed a bowling ball.

God, I'm going to have to tell my mom soon. She'll be angry and disappointed 
in me. And she'll throw me that 'what-would-your-poor-father-think-thank-god-
he's-not-alive-to-see-this' line. Just what I need, more guilt.

Especially about my dad.

For years I tried to be the kind of kid he wanted, but I was never good 
enough or smart enough to suit him. Nothing I ever did was right. So after a 
while, I used to say to myself 'fuck it'. But it bothered me. I thought 
parents were supposed to love their kids.

I've got the opposite of the Midas touch. Everything I touch turns to shit. 

Fuck it, I don't have the energy for this. I'm too tired. Always seem to be 
anymore. Guess that comes from being pregnant.

Driving to Kansas I had no problem staying on the road for fourteen hours at 
a time. I enjoyed it, too. But driving to Virginia in November was different. 
This cross-country trek seemed to take forever, and it wasn't much fun 
either. Gray skies seemed to follow me the whole way, making this frigging 
ride more depressing than I expected.

You'd have thought it would be an interesting journey, that I would feel the 
magic and excitement of places I'd only read about. Well, you'd have been 
dead wrong. Driving east, I got to see some of this country, but I didn't get 
to see the pretty parts. Ask me about seeing America, and I can tell you all 
about its restrooms. I had to stop and pee about every half hour, and my 
morning sickness seemed to last all day long. But I had to keep going, for my 
sake and that of this little hitchhiker I'm carrying.

You see, I need to get it a daddy.

I have a guy in mind. He's perfect, abso-fucking-lutely perfect. He's got 
brains and patience, two things you really need to bring up a kid nowadays. 
No need to worry about money, either.

I know he likes me. He was the one of the few who cared enough to help me 
last September. There I was, stranded, my car completely dead along this 
lonely stretch of Kansas road. Lots of cars passed me without a second look. 
But he stopped. He took care of me, saw that I had a place to stay and 
something to eat, and didn't expect anything in return. Like I said, he's 
perfect.

So, when I realized I was going to have a baby, he was the second person I 
thought of. I trust him, and I know he won't judge me because of what 
happened. He'd be totally cool with it.

It isn't like I have a lot of options at this point. There was someone else, 
back in Kansas, but that's all over with now. It has to be.

The kid's real father is another story. He doesn't even know I'm pregnant. 
Hell, I didn't know until two weeks ago. I figure I'm about three months 
gone. Anyway, Ricky, the father, is a big college man. He's gorgeous and the 
sex was hot, but he's not someone I could picture myself spending the rest of 
my life with. I mean, who wants a guy who's always thinking only about 
himself? Just once, I want to be the most important thing in a guy's life.

So, after weighing all my options, I came here. Fox had given me his card, 
with his address and personal phone number written on it, before he left 
Kansas. Said if I ever needed help he was just a phone call away. I didn't 
called him though. My plan was to surprise him. And boy, did I ever.

This might not have been the best night to drop in on him. Fox wasn't exactly 
sober. Hell, he was bombed out of his mind, the disgusting stink of booze and 
smoke clinging to his clothes. Good thing he's not one of those weak 
stomached drunks, 'cause one heave and I'd have been joining him. Morning 
sickness is really a bad name for it -- my stomach isn't too strong at any 
time of day.

You should have seen his face -- his jaw practically hit the floor. He was 
shocked. Positively stunned. I threw myself into his arms, and cried all over 
him, acting my ass off in a performance that deserved an Oscar. Tears are a 
pretty good way to get what you want. And I want his help. I need it. I need 
a husband, someone who will get me through this. I don't want to do it alone. 

I'd expected the third degree, but he didn't ask me many questions at all. 
One look at my face probably told him all he needed to know, for the moment 
anyway. Instead he tried to calm me down and then he tucked me into his bed, 
all warm and snug, like some little kid.

I'm supposed to be asleep. And even though I'm tired, my nerves won't let me 
relax. All I can think about is marriage.

There's no way I'm gonna end up one of those welfare moms, with a brat or two 
clinging to my legs while I bitch to some reporter about losing my benefits. 
I'm not exactly equipped to care for a kid on my own, and the only jobs I'm 
qualified for require standing on my feet all day for very little pay. So, 
getting married is the only realistic choice for me.

I guess I need to figure out how to approach the subject. Don't want to wait 
too long. Waddling down the aisle is not on my list of things to do before I 
die. 

Hell, I can't imagine being married. At least, I couldn't until the rabbit 
died, or rather the stick turned the wrong color. Funny as hell, that was. 
Me, the 'Who Gives a Fuck' poster child, suddenly wants to be married. Orange 
blossoms, white dress, church, the whole lame package. Only it wasn't Fox 
Mulder I saw in the role of groom. But it's too goddamned late.

No, I don't expect anything like that anymore. I know Fox will be kind. I 
don't count on more than that. 

Suddenly I can hear someone talking. I scramble out of bed and tiptoe over to 
the door, pressing my ear against the surface.

"Scully, pick up." He's calling *her*. Damn it! What's the deal with that? At 
first I'd thought she'd be a problem, but after seeing him stumble in I 
figured their thing was over. Any guy that comes home drunk and alone on a 
Friday night usually isn't hooked up with anyone. So what the fuck is he 
calling her for?

He's really making this way more difficult than it should be. Now, not only 
do I have to deal with him, but she'll be nosing around. And she's trouble.

Scully! That's what he calls Dana. I've met her. A pretty little redhead, and 
I guess she's still got Fox wrapped around her little finger. I know the type 
-- bossy and possessive. She's the biggest problem I face right now, well, 
second biggest next to my unexpected 'little bundle of joy'.

He's talking again, his voice so low that I missed some of what he said. 
Listening closely, I can just barely make out what his words.

". . .just hurry, god, please hurry, Scully. I need you, only you." Geez, 
what's his problem? Why in hell does he need her? He sounds like he's scared 
to death. Of me? Maybe he doesn't trust himself to be alone with me. A lot of 
guys don't. I guess I'm just too much for them to handle. 

He hangs up the phone, and I hear him moving across the room, heading this 
way. Shit!

Rushing back to the bed, I manage to climb back in and pull the covers over 
me before I see the door slowly open. Quickly closing my eyes I pretend to be 
asleep. Fortunately, he doesn't come over to look at me. I'm lousy at 
pretending. 

The creak of the door and his footsteps fading away tell me he's gone. 
Waiting for her, I guess. 

God, this is turning out to be tougher than I'd expected. What am I going to 
do?

******

I'm pacing back and forth in the living room, my shoes long gone and my bare 
feet protesting against the cold. Wish I could relax. But I feel wired, and 
it isn't just from the coffee I've recently consumed.

What the hell is taking Scully so long? Checking my watch, I realize it 
really hasn't been more than ten minutes since I spoke to her, not long 
enough for her to get here. If she's coming. . .no, I have to stop thinking 
like that. Besides, I'd purposely left the phone off the hook after talking 
to her, in case she changed her mind. 

I look longingly at my basketball, my fingers just itching to pick it up. A 
little dribbling would just be the thing to occupy me until Scully gets here. 
But I have to be quiet. It's late. Besides, I don't want to risk awakening 
Ellie, now that she's finally settled down.

Thankfully, she'd quickly gotten past the weepy stage. God, I hate it when 
women cry. I never know what the hell to do or say when I'm sober, but when 
drunk, well, the best I could do was pat her shoulder and let her cry it all 
out.

We must have looked ridiculous standing there. Me, slack-jawed and 
bleary-eyed, patting her with one hand and holding a gun with the other. And 
Ellie, all hair and strong, cheap perfume, squeezing the life out of me as 
she sobbed into my shoulder. What a Kodak moment that must have been.

It was good for one thing, though. It sure sobered me up in a hurry. Well, 
that and the pot of coffee I'd had since.

I stop pacing and flop down on the couch again, reaching for my mug. The 
liquid in it is cold and bitter, but I swallow a mouthful anyway before 
settling the mug on the coffee table. Resting my head against the back, I 
close my eyes and try to sort out my jumbled thoughts.

What the hell made her come here? She tried to explain, but I couldn't 
understand a goddamned word she said. She was incoherent most of the time, 
and even after her crying stopped her breath continued to catch on little 
residual sobs. It made rational conversation impossible, and I finally 
convinced her to go to bed, no wiser than before. 

Sighing, I prop my feet on the table, knocking over my mug. The small amount 
of coffee left spills over the surface, and I use my foot to slide last 
week's copy of "D.C. Muse" over the wetness. It stops the liquid's flow, and 
I watch as it absorbs the color of the coffee, changing the newspaper to a 
muddy brown. Like poor Ellie's eyes. . .

I'm surprised she'd even thought of me. Hell, her mom's in Indiana, a damn 
sight closer to Kansas than I am. And Ellie is no weakling. No, something 
must be very wrong for her to have turned to me. I only hope she'll let us 
help her.

I only hope Scully will help me. I can't handle this alone. I need Scully. 
She has a sharp mind and uncanny ability to put things in perspective. 
Somehow, I get the feeling this situation is going to warrant her touch.

Besides, I'm scared shitless to face this alone.

Standing, I wander over to the window, peeking out through the blinds to the 
deserted street below, hoping for the sight of her car. No such luck, only 
the whine of a fire truck as it roars down the street.  I absently run my 
finger over the bent slat, the accumulated dust drifting away in its wake. If 
only solving this problem were that easy.

Scully's more than capable of handling this situation. She's a very strong 
woman. You'd never know it to look at her. Scully has the fragile air of a 
madonna. So small and slight. But I know that she's really a potent little 
package, more than capable of taking down a guy twice her size without 
breaking into a sweat. I've been on the receiving end of her 'capabilities' 
more than once.

And Scully has a brain. Oh, I'll admit that when I first met her, it was her 
looks I noticed. What man alive wouldn't? Those blue eyes, sparkling with 
humor even when I'd done my damnedest to make her feel unwanted. Nice body 
too, though she was a bit more voluptuous then. And her hair! It was longer, 
the shiny coppery strands flowing to her shoulders. I've had a number of 
fantasies lately involving naked Scully and that hair. Wonder if I could 
convince her to let it grow. . .But I digress.

As time went by, her less obvious attributes became apparent. Her strength of 
character, and her quick mind. Not as open as I'd like, but still able to 
accept my unconventional theories and come up with a few of her own. 

Beauty and brains, that's my Scully. A deadly combination.

I was a sitting duck.

It took me a while to recognize all the signs. I knew I lusted after her 
right from the start, but the love part, that was a lot harder to identify. 
Only after seeing someone else touch her did my feelings come to the surface. 
I was like a little boy again, throwing a tantrum because someone else had 
the toy I wanted. I acted like an ass. But I'm a lucky bastard. She forgave 
me.

Leaving the window, I reseat myself, hearing the creak of leather and the 
groan of springs as I settle back on the couch. So what was today all about? 
I have to admit that I'm no closer to understanding her actions now than I 
was earlier. Leaning forward, I cradle my head in my hands, fingertips 
rasping across my cheeks through the prickly stubble of my beard. What the 
hell did I do that was so wrong? I love her, want to be with her and assumed 
she wanted the same. 

Is that the problem? Maybe she doesn't want to be with me. I'm not the 
easiest person to get along with. Moody and unpredictable are two words that 
come up often when describing me.

Maybe this relationship is too much for her. Hell, we really didn't take much 
time to get used to the idea. Instead of building up to the championship 
round, we jumped right to it, skipping all the little preliminary bouts that 
should come before the main event. Not that it mattered to me. I was ready, 
more than ready actually, and she still knocked me for a loop. I used to 
think it was the same for her, but now I'm not so sure.

And yet, when I called her tonight, she seemed concerned. . .

According to my watch, it's been over twenty minutes since I spoke to her. 
She should be here by now. I know Scully hates it when I worry about her, and 
she does have a point. She's more than capable of taking care of herself. 
That's been proved to me over and over again. Shit, she's saved my ass more 
times than I care to remember. So what's keeping her?

She must have thought I was out of my mind when I called. It wasn't easy for 
me to make any sense. I didn't want to get into it over the phone -- I was 
afraid she'd refuse to help me if she knew it was about Ellie. And I really 
didn't have anything to tell her.

The creak of a door catches my attention, and I turn in time to see Ellie 
step out of the bedroom. Her face is flushed, the traces of tears still 
apparent around her eyes. Her hair hangs in an unruly tangle around her face, 
and she looks uncertainly at me.

"Hey, I thought you were asleep." I smile at her, watching as she pads softly 
over to the couch and sits next to me. 

"The sirens woke me," she explains.

"Are you hungry, Ellie? Can I get you something to eat?" The minute the words 
leave my mouth I regret them. What the hell do I have that's even edible 
besides sunflower seeds? Eggs, but not much else.

"Maybe, maybe something to drink? My throat is awful dry, and I have a 
headache." She tries to smile, but it's obvious the poor kid is wiped out. I 
pat her hand before heading to the bathroom to get her some ibuprofen. I 
notice a bottle of sleeping pills Scully had prescribed for me. It only takes 
a second for me to decide. The best thing for Ellie is some sleep, and I put 
the ibuprofen back and opt for the sleeping pills. Shaking one into my palm, 
I leave the room.

She's still sitting where I left her, her long legs curled under her, and her 
head resting on the back of the couch. Her arm covers her eyes, and for a 
minute I wonder if she has fallen asleep. But as she hears me approach, she 
sits up, managing to muster up a weak smile.

"Here. I'll get you some water." She takes the pill, examining it closely. 
Her hand reaches out to her stomach, rubbing the surface lightly. Maybe she 
is hungry, I think, as I fill a glass.

Sitting back beside her, I hand her the water, watching as she tosses back 
the pill and washes it down with a huge gulp. Silently, she sets the glass on 
the floor.

"Are you sure I can't get you something to eat? I have some eggs, and I can 
make you toast. . ." 

She shakes her head, and leans closer to me, tears forming in her eyes. "I 
had a bad dream," she whispers, as she rests her cheek against my arm. I feel 
her tears, wetting the fabric of my shirt as her body shudders in misery. 
Sighing, I pull her head on to my chest, stroking her hair and making 
soothing sounds as I rock her gently.

Suddenly, she's climbing into my lap, forcing her head into my chest and 
wrapping her arms around my neck in a vise-like grip. With a sigh she settles 
down, her cheek over my heart. Her eyes are closed, and she seems to be 
drifting off . . .

Of all the ways I'd imagined spending a Friday night, this wasn't even in the 
top ten thousand. My legs are falling asleep, her perfume is giving me a 
headache, and I desperately want a drink. This ain't my day.

We sit there, her soft easy breathing telling me she's asleep. I need to move 
her back to the bed, but I'm not sure I'd be able to carry her. Not that 
she's fat, but she's no flyweight either. At nearly six feet tall, she's an 
armful, and with all the vodka I'd imbibed earlier there's a real possibility 
I could drop her. She'll have to sleep on the couch.

The sound of a key turning catches my attention. Oh, Fuck! And before I can 
get Ellie back on to the couch, Scully is in the doorway, taking in the 
scene. Her mouth opens and closes like a ventriloquist's dummy, but no words 
emerge. It's an interesting sight, Scully at a loss for words. I wish I could 
enjoy it, but I know she's going to regain her powers of speech soon, and 
then she'll start swearing as only a Navy brat can.

With Ellie safely settled on the couch, I rise. Unfortunately, in my haste I 
bang my shin on the edge of the coffee table, sending the overturned mug off 
the edge. It bounces once, the handle separating from the side, another 
casualty of my carelessness. Rubbing my leg, I hop forward, knocking over 
Ellie's glass of water in the process. It spills over my foot, instantly 
freezing my toes as it soaks into the carpet. Wet, bruised and tired, I 
hobble over to the doorway to greet Scully, a big smile plastered on my face.

I'm in deep shit.

Again.

******

Tonight's drive to Mulder's seemed like one of the longest of my life, 
although I made it in under thirty minutes. I must have broken a dozen 
different laws on the way. Running red lights, speeding, and not using turn 
signals among them. Fortunately, the streets were pretty much deserted. 
Anyway, none of that really mattered, because he needed me.

Me.

Mulder never needs anyone. He's always so damned strong, so capable. Far more 
likely to suffer alone than to risk showing his vulnerable side. The pain he 
feels is usually locked inside, hiding under a cover of humor. Even I am 
rarely witness to it, except for the nightmares he can't control. So this is 
a first for us.

Using my key, I try to enter silently, my hand resting on the butt of my gun. 
Imagine my surprise when I see Mulder, sitting on his couch with some bimbo 
in his lap.

My face flames, and I can feel the heat of anger course through me. I know I 
must look like an overripe tomato, ready to burst out of my skin at the 
slightest additional pressure.

The look on his face is priceless. Well, maybe not. Offer me a quarter and 
I'll sell you the look, and the son of a bitch attached to it.

Why the hell did he call? Is this his idea of a joke, or is he trying to pay 
me back for this afternoon? 

Oh, he needs help all right. And as soon as I'm finished with him, the 
paramedics can give it to him. They'll have their work cut out for them when 
I'm through.

Funny, but he can't move fast enough to get her out of his lap. He 
practically drops her on the floor, barely getting her on the couch before he 
stands. And like some obscene cartoon character, he manages to whack his leg 
on the table, break a mug, kick over a glass of water, and hop like a 
constipated kangaroo over to me. The only cliche missing is the tongue 
hanging down to the floor. Guess I got here too late for that little treat.

His eyes are begging for my understanding. Ha! He'd have a better chance with 
that black lunged son of a bitch. I don't know what went on, but as soon as I 
give him a piece of my mind I'm getting the hell out of here.

"You came." He slurs the words, very slightly. Most people wouldn't even 
notice, but I do. He's been drinking. . .

Mulder reaches for my arm, and I pull away, to no avail. His fingers clamp 
onto me and steer my resisting body into the kitchen. Pulling out a chair, he 
shoves me, none too gently, into the seat. When I attempt to stand, his 
fingers clamp over my shoulders and push me back into the chair. His grip is 
strong, and he holds me so tightly I think my bones will crack under the 
pressure.

"Damn it! If you don't take your hands off me, Mulder, so help me I'll. . ." 
As if suddenly aware of the power of his grip, his fingers loosen. Shrugging 
away, I rub the area softly, wincing more for effect than because of any 
lasting damage he may have done.

"You'll what, Scully? Walk out on me? I think you already did that once 
today." He sighs, and walks over to sit across the table from me. For the 
first time, I take stock of his appearance. The hazel eyes are bloodshot, and 
the shadows beneath them match the darkness of his stubbled face. His hair is 
standing on end, probably from repeated contact with his restless fingers. 
The tie is gone, but he's still wearing the same trousers and white shirt 
from the office. His clothes stink of smoke, cheap cologne and sweat. 

He looks so lost and alone that I forget why I'm angry. But only for a second.

I stiffen my spine. "Do we really have to do this tonight? You called me, 
claiming you needed my help. From where I stood, it looked like you had the
. . .situation under control."

"Not so loud, damn it! She's finally asleep." He sounds like a new parent, 
whose colicky baby has at last stopped crying and settled down for the night. 
Standing, he starts for the other room, only stopping when I move to follow.

Crossing my arms, I tilt my chin in defiance. "And what makes you think I 
give a shit about whether *she* gets some sleep, Mulder?" Despite the 
fierceness of my words, I find myself whispering, too.

"Please, sit down. Let me put her to bed so we can continue this conversation 
without interruption." His eyes plead with me, and against my better 
judgment, I re-seat myself. I hear him in the other room, his voice soft as 
he murmurs to the sleeping woman. A door creaks, then a moment later I hear 
the quiet snick of it closing, and Mulder's footsteps approaching the kitchen.

"Did you get your *friend* settled down?" I can't keep the sneer out of my 
voice, and Mulder's eyebrows raise in surprise. Biting my lip, I look down at 
my hands, clasped together so tightly that the knuckles show white.

I look back at him in time to see something flare in his eyes. They glitter 
with an undefinable light that frightens me as much as it attracts me. 
"Jealous, Scully?" There is malice in his tone, a deliberate attempt to hurt. 
He succeeds.

His words wound me. I feel lightheaded, as though I am really bleeding from 
their cutting edge. Pursing my lips, I stand and walk out of the kitchen, 
unable to deal with his deception.

Pushing back his chair, he follows me from the room. "Scully, wait a minute!" 
His grabs my hand, pulling me back to my seat at the table.

"Why?" Taking a few deep breaths help, and I manage to regain my poise. 
Looking back at him I raise an eyebrow.

My reaction surprises him, and his face colors, whether in embarrassment or 
anger, I can't tell. Ball's in your court, Mulder, I say to myself.

"It's only Ellie. You remember her, don't you?" Smiling now, he leans his 
elbows on the table and cups his chin in his hands. 

Ellie. How could I forget her? That sassy and confused kid from Kansas. I'd 
met her briefly, and Mulder had supplied the missing details. He'd taken her 
under his wing, helping her when she was stranded. And I had gotten the wrong 
idea about his interest in her. 

Sighing, I realize how I've misjudged him yet again where Ellie was concerned.

"Was she the problem you called me about? You could've at least told me that 
on the phone, Mulder. You scared the hell out of me!" I try to work up some 
righteous indignation, but fail miserably. Relief has managed to douse most 
of the flames of anger.

He presses his fingers against his eyes, then up through his hair, leaving it 
even spikier than before. "I couldn't talk, Scully. She was hysterical, and 
I'm not good at dealing with tears. Besides, there really wasn't much to 
tell, I couldn't get a coherent word out of her. So I still don't know what 
prompted her little visit." A ironic smile crosses his face. "I wasn't 
exactly coherent myself."

Mulling over his words, I try to reconcile what he's told me with the picture 
of them on the couch. She certainly didn't look like a lost soul, that's for 
damn sure. How the hell did she know how to reach him?

"How did she find you, Mulder?" My words are bland, but I can't keep the 
flush out of my cheeks, and hope he doesn't notice. Unfortunately, his eyes 
don't miss that detail.

"Scully, you *are* jealous!" He's so damned pleased by this thought, and 
though I protest, he pays no attention whatsoever. Shaking his head, he 
repeats, "You're jealous!" The smug note in his voice matches the one on his 
face. 

He's right -- I am jealous, or was. The pain I felt when I saw them huddled 
together was real. But my automatic sense of self-preservation kicked in and 
transformed my pain into anger. Not that it fooled him. Or me. So, what 
happens now?

Mulder glances at me warily, sensing my indecision. His finger absently 
traces figure eights over the formica surface as he awaits my next move.

The scenario of this afternoon replays through my mind as I weigh my options. 
Though I controlled that situation, I wasn't happy with the end result. Now 
is my chance to rectify it. But do I dare try?

What the hell!

Pushing away from the table, I move over to him. His face wears a bemused 
look, and a questioning smile cracks its surface. Ignoring his confusion, I 
grab a fistful of limp white cotton. Pulling roughly at the shirt, the 
buttons fly off, a volley of bullets that strike the wall and floor. Like a 
white flag, the fabric surrenders to my hands. 

I yank off my jacket and drop it to the floor, then turn and straddle Mulder 
where he sits. His cry of pleasure spurs me on. Smiling, I loop my arms 
loosely around his neck, and run my lips over his jaw. The sandpapery texture 
of his beard scratches lightly against my face, sending chills through me. 
Reaching an ear, I trace my tongue over it, dipping into the whorls before 
slipping down to catching the fleshy lobe between my teeth. Yes, I have his 
attention.

"What are you doing, Scully?" His breathy whisper dances across my face, and 
I smile into his neck as my lips continue their exploration. The chemistry of 
want and need washes over me, a flux of emotion I am unable to control. Not 
that I want to.

"I thought it was fairly obvious." Nipping lightly along his throat, I pay 
special attention to the little hollow there. I love this place, and suckle 
lightly at the skin, marking it as mine. "You taste so good," I murmur 
against him. My tongue dips into the depression, and I feel his groan of 
pleasure as it rumbles through him.
 
I can feel something else, too, prodding against my bottom. Grinning, I 
deliberately wiggle against him, feeling him grow harder. His mouth opens on 
a gasp, and I take that as an invitation. My lips slant across his, open and 
hot, my tongue delving into his warmth, kissing him as I'd yearned to all day 
long.

He's kissing me back, his tongue chasing mine, playing an erotic game of tag. 
His hands grasp my waist, settling me more surely against him. God, he feels 
so good, his hardness pressing against me, making me even wetter than I 
already was. Moving my hips, I rock over him as his mouth nips along my neck. 
I feel his cock jump at the firmer contact.

Making love with Mulder is indescribable. Every time as exciting as the 
first. He makes me wet with a look, and one touch of his hands can almost 
drive me over the edge. I don't know how he does it, and I don't care. It's 
just the way he makes me feel, and I love it. I love him.

He's beautiful. A man isn't supposed to be. But he is, and his body is a 
veritable feast for my eyes. His torso, exposed in all its glory, calls to 
me. The firm skin, so dark against the paleness of mine, is overlaid with a 
fine sheen of perspiration, making it glisten in the harsh light of the 
kitchen.

My fingers trace through the light covering of hair, sliding over the firm 
flesh to find a nipple. A little brown button on the perfection of his chest. 
His nipple is sensitive, every bit as much as mine. Lightly rubbing it, I 
smile as it hardens, the tiny point tickling my palm. My lips replace my 
hand, suckling lightly at him, my tongue lapping over it in measured swipes.

"Scully!" His groans into my shoulder, caressing me with both his voice and 
his mouth.  That sound, breaking a silence that had been punctuated only by 
our panting breaths, forces me back to reality.

"No." I push away from Mulder. "Stop!"

******

She tastes so good, sweet and ripe like a piece of forbidden fruit. Savored 
in secret and gone too soon. Leaving me wanting more.

Looking at her face, seeing the flush of passion still on her cheeks and her 
eyes heavy with desire, I can't quite understand why she wants to stop. My 
hands, lingering at her waist, refuse to let her go and she's forced to stay 
seated on my lap. Don't do this, Scully, I think as I pull her closer. 

I've been afraid of love for so long, felt unworthy of it, until Scully. 
We've come so far these past few months. Both of us learning to give, to open 
up. To share our innermost thoughts and dreams. I never thought I would find 
anyone who could love me, let alone with the uninhibited passion she shows. 
My greatest fear is losing her. And somehow, that seems to be happening.

I can barely breathe, and my cock is hard enough to burst right through the 
fabric and zipper separating us. She wants me, she loves me, I know she does. 
And yet she pushes me away.

"Why are you doing this to me, Scully? To us?" My voice sounds harsher than 
I'd meant it to. But she's hurting me with the constant ebb and flow of her 
feelings.

She looks confused and slightly disoriented for a second, then I see 
something flash in the clear blue of her eyes -- understanding. "No, no, no!" 
She shakes her head, and then leans in to plant a soft kiss on my brow. 
Running her fingers through my hair, she clasps them behind my neck and rests 
her forehead against mine. 

"I'm sorry!" Remorse colors her words. "I don't mean I want to stop, Mulder. 
God, no! I mean we *have* to stop. Ellie's in the bedroom, she might hear us, 
might. . .interrupt. And I don't think I could handle that." She speaks 
softly, the sincerity in her words apparent as her eyes beg for my 
understanding.

I realize I've been holding my breath, and let it out in a sigh of relief. 
"You can't handle it? Christ, Scully, I'm about to go out of my mind." 
Loosening my grip, I allow her to stand, grinning in pleased amazement at her 
wobbly stance. It's nice to know I haven't lost my touch.

"We should be able to solve this problem." Her forehead wrinkles in 
concentration, and as I watch an enchanting grin blooms on her face. It turns 
up the corner of those enticingly full lips, and my mouth longs to sample the 
perfection of her smile.

Scully takes my hand and tugs me from the chair, leading me out of the room. 
At this point, I'm ready to follow her anywhere, but I do wonder what she has 
in mind. Maybe the elevator? Lately, that's been another fantasy of mine. . .

"Uh, Scully, this isn't the part where you ditch me again, is it?" She 
doesn't miss the teasing note in my voice, and she stops short, causing a 
near collision. Turning, her brow raises as she looks me up and down.

"Hmm, I hadn't thought of that." A finger from her free hand taps against her 
cheek as she ponders my question. "It would serve you right, Mulder. But 
don't worry, I would never ditch a man in your *condition*. . .not twice 
anyway." The tapping finger moves from her face to trace the length of my 
erection, straining against the wool trousers. 

"I trust you, Scully, I do. And I hope you have something in mind." Breathing 
has become a bit more difficult. She's just raised my blood pressure way past 
the safety zone, and that's not the only thing she's further elevated. My 
voice drops to a near whisper. "I'm *up* for suggestions."

"Well, we can't just walk out and leave Ellie. Not until you know why she's 
here. She has the bedroom. We need some privacy. . .do you understand now?" 
She points at the closed door in front of her.

I have to admit, Scully is nothing if not creative. I'm embarrassed this 
didn't occur to me first. Some of the best sex in my life has occurred in 
this room. With Scully, of course. I open the bathroom door. "Ladies first." 
Smirking, I wave my arm, gesturing for her to enter.

Her eyes rake over me, head to toe, like she's buying a new car and I'm the 
latest model. With a slight smile, she reaches out to cup my arousal, 
squeezing lightly, before sweeping past me into the room. Choking, I follow 
her, closing the door and clicking the lock in place.

"Alone at last." Scully laughs at my weak attempt at humor, her eyes meeting 
mine in the mirror. I move up behind her, wrapping my arms around and resting 
my chin in the softness of her hair. Watching our reflection, I marvel again 
at the circumstances that brought this woman into my life. God knows, she 
deserves better, but for whatever reason, she chose me.

My eyes still on the mirror, I reach down to free the buttons on her shirt, 
one by one. Her eyes follow my fingers, her lips parted and breathing 
shallow. Unfastening the last one, I carefully part the sides, exposing the 
creamy swell of her breasts confined in the silk and lace. Cupping their 
weight in my hands, I trace my thumbs over her nipples, feeling them harden.

"That feels heavenly." Her head rolls against my chest, her soft hair 
brushing across my skin in tantalizing, feathery traces. Reaching up, she 
flips the little front clasp of the bra and the fabric springs apart, leaving 
my hands partially trapped. My arms drop back to my sides as she moves 
slightly away from me. Her shoulders wriggle seductively as she shrugs away 
the blouse and bra like minor irritations. Her breasts bounce provocatively, 
the nipples further puckering in delight at their newly found freedom. 
Leaning back again, the heat of her flesh warms my chest, and she pulls my 
wrists until my hands are again caressing her breasts.

Watching her in the mirror fascinates me. The perfection of her skin, so 
smooth and pale, marked here and there by tiny blue veins. It's like the 
finest marble, sculpted into a work of art that is arguably the Eighth Wonder 
of the World. Her face is flushed, her lips wet from numerous swipes of her 
nervous tongue. The pink tips of her breasts peek out between my fingers, 
like little ripe berries waiting to be plucked.  This is one of the most 
erotically charged moments in my life.

Her hands aren't idle. She's sliding them over her stomach, fingers lightly 
circling her flesh before slipping one beneath the waistband of her jeans. I 
don't know for sure what she's doing, but I can imagine. Her breath catches, 
and she rocks against me, pressing herself into my cock. I shudder, nearly 
losing control as her bottom circles over me.

She leans her cheek against my chest, rubbing like a contented kitten, and 
any minute I expect to hear her purr. Her eyes, dark as sapphires, meet mine 
in the mirror, and issue an invitation. Her tongue again wets those luscious 
lips, but this action is not an unconscious act, but a deliberate one. 
Leaning down, I kiss her, my tongue softly sweeping over her mouth before 
parting her lips. She tastes of mint and desire, a heady mixture that I find 
instantly addictive.

Spinning around in my arms, she never loses contact with my mouth. Her hands 
brush through my hair, scratching along my scalp until they finally come to 
rest at my neck. She locks her fingers together, holding me in place as her 
mouth devours mine. The kisses are hungry, as though we are starved for 
sustenance after a long fast. Tongues touch, darting and retreating, as they 
rediscover secret and sensitive places. This, I think, this is what gets me 
through the week, what makes all the bullshit and rhetoric and boredom 
worthwhile.

As if by mutual agreement, our mouths part. Stripping off the rest of our 
clothes takes but a minute. She opens the shower curtain, stepping in to turn 
on the water and regulate the temperature. When she has it adjusted, she 
reaches for me.

The spray of the water, hot as our passions, pelts us. Grabbing her, I pull 
her against me, all thoughts of soap and shampoo forgotten. She slides 
against me, molding her body around mine as her arms and legs anchor her to 
me. 

Fumbling like an overeager virgin on his first date, I try to work through 
the logistics of this moment. It isn't easy to think when all the blood has 
left your brain and taken a little pleasure trip south. But I manage. With 
trembling arms, I reposition her, finally finding the right combination to 
make this work. The tip of my cock trails through the coppery curls, probing 
her slick folds to find her center. And with one push I'm in, instantly 
enveloped in her wet heat. Jesus, she's so tight! 

Pressing her back into the tile I start thrusting, hard and fast. She twists 
in my embrace, moving her hips in perfect counterpoint to my drives. Her 
mouth opens, groaning encouragement against my shoulder. There is something 
primitive and wild about this pairing, as though it were our first, last, and 
only time together.

Her head rolls away, hitting the tiles with a dull thud as she hitches and 
glides against me. One hand continues to cradle her buttocks. With my free 
hand I reach down to slide my fingers into her. Finding her clit, I stroke 
it, hard and fast, sliding over the sensitive nub, forcing her to the edge. 
Her breath catches as the orgasm ripples through her, her body clenching 
against my fingers. Azure eyes, wide with wonder, stare into mine before the 
lids droop slowly over them.

*****

I can't move. My body is boneless. I am dangling like a rag doll, limply 
draped around Mulder. I know he's close, but I can't seem to do a thing to 
help. He's knocked the stuffing out of me.

Mulder shoves my body against the shower wall, his hands cupping my bottom. 
He's pounding into me, harder and faster with each thrust, losing his 
finesse. And, oh god, he's going to make me come again. I hear someone 
moaning, little incoherent sounds that mix with the steam and blanket the air 
with their density. I realize with a shock that it's me.

My second orgasm is nearly violent in its intensity. My back arches and my 
muscles tighten in an almost reflex action. And I come, screaming his name 
repeatedly, until his mouth covers mine and swallows my words.

Breaking the kiss, I look at him. His eyes are dark and penetrating, and his 
breath whistles through clenched teeth. The cords in his neck throb with the 
strain as he adjusts my body, seeking deeper penetration.  His hunger is 
almost insatiable, born of fear and desperation and lonely nights, and I need 
to feed it. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I begin to move with him, 
clenching him tightly within me. He shudders, gasping my name as he presses 
his face into my neck. With one last, erratic thrust he comes, spilling 
within me, an explosion of heat that leaves me exhausted and energized at the 
same time.

Sinking to the floor of the shower, my body still straddling his, I fight to 
catch my breath. His mouth is pressed against my cheek, and I can feel the 
little whispering sounds he makes. Sated, we sit there, and it would take the 
threat of an alien invasion to move us.

Or a change in the water temperature. . .

Squealing, I leap out of the shower, shivering in the aftermath of the 
freezing water. Mulder follows seconds later, stopping only to turn off the 
tap.

Fluffy towels, one of Mulder's concessions to our relationship, await our 
chilled limbs. He wraps one loosely around his hips before picking up 
another. Opening it fully, he envelops me in its softness, moving the towel 
over my body, careful to dry me completely before folding it around me like a 
sarong. 

Now it's my turn. Picking up another towel, I move it over his chest and 
shoulders, patting away the droplets that caress his chest. I marvel at his 
shape, firm and lightly tanned, as I wipe away the moisture that coats his 
strong back, and covers his lightly muscled arms. Sliding it across his 
stomach, I take time to carefully dry his navel, silently cursing the towel 
that rides low on his hips and has the audacity to absorb the wetness beneath.

I love the play of shadow and light over his body. To see his rugged frame 
stretch and flex, and watch the movement of skin and muscle working in tandem 
as he performs the most ordinary activities. I frequently watch him. Like a 
naturalist, I observe him furtively, careful to keep him unaware of my 
scrutiny lest he become self-conscious. He is truly unaware of his looks. 
Like a rare and exotic animal, he is a man who is beautiful to look at, and 
beautiful inside, too. 

I'm not the only one watching. His eyes, more golden than green, blaze from 
beneath the half closed lids as they follow my progression. Kneeling before 
him, I lift a foot and rest it against the towel draped over my thigh. I wipe 
carefully between the toes and over the instep, repeating the procedure with 
his other foot. 

Finishing, I drop the towel and stand, letting my fingers wander over him. 
Mulder is ticklish, and I use this weakness to my advantage as I trail my 
fingers along his side, watching in delight as his body reacts to my touch. 
This is a side of him that I rarely get a chance to see -- laughing and 
carefree. 

Finally, he's had enough, and he grabs my wrists, easily imprisoning them in 
his grasp. Pressing me back against the door, he swoops down to claim a kiss, 
his reward for patience. His mouth is soft against mine, almost reverent. A 
beautiful, romantic interlude in an otherwise unconventional relationship.

Too bad it had to end.

Mulder pulls away, a surprised look on his face. "Is that you?"

My stomach is now responsible for a series of gurgles and rumbles that would 
be better suited to a truck driver than to someone my size. Blushing, I close 
my eyes and nod. "I'm sorry. I was just a little on edge when I got home 
because of. . .and I guess I forgot to eat."  

"If you keep making all that noise you're liable to wake Ellie." The look of 
mock horror on his face would be funny if I weren't so embarrassed.

"This is a perfectly normal physical response to hunger." My face is hot, 
color blooming in my cheeks as I attempt to hold on to my towel and my temper.

His fingers comb through his damp hair, creating that rakish, slightly spiky 
look that somehow suits him. "What's your definition of normal, Scully? From 
where I stand it sounds like Mt. St. Helens is ready to erupt." 

Sighing, I hitch the slipping towel more securely around me. "You know, 
Mulder, I can get rather unpleasant if I'm not fed at regular intervals."

"Guess I'd better feed you then." He smiles and leans down to kiss my nose, 
his eyes full of amusement. 

I stare at him in amazement. "Since when do you have anything edible in your 
kitchen?" He really is sweet, and he means well, but the thought of the 
contents of his cupboard doesn't exactly tempt my appetite.

His mouth droops, giving him that sad, lonely puppy look. "I don't, but my 
phone works. I know of this great all night Chinese place, and they'll 
deliver for me." Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he grimaces. "I'm kind 
of hungry, too. My dinner was of the liquid variety and. . ."

I place my fingers over his lips. "Later, Mulder. We'll talk after we eat. 
Now, hand me my clothes." The steam has almost disappeared and the room is 
cooling rapidly. My limbs are prickling with goosebumps and my teeth are just 
shy of chattering like castanets.

"Uh, Scully? I think we have a problem." His hands are full of something dark 
and dripping -- my jeans. "I guess the shower curtain wasn't closed all the 
way." He smiles sheepishly, his tone begging my understanding.

I can't help it, I start to laugh. After everything that's happened today, 
wet clothes are nothing more than a very minor nuisance. Taking them from 
him, I wring as much of the water from them as I can, before draping them 
over the shower curtain rod. I do the same with the cotton blouse.

"You're taking it rather well." He sounds surprised, and I start to laugh 
again, but it ends on a shiver. He notices my discomfort. "Shit, Scully, 
you're freezing! Why the hell didn't you say something?" He picks up one of 
the discarded towels, and wraps it about my shoulders. Though slightly damp, 
it does provide some warmth and I pull it tighter around me.

"Let me get you some sweats." Turning, his hand is on the knob when I stop 
him.

"Uh, aren't you forgetting something? Ellie's here, and I don't think you're 
dressed for company, Mulder." He grins sheepishly, reaching for his trousers, 
which remarkably enough, had escaped the fate of my clothes. 

"Never mind, Mulder. You can clean up this mess." My sweeping gesture 
encompasses the room. "I'll get the clothes. You don't mind my going through 
your drawers, do you?" I gaze at him, aiming for a wide-eyed innocent look as 
I play Mulder's innuendo game.

He raises his eyebrows, and gives me a look of amused admiration. "It seems 
to me you've already done that once tonight."

Grinning, I open the door and slip out, blowing a kiss over my shoulder.

The floor is cold beneath my feet, and I hurry to his bedroom, longing for 
the comfort of soft cotton flannel. I open the door slowly, and a splash of 
light from the other room spills across the floor, illuminating the figure on 
the bed. Fortunately, it doesn't waken Ellie. 

My first stop is the closet, pulling out the extra blankets he keeps there 
and dropping them on his armchair. The heat in this apartment is notoriously 
unreliable, and if we're going to sleep on his couch we'll probably need 
them. Almost as an afterthought, I take one of the pillows from the bed and 
place it on the chair with the other bedding. 

I open several drawers in his bureau before finding what I need. Turning to 
place the clothing on the bed, I brush against something, which falls to the 
floor with a loud bang and rolls over to the wall. Feeling along the 
woodwork, my hands identify the noisy culprit. A baseball bat. 

Standing, I look again at Ellie. She appears to be sleeping quite soundly, 
which isn't unusual, but after my noisy encounter with the bat I find it a 
bit disconcerting and lean closer to examine her.

Her face is flushed, and her eyes are ringed with smudged eyeliner. The rise 
and fall of her chest seems to indicate she is deeply asleep. Holding her 
wrist, I feel her pulse, strong and regular, and her skin is cool to the 
touch. I had wondered for a second if she were using drugs, but her condition 
doesn't appear to warrant my concern. Dropping her wrist, I pull the covers 
over her, tucking her in before picking up my booty and tiptoeing out of the 
room.

Two hours later, we're lying on his couch. My back is nestled against his 
chest, and his breath, redolent of mint and spice, stirs the hair at my 
cheek. Our appetites are satisfied, and in the quiet darkness of his 
apartment, we surrender to our weariness, and sleep.

******

I'm pushing this baby stroller down the street, and people keep stopping to 
look at the baby. They all start out cooing and shit, until they get real 
close. And then they start screaming. I can't see the baby, and for some 
reason I don't try. I just keep walking and pushing. And it happens over and 
over again. Finally, I see my mother. She looks at the baby too, and doesn't 
scream, but there's this strange look on her face. I can't stand it any 
longer, and pull back the canopy to see what they're all so afraid of. The 
baby's face, oh God! Green eyes look out of a furred face, with a long nose 
and sharp teeth. My baby has the face of a fox. . .

Sitting up in the bed, my heart pounds, and I can feel sweat dripping down my 
face. A dream, it was just a dream. 

For a minute, I can't remember where I am, then it all comes back to me. I'm 
in Fox Mulder's bed.

It's a beautiful bed, too. Last night, I was too upset and worried to really 
pay attention to anything. But in the morning light I am truly impressed. And 
damn, but there's a mirror over the bed. Never imagined he was such a perv 
job! 

I can see myself, sitting up against the pillows. Geez, I look like hell! 
Pulling my hair from my face, I see the little black marks my tears and 
eyeliner made on my face. I can't believe I didn't see this last night!

It's cold in the room, and I snuggle back under the quilt until I am 
perfectly warm again. The sheets are soft, and smell like him, sort of dark 
and musky. A very pleasant smell.

According to the clock by the bed, it's a little after eight in the morning, 
and thankfully, the nausea I've been experiencing is missing. I wonder where 
Fox is. My stomach tells me it's been a long time since my last meal and I 
could use some breakfast, but I'm not sure whether I should wait for him or 
just help myself. This isn't my home. Yet.

I lay in bed for another five minutes, mentally redecorating the apartment. 
It definitely needs to be painted, and those windows are crying out for 
drapes. But this bed is perfect, I would just get a prettier quilt. Maybe 
something in satin or velvet, and in a brighter color. Red, maybe. I look 
good in red. But this brown and navy shit has got to go -- too depressing.

I really gotta pee. . .

Oh, to hell with it. My mind made up, I leave the bed and walk over to the 
door. Pressing my ear against it, I listen. Nothing. Not a sound in the 
apartment. Home alone. The thought of snooping through his stuff makes me 
giggle, and I open the door, eager to start.

First things first -- where *is* the bathroom? Walking quickly down the 
hallway, I open the first door I see. Success!

Washing up afterwards, I peek into the medicine cabinet. You can tell a lot 
about people by what they keep there. He's got the usual crap, like 
Band-Aids, ibuprofen, and men's stuff. No condoms though. Damn, this man 
likes to live dangerously, or he hasn't been laid in ages. Well, I can take 
care of that, and no condoms are necessary, not now anyway.

Moving some of the bottles, I spy his aftershave. I open the bottle and 
inhale. Mmmm, it's sexy and masculine, just like him. Yeah, that's the smell 
in the bed. Tilting the bottle, I dot some of the scent on my fingertip and 
stroke it over my wrist.

I look into the mirror as I close the cabinet, and see the reflection of 
something hanging over the shower curtain. It looks like a pair of jeans, 
still pretty wet, and a black shirt. They look like they shrunk, too. Poor 
Fox! He can't even manage to do laundry properly. Well, I can take care of 
that for him. With me around, he'll never have to worry about laundry again. 
Or cleaning either, I think, as I look at the cobwebs in the corner of the 
ceiling.

Now to do something about my hair. Using his comb, I try to get most of the 
tangles out, but after breaking two teeth from it I finally give up and just 
push it behind my ears.

Out in the hallway again, I move toward the kitchen. And that's when I notice 
the boots. Women's boots. Black, ankle high, with a three inch heel, and 
they're laying in the middle of the floor, as though kicked off or dropped in 
a hurry. What's the deal with that?

And then a sound, a slight moan, catches my attention and I turn my head 
toward the living room. Someone is home. Stepping cautiously, trying to make 
no noise, I approach the doorway. . .

Maybe I'm still dreaming, but I doubt it. And if I'm not, then I'm fucked. 
Again.

I kind of figured that they were still friends, else why would he call her. 
And I kind of figured she'd be hanging around, trying to screw up my plans. 
But I never figured on this. The two of them are lying there, and it's almost 
impossible to tell where one body ends and the other begins. I've been 
screwed again, and so has she by the looks of it. And only one of us enjoyed 
the experience.

They're still lovers? I can't believe this shit! And at their age! I thought 
old people got married and all. I didn't think they screwed around. Where the 
hell was she last night when he was out getting hammered? Guess she was 
waiting for him to call her so she could get nailed.

How could he do this to me? This isn't the way it's supposed to turn out. I 
should be the one laying there with him, not *her*.  I could almost cry.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Back in the bedroom, I crawl beneath the quilt. Stupid, that's what I am. 
What the hell was I thinking? Coming across the country to try to marry a man 
old enough to be my father, and who isn't in love with me anyway. Stupid, 
stupid, stupid!

All this trouble for nothing. I should have gone to my mother. Oh, she'd be 
pissed off. Probably say she was too young to be a grandmother. But she'd 
take care of me, she'd love me and the baby.

I guess Fox is just like all the men I've ever known. Like Ricky. All they 
ever want to do is cop a feel and hope to end the night boinking like 
bunnies. Only Randy was different.

Ricky and Randy. Their names are alike, but that's the only thing that's 
similar. Ricky treated me like shit, only interested in screwing me, not in 
the person I am. But Randy, he was wonderful. Sweet and decent, he treated me 
like I was something fragile, something precious. For a little while, I was. 
. .

For the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I'm crying. Not that 
fake shit I pulled for Fox's benefit, but real, honest-to-god tears. And I 
can't seem to stop. My body starts shaking, and it's hard to catch my breath, 
but I keep crying.

What's wrong with me? Why can't I ever do anything right?

******

I'm huddled under the quilt, curled into a ball. This time the scent on the 
pillow doesn't thrill me. It just reminds me what a frigging moron I am. 
Making a fist, I punch it over and over, venting my frustrations on its 
fluffy center.

There's a soft knock on the door, and then it opens. Sitting up, I see Dana 
framed in the doorway, the light from the other room shining around her. She 
fucking glows. Looks like she has a halo. Great! Just what I want -- a nice 
little talk with Saint Dana. Let's see, what should we chat about? How about 
the fact that she's fucked up my chances to give this kid a normal life?

"You're awake." She smiles, walking over to sit on the side of the bed. Her 
palm presses against my forehead, then my cheeks. "Are you feeling okay?" I 
shift uncomfortably, pulling away from her. The last thing I want is her 
being nice to me.

"Yeah, I guess so. . .I'm pregnant," I blurt out. I want to knock her for a 
loop. She needs to know that everyone's life isn't as perfect as hers. It 
works, too. Dana's shocked, one of her eyebrows twitching up as she takes it 
all in. It makes her look like my Sunday School teacher when she caught us 
skinny dipping at the church picnic. Scandalized, surprised and fascinated, 
all at the same time. 

She clears her throat and starts in on me. "Have you seen a doctor?" I shake 
my head, and she rolls her eyes in disgust.

"You must, for the baby's sake as well as your own. If you're pregnant, these 
weeks are significant to the baby's development. Lack of prenatal care can 
result in premature delivery or low birth weight." She leans forward, 
impatiently pushing her hair off her face. "How long have you suspected it?" 

"About a month. Guess I'd have known sooner, but my period's never regular. 
It was the puking that made me get a home pregnancy test." I bite my lip 
hard, remembering those first days, the sickness, and the fear that filled my 
waking hours. It still does.

"You're basing the assumption of pregnancy on a home pregnancy test and 
vomiting?" She sighs, shifting her position on the bed. "Do you realize how 
unreliable the tests are?" She touches my face, forcing me to look at her.

In spite of my pissy attitude, she still seems concerned. That's what finally 
gets to me. Tears spill out of my eyes, rolling down my cheeks. "I took four 
tests. Four different brands. I saw them change color, become a plus sign, 
you name it. But the results are the same -- I'm pregnant." I start sobbing, 
burying my face in my hands. "Don't you know this is the last thing I want 
right now."

She grabs my arms, forcing me to sit up. Then she pulls me forward and lets 
me cry on her shoulder. I'm nearly twice her size, but she holds me and rocks 
me, murmuring soothing sounds until my tears are over, and my nose is running 
like a two-year-olds. Sniffing, I ask, "Does Fox have any Kleenex? I could 
use one right now."

She opens a drawer and hands me a folded white handkerchief. "No, but I think 
this will do just as well. Now, dry your eyes."

Like a good girl, I do as I'm told, mopping up the last of my tears and 
noisily blowing my nose.

"You already know I think you should see a doctor, but let's say, for sake of 
argument, you are pregnant. Does the father know?"

My face flushes in anger as I shout at her. "No, and he isn't going to! Ricky 
doesn't need to know. He's a selfish bastard. He'd say it wasn't his. No baby 
needs an asshole like him for a father." The anger leaves me, and my voice 
lowers to a shamed whisper. "I hardly know him. We were only together for a 
week, when he visited his aunt last August."

Dana rubs her fingers over her nose, pinching it like she has a headache. 
"Ellie, this is hard for me to ask. I don't want to upset you more, but are 
you sure Ricky's the father?" She bites her lip as she waits for my answer.

I should be angry, but I know I'm not exactly a saint. "No, it could only be 
Ricky. I hadn't been with anyone for months until he came to town, and in 
Kansas, well I was trying to change, to be someone different, someone better."

"Have you called your family?" She asks, reaching out to grab my hand.

I laugh, not a very pleasant sound. "Nope. And I don't want to. Mom isn't the 
most understanding person in the world. She'll probably rip me a new asshole."

"Is that why you came to Mulder?" She seems bothered by that. Whatever 
impulse led me here is gone now, replaced by shame. It won't be easy to tell 
her my reasons, but it's the right thing to do. I can't let her think Fox 
wanted me.

I take a deep breath and look her in the eye. "I had an idea. It was silly, 
really." I hesitate, ashamed to admit the truth. She smiles encouragingly, 
looking for a minute like a member of the pep squad cheering on an obviously 
losing team.

Swallowing hard, I continue. "I. . .I thought I could get Fox to marry me." 
It sounds so fucking silly when I say it out loud, like some teenager's crush 
on a movie star -- ridiculous and impossible. Almost funny, but it doesn't 
strike her that way. She gasps, and for the second time in ten minutes I've 
shocked her. It doesn't show on her face, but her hands give her away. 
They're twisting the hem of her shirt, scrunching it up into a ball then 
pulling at it like she wants to rip it to shreds.

I rush on, eager to end the heavy silence. "He's a terrific guy, you know?" 
She nods, and her hands release the material, smoothing it out. "I'm real 
sorry, Dana. I didn't know you two were hooked up. I just thought he'd make a 
great father. Don't you?" 

Oh, shit! She's gonna cry. Her eyes are glassy and all the color has left her 
face, making the freckles that are sprinkled over her nose cheeks stand out 
even more. She shivers, and closes her eyes for a second.

"Yes, he would make a wonderful father." The corners of her mouth turn up. I 
guess it's supposed to be a smile, but it doesn't cut it. I wish I could 
crawl into a hole and disappear, so I won't have to deal with this. Time to 
change the subject. . .

"Did I tell you how I got into Fox's apartment?" She shakes her head 
slightly, that lost look still in her eyes. "It's so funny. You know that old 
fart, the super? Well, he was a real pain in the ass, wouldn't let me near 
this place at first. I actually debated flashing my boobs to see if that 
would work, but I think he's half blind, so that was out." I'm babbling, but 
it seems to be doing the trick.

"So, what did you do?" She sits up straighter, trying to look interested in 
my story.

"Well, I told him I was an informant. Said it was a matter of life or death, 
that Agent Mulder was my contact, and if he didn't let me into the apartment 
I was a dead woman. That asshole wanted to see ID, but I told him his life 
wasn't worth shit if he found out my identity. You should have seen him! I 
thought he'd pee his pants! He let me in, and beat it for the elevator. I'd 
bet he's hiding under his bed, but his fat ass probably won't fit."

"You're quite creative." Dana smiles, the shadows gone from her eyes. "Time 
to get serious again. You know there are calls you need to make."

Shrugging, I reply, "I know. But I'm not up to it right now."

"I know how you feel, but it won't get any easier. The longer you wait, the 
harder it'll be to tell them. Don't make that mistake." She sounds sincere, 
like she's speaking from experience, but I ain't buying it.

"I said I want to wait. Geez, get a clue! I'm not ready to call." My hands 
clench into fists, and it takes all my willpower to keep from screaming the 
words at her.

She sits there, and for a few seconds I allow myself to think I've won this 
round. But I haven't.

With a deep sigh, she nods her head. "Okay, if you won't make the calls, you 
leave me no choice." She stands, reaching for the phone. Punching in a few 
numbers, she looks at me while she waits for an answer, raising her eyebrows 
questioningly. I ignore her. She doesn't scare me. Not much, anyway.

"Dana Scully here. I need a few phone numbers. . . " I reach out in panic and 
disconnect the call. "Fuck it, give me the phone." I hold out my hand, 
fingers wiggling impatiently.

Her nostrils flare as her face flushes in anger. "Excuse me?" She doesn't 
hand me the phone.

I sigh and count to ten, mentally preparing myself for the shit I have to 
face. "I'm sorry, Dana. You're right. I need to call them. I'll do it if 
you'll give me the phone." Seeing her hesitate, I add with real sincerity, 
"Please."

With shaking fingers, I punch in the familiar number, my breath catching in 
my throat as I hear the voice of my mom. "Hello?"

"Hi Mom, it's me."

"Ellie? This is a nice surprise. I didn't expect to hear from you until 
Sunday. How are you? Still working at the diner?" She sounds so happy to hear 
from me that I want to forget the whole thing and hang up. But if I don't 
tell her, Dana will. . .

"Actually, Mom, I. . . I have some news. I'm gonna have a baby." It's blunt 
and to the point, but that's the only way I can do this. Mom's so quiet that, 
for a second, I think we've been disconnected, but then I hear her breathing. 

"Say something! Tell me you're disappointed in me, you're too old to be a 
grandmother, you hate me, something! " I jump into the silence head first, my 
voice cracking on the last word.

My mom sighs, and I'm surprised by the concern I hear in her voice. "You come 
right home, Ellie. Don't worry about the bus fare, I'll wire you the money. . ."

I interrupt. "I'm in Virginia, Mom. Don't ask, it's a long, boring story. 
I've got my car, and I'll start for home tomorrow."

"Do you think you should be driving in your condition? And how long have you 
known about this? I am surprised. . . " I tune her out, as she drones on. 
This is the mother I know and love, the bossy but ultimately forgiving one.

Turns out calling my mom isn't as horrible as I'd expected. This isn't how 
she'd pictured my future, but hell, neither did I. And she actually seems 
excited about the baby. About being a grandmother, too, though I think she'd 
be happier if she could add a son-in-law to the family tree.

Now comes the really hard part -- calling Kansas. Dialing that number and 
listening to the phone ring and ring hurts. Just as I'm ready to hang up, 
someone answers.

"Hello?" I'd know that voice anywhere. It's Randy's mom.

"Hi. It's Ellie."

"Oh my God, Ellie! We're so concerned about you, hon. You okay? When you just 
up and left like that we didn't know what to think. Is everything all right?" 
I can see her round face and red cheeks, her gray hair is pulled back in a 
bun. She usually wears these ugly flowered dresses with an apron over them. 
She always has a smile and a kind word for everyone. I feel like a real shit 
for worrying her.

"I'm okay, Mrs. Stevens. It. . .it was some family stuff I had to take care 
of. I'm sorry I didn't say anything before I left. It sorta came up all of a 
sudden. I really didn't mean to worry you." I hesitate, then ask the question 
nearest to my heart. "Is Randy okay?"

"Hon, he's beside himself with worry. I'd let you talk to him, but he's at 
the shop. He'll be real upset that he missed you. Maybe you could call him 
there?" I know she wants me to, but I can't, not right now. I miss him, and 
it hurts too much, knowing I can never have him. Again, I'm crying, tears 
falling so fast I can't see, can't talk, nothing. I drop the phone on the bed 
and bury my face in my hands.

Dana picks up the receiver. Though I can hear her voice, I don't know what 
she's saying. I can't concentrate on her words. All I can think of is Randy.

I've been trying to put him out of my mind. I know there's no future for us. 
He can't possibly love someone like me, and talking to him would just hurt 
too fucking much right now. 

". . .Ellie's fine, really." I realize that Dana is still talking to Randy's 
mom. "We'll be in touch. No need to worry, I promise. Take care." 

She hangs up the phone and turns to me, all intense and shit. The look in her 
eyes reminds me of my mom, ready to read me the riot act after I've missed 
curfew. "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"I don't remember. Besides, every time I eat, I throw up." Shaking my head, I 
wonder aloud, "Why do they call it morning sickness when it lasts all damn 
day?"

Dana looks upset. She's shifting from one foot to another, and her hands are 
clenched by her side. I think she wants to shake the hell out of me. "Ellie, 
you need to take better care of yourself. I know you're not prepared for 
motherhood. But you have a responsibility to this child, and you need to take 
it seriously." She crosses her arms, and for a second her eyes have a far 
away look in them. Sighing, she continues her lecture. "I'll make you an egg 
and some toast. Get back into bed." Turning on her heel, she leaves the room. 

It seems strange to be here. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and 
change things, make different choices. Like going to the community college 
the way my mom wanted me to. Like not sleeping with that dickhead, Ricky. 
Like listening to that mechanic who said my car was shot.

But if I did those things then I'd never have met Randy. He made me believe 
in myself, and let me know that I was special. Most guys I'd known before 
only cared about what I could give them. But he was different. All he wanted 
was for me to be happy. He's the kindest, gentlest man I've ever known.

I love him. That's the real ass kicker. Finally finding someone who cares 
about me, and who I love too, and there's nothing I can do about it. Because 
no matter how terrific a guy is, you can't ask him to love somebody else's 
baby. 

That's more than you have the right to expect from any man.

******

Nothing is worse than waking up alone. Unless it's waking up alone with the 
mother of all headaches.

My first mistake is opening my eyes. The blinds are pulled up, and the bright 
sunlight flooding the room sears my retinas with its intensity. I quickly 
press my forearm over them, blocking out the worst of it, but the damage is 
done. I am now aware of how much my head hurts, a pounding pain so acute that 
it feels as if someone is hitting me with a sledgehammer.

A moan escapes me. A hangover? I shouldn't have a fucking hangover. I drank 
vodka last night! You don't get hangovers when you drink straight vodka. I 
was sober when I went to bed -- well, nearly sober. Maybe it was those couple 
of beers I had with the Chinese food. . .

Groaning in earnest, I gingerly sit up and cradle my head in my hands. I 
can't remember exactly how much I had to drink. It was more than enough to 
make me pretty much wasted by the time I got home.

I hear footsteps cross the room, and the couch dips as a warm body sits next 
to me. "You're awake." Scully rests a cool hand against the back of my neck. 
"Headache?"

"No thanks, I already have one." Rocking slowly, I whimper into my hands, 
swearing to myself that I will never drink again.

She suppresses a laugh. "Here, this should help. Open your mouth."

"Can't. I'd have to move my hands and leave my eyes unprotected. I've already 
suffered third degree burns to my eyeballs." My words are muffled as I 
continue to shield my face from morning's assault.

Scully sighs in exasperation. "Mulder, sometimes you can be such a baby!"  
She stands and steps over my legs. Seconds later, I hear the rattle of 
blinds, and realize she's taken pity on me and returned the room to blessed 
darkness.

Back beside me, she pulls my hands down. "Come on, Mulder, the quicker you 
swallow these the sooner you'll start to feel better. I can't afford to have 
you incapacitated." She drops two ibuprofen into my hand, and holds out a 
glass. "I want you to drink all of this water, and more if you can."

"Oooh, Scully, I love it when you act assertive." Eyes still half-closed, I 
pop the pills into my mouth, and hold out my hand for the water. Its welcome 
coldness hydrates the parched wasteland that's my throat and I do as ordered 
and swallow every drop.

"Now lean back." Her hand settles on my shoulder, firmly pushing me until I 
am resting against the couch. "Close your eyes." 

"Is this where you surprise me by jumping naked into my lap?" I leer at her, 
or at least give my best imitation of one, considering my condition.

"Shut up, Mulder." Smiling, I rest my head against the couch, closing my 
eyes. I can feel her leaning over me, that wonderful, feminine Scully-smell 
surrounding me with its comforting assurance. Something cool and damp is 
placed over my brow, covering my eyes, and I sigh in pleasure at its contact 
with my aching head. "So good, Scully. Feels so good."

I can almost hear her smile. "You know, I really should let you suffer. You 
acted incredibly stupid yesterday."

"Yeah, well, I had provocation, remember?" My fingers find hers, and I pull 
her into me, curving my other arm around her shoulders. She nestles against 
me with a contented sigh.

"Yes, you're right. It wasn't fair, and it went against everything we'd 
agreed on when we started this relationship." She twists her body around and 
climbs into my lap. "But, Mulder, it really ticked me off to see you just 
sitting there while I struggled with those expense reports. We're supposed to 
share the paperwork, remember?"

Lifting the cool compress from my eyes, I squint at her in surprise. "Funny 
you should mention sharing, Scully. While you were busy doing your thing, I 
was finishing field reports. Do you realize that spell check doesn't cover 
words like 'exsanguination' or 'biodiversity'?"

Stiffening, she attempts to crawl off my lap but I won't let her. Her 
struggles last for a few seconds before she collapses back against me with an 
angry snort. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I spent most 
of the day on the damned expense report, while you were busy eating seeds and 
staring at the ceiling."

The humor of the situation suddenly hits me. I start to smile, and receive a 
sharp poke in the stomach as punishment. 

"Hey!" I yelp. "What the hell was that for?"

"I fail to see the humor, Mulder." A wave of red washes over her face, and 
she bites her lip in frustration. "You could have told me. . ."

I cut her off roughly. "When could I have told you, Scully? I figured it was 
worth my life to interrupt you. And later, well, you nearly bit my head off 
because I had the audacity to tease you. After that. . ." I shrug, the 
episode still a sore point with me.

She sighed, and her hand cups my jaw, her thumb circling softly over my lips. 
"You're right. I said it before, and I'll repeat it now -- that wasn't fair. 
I'm sorry, Mulder." 

My eyes widen in amazement. Scully apologizing? This is unexpected. Several 
smart-ass comments sit on my tongue, aching to be spit out, but I resist the 
impulse. I don't want to pick up my teeth with a broken arm. This is one time 
where less is definitely more.

"Apology accepted. And I'm sorry, too." I murmur the words against her thumb, 
punctuating them with a kiss.

"You know, Mulder, this non-verbal thing isn't all it's cracked up to be. 
Maybe we should try sticking to a more conventional form of communication ." 
Her droll observation is delivered with the quirk of an eyebrow. "It could 
save us a lot of trouble in the future."

Sliding my hand along her back up to her neck, I thread my fingers through 
her hair, supporting her head. Her lips open slightly as our eyes meet, and I 
move the few inches necessary to kiss her. Teasing her with the lightest of 
pressure, she moans in frustration until I deepen the kiss. When it's over, 
her breathing is rapid and shallow, and the flush on her cheeks has nothing 
whatever to do with anger.

Lying back against me, she tucks her face into my neck with a contented hum. 
"Of course, I could be wrong about that." 

I laugh out loud at her words. "We do have our moments." My head is again 
resting against the couch. Though the headache hasn't left completely, it 
isn't nearly as severe. I think I'm going to live.

"Mulder? We still have to talk." Her voice is troubled, and my chest tightens 
as I wait for her to continue. "There's something you need to know, and I'm 
not exactly sure how to tell you. . ."

Scully has my undivided attention now, and I prepare myself for the bad news. 
"I. . .I spoke to Ellie this morning." 

Oh, yeah, Ellie. I forgot about her. If it's only about her it can't be too 
bad. . . I think.

"There's something you need to know." Scully sits up, her tone taking on a 
serious inflection. "She's pregnant, Mulder."

"Pregnant?" Choking, I look at her in amazement.

******

Drowning victims aren't the only ones who see their lives flash before their 
eyes. I'm having that experience right now, along with the inability to 
breath. Whatever I'd expected when I saw Ellie last night, this wasn't it. I 
guess she really meant it when she told me she was 'in trouble'.

"Pregnant?" I repeat. "How. . .when. . .?" My mouth drops open in shock. 
Christ, I hope Scully doesn't think. . .

"Late summer, from what she's told me. Before she left home, she's certain 
about that." She shakes her head in sympathy. "That poor kid must have been 
in her first month when we met her. According to her calculations, and I am 
by no means accepting them as accurate, she's thirteen weeks now. That means 
Ellie is just entering the second trimester."

Breath, Mulder, breath. "What about the father? Is it that why she was going 
to Oklahoma?" I remember how hopeful she'd seemed last September. Young, 
carefree, eager to embrace life and whatever it had to offer. It was hard to 
reconcile that young woman with the one who greeted me last night.

Scully frowns as she leans forward, and a lock of hair fans over her cheek. 
Tossing her head, she tucks it behind her ear and continues. "It was just a 
summer romance. He was visiting family in her hometown, and apparently they 
'hooked up', to quote Ellie. His name is Ricky, he's a selfish bastard, again 
her words, and she wants nothing to do with him." 

"So why did she come here? I mean, what does she think I can do for her?" I 
am truly puzzled by the whole situation. I'd only known her for twenty-four 
hours, and when we'd left Kansas she was happily settled in her new job. 
Though I'd given her my card, I certainly hadn't expected to ever hear from 
her again.

Scully smiles at my bewildered stare, though she tries valiantly to suppress 
it. "You're not going to believe this, but she wanted to marry you. She 
thinks you'd make a terrific father."

"What!" I sit up suddenly, almost pitching her off my lap and on to the 
floor. Her arms make a grab for my shirt and she manages to maintain her 
position. This time there is no attempt to stifle the grin that crosses her 
face.

She releases my shirt to hug me. "Don't worry, we've talked it through, and 
she's already made calls to her mother and to the people she was staying with 
in Kansas." She kisses my cheek, and whispers to me. "I've taken the liberty 
of making a few calls of my own."

"Who. . .who did you call?" I gasp as she kisses her way to my ear and 
nibbles lightly on the lobe.

With one last kiss, she pushes herself upright. "We need to continue this 
conversation in the kitchen. I don't want to wake Ellie. Poor kid is 
exhausted. She barely finished her breakfast before she fell asleep. Besides, 
now I want you to eat something. Come on!"

******

Mulder's juggling the groceries and his keys when I open the door for him. 
"Perfect timing. I almost dropped the eggs." Pushing past me he rushes into 
the kitchen, hitting the table with the bags in the nick of time. Shrugging 
out of his jacket, he throws it over the back of the chair, and manages to 
ignore my pointed look. Sighing, I grab it and hang it up.

"How's the head?" I reach out to touch his forehead, relieved when he doesn't 
flinch from my touch. He skin feels cool under my hand, and he smiles as I 
trail my fingers through his soft hair.

"Better. I think the fresh air did some good." Leaning down, he kisses me 
softly. "I don't think I've thanked you properly for the TLC."

"You'll get my bill." I tease, enjoying the rumble of his answering laughter. 
One more quick kiss, then he pulls away to concentrate on the waiting 
groceries.

"Is everything under control?" He asks abruptly. We've started unpacking the 
bags and putting away the food. I nod, intent on opening the refrigerator 
without dropping the oranges and milk that I have cradled in my arms.

"Good, because I called the airport, and the plane is on time. We have about 
an hour to get her ready. Where is Ellie, by the way? Oh, never mind." He 
realizes the shower is on.

Hooking a chair, he plops into it with a sigh. He absently reaches for a 
bunch of grapes, breaking off a few and popping them into his mouth. "How is 
she?" 

"Mulder, I haven't washed those yet." Sighing in exasperation, I snatch the 
rest of the grapes from him, then step over to the sink to complete the job. 

"You haven't answered my question, either." He walks over to stand behind me, 
pressing my body into the counter as he reaches around to snag a few more of 
the grapes. 

I glance at him over my shoulder, biting my lip in uncertainty. "I'm not 
sure, Mulder. She seems okay. I don't think she'll run away again." I tilt my 
head forward, letting my hair fall over my face, effectively hiding my 
expression.

"Hey, look at me." He turns me around, gently placing a finger under my chin. 
Searching my face, he gives me a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his 
eyes. "What's really wrong, Scully?"

I surprise him by leaning forward and wrapping my arms around his waist. "I 
don't know, Mulder, I honestly don't. I guess. . .maybe I just envy her a 
little," I sigh resignedly. Those words are muffled as I press my face into 
his shoulder. I can feel the lump in my throat, and I swallow hard, fighting 
back the tears that threaten to escape.

"I'm sorry, Scully." He speaks the words into my hair, pressing a soft kiss 
there.

This man has sacrificed so much to be with me. The knowledge that he will 
never have the children he so richly deserves weighs heavily on me, and I 
wonder, just for a second, if I am being fair to him. 

He shudders, tightening his arms imperceptibly, trying so hard to make me 
feel secure. I look up at him, worried at what I might see as I meet his 
eyes. I couldn't stand his pity. But the eyes that stare back at me hold only 
love.

"I'll be okay, Mulder. I can handle this, if you're with me." Standing on 
tiptoe, I kiss him warmly, my hand caressing his cheek.

"You're going to have a hell of a time getting rid of me," he whispers 
against my palm before pressing a kiss into its center. I take a deep breath 
and exhale slowly. A slight smile crosses my face as I duck out of his 
embrace.

Over at the stove, I lift the lid from a saucepan, checking on the contents. 
The room fills with the aroma of egg drop soup, left over from last night's 
impromptu feast. I stir the thick broth and turn off the gas before replacing 
the lid. "There's soup, Mulder, if you want a bowl. Just make sure you leave 
some for Ellie."

"I'm not hungry, Scully." He wanders aimlessly around the kitchen, looking 
into cabinets, peering into the refrigerator, generally making a nuisance of 
himself. He's too wired to stay still, full of nervous energy and more than a 
little impatient to get this over with.

I pat his arm comfortingly. "I'll see if Ellie needs anything. Why don't you 
try to relax?" I push him in the direction of the living room. Turning, I 
smile as I hear the rhythmic bouncing of a basketball echo down the hall.

In the bathroom, Ellie is waiting for me. Her eyes are still a bit red and 
swollen from her earlier tears. She looks so sad, and so lonely. I hesitate, 
wondering if I should tell her about the arrangements we've made, but decide 
against it. Glancing at my watch, I realize we have less than an hour to 
prepare. She'll know, soon enough.

"Are you about finished, Ellie?" She nods, staring at her reflection. There's 
a dazed look in her eyes that tells me she really doesn't see herself. 
Touching her arm, I gently tug her around to face me. "Come on, let's go into 
the bedroom." Unresisting, she silently follows me down the hall.

Choosing clothes for her isn't easy. She didn't pack much of a selection. 
Finally, I settle on a black skirt and improvise by pulling a soft, olive 
green sweater of Mulder's from the closet for her to wear with it. She puts 
on the clothes I hand her without comment. 

Now, for her hair. I brush it out, and secure it with two clips I found in 
her case. It looks wonderful, and much more natural than the teased and 
plastered with hairspray style she normally wears. Combined with the more 
subtle makeup I've persuaded her to try, she actually looks her age. There's 
a sweet, vulnerable air about her. I think she's pleased with the results.

"You need to eat, Ellie. I have some soup ready for you." She opens her mouth 
to argue, but I think the determined look in my eyes stop her. Like a child, 
I lead her to the kitchen, and despite her earlier reluctance, she digs into 
it with real hunger. I feel a real sense of accomplishment when she finally 
finish a whole bowl.

She's sitting on the couch now, quiet and aloof, oblivious to the tense 
atmosphere. Thank God for that, because Mulder is pacing the room like a 
caged animal. His footsteps sound like jungle drums, warning of impending 
disaster. I can only hope they're wrong.

A knock at the door startles me. Mulder's eyes flash to mine, and he 
nervously pushes his sleeves back before striding to the door. I realize I'm 
holding my breath, and I exhale slowly as I look over at Ellie. She is still 
unaware of the situation. In fact, she doesn't seem to notice that a fourth 
person has just entered the room.

Mulder hesitantly clears his throat. "Uh, we have company, Scully." The man 
standing next to him is in his late twenties, dressed in an ill-fitting suit 
and carrying a scuffed black suitcase. Though not as tall as Mulder, he's 
more muscular. His dark hair is slicked back, and shy brown eyes look out of 
a pale face that seems more careworn than befitting someone his age. This, 
then, is Randy Stevens.

I rise and walk over to where they stand in the doorway. "Hi. Dana Scully. 
It's nice to finally meet you." I hold out my hand.

"Yes, ma'am. Pleased to meet you, too." Reaching out, he accepts the hand 
I've offered, his grasp firm. But his eyes are on Ellie. He's devouring her 
with his glance, and it's obvious he loves her.

Ellie is oblivious to his presence. She's still in her own little world, 
where nothing can touch or hurt her. Sitting back down beside her, I reach 
for her hand. "Ellie, someone's here to see you."

She looks up, catching sight of our visitor, and the transformation is 
amazing. Her once dull eyes sparkle with pleasure, and her pale face colors 
charmingly. "Randy." She whispers his name, but there is no mistaking the joy 
in her tone.

He walks over and kneels before her. Grabbing her free hand, he squeezes it 
between his. They don't speak, they just look at one another. And all of a 
sudden she's in his arms, he's holding her tightly and kissing her. They 
certainly don't need an audience for this. I get up and pull Mulder into the 
bedroom with me, closing the door.

"Do you think it'll be okay?" His nervous whisper is full of doubt, and it's 
almost funny. Mulder, the skeptic. Who would have thought it?

I smile in reassurance. "I think so. You know, Mulder, we're not the only 
ones that have this non-verbal communication thing going. They seem to be 
doing all right in that respect, too."

"Yeah, they do." He smiles, pulling me into his arms. "So, how soon can we 
get rid of them?"

Nuzzling into his neck, I kiss the pulse throbbing there. "Let's give them a 
little time. I've made hotel reservations for them and. . ." He pulls back to 
look at me questioningly.

"Separate rooms, Mulder. Where they decide to sleep is no one's business but 
their own. Now, where were we?"  Snuggling back into his arms, I attempt to 
pick up where I left off, but he holds me off.

"Ah, who's paying for this? I mean, I'm more than willing to help them out. . 
." I have to bite my cheek to keep the laughter inside. Trust Mulder to think 
of money at a time like this. "It's under control, Mulder. We can talk about 
it later, okay?"

"Okay." He pulls me close again. Smiling, I find that sweet spot on his neck 
and continue my sampling. . .

A little later, a soft knock interrupts us. My face is flushed, and I 
hurriedly straighten and tuck as Mulder walks slowly to the door. Ellie and 
Randy are framed in the opening, the dim light from the other room creating 
an aura around them, bathing them in its idyllic glow. Randy's arm is wrapped 
protectively about her, and her features hold a look of such joy that my 
throat tightens. They look so right together that I can't imagine their story 
having anything but a happy ending.

"Sorry to bother you folks, but we wanted to say thank you before we go. 
Ellie and me, we appreciate all you've done for us." He looks over at Ellie, 
and his grin speaks volumes. Turning back to us, he shuffles his feet 
uncomfortably. He's a man of few words, and the obligation he feels he owes 
us weighs heavily upon his broad shoulders. "We'd best be on our way. Thanks 
again, for getting us the rooms and all. We owe everything to you. God bless 
you both."

Handshakes and hugs are exchanged, and then they're gone. For a minute, the 
silence seems unnatural. So much has happened in the past thirty-six hours. 
Suddenly I'm exhausted. Leaning back against Mulder, I gaze up at him with 
sleepy eyes. "I could use a nap. How about you?"

"Scully, are you coming on to me?" His feigned expression of shock makes me 
laugh.

"Shut up, Mulder." Turning, I wrap my arms around his neck. "You talk too 
much." Standing on tiptoe, I kiss him. . .

Ellie phoned from the hotel. They're flying back to Kansas in the morning, 
and plan to be married as soon as possible. He's turned out to be one of 
those rare men who can see past the facade to the woman underneath. He loves 
Ellie, just as she is, and wants to be a father to her baby. It's what she 
wants, too.

I like happy endings, and can't help wondering what the future holds for 
Mulder and me. I'm not so foolish as to think it will be that way for us -- 
the fairy tale with the obligatory happily ever after tacked on. There are 
too many shadows touching our lives. But despite all the odds, like Randy and 
Ellie, we found each other. I like to think that means something, too.

As a matter of fact, I'm counting on it.

******
The End
Diana Battis