Title:   Absolute Beginners (Book 1-3)
Author:  diehard
E-mail:  alvaradomccain@earthlink.net
Rating:  NC-17
Classification: MSR, Humor (hopefully), Alternate 
Universe...people are actually happy here.

Summary: Our heroes finally decide to do the dirty deed. 
Sex, love, all the rest. What might have occurred before 
the last two thirds of Season 7.

Spoilers: Everything through the first third of Season 7, 
close after the Millennium episode. Some license with the 
death of  Melissa and Emily.

Keywords: confession, sex, and happy ending, with detours 
along the way.



Disclaimers: You know, they're not mine. They're Chris 
Carter's. Just using them for the fun, no money involved.
Archive: Yes, anywhere. Just keep it intact.

Feedback: Yes, please. you can contact me: 
alvaradomccain@earthlink.net

Folks, this is my first foray into fanfic, so be gentle. Might 
I also add that I had to write this as a response to the end of 
the last season. Much, much thanks to Alicia K., and Nikki 
B for their beta wisdom, general support and 
encouragement of this fledgling author. 
Thanks to Judith Weugel and the folks at Fran's Fanfic
Addiction. Judith wrote me a great e-mail that got me 
stoked to write more. Also, thanks  to my teachers--writers
like Bonetree, fialka, revely and jessemie's evil twin. 
What you do with words!

Most of all, thanks to David Duchovny and Gillian 
Anderson for almost a decade of complicated, passionate, 
subtle portrayals of our favorite fighters against the 
apocalypse --Mulder and Scully

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
BooK 1
  

Friday Night

"Shit!...Fuck!...Sorry...Sorry...S'cuse me...Yeah, I know 
I'm a real tool..." 

Mulder's expletives and half-assed apologies trailed after him 
as he charged down the 4th floor hall. He'd just escaped the 
annual audit. And he was free-free at last, thank god all mighty, 
free at last. Eight hours of his life had been sucked down 
the drain, highlighted by the droning, torturous indictment 
of how he and Scully spent the FBI's money. He'd infuriated 
the poor accountant, offering only his usual wads of coffee stained
receipts and not much more. When the poor schmuck finally gave up 
and sprung him, Mulder hadn't even noticed that the guy'd called 
him a dick. After pushing his way past a raft of new recruits, 
one ASAC, and practically knocking over a file clerk, he slid 
into the elevator. 

Punching the button with a vengeance, he descended to the 
level everyone else called the 'LTZ '--'Less Than Zero.' 
Mulder checked his watch, it was close to six. 
He panicked for a second when he thought she might 
have left and he'd be stuck with his own sorry ass. 
Another sign of how far gone he was.

Coming up on the office, he got a glimpse of her through
the partially open door.  Click.  Another imaginary photo for
a file he started keeping years ago.  

Beautiful Scully.  

Mulder stopped and hovered just outside the threshold.
It was an involuntary act now, a necessary one. It hadn't been
a purely sexual thing for a long time, it was something far 
more than a desire for connection, an answer to his loneliness.  

Beautiful Scully.

His human credential, his single piece of evidence that his heart
was still capable of love. But for longer than he could remember, 
he'd only allow himself to watch her when he thought she couldn't see, 
to touch her when there was a crisis large enough to hide the 
vastness of how much he wanted her.

Beautiful Scully.  Access Denied.

At some point in the dim and distant past, he had a reasonable
explanation for his life of self-denial, reasons he couldn't
rationalize anymore.  Samantha had been gone over twenty
years and his guilt over her abduction and his solitary life 
seemed useless to him now.

He wanted to move forward, toward Scully, but he needed some
catalyst, some sign that she was ready for everything that ending
their fixed emotional universe would mean. Standing just to the side
of the doorjamb, he shoved his hands in his pockets,  mentally 
adding tothe 'untouchable file' collection. It was safer than risking 
everything, losing her by asking for more than she could give.  

His chest tightened with an ache that was now a fairly 
common occurrence, and out of nowhere he remembered a 
line of Yeats,  "...one man loved  the pilgrim's soul in you,  
And loved the sorrows of your changing face."   

Seven years of sorrows had caressed that face.  Beautiful 
Scully.  There had been so many losses, missteps, so many 
times he thought he'd never see her again. 

"Beautiful. Brainy. Brave.  Good, Mulder," he muttered, 
"you've covered the 'B's'. That Oxford education didn't go 
to waste."  He took a deep breath and walked in.

Scully was aware of him lurking in the hall. What the 
hell was up with him these days? Was he watching her 
more or was she just noticing it more? Normally she'd care, 
but right now she was a little preoccupied. She was in his 
chair, staring at the ceiling, hurling pencils at the tiles 
just like she'd seen him do a thousand times. Her dark blue 
long jacket was unbuttoned, hanging on her shoulders a 
little crookedly, a sign that her carefully constructed facade
had begun to erode. Scully's heart sped up when he came 
through the doorway and finally made his way to the desk. 

Tossing back her hair, she bit down on her lip and shot one 
off as his footsteps came closer.  Pretending to be utterly
consumed with this fascinating activity, she sized him up 
out of the corner of her eye--he looked unsettled. She'd
blown his customary cool. Good, he thought, turnabout 
is fair play.  Allow me to rattle your cage, Agent Mulder. 			
			
Someone had rewritten the story of her life.  Scully in 
Wonderland had fallen down the twisted rabbit hole and 
when she'd finally come to, casual death and random brutality 
were the order of the day. She never faltered, never flinched, 
even as the personal costs were salted into her very soul. 
She shocked them all, throwing in her lot with his, and their 
lives became a pattern of interlocking sorrows: Samantha, 
their fathers, Melissa, cancer, Emily. What baffled her was 
how, in the midst of all of it,  Mulder had kept reaching out to 
her, and against her better judgment, she reached back. 
A powerful thing had locked them in each other's orbit; and 
Scully had her suspicions as to what it was.  

Mulder would have said it was fate, bashert, 'la forza 
del destino.'  He made her feel too much, want too much. 
Seven years ago, the idea that she'd be in love with him struck 
her as preposterous. And like so many things in this Wonderland, 
the preposterous had come true, and she was only now catching
up to the truth of it.                                                            

More pencils shot to the ceiling. He had to be right behind 
her, she could feel it. She didn't dare look, she might 
lose her nerve. Very unprofessional thoughts were whirling 
in her head, but Scully kept them at bay. It was astounding,
really, how he made her feel. Even more astounding, 
she was going to do something about it.

What had happened to crack the wall? It was something as 
simple as a comment after her last check up. 
A week ago, she had been siting on the exam table, 
being told she was fine, her cancer still in remission. 
On the way out, the nurse made an offhand remark, 
telling her to go home and celebrate with the man she 
loved.  

One shot, straight to the heart. 

Scully went home, and took a long hard look at her 
life, what she had, what she didn't have, and why the hell  the 
man she loved was only as close as a voice on her cell 
phone.  Melissa and Emily were still dead.  Serious, logical 
Agent Scully had tried to offer penance by not living herself.  
Tried and failed.  A casual remark became a revelation. 
It worked on her all week, all day Friday, up until now.  

This afternoon her last, brittle piece of reserve crumbled away. 
All that time, biting back the words, holding herself in check 
hadn't kept her or anyone else safe, hadn't evened any 
imaginary score. All it had done was kept her alone, waiting 
for someday. Scully screwed up her courage; she'd had enough. 
She was fed up with her own hesitancy, his too. 

Mulder was going to get the full court press; and once 
and for all she would know what was really possible.

"Scully, what are..."

"Shhhh, Mulder! "

"I thought you'd be halfway home by now. It's way past 5, 
and last time I checked it was still Friday. Just what are 
you still doing here?"

She put the pencils down, straightened her jacket, smoothed 
her skirt and rose to meet him. They stood face to face in 
front of his desk. Scully spoke deliberately, and tried to 
hold back the smile playing at the corners of her mouth.  
"We've got to stop this. It's time, Mulder."

"Stop what?"  Jesus Christ, she's finally realized that she 
deserves a life, you conspiracy-ridden asshole...Mulder felt 
his stomach knot, his mind race. He was about to hit the 
wall at 90 miles an hour. Time to crash and burn. 
Hurry, you're a smart man, say something, say anything. 
He opened his mouth, and she covered it with her hand.

"Shut up, Mulder, and listen. I'm on to you. I'm on to what's 
been happening for the last three months, almost every weekend. 
It's Friday, and sometime between now and Sunday night 
you'll call me with the 'urgent paperwork needing to be 
done by Monday', and when you show up at my door you'll 
have little else in hand beside a pizza and a bad movie. 
Could it possibly be that you want to be with me?
You've kissed me, I've kissed you. We've stayed in god-
only-knows how many motel rooms, how long do you think 
it's going to take you?"

His hazel eyes flickered with curiosity now,  "How long is 
it going to take me to do what, Scully?"  Maybe he had it all 
wrong, maybe she was going to throw him a bone, maybe 
he wasn't doomed to be Monster Boy, forever dwelling in 
the basement.

Scully could feel her irritation growing. Chewing her lip, she eyed
him up and down, wondering if it might be easier just to kill him.  
My brilliant Mulder, box of clues here, she thought ruefully, 
pay attention. She decided to spare him, at least for the time being. 
But there was no way he was getting off the hook, even though 
it appeared his IQ had taken a serious plunge in the last few minutes. 

"How long were you going to take to get it through your thick 
head that I kind of saw through your carefully orchestrated 
deceit? And that I kept opening the door, because I wanted 
to be with you, too?"

She'd just told him she'd been waiting for him...Jesus, this was 
too much.  "Well, it's just.. I didn't want to...."  

He felt his face get hot-- she was not going to embarrass 
him, he couldn't possibly be embarrassed. All right, Scully,  
do it.  I'll be right behind you. Just make your move. 
I'll be all over it, I swear.

She grabbed his tie, and savored his shocked  surprise.  
This was it.  "I'm only going to say this once. 
Tonight we're going to pretend we're normal 
adults. We're still relatively young and healthy. You're 
coming to dinner at my place, at eight, and you are going to 
bring dessert. Is that understood? Nod once for yes,
twice for no."

Mulder nodded once and grinned.

Her hands slid to his lapels,  her thumbs rubbing the fabric.  
"I don't have to write this out for you, do I?"  
Her tone was serious, but her eyes were bright, teasing.

"I think you've made yourself perfectly clear."  Mulder 
matched her tone. "Normal people, dinner at eight, dessert. 
OK,  I've got that down."  His eyes glinted as if he was 
enjoying a private joke.  I'm on it, Scully. I'll give you 
a run for your money.

"Good. Well all right then, I'll be leaving."  She let her 
hands fall away. "Okay, then." 

"Okay yourself." Mulder crossed his arms over his chest 
and watched her leave the office and disappear into the 
elevator.

He paused for a minute and headed down the hall. He had 
things to do, and he knew better than to be late.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was about ten before eight. Scully managed to stop on 
her way home at a nearby market. Groceries were scattered
on the kitchen table, and a bottle of a good white was chilling. 

Mulder didn't know it yet, but she was going to put him to 
work. She looked around her apartment. It was neat, 
orderly. No one laid around all Sunday, half-asleep on the couch 
pretending to read the paper. No one threw his clothes on the 
floor, or dragged her from what she was doing to take a shower 
with him in the middle of Saturday afternoon. No one ever 
grabbed her in front of the kitchen sink, sat her on the counter, 
and made love to her right there because he couldn't wait. 
Her apartment, with its clean, quiet coldness said more 
about her than she liked. 

She went to the bedroom closet and took out all the things 
she had put away after Melissa was killed. When she had first 
found out, all Scully had felt was a searing pain, an urge to 
scream, smash everything, and pull the trigger of her 
revolver and shoot anything that moved. She knew if she 
let her feelings out she'd die in their wake. Or someone 
else would.

Instead, she was Icy Agent Scully;  working the forensic 
search, cleaning up her sister's blood with her own hands. 
She ignored Mulder, ignored everyone, and did what she 
was trained to do. After everyone had left, she locked 
herself in the bathroom, knelt down in the shower and cried 
out to God for the strength to get up and go on. Rivulets of 
water ran down her back and legs as she'd shook from sorrow 
and rage, sobbing until she could barely move. When it was 
done, she got dressed and silently went through the 
apartment boxing up anything that represented pleasure, 
passion, enjoyment; the things she shared with Melissa.

After she found Emily and had to watch her die, she walled 
herself  in even more. She blamed herself every day for not 
being able to nail Alex Krycek, the Smoking Man, all of 
them to the wall. Scully carried around grief and guilt 
believing there would never be an end to it.

Tonight she took out the candles and the jazz recordings 
and loaded up the CD player. She lit candles everywhere 
she could think of and played music she'd almost forgotten 
she had. Scully let herself think about her sister, feel her 
presence. Tonight seemed like the night for more than one kind 
of resolution.  Melissa had always been more open, 
taking pleasure in the moment, in the fact that your life 
happened now, with all its contradictions. Five years had 
passed and there was finally a hard-won peace, an 
imperfect one. Blame was not a legacy Melissa would have 
left for her.

And Emily? A dead child in a litany of them. She'd done too 
many autopsies, too many exhumations, to not be haunted 
by their small ghosts. But Emily was hers, gone before Scully 
could ever know her. That loss was embedded in her heart 
like a stone. There would be no others. She had dreams 
about losing her, dreams of failing, and falling short. 
It was just a part of her life, who she was now, another one 
of the Mulder and Scully interlocking sorrows.

She stood facing the bedroom mirror and took a long, 
careful look, fingering the chain and the little cross that 
was always there,  her personal talisman.  She wore little 
makeup: lipstick, not much else. Her face was soft, and she 
seemed younger to herself, not so serious, so austere.  
Scully knew how to put on a game face, she had to. She 
needed it to command the respect of fellow agents and back 
down suspects. More and more, she'd used it to hide from 
herself.  Agent  Scully here.  Nothing but the facts, no, 
nothing at all.

Tonight, the face looking back at her was a different 
woman. 

Still damp from the shower, her hair was slicked back, a 
darker red as she stood in the light. She pushed a strand 
gently behind her ears. She dared herself tonight, wearing 
clothes she bought with Melissa's encouragement: a white, 
fitted sweater that left her neck and shoulders bare; panties; 
a long, black skirt that wrapped around her waist. She slipped 
into a pair of black heels and said goodnight to Agent Scully, 
Doctor Scully, autopsies, black oil, the way her SIG felt 
as she pulled the trigger. She was not that woman tonight, 
she didn't know about those things. 

She wanted to be the woman in the mirror. 

Something made her think of her last summer, and the 
phone message from one "Fox Mantle," Mulder's arms 
around her as she hit ball after ball into the summer night. 

They'd sat on the hood of his car afterward, watching stars 
for a long time, Mulder touching the back of her neck with 
his fingers. And then there was the look he gave her--the 
kind of look that told her she could lay him bare. Over the 
last year, he'd let her know in small, subtle ways that he'd 
seen another side of her, that he felt drawn to it. 
She thought kissing him on New Year's might make things 
different. 

But neither one of them ever stepped across the invisible 
line between what they did, what they had to do, and 
what they wanted.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mulder stood outside her door; it was just now 8 o'clock. 
He was wearing a black dress shirt, black pants and his 
leather jacket. His duffel bag slung over his shoulder, 
carrying what he'd gotten for later.  He was sure she 
wasn't expecting what he'd brought. A quick run of his 
fingers through his hair, then he knocked and waited. 
There were the sounds of Billy Strayhorn's piano 
from behind the door. He'd listened to those sensual
jazz riffs on many sleepless nights. Sometimes, when he 
called her at three a.m., Strayhorn was on his stereo  
in the background. Once he'd even tried to explain his 
musical significance, but she cut him off,  'Mulder, even though 
I'm a sailor's daughter, I know who he is.' 

Finally, the door opened and there she was. 
For a moment Mulder couldn't move or speak. At last, 
his lips formed the words, "God, you look amazing."  
Walking through the door, he set his bag of the floor of the 
foyer. She seemed pleased and slightly nervous, and if he 
was honest, he'd have to say he was too. He went on to let 
himself enjoy what she was wearing, and not wearing, 
realizing something else was going on besides than 
appreciation, amazement or nervousness.  Something 
located further south.

"Amazing? That's a pretty strong word."  Was she 
blushing? The hell with it, she didn't care. She took 
his jacket and rested her hand against his chest. 
The Gunmen had just done one of their regular bug hunts 
in the last week and came up with nothing. Scully sent 
them a silent thank you. No surveillance tonight.  
A small miracle.  "You don't look too bad yourself, Mulder.  
But I was wondering, are you planning on going to the gym 
later?"  She cocked her head toward the bag."

"Oh, that's for later, if you're good."

"Excuse me?" She tossed him a withering look.

"It's dessert, nothing sinister. Unless of course you like 
sinister."  Mulder was cracking wise and feeling pretty 
good at the moment. She reached for the bag. His hand shot 
out and caught her wrist.  "No, Agent Scully,  I don't think so."  
He snatched the duffel and strolled into the living room.

"Someone is behaving like a little prick."

"That's a little harsh. Dana Katherine Scully, does your 
mother know you talk like that?"

"There's a variety of bad habits I have that my mother 
attributes to you, as does Bill, by the way."  Scully 
hung his jacket in the closet. When she turned around, 
she saw he'd opened a window, and was 
sprawled on the sofa, feet up and grinning.

"It's almost spring. And a beautiful night, I just wanted to 
enjoy it."

"Make yourself  at home, by all means. Is there anything 
else I can get you?"  She hoped her sarcasm was not lost on 
him.

He waved her on.  "You may bring me my dinner, woman. 
Go, go on."Scully walked across the living room to the sofa. 
She reached behind his neck and tried to pull him up by the 
collar.  "Get up, Mulder. Now."

He stirred himself and took his time getting to his feet. He 
was having too good a time.

She was facing him, scanning his face with a kind of 
intense concentration that almost felt foreign to her,
but she still managed to speak, "Dinner is going to be 
a joint effort."  She took each arm, one by one, and rolled up 
his sleeves.  "I guess we should get started. Allow me, 
it's the least I can do for tonight's help."  Without thinking, 
her fingers drifted slowly up and down his arm.  As soon as 
she could touch his skin, she knew she wasn't going to be 
making dinner.

The sounds of Charlie Parker's sax drifted toward where 
they stood. He closed the gap between them, slowly 
shaking his head. "Sorry, Scully. I can't wait."  
Screw small talk, dinner, the rest of it--I don't have the 
patience anymore. Change in plans, partner--mine, yours.

Mulder traced the outline of her mouth with his tongue and 
shuddered when her lips parted and her tongue met his. 
This was real. Aching and longing rushed through him. 
Everything sped up and whirled around where he stood. His 
hands laced behind her head, his fingers tangled in her hair, 
his fingertips pressing hard on her skull. Kissing her over 
and over again, his mouth burning against hers.  No more 
pain.  No more remnants of past disasters. It was all 
stripped away.  Something else was here for him.  Mulder 
ran his lips over her brow, her eyelids, her nose, the
lines of her jaw.  

It's different now, Scully.  You.  Me.   Now.   
Let me show you.   Let me.

She felt herself let go. Nothing was complicated or 
conflicted anymore.  No more disillusionment.   
No more keeping it all at bay.  Everything slowed down 
around her, stopped, and disappeared.  
Everything but them. 

Nothing can touch us, Mulder. 

She broke away from him and pressed open 
mouthed-kisses along his eyelids, his forehead, down his 
cheek to his jaw.  Tenderly biting his earlobe, she moved to 
the ridge of muscle in his neck that ran down to his 
shoulder and tried to memorize each move he made as her 
teeth grazed his skin.

Mulder's arms slid down to her waist. As much as he didn't 
want to stop, he needed her to banish the last demon.  
"Last chance to save yourself."  He tried to keep his 
tone light, telling himself it wasn't as if his whole 
life had boiled down to this moment, but it was a lie. 

What he wanted was no reservations, what he wanted was 
to feel her pressing against him again, offering him 
everything he had dreamt about in his solitary bed. 

Forty was bearing down on him now, and some nights he told 
himself maybe he'd never find Samantha. He wanted a real 
life, starting here, starting now. If she hesitated, 
if she said no, he would leave and try to pretend; he 
had years of practice under his belt. Fox Mulder could live 
with not having if he had to; he was the world's leading 
authority on the subject. Whatever you want, Scully, 
whatever you need.  But you better tell me quick.

"Too late, partner."  Scully tried to match his nonchalance.  
"You're stuck with me. But what about you?  
Still in for the long haul?"  

No matter how terrified they might be, she knew it was 
nothing but an excuse now. She took his hands away, 
and with both of hers, placed them over his heart.

There was a moment's silence.

"I'm in, Scully, I'm in. "

Her arms slid over his shoulders and she murmured, 
"Prove it."  

Mulder pushed one of his hands underneath her sweater,
dragging his fingers across her naked back. The feel of her 
skin coursed through him, and he felt himself getting hard. 
"Beautiful Scully."  At last he could say it out loud. 
"You'll never get rid of me."  Slowly tracing a path 
with his tongue down her neck toward its hollow, 
he made his way toward the little cross. Mulder found 
her collarbone, and pressed his lips against its curve. 
Against her flesh and bone he told her over and over 
how much he loved her.

Her body twisted against his.  More.  She had to have more.  
The ripple of muscle, the pressure of bone on bone was a 
flashpoint for her. Not thinking, just feeling; she was already 
wet, her nipples hard. Twisting her fingers through his thick, 
dark hair, swiping his mouth with hers, a rush of something 
elemental and possessive ran through her.  Scully pulled away 
from him a little, took one of his hands, and kissed each 
fingertip, tracing each whorl with her lips. 

She was marking him, making sure he understood.  "Mine. 
All mine now."

He was aching with want by this time, and rolled subtly 
against her, the crest of his hip locked against her pliant 
stomach. Her eyes were half-closed and she swayed into 
him as he moved. It was time to get serious.  
"Now that you got me, what are you gonna do with me?"

And then they both started laughing. It was throaty, wicked, 
unmistakably sexual. No more minimum safe distance. 
Grabbing each other, mouths and tongues moving, biting 
each other's lower lip, hands fluttering under clothes, 
they began to cross the kitchen floor. Mulder took the lead,
backing Scully out of the room with shuffling, metered steps.
He bent at the waist to keep himself head-to-head with her, 
his hands now locked under the wrap of her skirt, her fingers 
curved around his belt loops. Out of the corner of his eye, 
he navigated the land mines, twisting around the furniture. 
Snaking her to the bedroom, he could hear the shuffle 
of their footsteps.

He pushed the door with one hand and kept going.

The bedroom was almost dark. The candles had almost all 
burned out. The music had stopped playing and they were 
alone in the stillness. They were a little out of breath, 
but made quick work of it: kicking off shoes, sliding out 
of shirt and pants, skirt and sweater, peeling away the rest. 
Scully turned back the bedding, cool white sheets rustling 
under her hands. She reached up for him, and caught him 
around the waist, pulling on him onto the bed. He began 
to move away.  "No hope of escape,"  she said, softly laughing. 

"Don't want to escape...Scully, let me look at you." He was 
smiling, but his eyes began to darken, "I need to remember 
everything."

"Then let's make a memory, Mulder."

They stretched out on the bed half-covered, facing each 
other in the dim light; and traced a map of their bodies: 
the slope of her breasts, the hollow of her stomach, the line 
of his thighs, the muscles of his back. They were riddled 
with scars--the two of them, soldiers marked by the unforgiving 
and apocalyptic. 

Scully's unflinching eye scanned the suture marks on his skull, 
she took her thumb and gently touched the last place he was 
invaded, courtesy of Diana Fowley. The thin knotty scar underneath 
his ribs reminded her of the first time she'd seen a woman hurt 
him. Women always seemed to be hurting him. A grief she thought 
long over was reborn as she traced with her finger the spot where 
she'd shot him herself.  She'd loved him enough to shoot him.  
Sad.  And then she thought how truly sad an offering 
she must be: naked, sterile, gunshot--thanks to Ritter, 
traitorous cells lying dormant in her body, a chip in her neck 
that might be saving her or might be branding her. She thought 
of everything that had been lost and felt herself start 
to freeze up.  No, not now.  Please, not now.  

Maybe what she wanted was too much to hope for; 
that together they were more than that.

She hated what happened next: she flinched--she actually 
tried to pull away from the one man she wanted.  Mulder 
was the love of her life, but seven years had taken their toll. 
She knew what she was, and what she wasn't.  She was no 
goddess,no prize, she had long given up on happy endings 
and fairy tales. He couldn't want...

He reached for her, insistent, almost desperate. 
"No...don't...."  He tried to use his body to tell her, 
to make it right. He could feel his arousal ebb away, 
but it didn't matter. Mulder held her by the shoulder 
with one hand and with the other smoothed her forehead, 
trying to draw out the sadness.  "Stay with me, Scully."  

He eased her head to a spot on his chest 
near the gunshot scar.  "Here...just stay," 
running his hand gently up and down her back. 
It was like that for a long time.  He could feel her 
start to cry without a sound, hot tears, 
tears that broke his heart open.

Scully tried to pull herself together, hoping maybe she 
could stop it all from falling apart . She should've known 
better, should've kept things on an even keel, should've 
gone on like always. "My God, I'm  sorry..I'm so sorry..."

Now Mulder had his chance. "This morning I woke up 
alone, and thought I would go to bed alone tonight..."  
He watched her close her eyes, then he moved his face 
close to hers.  "This is who we are.  All of it, everything...
Look at me, Scully."  His voice was reaching for her--almost 
begging, trying to unknot her pain, release it.  
"I'm yours. As much as that's a life sentence for you, 
I can't help it."

She was still now, the crying had at last stopped. With a 
deep, deep breath, she shuddered out the last of it. Her 
eyes opened, and she began to kiss him-- full, rich 
kisses--earthy, luscious. Scully caressed the side of his face, 
covering his ears with her hands, blocking out the world, 
capturing him. There was only her touch, her small, 
strong hands holding him fast, her mouth on his.

He grabbed her by the waist and slid under her so that she 
could straddle him. Her hands gripped his shoulders, 
her fingers locking around the ridge of bone. He took 
the tips of his fingers and began to trace little circles 
down her neck, across her collarbone to her breasts. 
Then he let them dance over their curves, teasing her 
nipples. She tried to talk but all the words dwindled away. 
Scully barely noticed how hard Mulder was breathing 
beneath her. Looking down at him, her eyes narrowed 
with pleasure as he took one of her hands in his, 
and slid them gently between her legs. With his 
hand resting over hers, she began to stroke her clit 
and let herself revel in how good it all was. 

And she found the place in herself she thought hidden 
for too long, or maybe killed off. All of a sudden, 
and without a word, Scully took her fingertips and placed 
them on his lips.

He grabbed her hand, hungrily licking her fingers, savoring 
her. Salty. Sweet. His heart was pounding in his chest, the 
taste of her tore through him. He had to touch her, he 
couldn't take it anymore. Mulder took his thumb and teased 
his way through her thatch of reddish curly hair, and started 
to groan when he found that gorgeous swollen clit. He traced 
tiny circles around and around, moving lightly, slowly, 
mimicking the rhythm she'd shown him. He loved every inch 
of her skin, how she moved under the pressure of each circle.  
Beautiful...so beautiful.  She was so wet; he was unbelievably 
aroused.  There was some joke about blood rushing 
to the other head, but he couldn't remember it now; he just 
had to be inside of her soon.

The breath flew from her in a sharp exhalation. His thumb 
traced around and around on her slick and tender clit and soon 
there were no more thoughts, nothing but Mulder touching, 
nothing but moving in waves against him. Her thighs started 
to tremble and the slow unfolding and release began. 
Scully bent forward, her hands still holding him fast, 
her breasts rubbing his chest, her hair brushing his collarbone. 
Opening and closing, she could feel it--she was coming, 
slowing and quickening, again and again. 

Closing around him with greedy fingers, she felt how hard 
and beautiful he was. She guided him in slowly, gasping 
the moment he entered. He felt huge, and she was tight 
around him, covering every inch of him. Clenching down, 
her thighs pressed down on his, moving back and forth,
a rhythm of back and forth. A brief image of them dancing 
flashed in her mind. This was older than that, beyond music, 
beyond words, something in their bones, older than their 
sorrows, much older and stronger. 

Mulder could feel her slow thrusts, the hard planes of their hips, 
the grip of her hands. The charge was building, he couldn't tell
how long he would last. He was a coil ratcheting tighter and 
tighter. She was bearing down, coming, and his cock surged 
toward every move she made. 

She was still coming--God, yes.  Please.  

He was losing it, he couldn't hold on much longer.   

Yes, I can feel you.   Mine.  Beautiful Scully.   Yes.   
There's only one answer, now.   Yes.   

Time seemed to unravel, along with every lonely thing 
inside him. 

Mulder had no idea how long they'd been like this when he 
shuddered, released and dissolved into her. 
He was gone, didn't know anything, didn't care.   
Scully.  God, yes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They lay facing each other, silent in the dark for a long 
time afterward. Hands brushed away the hair out of each other's 
eyes, fingers traveled the outlines of each other's face,  
burning the memory into the cells of their bodies. 
It was late now, and moments passed without a sound.

"Mulder..."  Her voice was a mock-whisper.

"Hm?"

"I'm hungry."

"God, so am I."  He began to kiss her neck.

Scully went on.  "For food, Mulder, for food."  She 
stretched out the last word.

"Well, Scully, if we were to try to reconstruct the 
circumstances surrounding tonight's invitation,  I believe 
I was the one offered dinner, and yet..."

A whoosh, a soft splat, and shocked silence. Scully had hit 
him with a pillow. He waited a beat, then slid the pillow 
from his face. "I assume this means you want me to take care 
of this."

"Well, you did bring dessert. I'll keep your spot warm."  
Scully watched him disappear. Outstanding gluteus 
maximus, she noted.

Mulder slid out of bed and loped toward where he left the 
duffel. He was back in a second and stood at the foot of the bed, 
swinging the bag back and forth.  "You find me 
amusing, after I went to all this trouble."

Scully looked up at him, and grinned from ear to ear. She 
blew wisps of hair away from her face, trying to get a better 
view of this enjoyable display.  "Let's see, naked man, 
swinging duffel bag...I think this makes for the stuff of comedy, 
don't you?"  Lunging to the end of the bed, she managed 
to snake her arms around his waist.

"Well, and what do we say when we want dessert?"  He 
was grinning, smug as hell, holding the bag at arm's length, 
making sure it was outside Scully's reach. He could hear a 
peal of laughter coming from her general direction.

"Bite me, Mulder." She was actually hoping he'd do that 
later.

"Well, that would certainly satisfy my craving."  He kept 
dangling the bag, fully relishing giving her a hard time.  
"How 'bout whispering something soft and low...That just might 
get you something for your sweet tooth."  He glanced at Scully, 
then at the bag. 

By this time, Scully was ready to exact her revenge.  "I've 
got something for you,"  she murmured. Leaning into him, 
she slid up his body slowly, tracing a path with her fingers 
along his chest. With precise detail, she ran her tongue 
against his earlobe and bit it. Exactly as she'd  hoped, 
there was a sharp intake of breath and a stifled moan. 

"Scully!"

She fell back onto the bed, laughing, truly pleased with 
herself.   Mulder stood there for a minute, dumbstruck, then 
shook himself and regrouped. He went to the bag on the 
dresser and took out a cutting board, a hammer, and a 
cook's slab of Belgian chocolate. In one swift motion, he 
hit the slab with the hammer, and she watched it shatter into 
pieces.  "You're a deeply twisted man."

"Scary, isn't it?"  He tossed her a piece and crawled back 
into bed next to her.  She bit off a little, letting it slowly 
melt on her tongue. Mulder ate his, enjoyed it. He watched 
her quizzically. Her expression was entirely beyond enjoyment. 
She looked blissful, rapt.  

"Uh, Scully..."

"Shhhh. I'm having a mind-altering experience here."  
She closed her eyes and leaned back.

"I thought we had that earlier this evening."

"Mulder, this is chocolate. It has the capacity to alter brain
chemistry at the molecular level."

"I've got something here that'll alter your brain chemistry."  
He traced the outline of her mouth with his finger, his mind 
already on another train of thought.

"Jesus, you're unbelievable. Mulder, you leave me no 
choice but to shut you up." She grabbed him by the back 
of his head and pulled him on top of her.


************************************************

Saturday

It was before 9 am, late for Scully on a normal Saturday 
morning. 

She stirred softly against his chest. They had fallen asleep 
half-sitting, her back to his front, bedclothes scattered 
everywhere. Their skin was warm, and the early morning light 
played over them. Rolling slowly to her side, she eased 
herself up to face him, and as she moved along his body 
she felt the simple pleasure of skin against skin, not 
knowing fully where she stopped and Mulder started. 
She let herself finger a lock of his hair and brushed 
his temple with her thumb.

His face was a breath away from hers when he'd begun to 
waken, his eyes blinking slowly, shaking off the last of a 
dream. The first fully conscious thing he saw was the 
contours of her face. He stretched and she began to roll 
away. In one quick movement, Mulder shot one arm around 
her waist and pulled her back. He slid them both down so 
they were facing each other, and threw his leg over her hip.

"Hey..."  Scully cupped his chin in her hands and kissed 
him. 

She couldn't believe she'd waited seven years to do things 
that felt so natural. Simple things. Not that anything else 
about them or their lives could be called simple, it's just 
that she'd stopped waiting for the promise of the hereafter 
to be happy. Still facing him, Scully propped herself up 
by the elbow. The sunlight lit her face and the tangle 
of her hair. She crooked a finger toward him, "I think you 
should come here."

Mulder leaned into her and wondered if he looked a little 
goofy by now. He leaned in a little more and planted a 
slow, lingering kiss on that outstanding mouth. And then another, 
biting her lower lip. He let himself pause and let out
a deep sigh, the back of his head sinking into the pillow, 
his eyes drifting shut.  "Scully, what would Sister Margaret 
Mary say?  No reward in heaven for you, young lady." 

After nuzzling the spot behind his ear, Scully whispered,
"I suppose you could get up and ask her, but I'd rather you 
stay here."  She tickled his lashes with her tongue and 
felt him grab her shoulder.  "If I'm going to hell, you're
not getting off the hook. Wherever I go, I'm taking you with me."

Her partner, however, was not interested in the 
metaphysical any more, corporeal concerns were now much 
more compelling. Mulder rallied the troops, so to speak...
Fuck the afterlife, Scully, he mused, or better yet, 
let's just fuck.  "C'mon, Scully, let's raise the dead, 
let the laying on of hands begin!  Teach me the Hallelujah 
chorus!"  He rolled onto his back and threw his arms over 
his head, "I'm ready for the rapture, take me, Sister Scully." 

"And exactly what would I be getting out of this?" 

"Name it...I aim to please, you know." 

"Honestly?" She chewed on her lower lip and squinted. He 
was going to have to wait a little before she jumped his 
bones, cocky bastard. Cocky indeed. "Hmmm...let me 
see...I really want some breakfast."

"Are you sure I couldn't interest you in something else?"  
His eyes raked their way up and down her body. Not a single 
shred of subtlety, but at least no one could say his 
objectives were unclear. Mulder made a brief mental 
assessment...I know, Scully...tacky, tacky, but it's worth 
a shot, I got it bad, no doubt about it.

"Mulder, I'm starving, so much so that I'm willing to take 
the risk of sending you to the kitchen. And while you're out 
there I'll just get under the covers and wait for you." 
With those words she slid away, snatched all the covers 
and left a naked Mulder on the edge of the bed. And he did 
what any self-respecting, badge-wearing, gun-toting, red-blooded 
male would do after being given the heave-ho. He got up 
and made breakfast.

Scully had curled up on the far side of the bed. She'd 
cocooned herself so that only the top of her head was 
visible, a red blip in a sea of white sheets. She hovered in 
that shimmery state between wakefulness and sleep, barely 
able to keep track of her own breathing. Some time had passed 
and she thought heard noise coming from her 
kitchen, then movement coming down the hall toward the 
bedroom. The next thing she knew, someone was in her 
room and had set something on the dresser.

"It's room service, FBI-style."  Mulder was standing by the 
edge of the bed, leaning over her, wearing yesterday's 
clothes, his black dress shirt half tucked in. Miraculously, 
he'd found his shoes and socks. His hair was standing on end 
and he needed a shave, but he felt great. He caught a look at 
himself in the bedroom mirror, and grinched at his less than 
suave visage. He thought he might scare her off if she got a 
good look at him. Lucky for him, he was bearing gifts. He moved 
toward the bed and began to peel away the sheets. A tray with 
food was behind him. Mulder stood back up and handed her a plate.  
"Feeling pretty smug right now, are we? I suggest you start 
eating your breakfast soon--I'm not someone to be toyed with."		

"I seem to have gotten a different impression last 
night...Let's see, what do we have here?...scrambled eggs 
and toast."  She wrinkled up her nose, made a minor 
performance out of sniffing the plate before her, and finally 
gave it the seal of approval. "Not bad, doesn't appear to 
be burnt--I might actually keep you around, Mulder." 

Mulder watched, mesmerized, as she put it away. But he'd 
been starving too, and trying to seem indignant was hard to 
do while stuffing his face. Between mouthfuls he warned,   
"I am a dangerous man, there's no telling what I'll do 
if pushed too far."

Scully was a little distracted.  "Dangerous man....
Uh-huh..OK."  

Sex, food, sleep. One down, one underway, one to 
go. The basic animal instincts held sway over her at the 
moment; verbal jousting with the man across form her 
would have to wait. Her plate was just about clean and 
she paused to dab at her mouth with her napkin.  "Almost done.  
How about you?"

Mulder swallowed a huge bite of toast. The two of them 
were devouring everything in fairly short order. But he was 
still hungry for something else.  "Not even close to done, 
Scully," and as he watched that gorgeous mouth, he 
unconsciously licked at his bottom lip.  "Believe me."

The food, lack of sleep and last night's exertion was 
catching up to her, and she curled back up under the covers. 
Her eyelids felt heavy. Just a little sleep...a little sleep 
would be good. Mulder flopped in bed beside her,  
"You still there?"

"Hmm," she drawled. "It had better be important."

He did his best seventeen year-old boy impression. "Well, I 
just wanted to say what a really good time I had and 
all...and uh, I was wondering if I could see you tonight?"

"I think you've seen just about everything there is to see, 
but I'm up for further exploration, if you are."  Her breathing 
had begun to slow down. She was still awake, but just barely.

Mulder let his fingers idly trace a pattern on the nape of her 
neck.  "I'm going to let you get some rest. I should go home and 
change clothes anyway. I'll come back later and we'll do 
something."

She roused herself momentarily, summoning the last bit of 
energy she had. It was time to stand up to 'Mr. 
Entertainment' and let him know exactly what she thought.  
"Let's walk on the wild side, Mulder. No pizza,  no videos 
tonight; just get back here and we'll improvise."

He cracked a wry smile. Man,  I have got to start planning 
my nights better.  "Understood, Scully. Maybe I'll surprise 
you."

"I think you've already done that. Just one more thing.  
Take that duffel with you and bring back some clothes. 
While you're at it, don't forget a suit for work. 
I've pretty much decided that you need to be quarantined." 
She could see his jaw go a little slack.  "Kiss me, Mulder, 
I just revealed my secret plan and I'm fading fast."

And for once in his life, he followed orders, then watched 
as she fell asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mulder bolted down the stairs taking two steps at a time. 
He wanted to get home, get some clothes and get back as soon 
as possible. It was noon by now. Amazingly, he had 
actually cleaned up after breakfast and managed to get out 
without waking her. Looking at this bag, he wondered how much 
he could stuff in it without looking like he'd just joined
Witness Protection. He yanked open the door of his Taurus, 
threw the bag in the back and got in.

Mulder wondered what was the record time for a round-trip 
commute from Georgetown to Alexandria and back. Here's 
an opportunity to achieve personal best, he thought. Scully 
always rode him about his lead foot and his apparent 
unfamiliarity with the speed limit. She was no better, the 
little speed demon, but she'd shut him up with an icy stare 
if he tried to give her any crap about it.

It was warm even for March in D.C., breezy and sunny--
green shoots were already showing themselves in the trees. 
Mulder rolled down his window as he drove off. He offered 
up a less than sincere apology to the sleeping object of his 
affections.  Sorry you're missing this Scully, really I am, 
but you'll need your rest. I plan on keeping you very busy.  
He looked at his Mars light. This would be a great way to 
get through Saturday afternoon gridlock in Georgetown. 
Mulder thought better of it and hit the gas instead.

Despite his initial attempt at speed, traffic was a nightmare. 
As he slugged along M Street and Wisconsin Avenue, Mulder 
noticed the upscale restaurants that dotted the streets. 
French, Japanese, Northern Italian, maybe she'd like one 
of those. He drove past a revival movie house; he knew she 
liked  the classics, old black and white romances. Maybe they 
could catch a movie after dinner. Dinner and a movie 
in Georgetown?  "That's it?  You're pathetic."  He knew he 
was in trouble, he was talking to himself now. 

Mulder grunted in disgust, and his hands tapped at the 
steering wheel. He stole a peek at himself in the rear view 
mirror, followed by the utterance of a few choice 
expletives.  "Mulder, you sorry sonovabitch...You're not 
'out of practice,' you couldn't find the goddamn game 
if your miserable ass depended on it. "

Mulder winced as his past love life ran through his mind. 
When he was with Phoebe, he was in his twenties, living in 
England, and frankly, he was thrilled to be screwing 
anyone on a regular basis. With Diana, he'd just turned thirty, 
was career-driven, and thought himself too hard-core to care about 
anything else. He liked her, they worked cases and fucked;
and that was about it, until she left him.  He had never developed 
a skill  for courtship, never thought it important. Here he was, 
practically middle-aged, still essentially a virgin when it came 
to courtship.

Once again, Mulder communed with himself in the rear-view mirror. 
Sadly, no mystical revelation concerning what to do appeared imminent. 
At least he wasn't talking to himself out loud anymore. He sighed 
in exasperation, his hands tapped at the steering wheel as his 
monologue went internal this time.  It's official, I'm screwed. 
Think, Mulder, think.  

Shops rolled by and minutes passed.  Nothing.  He squinted as his mind 
scrolled through postcard pictures of happy couples, reviewed the 
appropriate props, the set pieces. Mulder had a vague idea how this 
should go. He passed florists and boutiques, and for a minute thought 
maybe flowers would work, until his finely honed imagination drifted 
toward something that held an inexhaustible fascination for him.  
Lingerie.  His mind flooding with images--cupping Scully's breasts 
through a black silk bra, tugging down her panties with his teeth, 
biting his way down thigh high stockings. This erotic little epiphany 
ended abruptly with a slam of the brakes, a screeching halt, and 
Mulder stopping himself from causing a rear-end collision. 

As he listened to the driver of the other car yell a variety of comments 
concerning his parentage, Mulder gave himself a silent 
reprimand---Focus, Agent, focus, and make sure you 
get rid of those videos. It looks like you won't be needing them. 
And tell 'Little Mulder' to give it a rest.

After about an hour of crawling through weekend 
Georgetown traffic, he made it to the Key Bridge. For some 
reason, the traffic jam had broken up. He was still no closer 
to a good idea, but he pushed the pedal to the metal and 
cruised the expanse of steel. He could feel the wind on his face. 
80 miles an hour in a 55 mile zone. That felt good, better than 
good. Mulder cut a path across the Potomac, enjoying the water 
glinting in the sun. He'd driven this way a thousand times, 
and relaxed as at last, he felt the dim beginnings of inspiration. 
The idea came. It was brilliant--he knew exactly where he was 
going to take Scully tonight. 

The bridge rolled away underneath him. Let someone try to stop him. 
Water, wind, sky--it was a good day to be alive--he was going to 
go out on a limb and say he was happy.  Score one for Monster Boy.

He made his way off the bridge and headed toward 
Alexandria, hitting  Washington Memorial Highway.  
Home soon.  No, not home, just the place where he kept his 
clothes.  Home was somewhere else now. In counterpoint 
to the sunlight all around him, something suddenly crept 
into his mind--something he didn't want to let himself 
think about. In the middle of this perfect day, fear began 
to work its way though him like acid on metal. He swallowed hard, 
shoving down the taste of bile. The only other times he'd felt 
fear like this was the night Samantha disappeared, and at Scully's 
bedside watching cancer eat her away. Mulder's heart was racing, 
his head was starting to swim, his panic palpable. 

He remembered her sleeping in her bed, what it was like to lay 
next to her, listening to her heartbeat. God help whoever tried 
to hurt her or keep them apart. He started to think about the 
ways he would inflict pain on anyone who became a threat, 
and stopped himself. He would finish those plans later, 
but not today. Mulder flashed on last night, kissing her, 
feeling alive, feeling truly free for the first time.

He got a grip on himself and whispered a promise.  "We're 
taking a break from the good fight, Scully. All of it. This 
weekend, it's just you and me; Monday'll be here soon 
enough and we can suit up then."  He took a deep breath, 
kept on toward Alexandria.

He finally made it to Hegal Place. His neighborhood 
always looked unreal to him. Perfectly manicured lawns, 
sprawled in front of perfect Georgian homes, complete with Gap
 out-fitted families. He was sure they thought he was some kind 
of government-issue anomaly. The only reason he ended up here 
was this was where his finger landed when he closed his eyes 
and pointed to a map in a fit of frustration. He knew he freaked 
the shit out of his neighbors, this odd-as-hell FBI man, coming 
and going at all hours of the day or night. Sometimes broken and 
bleeding, sometimes half out of his mind. Spooky here, Spooky 
at work, Spooky everywhere except when he was with Scully.

The afternoon was spent going through his apartment trying 
to make it less the disaster area it usually was. He went 
around and emptied some drawers, made room in his 
closet, moved some of the things in his kitchen to lower 
shelves. Clothes, toothbrush, the rest of the usual stuff 
all got tossed into the duffel. Mulder managed to shove two 
suits in a carry-on, shave, shower and throw on jeans 
and a T-shirt.

As he dressed, his mind began to work out the details. They 
would probably stay at her place more; it was more 
comfortable, but at least his place didn't look like 
The Lost World anymore. He gathered all the videos that
weren't his, and a surprising amount of magazines that 
didn't belong to him either and piled them near the door. 
Frohike didn't know it yet, but he was about to hit the motherload,
courtesy of Mulder. The last task was feeding the fish, 
and as he watched their swirling frenzy, Mulder realized 
this was as close to a normal love life as he was ever going 
to have. 

Much more than I deserve, he thought dryly, 
blinking at the green reflection coming from the tank.

And Scully?  What about what she deserved? There was no 
way to give her back what she'd lost, but maybe he could 
staunch any future regrets. He'd try with a vengeance, 
starting tonight. Mulder told himself he'd make everything 
bad recede and convince Scully it was a just a dream. They 
could pretend there were no real monsters out there, that 
they weren't warriors in some twilight world. He'd steal 
moments for her; he could do that. One day, after it was
all done, he'd shock her with a truly extreme possibility...
the chance to plan a future.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A low ring pierced the quiet of Scully's bedroom. She 
unwillingly rolled over and eased herself out of bed. Her 
cellphone was ringing on the dresser. She took a deep breath
to rouse herself and picked up the phone,  "Scully."  
What she heard next startled her like a cold hand around 
her throat.

"Agent Scully, listen carefully, there isn't much time."

A voice, electronically scrambled to prevent recognition; 
Scully tried to interrupt,  "Who is..."

"Shut the fuck up, this is about your daughter, say another 
word and you'll never save her in time."

Scully listened to the words, none of it made sense. Her 
head was reeling, her mouth was dry and she could feel 
herself start to shake.

"Can you hear me, Agent? Your daughter's not dead, you 
saw what was in the coffin. She's in Bellefleur, 
a nicotine-loving friend of  yours has her. They're in a 
hunting cabin just outside of town, just off the Forest Service 
access road  You have about eight hours, if you don't get there 
by then she really will be dead. I wouldn't waste any time 
if I were you."

A click from the other end roared like a gunblast 
in Scully's ear. She thought she tasted blood in her mouth; 
she was going to be sick. She made herself breathe slowly, 
swallowing back the fear and the nausea. She had to go, 
this was her chance to make it come out right, her only chance. 
She hit Mulder's number.

"Emily's alive, they still have her. Meet me at the airport 
in a half hour."

Scully tore through apartment getting ready, everything 
becoming a blur. The only thing she clearly had a sense of 
doing was loading her weapon and making sure there were 
extra clips in her pocket. She ran out of her apartment got 
in her car and sped off. The streets, the highway, all of it 
washed past her, insignificant now. There was only this 
flicker of a chance;  Scully knew she would bring Emily 
home this time or die trying.  

She careened into the airport parking garage, and as she shoved 
the gearstick into park, she saw him pull up behind her. 
Leaping out of the car, she ran toward him. The lines of his 
face were pulled taught, his eyes gray steel, flinty. 
She stared back into his face and saw that he knew--this was 
the end game.

"Scully. I just have to ask you once, are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Let's go then, we've got a flight to catch."

Again, all the details seemed insignificant, meaningless; 
Scully barely paid attention to how they got through the 
airport, how Mulder flashed his badge on the boarding 
ramp and got them on the first flight to Portland, Oregon; 
pushing their way onboard. She was aware of buckling in, 
the plane taking off; Mulder trying to talk to her, 
trying to connect with her, calm her down. She was a white 
hot point, intensely focused on the one goal in her life now. 
Scully heard herself mumble something to him, but she to 
gauge his reaction; he knew what was at stake. If the call 
had been about Samantha instead, she'd be right at his 
side, that's how it was with them. The flight wore on, and 
all Scully thought of was Emily, her name like a silent prayer, 
repeated over and over in her mind.

The plane begin to descend, and she checked her watch, 
It'd been about five hours since they'd left. They could 
make the rest of the way in about two more, leaving them 
little more than a half hour to stop the unthinkable. 
Scully pushed away any thought of disaster.  No fear.  
No failure.  No other options. 

She tried to still the blood roaring in her head as 
the plane landed. Somehow, she followed his lead as he 
pushed their way out of the airplane and into the terminal. 
Before she knew it, he had them in a rental car, heading to 
Bellefleur. They'd been quiet for a long time; she was the 
first one to break the silence. "There could never be anyone 
else, Mulder....you know that, don't you?"  Her voice 
was ragged, and the sentence escaped like a eleventh-hour 
confession. It might be the last time she could say it. 
She heard him reply without skipping a beat.

"That's my line, Scully. C'mon, let's get everyone home and 
you can show me."  He tried to conjure up a semblance of 
his usual blase self. Mulder took one hand from the wheel 
and cupped her hand in his.  "I better make sure I don't 
disappoint you."

They finally made it, passing through the town, the sheriff's 
station, the previous scenes of a case file so long ago.
Scully remembered how young she was then, so easily horrified
by the monstrous, so shocked by the unbelievable, not like now. 
Battle-hard, she told herself. Maybe just brittle, and today 
they would finally find out how quickly she would break.  
"There's the access road."

"Yeah, I see it."

A sharp turn and then he was on the gravel road. She could 
see a cabin at the end of the short distance ahead. Mulder 
pulled off road and parked the car behind some scrub pine. 
She checked her SIG, and checked her pocket for the extra 
clips. They exchanged a look, their signal. It was time. As 
she got out of the car she heard him say,  "We can do this, 
Scully."

Hidden by thick brush, they made there way to a dead end 
where a the shack stood, a flickering light coming from the 
windows. Mulder had Scully flanked on the left, and 
together they slipped quietly to the door, guns drawn. 
Scully gave a tiny nod and he broke down the door; they were 
just in time to see Alex Krycek drag Emily out the back 
and down into the woods.

Krycek was fast, very fast, and already had covered a lot of 
ground by the time they shot through the cabin and onto 
their trail. The path was hard going, winding, zigzagging, 
still icy in spots. She pushed herself to keep up, almost 
matching Mulder step for step. Scully felt the cold air 
rushing into her lungs, it stung, needle-sharp; and used
the pain to urge herself on. They came to a flat clearing, 
and she heard the whir of helicopter blades.  
"Hurry, Mulder...We've got to catch them!"

All of a sudden she saw a dogleg that cut directly to where 
Krycek was dragging Emily. Mulder had already seen it 
and torn down the path, and Scully tried to follow, but her 
feet hit an icy patch. She fell and slid, so hard that it 
knocked the wind out of her. She was breathing raggedly, 
but she was not stopping, not now, precious seconds were 
being lost. Anger fueled her, and she dragged herself up 
by and knees, and steadied herself. Scully started to move, 
and when she did, she felt the hard, cold barrel of a gun 
at the back of her head. A waft of cigarette smoke curled 
toward her face, like an obscene caress. Her hand instinctively 
felt for her holster, but she knew the worst.

"Agent Scully, I believe this item must be yours. A hand 
dangled her gun just outside her reach. "Allow me to escort 
you to where Agent Mulder and your lovely daughter are. 
She's a beautiful girl, just like her mother."

"You've got me, but Mulder will get Emily, and Krycek 
will be dead soon."

The Smoking Man's reptilian features bent themselves into 
a unholy smile.  "My dear, all good things in time. I believe 
we should catch up to Alex so that we can resolve our business 
for today."  He began to maneuver her over the rocky path, 
the gun still at her head; his yellow fingers gripped her arm 
like a vise. They made their way to the clearing, and Scully 
looked up just in time to see her world crash down around her. 
Mulder was on his knees with Emily buried against his chest, 
his arms shielding her. Krycek had his weapon poised at Mulder's 
temple. In some desperate last gesture, Mulder rocked Emily, 
his voice fierce and heartbreaking,  "Don't look, baby, 
don't look."

Everything seemed to still around them, No wind, no 
sounds of animals or birds, nothing. Mulder looked up 
and caught Scully's eyes. And then, the Smoking Man's voice 
broke the silence;  "Agent Scully, surely you know victory 
goes to the swift and the strong. Unfortunately, you appear 
to be neither today."  He motioned to Krycek,  
"Alex, finish this."  

Two shots, white light, and Scully heard herself scream.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Scully jerked up, drenched in sweat and worn raw, hitting 
her shoulder against the headboard.  A  look at the clock on 
the night stand told her it was 5:30... in the afternoon...
it was still Saturday.  Breathing hard, she started to wrap 
her mind around what had happened.  She'd been dreaming.  
Once again Emily died, but this was different.  
Now, so did Mulder.  She lived and failed them both.  
A wave of terror gripped her stomach and knotted her gut.

She made her way to the bathroom and  filled the sink with 
cold water, Plunging her head into an icy baptism, she 
hoped the shock of it would dull the panic that consumed 
her. 

Scully pulled herself up, ran her fingers through her 
hair and wiped the water from her face. She took stock of 
herself in the mirror. Not good, she looked like some kind 
of drowned, terrified rodent. She tried to reassure herself.  
It's just a dream, it'll be fine. You couldn't help what 
happened to Emily...It's OK...You're OK...You could never 
let him down, you know that. Your life for his in a second.

Something pressed  heavy against her chest-- it was getting 
hard to breathe. Scully forced herself away from the sink 
and into the shower. She was trembling and sick now, she 
needed to make this stop. Hot water, full force pummeled 
her body, and her mind formed single words, words she 
needed.  Perspective.  Discipline.  Logic.  They'd saved 
his life, both their lives more than once. Maybe now she'd 
lose it and choke when it counted most.  A moment's 
hesitation, a wrong move would give their enemies the chance 
they'd waited for. The men who exploited any weakness and 
killed without hesitation would love it if she delivered 
him to them. 

Scully got dressed and told herself she could handle it, 
she wanted to, she had to.

Mulder loped his way down the hall to Scully's door.  Two 
knocks.  A pause.  "Scully! Get your bad self over here and 
open the door, Daddy's home!"  Nothing.  Two more 
knocks.  

"C'mon open up, I know you're in there."  Two more 
knocks. 

He'd slung his bags over his shoulder and unzipped his 
leather jacket. Running his fingers around the edge of the 
peephole, he thought heard her coming.  "My hands are full 
here, open up."

When the door opened, Scully greeted him wearing jeans 
and T-shirt; holding a hairbrush in one hand. It was clear 
she'd just finished getting dressed.  "Think I  brought 
enough? "  He swooped in, dropping the bags on the floor, 
and then noticed Scully's edge, her uneasiness. Maybe 
she'd changed her mind, maybe that was it, at some level 
she must know how insane this was.  But he was hoping 
otherwise.  "Is this still OK?"

"Mulder, even though I think there's enough here to open a 
clothing store, yes, it's still OK."  Scully put her focus on 
the very real figure right in front of her. Here he is; you 
wanted him to be here, try acting like it. She managed 
a crinkly smile, aware that Mulder had taken the same risk 
she had and there were no signs of him flinching. Maybe he 
knew something she didn't. Scully remembered to breathe.

"I guess if you get on my nerves I can always have a 
rummage sale. So, where's the copy of 'Mars Attacks?'  I 
know your taste in movies."  No video, and apparently no 
dinner, either.  "Mulder, there's nothing here remotely 
looking like food. You don't want to be around me once I 
get low blood sugar."  She tossed the hairbrush on the stand 
near the door

"Eidetic memory, Earth Girl,. You said no video, no pizza. 
And I plan on holding you to that walking on the wild side 
remark."

She looked him up and down and sighed. Mulder seemed 
charged up, which usually meant they were in for a long 
drive to nowhere, followed by an all-nighter filled with Y-
incisions, and formaldehyde.

"Scully, finish getting dressed, We've got to get going."   
He was a little too full of himself and loving it.

"Mulder, please don't tell me we're about to drive to the 
middle of Podunk to investigate the spontaneous 
combustion of cheerleaders at Alfred E. Neumann High 
School, and there's a charming little autopsy for me to do. 
Please tell me that's not what happening."

"Scully, get some shoes on, time's a wastin'."

Mumbling under her breath, Scully shoved her feet into her 
usual high-heeled boots, grabbed her jacket, and was about 
to get her ID and holster when Mulder told her it wouldn't 
be necessary. He took her by the wrist, planted a big one 
squarely on her lips, and then they were off.
He hustled her into the car and before she knew it they 
were plunging into the great unknown yet again. Scully's 
curiosity was getting the better of her. They hadn't headed 
toward the Bureau, or the highway. About fifteen minutes later, 
he'd driven through several alleys and snaked his way through 
the north side, past restaurant row and the bar strip.  

"Mulder!   Are you going to tell me where we're headed?"

"Where's the fun in that?" and gave her his patented I-am-
too-clever-for-my own-good look. "We're young and in 
love and it's Saturday night. The world is full of 
possibilities."  

"And you believe 'young' still applies to you, Mulder? 
You're skirting dangerously close to forty...you might want to 
rethink that."

"Say what you will, but you seemed quite pleased with 
what I was able to do last night, despite my advanced age. 
And as much as I'd love to continue this scintillating line of 
interrogation, we're just about there."

Scully kept trying to guess what was located in this part of 
town significant enough to pique Mulder's interest, and the
only thing of consequence was Georgetown University.  
"We're coming up on the campus. Where exactly the hell 
are you taking me?"

"Some place that makes me think of you."  Mulder rounded 
past the majority of the University to the farthest northern 
end and pulled into the visitor lot. He parked 
the car, walked over to the passenger door and opened it. 
Leading the way toward a clearing at the far end, there was 
a small gap bracketed by buckthorn and hickory trees. It was 
the entrance to Glover Archbold Park. Not a park really; more 
like a strip of wilderness in the midst of the city. 
Suddenly, Scully remembered this place. Mulder said he came 
here when he had to find the thing that really mattered.
								
He took her deep into this secret wild place. It was seldom 
used  this time of year, making it Mulder's favorite time to 
be there. There was a thin line of bare earth that was used 
as a trail, a minimal path at best. It was staggeringly 
beautiful: wild grasses grew in thickets, dogwood had begun 
to bud, more buckthorn burst with new shoots, patches of reeds 
rustled in marshy bogs. He'd  made sure to get here at twilight. 
The sky above them glowed violet, and the horizon was edged 
in burnished orange and gold; the end of day. Mulder kept 
his hand on the small of her back, silent until he thought 
they were far enough away from the city, their lives, the world. 
Finally, he murmured,  "We're here, Scully."

She felt like she'd entered a dream. This was the world that 
mattered, simple, basic, real. She could smell damp earth, 
and the colors, the new leaves, the sound of the wind in 
the grass filled her. He pulled her up onto a ridge and stood 
behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.  

He felt warm and solid, and she relaxed into the length of his 
body. They were survivors, they had stared down the end 
of the world. What else could she possibly need to figure out?  
Scully knew what the next step was--she had to let go. 
Her fear of failing would paralyze her and she had to 
tell him--he had to know. It was time to do it. 
Do it or turn her back on him completely.
						
"Not bad, Mulder."  She tilted her head back, pulled him 
forward and kissed the side of his neck.

"Coming from you that's pretty high praise. You're not 
trying to stroke my ego, are you? Not that I'd try to stop you."  
He loved her mouth on his skin, he loved how she touched him. 
This could not possibly be real. He used to stand right on this 
spot: alone and self-contained,  trying to imagine the very 
thing that had finally come to pass, telling himself to want 
her the way he did was ridiculous, and actually having her would 
be impossible.

Her lips fluttered across his skin, and he thanked Yahweh, 
Buddha, Krishna, whoever, for the reality of her, for what 
she gave him, for making him a believer. He took one hand 
and started to play with a strand of her hair, and felt himself 
unbelievably charmed to have even a single moment like this.  

They were still and silent as minutes dissolved away 
and darkness began to drop and settle.  "Scully."  No 
answer.  Something unspoken was in the air, it was 
palpable, burgeoning. Something was wrong when he 
picked her up, he should have pressed her, should have 
gotten it all out in the open. Mulder tried to keep a teasing 
tone in his voice, but something had shifted, and instinct 
told him it wasn't good.  "Scully, are you still there?"  
Not a word.

Mulder guessed she was trying to find a way to make 
telling him easier on both of them. He was not the kind of guy 
that got the girl. Mulder knew without a doubt Scully loved him, 
and he also knew love alone was not always enough. His life 
was too weird, too empty of any real promise, and face it, 
he was not exactly the mental health poster child. His partner 
had a fine instinct for self-preservation, and he was sure 
that it had finally kicked into gear. She would tell him that 
they were better as partners, as friends. The distance they'd 
had before probably was the only thing that made their bizarre 
lives tolerable. Scully had seen enough carnage for a lifetime, 
bled enough, cut up too many corpses, closed the eyes 
of too many dead children to not want some sanctuary--some part 
of her life he couldn't touch, or ultimately, ruin.

And until Scully, the only woman he'd ever really loved 
was his sister. Someone should really do his profile--maybe 
he'd do it himself. He'd be back to solitary pursuits soon 
enough. Mulder started to choke up, helpless, as the best 
thing that'd ever happened in his unlucky life slipped away. 
Desperation began to close around him like black water. 
He had to do something, say something, to thank her for 
even one night, for what he would replay in his mind over 
and over until someone lowered him into the ground and shoveled 
the dirt on his face. 

Mulder silently resolved himself to what obviously 
needed to happen--I can fix this, Scully--just don't go away 
completely. 

He would fall on the sword first. Then he would drive her home, 
be friendly, crack a few jokes on the way and drop her off. 
After he saw her get in safely, he'd find the nearest bottle 
of Scotch, crawl in and find the black hole that had to have 
his name on it.  "I know...it's OK...you don't have to do this.  
We can just  wind back the tape and chalk it up to two best 
friends with too much time spent in the basement."

Her entire body went rigid. What was she hearing? What 
could he possibly be saying? This was unbelievable. God, 
she'd been trying to get off the dime and tell him how much 
he meant--how much it all meant--how much she was 
afraid of losing him--how much she needed him. But this 
pronouncement flipped her from feeling insecure and 
vulnerable to livid. Her face flushed red, and her temples 
were throbbing. She gritted her teeth and she drew herself 
up into her full height. Scully was locked and loaded, 
'furious' did not begin to describe what she was feeling.  
She'd show him the real meaning of 'getting someone's 
Irish up.'  "You're not going to ditch me again, you stinking 
sonovabitch."

"What?"  Mulder was genuinely confused. He could just 
barely see her in the twilight but he recognized that tone. 
He'd never heard it coming from Scully, but there was 
obviously a first time for everything. He was about to lose 
his head--to be removed with surgical precision, no less.

"Is this some new variation on dumping me?' I know you've 
exhausted all the usual ones.  Oh, fuck it, if I start listing 
every time I'll just strangle you."  Scully's insides were 
vibrating, her hands trembling.

"I just assumed you finally saw what a train wreck life 
with me really is...that you needed to pull back and save 
yourself."  Mulder's voice was flat, as if he'd already been 
left, as if it was a done deal. He rubbed his temples 
lethargically.

"And that was based on what?  Was that before or after I 
slept with you?"

"Scully, my track record sucks, I thought maybe I could 
make it easy for you, protect you from..."  It was dawning 
on him that he hadn't figured out what the fuck was going 
on--he'd horribly miscalculated, and if he was still alive 
in a few minutes, he'd try to apologize.

Scully cut him off, her eyes bright as a flare, her face 
partially lit by the slow rise of the moon.  

"Quit doing my thinking for me! Quit planning my life, my future! 
And since when do you give a damn about making my life easier?"  
She was practically yelling at the top of her voice.  

"Goddamn you, Mulder! You make me completely insane! 
I should be committed! Why do you think I'm still here?  
Why do you think I'd tear anyone a new asshole who stands in 
the way of finding you when you disappear?  Because I'm 
still spying on you?  Because hanging out with you is a 
positive career move?   Why?  The words just kept pouring 
out her--she kept talking as if she stopped she'd collapse, 
or explode.  "Yeah, I'll say it...because you're the only one for me. 
Do you get that?  And no one's leaving. You stay, I stay...
we figure this out...or I swear I'll make your life a living hell.  
Do you need me to speak slowly?  OK...No one's...going... 
anywhere...Mulder...Not now... it's too...late...for that...
Is that clear enough? "

"Yeah,  I got it, Scully!"  Mulder pressed on. He was strung out 
on a perverse combination of panic and optimism, 
because even though they'd fought before it'd never been 
like this, and partially because he realized if she was really 
leaving, she'd been calm, quiet, and the next minute, gone.  

"There was something wrong when I picked you up, 
Scully...I saw it in your eyes. And just now, you weren't 
really here...I'm more used to being alone...more used wanting 
you than having you. This whole thing's surreal. You're only 
the fucking center of my life. Fine. I'm an asshole, I don't 
deserve you, I can't handle the idea that you might really love me, 
as much as I love you.  I just need you any way I can get you, 
even if that's only being my goddamn partner."   Now, his voice 
was loud, and he could feel his stomach and his back tightening up.

Scully somehow took pity on him and started to power 
down. There was enough moonlight now to see how completely 
wrung-out he looked. But she wasn't quite done setting him 
straight. "Mulder, if I want to waste my goddamn life with 
you, it's my goddamn decision. Don't make me have to hurt 
you to get my point across. You know I'm capable of it." 
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and slumped onto a 
nearby tree stump. This was exhausting. Was it always this difficult? 
Only when you involved two of them--their history spoke for itself.  
Oh it's surreal, alright.  Scully felt oddly amused now, they were 
certainly well-matched--if she didn't kill  him first. As for Mulder, 
he came over to where she was splayed out and crouched down 
on his heels. He'd calmed down too, and had a idiotic look 
on his face. Could he possibly be happy? 

"Seeing as how you've pretty much made up your 
mind, I guess I'll just go along for the ride. You're one hell 
of a romantic, Scully."

"Shut up, Mulder."

"So, it looks like everything's back to normal."  He held out 
his hands palms up, and waited for her to place her hands over 
them. She did, and he paused for a second. The moon had risen, 
three-quarter full, and he took her in, a changeling in the silvery 
light. He knew this was new territory for them, and hard place 
for Scully to find herself. Now he was serious, "Tell me what 
it was, I want to know."

Scully's face took on its usual somber lines. Haltingly, she began, 
"I...I thought this might have been a mistake...The truth is, 
I'm afraid, and I don't like that feeling."  Her voice was 
measured now. She just wanted to get out one word after another 
and not fall apart.  "I'm afraid of failing you, of losing you 
like Emily. And don't say I'll never be able to get rid of you, 
because it doesn't help. This is more complicated than that. 
If finding the answers meant leaving me behind, we both know you 
would. That's the way it is, Mulder, you and I both know it...
it's just harder now." 

She was right, and  Mulder hated how fucking helpless he 
was to change any of it. "I need to have the answers, we 
both do. I guess my brilliant strategy of protecting you by 
just leaving pretty much was an abysmal failure.  No more 
ditches, dumps, whatever.  I mean it. If I had to go... 
we'd figure it out. You'd know what I was doing and why.  
And I'd do whatever I had to come back to you. I know it's 
not enough, but it's a start."

She laced her finger in his,  "You'd better. I'd hate to tell Bill 
and Charlie you were gone again."  He started laughing a little, 
and she thought maybe they'd get to the other side of this.  
"This part's about me, Mulder. I used to think that holding myself 
back would give me the strength to deal with anything."  
Scully looked away from him, to some imaginary point in the trees. 
She wasn't going to break down.  "I can't keep you out anymore, 
so you see the problem...Even if you don't leave, what if 
something goes wrong?  I don't know if I could handle it if I 
froze in the clutch, if I couldn't get your back because 
I was afraid, because I didn't think or move fast enough."  
There were no tears; Scully had come too far to lose it.  
"And it terrifies me. It kills me to say it, but it does. 
I want proof it won't keep me from doing 
what I have to...I have to know I could save you. At least 
I have to believe I'd have a chance."

Mulder rose to his feet and pulled her up so that she faced 
him.  "Scully, listen to me, you did that a long time ago. 
Don't ever doubt it. I don't know what other proof there is."  
He spoke softly, every word was meant to find its way to 
the place inside her that needed something to hold on to. 
He hesitated for a moment, and went on.  "What if I lose you? 
Another abduction, the cancer returning...I don't know if I 
could deal with it."  Everything seemed to stutter and stop, 
all of it teetering in the balance.  "So, what should I do, 
keep my distance? I can't, I don't want to. The truth is, 
I'm not even gonna try."  Mulder gathered his thoughts 
and spoke slowly.  "I think there's only one question, 
whatever's going to happen, do we face it alone or together?"

Two choices.  Mulder and everything that meant.  Or she 
could have her cold, quiet apartment and her cold, quiet life 
all to herself. Scully felt lucky that for once she didn't give a 
damn about anything except what she wanted.  She wrapped
one hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face 
close to hers.  "I want to go home. Now."

His mouth began to curve into a smile. Yes, there was 
something to smile about. He'd show her, maybe even take 
all night, just to be sure.  "I know we're beginners at this, 
but usually when the woman tells you to take her home this soon, 
it's not a good sign."

Scully leaned in, and with her mouth against his, made 
herself perfectly clear.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She grazed his bottom lip with her teeth, parted his lips 
with her tongue. And oh yes, her hands had crept under Mulder's 
jacket, and made their way under his shirt. She felt like the 
top of her head might float away. Scully was hungry to touch 
him, to let the feel of him wash over her. Good, she thought, 
it's time for a reprieve from Navy-bred self control. Scully 
vowed then and there to leave it for case files, for Skinner, 
for Kersh, and for Monday morning. In the midst of the chaos 
that dogged her every waking minute, there would be a corner 
that belonged to her and to Mulder.  A private life.  A life.  

She stopped kissing him and noticed a look flitting across 
his face. His eyes glittered with something that was a little 
predatory and apparently aimed in her direction. Scully rubbed 
his lower lip with her thumb.  "There's some things I'd really 
like to do. With you. Get me back to my place in one piece 
and I promise you won't be disappointed."

For his part, Mulder was having somewhat of a problem 
snapping to. He was relishing the soft scrape of Scully 's 
mouth against his, and her hands...the feel of her hands 
stroking his back made him forget his name, what he did 
for a living, where he parked the car. He could hear her voice, 
saying something about taking her somewhere, and doing something. 
Amnesia?   A fugue?  He tried to string some coherent thoughts 
together. Oh yeah, you can show me anything you want. He smiled 
against her mouth. Anything you want...But he wasn't quite done 
yet.  "I think you've got it backwards."  

With that, he nipped his way down her neck 
until he thought could hear her moan. When she gripped his 
forearms, Mulder felt he'd done commensurate damage. He 
stopped, and shot her a look through slitted eyes. 
"What the hell are we still doing here?   Let's go."

The two of them had just clambered into his car and sped 
off. Mulder had sprinted all the way back, dragging her by 
the wrist behind him.  She kept up a steady stream of 
'Mulder, stop!', 'Mulder, cut it out!', 'Mulder, you're out 
of your mind!' 

He glanced back at her; she was laughing, hair flying in the wind, 
eyes locked on him. Mulder wanted to make love to her on the spot, 
but kept running until they got to the car and piled in. 
He turned the key in the ignition and snuck a sidelong look 
at her. They were the stuff of archetypes...All hail the 
conquering heroes!  Mulder was sure he was going off the deep 
end here, but hey...he could be Tristan to her Isolde...No, 
too German...How 'bout  Sid to her Nancy?... Jesus, that's 
just too fucking morbid... C'mon...Steed to her Peel?...OK, 
getting warmer...Wait a minute... Moose to her Squirrel, 
the X-rated version.  That'll work.  It's you and me, 
Rocky, from here on out. He hit the gas and peeled out.

Scully settled in and shifted her weight so she was leaning 
toward this insane person at the wheel. She felt proud she 
had it in her to finally cut loose. As for Mulder, she knew 
he was just loose in the head. Not her best clinical diagnosis, 
but it would have to do until she could get him home and give 
him a more thorough physical examination.  Or something.

Mulder turned on the radio and scanned the dial until he 
heard 'Otis Davis plays the dusties, the Old Grooves for 
you and yours.' The next sounds were a blood-curdling scream, 
a thundering piano riff, some heavy base and a baritone voice---
'I put a spell on you.'  "Yessss!  Scully, this is Screamin' 
Jay Hawkins. Perfect! It's kismet...this is our song!"

Scully rolled her eyes upward. Screamin' Jay opened his act 
by emerging from a coffin and casting his undead love-
spell on the unsuspecting women in the audience. The 
connection was obvious. How could she have thought for a 
moment that zombie- love would not be rearing its ugly 
head. "Nice song, although I have to say the image of a 
half-rotting corpse wreaking havoc is not the usual basis 
for foreplay."  But it was certainly Mulder's. They survived 
the mutual meltdown of earlier tonight, and had begun to 
settle back into their play: the code-talking, the flirting,
the sidelong glances. She knew they were better suited for 
the volley back and forth, it was the nature of their 
dynamic. Scully's mouth turned up in a grin: Bring it on, 
Mulder, bring it on.

"Shhhhh, Scully you'll ruin the moment."  With that, he 
cranked the volume until the air vibrated. 'I put a spell on you....
'cause your miiiiiine. ' Screamin' Jay was in rare form indeed. 
Mulder tapped the steering wheel in time to the beat. 

Now he was singing along with Jay,  "...Cause you're 
miiiiine."  He bit his lower lip and squinted as he and Jay 
cast their zombified love-spell, working their way back to 
Scully's.  "You won't be able to ever resist me now. I'm 
workin' my mojo hand and my black cat bone. Surely you 
realize you are powerless in the face of this much 
concentrated occult power."

"You mean the talismanic use of items consecrated by a 
practitioner of voodoo, macumba, or Santeria for the 
express purpose of the male owner of said items increasing 
sexual potency and his ability to bend the object of his 
desire to his will? Is that what you're referring to?  " 
Scully gave him a sly, slow blink. I see your bet, 
and raise you. And with that, she slid next to him 
and traced a slow path with her finger from his sideburn, 
down his throat to the edge of his collarbone.  
"I'm not really sure you need that."

The pulse in his neck was pounding--No, Scully...I need 
something, though.  "See, it's working already."  
Before she had to time to move her hand away, Mulder 
cupped it in his and started softly biting her palm 
and the soft pad of her thumb. No mean feat, 
since he was still driving. Thankfully, he recognized 
Scully's neighborhood coming up ahead. Eyes still on 
the road, he heard he voice, low and breathy.

"Just drive the damn car, Mulder."

It wasn't too much longer until they reached her apartment 
building. Scully hopped out and was walking up the stairs 
to the door, Mulder watched her with dogged attention. 
As he eased out the driver's side, he could hear his knees pop.  
Shit.  It almost sounded like gunfire. Maybe he was getting a 
little out of shape, but he most certainly was not middle-aged. 
He just needed to run more. Or maybe he needed a vigorous
program of horizontal calisthenics, administered under the strict 
supervision of his physician---whose ass by the way, 
just did not quit.

"Hey partner, are you able to get upstairs on your own, or 
do I need to give an elderly gentlemen a hand?"  Scully had 
turned to face him and was rocking back and forth on her 
heels, waiting in front of the building entrance. She 
chuckled a little.  "Knees sound good. Maybe I should 
have taken geriatric medicine as a subspecialty."
She bit the tip of her tongue and eyed him up and down. 
He needed a regimen of physical therapy, the application 
of compresses. She had an idea where she could find 
something warm and wet, although she thought about 
applying it to an entirely different part of his anatomy.

"Droll, very droll. You will, however, regret you said that."  
With that, Mulder ran past her up the stairs, yelling 
en-route to her apartment.  "Get the lead out, girl. 
I'm  gonna teach you all about this man and his moves."

She walked through door and made her way with a 
deliberate, measured gait. She was planning on being much 
more than an apt pupil, enjoying the sound of her heels in 
the hall, clicking her way toward Mulder and whatever his 
moves might be. I've got a few here of my own, Scully 
thought, a few you might find quite interesting.  "Watch 
your back, Agent, here I come."

She was coming up on her apartment when she saw the 
door was wide open.  "Mulder!"  Nothing. And then, him 
yelling and the sound of general commotion. Her 
adrenaline started pumping and she ran the rest of the way. 
Flying through the doorway, she saw him sprawled out on the 
floor. In his hurry to demonstrate his...agility, a certain 
someone had forgotten the luggage in the foyer. 
Splayed flat on his back, it was obvious someone had 
neglected to look where he was going. Scully walked up 
and stood over him, straddling her prone and slightly 
addled darling. 

He made no move to get up, but just laid there with his 
arm draped over his eyes. Not the prone position she'd
been imagining earlier, but somehow she suspected they 
were due for a geeky mishap.

"Don't. Don't say a word."  His arm slid away and he gave 
her a look that managed to be both a warning and self-
deprecating. 

Scully moved to his side and knelt down, feeling partly 
solicitous, partly amused.  "Oh.... Sweetie, are you OK?"  
Catching the unfamiliar term immediately, she hoped to 
hell Mulder hadn't.  Sweetie?  Hardly.  What next?  Baby?  
Not likely. She tried to play it off by checking the pulse 
in his neck, and mustered a more serious tone.  
"Talk to me, are you all right?"

For his part, Mulder had caught that little endearment 
immediately. Not wanting to waste this golden opportunity, 
he slid his hand to his head, and rolled back his eyes, 
"God, maybe I have a head injury. Scully, did you say what 
I think you said? Call me sweetie again and make it all better."

"Perhaps cerebral trauma is involved, and given your 
preexisting mental condition, you're probably having 
auditory hallucinations."  Scully had gotten up and thrown 
her jacket on the hook on the wall. It looked like Mulder 
would live, although she wasn't quite certain she'd be
able to live down his teasing her about this for the rest 
of her life. What she needed to do was distract him.  
"Get up and get your clothes off."

He shook the marbles out of his head. Well, nothing like 
cutting to the chase. She was being a little prosaic,
but what the hell, he'd go with it.  "Ooh, I love a woman 
who takes charge...But how 'bout a little quid pro quo?"

"What I was going to suggest is that you get undressed, get 
in the tub and take a hot soak. Given your recent swan dive 
and that percussive noise emanating from your knees, I 
think you might want to keep yourself from stiffening up.'

"I can't imagine anything I'd want more than a little 
stiffness. As I recall, you seemed to enjoy it as well."

Scully walked up to him, leaned forward and gave his 
cheek a play-slap, partnered with that rare, toothy grin 
of hers. To be used only in the case of children, and a certain 
demented Special Agent.  "Why don't you go and get in the tub?"  
She motioned him to get up, and pointed toward the bathroom.  
"Go on...I'll bring you some supper while you soak."

With that, she strode off to the kitchen, leaving Mulder on 
the floor considering his options. He could stay where he 
was or get off the floor, get served dinner by Scully while 
he luxuriated in a hot tub, and corner her in the bathroom later. 
Not a hard choice. On his way to there, he yelled,  
"Hurry up, don't keep your favorite patient waiting."

Hot water. Steamy vapor rising like clouds. Shallow 
breathing.  Muscles relaxing. The image of pale moon skin, 
a woman's calf, a breast, someone's lower back where a 
snake dwelled, dripping with streaks of water. Mulder let 
himself linger in this lucid dream, his body stretched the 
length of the tub, his head resting against the back of 
Scully's huge old claw foot, eyes closed.  Her voice. She 
was here.

"Mealtime, c'mon, sit up. I've an Irish pub supper for you, 
me boyo. It's a family specialty."

Scully slipped in on bare feet, placed a tray on the floor 
next to the tub, and perched herself on the edge. The 
aforementioned specialty consisted of cheese, bread, 
apples, two shot glasses and one very large bottle of Irish 
whiskey. White wine and the niceties of a hot meal were 
going to have to wait for another day. She poured two shots 
and dangled one in front of Mulder. 

He had a hot water glow, his eyes were heavy lidded, and his lips 
curved slightly. Water trickled down the curves of his chest, 
and his long legs were splayed against the side of the tub.  
From what she could see, he was beginning to assume the up 
periscope position. She wondered how long she'd be able to hold 
out before she'd strip down and slide herself over him, and 
thought she'd better not make any bets. Mulder held her wrist 
for a second before he took her proffered libation. 
In that split second, Scully felt another surge of something 
Father McCue would certainly term a mortal sin. Bless me Father,
she thought without a single guilty twinge, for I am 
interested in nothing but sinning right now.

"OK, Scully, what's the toast?"

"Mulder, use that brilliant mind of yours. Here's your 
chance to impress me."

He gestured to hold their up glasses and cleared his throat, 
"Ready? 'There was a young lady from Kerry...'

Before he could finish, she cut him off, "A limerick, 
Mulder?" 

She then treated him to the sight of her knocking hers back 
with a practiced flick of her wrist. Her face twisted in a 
brief grimace, then relaxed. It was Mulder who was impressed. 
Full of hidden talents, this one.

She tossed her head back and let out a little whoop. 
"Whoa...."  She jutted her chin in his general direction.  
"No one likes a slacker. C'mon, Slainte."

Mulder tossed his back, and felt the warmth spreading 
down his throat,  his chest. He teared up a little, and heard 
someone snicker. That would not be tolerated.  "Hit me."  
Scully was not about to get away with insulting his macho 
sensibilities, plus the idea of them getting it on while 
hammered had an irresistible appeal.  

"You sure about that?"

"Yep, unless you don't think you can keep up."

Three more shots each, actually. While not officially 
hammered-- loose--free and easy, with special emphasis on 
the easy, definitely applied. Mulder started telling an 
elaborate story about selkies, Celtic sea enchantresses. 
Scully slowed the whole thing down by popping bits of 
bread and cheese into his mouth, explaining the importance 
of the four food groups and good nutrition for men approaching 
middle age. She also partook, shushing him as she savored 
this ancient family recipe. All in all, there was more 
laughing than storytelling. Until something made them change 
gears completely. Something as innocuous as a apple.

Scully was going to offer Mulder a bite, but first she 
wanted to clean it up, nice and proper. She started polishing 
it on her chest, rubbing it on her T-shirt, pulling the fabric 
tight across her breasts. She could feel the fabric slide against 
her nipples. The tips of them felt like a spark had hit them, 
a spark that coursed down her tender stomach, right between 
her legs, leaving her with a luscious ache. She stopped 
and looked at Mulder and saw him watching her, transfixed. 
He was stroking his chin with the pads of his fingers, 
measuring her with granite eyes. She took a bite of the apple
instead, and the juice ran down her chin. Mulder raised himself 
up, knelt and leaned toward her, and licked it away. The apple 
fell and rolled across the floor, and she heard herself murmur,  
"Messy, but what can you do?"

"I'll show you."  He bit her earlobe, her neck, and felt 
himself reeling from the soft crush of her flesh in his mouth. 
He tried to stifle a groan deep in his throat, but it was
useless. He couldn't contain the sheer pleasure that rushed 
through his body. Mulder climbed out of the tub, pulled Scully 
to her feet and began to strip away those pieces of fabric, 
dripping water everywhere. He was quick and ruthless about it, 
pulling off her T-shirt and bra with one hand, and stroking 
her with the other. He found her nipples and pinched them 
with his wet fingers, then trailed his hands down her hips, 
and slid them around to the small of her back.Mulder wondered 
what it would be like to lick the snake that lived there. 
Nothing could be more delicious. No, he was wrong, he imagined 
his mouth between her legs. Almost as if she'd read his mind, 
Scully's hands gripped his shoulders and the dark and ravenous 
look she gave him spurred him on.  He stripped off the rest 
of what she wore, and kicked her clothing to the side. 
Finally, she was naked and he heard her call his name, 
softly, urgently. Mulder's cock was throbbing, hard 
and insistent. He would bury himself in her, but first 
he had to taste her. The hint she'd given him last night 
of what she was like was not enough.

Barely making a sound, Scully kept murmuring his name. 
She wanted to say so much more, not the words of poets, 
she never had those--just some sign of her imperfect, 
devastating love.  "Mulder."  She said it again and again, 
she wanted to fill the room with the sound of it. She loved 
him, but words were pale, inadequate things now. He'd 
become her biology, as basic as bone marrow, as necessary 
as oxygen, his face, the last remnant of sight before sleep. 

Fingers trailed down his back, and she drew her tongue 
across his chest and bit him softly above his heart.  She 
didn't laugh when he said  'God help me.'   

"Maybe we should go to bed."  Scully turned to walk to the bedroom, 
but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Bed's too far away. Have pity on an old man."  Mulder 
grabbed the fresh towels from the top of the hamper. He 
piled them on the sink.  "Here, sit."  He lifted her up by the 
hips and eased her onto soft, warm cotton. Mulder knelt 
down and rested his face on her thighs. He could feel her 
hands in his hair, her fingers rasping against his scalp. 
Slowly, he pushed her legs apart, first pressing with one 
cheek and then the other until she was spread open. He 
stroked her inner thigh against his temples, and started to 
write against her skin with infinitely slow kisses. She was 
so warm, so smooth; so good, so unbelievably good. He 
pressed his mouth against her very core, and kissed and 
licked his way around her soft folds until he found her clit--
lush, wet, swollen. Mulder swept the tip of his tongue 
across it, licked and kissed its center.  

This.   Yes, Scully, this. He nibbled her, teased her 
with his lips, bit her thighs. He was taking her 
to the edge, he wanted her to come, wanted to feel her 
feeling it. She trembled against his mouth, and he kept 
tonguing her clit with slow maddening strokes, over and over. 
He moaned against her soft, moist flesh and whispered 
her name. Her legs tightened around his back, the muscles 
in her legs tensed, and he got even harder when he heard 
her shallow, rapid breath.

She was close, so close, and then she was coming. It was 
piercing, blotting out everything except what his beautiful 
mouth was doing to her. Spiraling back into herself and 
then out, out, over and over again. It had never been this fierce. 
And she uncoiled upward and outward, not stopping, 
hot, hot waves of it rolling through her. Her arms 
and legs, her whole body, tensed and softened over and 
over. She heard her own voice, calling for Mulder like he 
was lost, or she was. She could feel his mouth move 
upward, one long drag until he was kissing her, teeth 
touching, tongue seeking tongue. He offered her what he'd 
savored, his lips warm and moist. She moaned when he 
pulled away.  Too soon.

"Taste yourself, this is how wonderful you are."  He 
stroked her throat and shoulders, peppering her collarbone 
with tiny kisses, as if he was fixing a charm calling 
her back to Earth, back to herself. And then he stopped, 
looking at her with something past longing, past hunger, 
something that tightened his throat and made the blood 
pound in his head.  

"I need to hear you say it...Tell me what else you want, 
Scully." 

She met his gaze and took her right hand, curving her 
fingers, and licked the side from the wrist to the pinkie, 
and its inner curl. Then she slipped it over his cock, 
and felt him surge in her hand. No pretense, no room 
for anything but the pull of her desire.  

"I want you."

Mulder moved her arms so that they draped over his 
shoulders. He parted her with his leg, and with one hand, 
cupped her beautiful ass. With the other hand, he braced 
himself by straight-arming it against the mirror behind 
them, then stepped completely between her legs. His cock was 
throbbing and as he eased himself inside her, he heard 
Scully tell him 'yes.' A plea from her, "Yes."  

He bit off a groan as he slid into her. He started thrusting, 
and she matched every move, torturing him, delighting him.  
Wet and tight, he bit his lower lip as she clenched around him. 
Mulder's eyes slammed shut, he was losing his mind.  
He wanted to take his time, he wanted to take it slow---
but it was too good, too much. He thrust into her; it 
was a blind, mute rush of love--foolish, desperate, fierce, 
driven--everything he was, everything he would ever be. 
In the last seconds he could think at all, the words came--
Take me. Take it all, Scully.  A ragged breath, "Please," 
and then the smash and shatter of love. Nothing was ever 
so frightening, so absolute, so binding to another 
person as this.

He fell forward a little, and he and Scully slumped against 
the mirror. They were motionless, wrecked, drifting. The 
last pretense they might have still harbored that they were 
separate and independent, that there was some choice in all 
of this anymore had been stripped away. If one of them 
should disappear or die it didn't matter.  They were tethered 
to each other, no matter what happened in this life, 
through whatever existed after that.   
Final.   World without end.  Amen.

They began to return to themselves, their breathing calmed, 
and it all began to recede and there was just a man and a 
woman. Mulder stretched into standing and helped her to 
sit up. He stared at himself in the mirror to convince 
himself he was still here. A slightly drunk, freshly-laid 
face smiled back at him. He thought he could see someone 
he recognized out of the corner of his eye, and decided 
to take a leap and believe it wasn't an optical illusion. 
He remembered he had the ability to speak.  

"My God...you've killed me."

"But strangely, you still seem to be talking."  Scully sat 
open-legged, bracing herself by holding on to the edge of the 
sink on each side. She was a little woozy, and moved slowly 
in the vain hope of concealing it from him. Blissed out and 
more than a bit smashed, she tried to eye him hoping to regain 
some kind of focus. Unfortunately, it was with less than a 
clinical perspective. Scully watched amused as Mulder's eyes 
pinwheeled, as if he was trying to think under duress. 
He looked dazed, and happy, an oddly provocative look 
for him. She could hardly believe she was thinking 
about sex again so soon. This was all his doing, 
and she would straighten him out tomorrow. But that was 
tomorrow. Right now, she needed to get him to the bed, 
they had to get to the bed. But first she had to get off 
this sink. Sliding down, she stood at Mulder's side, 
flatfooted as a duck.

Mulder flopped around and slumped against her  "Help me 
to bed...heed a dying man's last request."  He thought he'd 
given it the proper dramatic reading. It probably wasn't a 
good idea to be nuzzling her neck, but he just wasn't 
thinking as clearly as he should be.

They'd made their way down the hall, with Mulder playing 
the dying old man thing to the hilt. He leaned on 
her all the way, mumbling some crap about it getting 
darker, the light fading, but Scully would have the 
ast laugh. She'd let him think this was all his idea--
sometimes you fall back to overtake your opponent.  
After fumbling and stumbling down the hall, outmatched 
by about a foot in height and outclassed by about a 
hundred pounds in weight, she finally lugged him 
into the bedroom, and positioned him at the side 
of the bed. Winching up her most sincere tone, 
she asked, "Mulder, how can I make you feel better?"  
Then he gave her the opening she was waiting for.

In a microsecond, Mulder experienced a miraculous 
recovery. He stood tall, spread his feet apart and 
flung his arms open. He looked triumphant, 
irritatingly so. He flashed his most foxy, feral smile. 
He was Einstein, Heisenberg, Hawking--he'd gotten her 
back here and they were gonna do bad, bad things.

And then Scully seized the moment. Payback's a bitch, 
Mulder. She shoved him right in the solar plexus, hard, and 
he fell back onto the bed. God, she was enjoying herself.  
"No, no...you shouldn't do anything to risk further 
complications.  As your doctor, I'll have to insist. 
No more exertion for you."  The thud of him hitting the 
mattress was a delightful one indeed, for more than 
one reason. She was just about to turn to go back 
for the tray, haughty as hell, when she heard him 
throw down the gauntlet.

Mulder had to give her points for the stealth approach 
and the shot to the midsection. He studied his worthy 
adversary. Nice move, partner--good use of evasive maneuvers.  
But methinks thou doth protest too much. Playtime's over--
you need to get that delectable ass of yours in bed.  
"Are you certain you wouldn't want to test that theory? 
This isn't like you, Scully..."  Mulder curled up on 
his side, and pulled down the comforter and sheets. 
He patted a spot and waited--one, two, and then,  
"I can't believe you'd be satisfied making pronouncements 
based on sloppy research and pseudo-science, but hey, 
that's just me. Honestly, you really sur--"  

Before he could get out another word, she jumped him. As 
she licked her way slowly across his chest and down his 
stomach, Mulder made a final assessment. Gotcha, big-
time, Scully...ya' never saw it coming.  Gotcha exactly 
where I want ya'.  All Hail the King.

Scully chalked up her victory.  "Gotta hand it to you... 
one minute I'm in the bathroom...the next...."  Some 
strategically placed kisses along the line of hair that 
ran down from his navel, and her red hair tickling his groin,  
"How do you do it, Mulder? "

He tried to get the last word in, but...well, he was 
preoccupied.



xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday 

The two of them made it to 11 am without any further 
detonations, declarations or personal demon chasing. 
Mulder was feeling quite chipper having slept from about 3 
am until just now.

Scully had gotten up about two hours before, and was 
amazed at how energized she felt--but these were unusual 
circumstances. She watched him stroll through her living 
room to the hall, naked, of course, and was treated to the 
sight of him digging through his duffel for a pair of 
pajama bottoms. He threw them on and sauntered toward 
her with a gunslinger's walk. Scully was half-way through 
breakfast when he finally made it to the kitchen table. 
He perched himself on the edge just next to where she'd 
spread her usual morning repast--some kind of thick,
greenish health drink, fruit salad,  and a fistful of 
pills-vitamins, echinacea, astragalus, bee pollen, and 
god-only-knew-what-else.

"That's disgusting, Scully...vile, noxious, shall I go on?"  
Mulder screwed his face up in a combination of mock pain 
and revulsion. He'd gotten pretty good over the years at 
avoiding or ignoring her dietary attack on the unhealthy, 
the over-processed, the tasty. She was such a hypocrite---
caffeine junkie. She'd be up making a huge pot of coffee 
any minute.

"No, this is healthy. What I got you is disgusting."

"You got something for me?"

"Yes, even after I made dinner last night."  She cheesed a 
grin his way. He was about to say something and she cut 
him off.  "Yes, I'm going to count that as cooking dinner. 
Don't even try, Mulder. Anyway, one of us got up early 
enough to go the deli and get breakfast for a certain 
someone too lazy to get up at a reasonable hour. Oh, and 
good morning to you, too."

Mulder sized her up--she had on no makeup, hair tucked 
behind both ears, gray sweatpants, a gray sweatshirt at 
least two sizes too big and sneakers; looking like a coed, a 
hot one at that. His mind started to wander...Maybe I could 
be the horny English professor...Jesus, it really had been
a long time. He shook his head, not quite up to his usual 
multi-dimensional train of thought.  "Well, here's the 
thing--a certain someone who shall remain nameless fucked 
my brains out and I guess I needed to recuperate."  

He leaned in and kissed her, and also tried to cop a 
little feel, but got his hand slapped away. 
"Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. Good morning, 
Scully."  He could see her eyes glinting with enjoyment, 
and used that observation to confirm that he was, 
in fact, the Man.

Scully gave him a very, very slight smile. Even though she 
loved his early morning frisking, she was not about to 
break.  "I'll tell try to tell whoever it is to take it easy
on you next time. Your breakfast is on the counter by the sink."

Mulder peered into the paper bag and pulled out a huge 
bagel with lox, cream cheese, onion, and tomato, and a 
quart of O.J.  How could he not love this woman? It was 
his usual Sunday special and she'd given him much shit 
about it the first time she'd seen him wolf it down.  
"You're too good to me."

"You're just noticing that?"

"More so lately. Mind if I join you?" 

"Only if you let me finish my breakfast in peace."

"But, Scully," he whined, "what'll I get if I'm a good boy?"

"You might think about what you won't be getting if I can't 
finish a meal without being harassed."

Pulling a chair right next to her, Mulder pointed it the 
opposite direction and plopped down. This way he could 
eat and watch her the same time. He knew he was working her 
nerves here, but he couldn't help himself.  
"Ah, love, ain't it grand?"

"Mulder, you realize there is plenty of room at the table. 
Is my life going to be nothing but this kind of aggravation 
from now on?"

"'Fraid so. Besides, the view's better here. Anyway, you 
seem fairly happy despite the tremendous burden this 
whole thing has placed on you."

He took a huge bite out of his bagel, and she used the 
momentary pause in the post-coital frivolity to segue the 
conversation toward something she'd been thinking about 
before he finally dragged his ass out of bed.  "I think we 
need some ground rules."

Wiping cream cheese from the corner of his mouth, he 
rebutted, "Don't you think that's a little too much strict 
rationalism on your part?"

"Just look at it as an opportunity to become more of a 
whole person."

"Touche. D.K. Scully shoots and scores. OK...I'm just 
guessing here, could it be you have something you'd like to 
throw into the hopper?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I do. Rule #1: No more 
dumps, ditches, or mysterious planned disappearances. I 
know you already said it, but I plan hold you to it, Mulder. 
I'm in too far now, and in case you haven't noticed, 
so are you...which means giving up the luxury of deciding 
for both of us. You've got to trust me to understand 
what needs to be done." 

He smiled---'The Divine Miss S' was calm, cool, and not 
about to lose that gorgeous head of hers. It was back to 
business, not as usual, but business nonetheless.  "You 
have my word. I can't promise I won't fight with you about 
it, but you certainly seem able to hold your own in that 
department...Can I finish eating now?"  He took another 
mouthful, and washed it down with some juice straight 
from the carton.

"By all means."  That went surprisingly well, and Scully 
decided she'd go ahead and press her luck. She took a giant 
swig of whatever it was she was drinking and wiped her 
mouth with the back of her hand.  A little fortifying was 
in order before she plunged ahead. "Here's Rule #2...we 
don't let on at work and we don't not let on. It's nobody's 
business but ours, anyway. Not even Skinner, especially 
not Skinner... Plausible deniability is a beautiful thing, 
Mulder, it's time we made it work for us."  She took a 
deep breath, realizing that, miracles of miracles, 
he was actually paying attention. 

Scully decided not to lose the momentum.  "And 
as long as we're talking about work--when we're on the 
clock--we're on the clock.  Business as usual.  Period. So 
don't get any ideas while we're out on a case. When we're 
at home--well, that's a different thing altogether. Surely 
you'd be able to come up with some mutual recreational 
activities for our off-time. And if you play your cards right, 
I might even surprise you and come up with a few myself."

"I'm down with that, girlfriend. What do we do now, sign a 
blood oath?"

"Mulder..."

"Alright, Scully, absolutely, positively in agreement here. 
Permission to speak further, Agent?"

She ran a finger down his sideburn, "I love a man who 
respects the chain of command."

"You know me so well."  He paused, tucking a strand of 
hair behind her ear, and focused his thoughts for a minute.
He'd never talked this way with any woman before; it was time 
to step up to the plate.  "I'm not good at holding onto someone, 
in case you haven't noticed."

She leaned toward him a little more, "That's something 
we both have to work on, I think. "

"In my case, that would bring my lifetime record to...
let me see...just one."

"Mulder, I am not going to participate in your festival of 
self-flagellation, if that's where this is headed. 
It's too early for kinky stuff."

"So, it's just a question of timing, then? Remind me to get 
back to that one later." 

"Mulderrrr..."

"Listen, I just want to be better at this than I have been."  
His voice was very quiet, and he paused before he went on.  
"It occurred to me ....now get ready for this one, because 
I know it's a stretch ...."  She looked at him again, her brows 
quirked, and he smiled. "I think you and I need to spend more 
time talking. Really talking. Not about cases. Not about work. 
About us."   

He stopped to take in what was clearly Scully's look of wonder 
and amazement.  "Yeah, it's really me talking, I can barely 
believe I'm saying it myself.  I know the shock of such a 
radical departure might kill us, but it's a risk I'm willing 
to take...Pretty wild, huh?" Things were moving along in 
Bizarro world...maybe someone had darted them in their sleep 
and they were tripping big time.

Scully wondered if she should pinch herself or Mulder, and 
then decided that more physical contact might not be the 
best idea at the moment. Besides, pinching wasn't what she 
really had in mind.  "You have my word you won't have to 
face possible death alone. I do think it's interesting, 
though, that you've linked communication between the sexes 
and the risk of mortality. 'Wild' doesn't begin to describe 
it. I was thinking more along the lines of ..."

"Wait...there's more. Just remember how fragile my ego is 
before you say anything." He finished the bagel and juice 
to stall for time before he started in on this one. He was 
getting ready to put his head on the chopping block.  
"Screw it, here's what I want, Scully. Let me make things 
safer for you. The Gunmen and I made a half-assed plan a 
while ago to beef things up, and now I want to make it happen 
and I want you to not go nuclear. I know it's no guarantee, 
but I need to do it and you need to let me...There, I said it."  
He shifted back in his chair and waited for the inevitable 
refusal and chewing out.

Scully took her vitamins, swallowed the rest of her drink, 
and took a deep, cleansing breath. "OK."

That made him sit right up. "Beg your pardon? What about 
a nailing me to the wall for being Neanderthal, sexist, 
patriarchal throw-back?"

"It seems like too much work at the moment. Besides, we 
both know you'd torture me with it until I said 'yes' anyway. 
You can go ahead with this thing on one condition."

"What's that?"

"What they do for me, they do for you."

"That's it?"

"Yep, and it's non-negotiable."

"Deal, now how do we seal the bargain?"  Mulder wiggled 
an eyebrow and offered up his best leer. 

"Let's do it the old-fashioned way."  And with that, 
Scully spit into her right hand and shoved it in his.  
"Wasn't quite the warm, wet one you were hoping for, 
was it?"  She was grinning from ear to ear.

"It'll do, Scully, it'll do. I'm gonna call 'em before you 
change your mind. Your cel's still on the dresser, right?"  
She nodded.  "I still need to dig mine out of my stuff."  
Mulder got up, gave her a little nip on the side of her 
neck and started to lope off into the bedroom, when 
Scully grabbed his wrist.  

"Thanks for the weirdest weekend of my life."  
It wasn't a joke.

He looked into those blue eyes and saw she meant it.  
"Weekend's not over yet."

As Mulder sprinted to the bedroom, Scully said to no one in 
particular,  "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."  
It was time for coffee, lots of it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mulder made the call and told Frohike that today was the 
day for the fix-up project they'd discussed with an add-on 
that included his place. Frohike put two and two together 
and called him and undeserving bastard and threatened him 
with bodily harm if Scully so much as lost a minute of 
sleep because of him. The call was also being piped through 
the speaker phone, so he was treated to Langly's 'I told you 
so, man, I told you,' and Byers trying to rein everyone in. 
Finally, Byers won out and told him they'd be there in two 
hours with 'the building materials.' 

Mulder made his way to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, 
splashed some water on his face--no shave--going for 
ruggedly handsome in case anyone cared, and meandered 
his way back to his duffel. He snagged some sweatpants, 
a baseball jersey and his running shoes and slipped them on. 
No running though, and come to think of it, no underwear 
either. After all, it was Sunday, and a guy's gotta chill out.  
Right. OK, time to see what Scully was up to. He made his way 
back into the kitchen just in time to see her finishing the 
breakfast dishes. He slipped behind her and started 
kissing her neck.

"Mulder, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Seduce you, get in your pants, prep you for the naked 
pretzel, pick one."

"You know, that might've worked a little earlier, but there 
are people on the way."

"Not for two hours, one hundred and twenty minutes of 
uninterrupted free time.'

"There's where you're wrong. You've got enough time to 
put away your stuff, change the sheets, and clean up the 
bathroom. Sheets are on the top shelf of the bedroom 
closet. If you hurry, you can join me on the couch while 
I start The New York Times crossword puzzle."  She kissed him 
just shy of his mouth, patted his rump, and waived him off.

"Do I get to say anything about this?"

"Only how much you're gonna love taking a bath with me 
later and how good it'll be to roll around with me on a 
freshly made bed."

He couldn't argue with that. So Mulder turned on his heels 
and skulked off.

"Hey, Mulder."

"Yeah?"

"Love...ain't it grand?"

After staking out part of the closet and the dresser and 
stowing away his belongings, Mulder finished doing the 
most housework he'd done in recent memory. Feeling he was 
quite the post-feminist ideal man, he weaseled his way onto 
the couch and joined Scully's attack on the crossword 
puzzle. Actually, he managed to get her to play footsies 
with him under the pretense of working the damn thing...the 
things a man will do when he's in love. She seemed pretty 
invested in what seemed to him to be a thinly veiled 
charade, pretending to make with the pencil and the 
scribbling even though they hadn't actually come up with a 
single thing since his arrival. After a while, Mulder noticed 
she was a little distracted.  "Hey, Scully...what's up?"

Scully stopped chewing the end of her pencil and replied, 
"You know, I was thinking..."  She ran her foot up and 
down along his calf.

"It's a good thing one of us is still able to. As far as 
I'm concerned, there's only one head paying attention right 
now, and it ain't the big one. Well, actually..."

"Mulder, I'm trying to tell you something."  She stopped 
the whole leg thing.

"OK, let's hear it."

"I was thinking about the jerkoffs in the bullpen and I'm 
tired of ignoring their comments, their insults, their usual 
harangue. I hate the way they talk about you...
about us. And I'm not gonna take it anymore. The next time 
I hear any of that crap coming from anyone of them...their 
ass is mine." 

"Isn't that sort of telegraphing the whole 'I'm his/he's 
mine' concept?"

"Not at all. It just maintaining the proper decorum and 
respect."

"Remind me never to cross you, Scully."   There was a 
knock at the door.

She got up and peered through the peephole. Huey, Dewey 
and Louie had arrived. Langly was staring the ceiling, had 
his hair back in a ponytail, and was sporting a T-shirt that 
read 'Reality is for People Who Can't Handle Dope.'  
His ensemble was completed by a fresh wad of duct tape 
holding the bridge of his glasses together. Frohike had on 
camouflage pants, an oversized Harley-Davidson 
sweatshirt, a baseball cap on backwards, and was 
fiddling with something in his pockets. Byers had on his 
usual dark suit and white shirt, but no tie. It must've 
been his casual look. 

Frohike eased up to the peephole, so they were eye-to-eye,  
"Scrumptious Agent Scully, the calvary has arrived."

She let them in feeling she would live to regret this. They 
brought stuff, lots and lots of stuff. Stuff in tool boxes, 
stuff in black bags, and stuff in a titanium briefcase with 
a combination lock. They all gathered in the living room, 
with the Gunmen and Mulder perched on the couch, waiting, 
until Langly piped up,   "Jeez, are we gonna get started or 
what?"

"Well, why don't you just tell me what 'we're' supposed to 
be doing first."  Scully was standing with her hand on her hip 
looking all four of them up and down. God, they sat 
there figeting like guilty schoolboys, making her feel
like crotchety old Miss Scully.  

"Frohike?  Byers?  Mulder? One of you better say 
something. While I realize the pattern on the slipcovers is 
fascinating, it doesn't require all of you staring at it with 
your mouths sealed shut."

"It's improved security, Agent Scully. We're going to install 
new locks for one thing. Triple bolt, the best."  Byers fiddled 
with his collar and wished he had on a tie.

"That's one. Keep going, guys."  Now she was tapping her 
foot, and shot Frohike a look that bored straight through to 
the back of his skull.

"Stupendous Agent Scully, they'll also be motion sensor 
alarms and a tracking device we're gonna install on your 
Fedmobile. The alarm sends off a signal that's carried on 
broadband, which we'll be constantly monitoring. If 
anything jumps off, we gotcha hot-wired to a secure line 
so that Mulder gets a call within 30 seconds. And vice versa. 
And the locator in your car is really a thing of beauty, 
if I do say so myself. We'll be randomly hopping from GPS 
to GPS, using their pull and their range, but never staying 
long enough to establish a pattern of use. And it'll all be 
cloaked and encrypted...our usual fabulousness. Nothing's 
too good for our favorite government employee. And yeah, 
we'll do Mulder's place and once we're done here. He 
doesn't have quite the same hold on me as you do, but..."

Langly blurted out,  "Yeah, now that you're officially 
Mulder's pistol packin' cutie...Yeow!...You're hurting 
me!...Mmmmfkrdm." 

Before she had a chance to react,  Mulder had leapt up, 
yanked him off the couch and had a hand slapped over his 
mouth. Byers and Frohike shoved one of the tool bags into 
his hand and hustled Langly out the door. It had been 
unanimously decided that he was the ideal candidate to 
install the bumper buddies.

Mulder cracked his knuckles and stretched,  "Didn't think 
you'd appreciate the elevation to 'cutie' status."

"Good call. Now, do I know everything I need to?"  She 
locked Mulder in her sights, and began to pick imaginary 
lint from his jersey.  "Well...do I?"

Byers began to fuss with the tool boxes and one of the 
black bags, while Frohike shoved the large silver 
suitcase toward Mulder.  "You wanna handle that, Ace? 
That's one's exclusively your baby."

"C'mere partner, I've got something special for you." 
Mulder cocked his head and gestured toward the newly vacated 
space left by Langly on the couch. He guided Scully down by 
her shoulders and joined her. Byers and Frohike took their 
cue to make themselves scarce and got busy changing the locks 
on the doors.

"Am I going to regret this, Mulder?"

"Regret is such a negative word, we both know you're too 
open-minded for that."

"How about opening the case, before I express a sentiment 
a helluva lot stronger than regret."

Mulder entered the combination, lifted the latches and 
treated Scully to a selection of firearms: Walther PPK's, 
SIGs, Smith and Wessons. There was also a small leg 
holster and a stockpile of rounds.  "Remember, nothing 
says 'I love you' like hardware."

Scully's mouth dropped open a little, "And these, I assume, 
are for me."  Apparently, she'd received a betrothal gift. 
Could this day get any stranger?

"Some of them are for you, I think you can see there's a 
very smart, very chic holster with your name on it.  
The other stuff we hide them in different parts of the 
apartment, in the trunk of your car...I do the same 
at my place."

"Then what, Mulder? Pose for the cover of 'Guns and 
Ammo?' Isn't this a little excessive?"

"Scully, you said you'd go with this, don't bail on me now. 
It's not the answer to every threat, but it's something. 
After Samantha..after everything..."

"Is it that important?"  Even though the answer was 
obvious, she was still trying to get used to this level 
of devotion being out in the open.

"It is...I must seem pretty wacked, right?"  Mulder ran his 
hands through his hair and waited.

"You mean at the moment, or just in general?"  Scully 
shook her head but she was smiling...not a lot, but that 
was good enough for him.

"You must really love the nutcase type."

"It's the challenge of not being crazy with them that hooks 
me, although from the look of things I might be losing that 
one. By the way, how exactly did you get all this?"

"Scully, I'm a pretty persuasive guy. I have a couple of 
friends in the Bureau armory, and I told them I needed 
extra firepower for some extremely serious, extremely 
hush-hush undercover work. Plus, I threatened to tell 
Skinner I'd seen one of them getting some nooky in the 
storage cage with one of the women from records. 
Lucky for me, I pay attention to that sort of thing."

"So, basically you blackmailed them?"
 
"Whatever it takes. Hell, I've even been known to wait 
seven years to get someone to sleep with me. Stalk 'em long 
enough, and it's nothin' but net." 

"And here I thought I was finally succumbing to raw, 
animal magnetism."  Scully rose to her feet and took his hand. 
Out of nowhere, she dredged up her best suburban housewife 
voice,  "Honey, let's put our new stuff away."

The next few hours were spent hiding weapons and 
installing motion sensors in all the windows and doors, 
with Byers and Frohike showing them how to use the miniature 
controls so they could get around without tripping 
the damn things. The two Gunmen handled hook-up and 
Mulder and Scully, clean-up. Frohike was particularly proud 
he could get the controls down to the size and appearance 
of a keychain. Sometime during the whole thing, 
Langly reappeared, theoretically to get the Smith and Wessons 
to put in both their trunks, but really to see if his ass 
was still in a sling. He crept around the apartment, 
and Scully didn't say a thing until he was almost 
out the door again.

Without batting an eye, Scully drawled,  "Langly, you 
almost done, cutie?"

After almost pissing himself, Langly managed an 
'Uh-huh,' to the sound of a massive, collective sigh 
of relief.

Finally, it was all done and the five of them were sprawled 
across the living  room, with the Gunmen flopped on the 
couch, Scully in one of the overstuffed chairs, and Mulder 
sitting cross-legged at her feet. Someone had the brilliant 
idea of running out for Mexican take-out, and they stuffed 
themselves on enchiladas verdes and tacos al pastor. The 
Dos Equis washing it down didn't hurt either. The four boys 
were arguing the finer points of North American Bigfoot 
sightings and Scully wondered how she ended up as the 
Anti-Cinderella, complete with her own Lost Boy Prince 
and three techno-fairy godfathers. She suspected Mulder had 
been right about fate, the bastard. But he was her bastard, 
after all. Stifling a yawn, Scully asked,  "How did you 
pay for the rest of the stuff?"

Frohike explained despite a mouthful of enchilada,  "It's 
our treat...a little meal between friends."

"No that's not what I meant. How did you pay for the rest 
of the 'hardware,' Mulder?"

Langly was once again destined to stick his foot in it.  
"The account, Scully, you know." Judging by the flash
of unrecognition that passed over her face, Langly was 
able to deduce that no, Scully didn't know.

Immediately, the Gunmen realized that they were running 
late if they wanted to get Mulder's place done tonight, and 
they had to get going, and that Mulder could stay here, they 
could get into his apartment, no problem.

In order to stop the usual suspects, Scully barked, 
"Nobody move."

Mulder hadn't budged an inch from the spot at her feet all 
during dinner, and sure as hell wasn't about to now.  
"There's this last little thing...you and I and the boys have a 
joint account for emergencies."

"What are you talking about?  No, don't tell me...Yes, you 
better tell me.  What account? How much money?"  Scully 
could feel the start of a headache, a good one. And it was 
apparent that today was, in fact, getting stranger by the 
minute.

It was Byers now,  "Actually, I set it up, I sort of handle 
that kind of thing in general for us. It's an offshore account...
we have access to it, as does Agent Mulder, of course...and you. 
It was done a couple of months ago. 
There isn't that much more to tell."

"I beg to differ, it would seem there's a wealth of 
information your boys need to let me in on. She lined Mulder 
up in her cross-hairs,  "And you...You constantly bounce 
checks, and I have to buy your lunch more often than not...
Now you have money.  So, how much money is there,  Mulder?"

Mulder was rubbing his forehead, working on his own 
headache at this point. "Two and a half."

"Two and a half what?"

All three Gunmen chimed in, "Million, two and a half 
million dollars."

Scully sat back in her chair and stared at them all. 
This was no warped Cinderella story...she was in Wonderland 
without a doubt, and had carnal knowledge of the Mad Hatter 
to boot. She wasn't even angry, this was beyond getting angry 
about, there was no framework to even put this in. 
Congratulations, partner...you've achieved personal best 
in the 'Blow Away Scully' category. "You know, boys..." 
looking at the Gunmen,  "Maybe you should be on your way. 
Your friend and I have things to talk about."

In a matter of minutes, The Gunmen, their stuff, and the 
leftovers were gone. Mulder went to see them out and 
Scully thought she heard Frohike tell him to not be a 
total jackass and screw this up. She didn't try to follow 
them, instead, she settled back into her chair, closed her eyes 
and tried to will away her headache. The whole thing was 
ludicrous, although Bill would be surprised to find out 
that Mulder was no longer a worthless piece of shit. 
He was a rich one, thank you very much. She heard the 
triple snick of the lock and footsteps approaching. 
This ought to be good, this had better be good. 
She opened her eyes and saw him sitting 
down on the edge of the coffee table facing her.  
"Would you care to explain?" 

He hunched forward and  leaned as close as possible 
without touching.  "I wanted to have something put away 
for you in case anything happened to me, in case you got sick 
again, in case we were faced with a situation and couldn't 
look to our friendly Federal government for help. Believe 
me, I was going to tell you tonight, Scully, I just wasn't 
planning on doing it in front of Moe, Larry, and Curly."   
Mulder inched a little closer, and she didn't kick him, 
which he interpreted as an encouraging sign.  
"It's part of my father's estate. My family has money, 
you know that...I'm the failed product of a Vineyard 
upbringing. But I've pretty much lived on my own since 
college, so I never thought about it one way or the other 
until I got a call from my mother saying it was going to be 
turned over to me. I just wanted to..."

She stopped him, her voice calm but firm,  "I don't want 
the money. I don't need it."

"Maybe I need you to have it. Look, it's not as if you 
landed Bill Gates here, Scully....It's some money that I 
stumbled onto because I couldn't completely escape what my 
parents thought I should have, and it's money we might need. 
Only you would have a problem with someone trying to share 
a couple of million and change ."

"Go on Mulder, convince me." She leaned back in the chair 
and closed her eyes again.

He was going to lay it all out for her, he would make sense, 
and she'd come around.  Maybe.  "What if they finally 
manage to close the X-files and we're no closer to finding 
Samantha, then what? What it Kurtzweil's right and his 
scenario happens one day?  How are we supposed to fight 
then?...What if your cancer reappears? What about 
experimental treatments? The amount in this account 
couldn't begin to cover all those possibilities, but at least 
it's what I can offer. And something might happen 
to me...I'm sorry, but you don't get to turn it down, 
it's just part of the whole package. It doesn't make you 
obligated to me."

"You almost had me until that last remark. 'Obligated,' 
Mulder? I think we're beyond 'obligated,' wouldn't you 
say?"

"OK. Strike that. We both have out crosses to bear, no pun 
intended. You get to deal with this terrible, terrible thing 
I've done to you and I get to deal with Bill and Charlie beating 
the crap out of me the first time you bring me to a family 
Christmas."

"I still don't want the money, and I plan on enjoying my 
brothers welcoming you to the family." Scully's voice was 
husky with fatigue, and a sigh she hadn't meant to make 
slipped out. He was not getting this, and she wasn't sure 
she could make him understand. We're in it together, Mulder, 
but not like this.

"Scully, are you listening?"

She started to draw herself up slowly, "Yes, Mulder, I'm 
listening, but you're the one not getting it."

"Well, enlighten me, then."

She sat all the way up and rubbed her knees.  "We've spent 
seven years looking over our shoulders. Who's disappeared 
now? Who'll die first? When's the end of the world? We've 
beaten the odds so far, Mulder, that's what I want, not 
money. I understand why you want to make sure you can 
keep looking for Samantha no matter what. I also know that 
in the worst-case scenario we have to be able to fight 
back. But as far as the cancer's concerned, I won't let it 
define my life, don't let it define yours, either." 

She waited for a minute, and when she spoke again, her
voice was softer, almost hesitant. "It's no way to live,
and I plan on living, in case you haven't noticed that, 
and you better start planning on living right along with me. 
I know  this was important for you to do, I do. But you've 
got to understand that no amount of money could ever make 
things right if something happened to you."  

Scully reached for Mulder's hand, resting hers on 
the back of his. "The way the apartment is tricked out is bad 
enough, but this account...I know it doesn't make sense, 
but I feel if I say yes, it'll only be a matter of time until
what we have comes to a bad end.  I want to believe in 
something else...I'm holding out for something else. 
You understand now?"

Mulder nodded his head, and took a hard breath. He got it.  
"I always had you pegged as a holdout, Scully. Point taken. 
No one can ever accuse me of being afraid of overkill when 
it comes to you."  He started to drum his fingers on her 
thigh, and offered her a look of mock-concern.  "I'm a little 
worried, though. You made a persuasive argument, 
but I detected reference to a potential bad omen. 
You realize you sound, dare I say it, superstitious?"

"You see what hanging around with you has done to me?" 
She was perched on the edge of the chair now, looking as 
tired as hell, but there was something in her eyes that 
told maybe there was hope for him yet.  "Listen, I'll talk 
to Byers about contingencies, but not about cancer, and not 
about you dying either."   She arched an eyebrow,  
"It's just not part of my plan."  With that, she got up 
and headed down the hall. Walking toward the bathroom, 
she yelled over her shoulder,  "I'm taking a bath. 
It's time for hot water and solitude."

After watching her traipse away, he got up and rolled his 
neck, listening to every grisly pop. He took time to stretch 
and mentally assess the total damage.  Well, Mulder, you 
escaped relatively unscathed that time. Unfortunately, 
you blew your chance at 'bath-time with baby'...Nice work, 
you dolt. What's your next move, genius? With nothing 
appetizing on the horizon, he thought he should try to 
squelch the possibility of boredom. It most definitely 
was time for a recreational shot of whiskey. Maybe she might 
get thirsty in a little while and he could bring the bottle. 
On his way to the kitchen, he heard, "Mulder!"

When he got to the bathroom, the tub was almost filled, 
and Scully had on that huge, white terrycloth bathrobe. 
It wasn't fastened well, and there was enough skin showing to 
make him think she wasn't completely exhausted. He certainly 
was feeling uplifted. Leaning against the door jamb, Mulder 
checked the situation out, "Yes...?"

"Were you ever planning on getting in here? Bath's almost 
ready."

"I thought when you said solitude, you wanted a break from 
me, too, despite how adorable I am."

"Mulder, I just spent the day with your minions turning my 
apartment into a stockade. I meant I wanted some relief 
from that, not you. Besides, there's an important point I 
forgot to make."

"And that would be?"

"Over here." He went right to where she was, and before he 
knew it, her strong doctor's hands were yanking open his 
jersey. Against the sound of a button plinking on the floor, 
he tried to complain, "Hey...I really like that shirt."

"You've got money, go get yourself a new one. I just want 
to make sure you know I only want you for one thing."

Much, much later, as they were lying warm and dry and 
half asleep under the covers, Mulder did some final 
reconnaissance, "So, are we OK?"  She pulled him to her 
side of the bed and whispered,   "We're more than OK, but 
remind me never to pick up a tab for you again."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monday Morning 

He shot up from bed with the sound of the Liberty Bell 
clanging in his ear. What the fuck was going on? He 
blinked and shook himself into something like wakefulness. 
Scully was gone and his cel had been placed on his pillow, 
strategically right beside where he'd been blissfully 
sleeping. 

He snatched it up and growled, "Yeah. What?"  The clock 
on the night stand read 7:30.

"Now what if that was Skinner, Mulder? Good morning, it's 
time to get up."

Scully. That tore it.  "Where are you? And how fast can 
those little legs run when I come after you?"

Some laughter from her end.  "I'd be careful if I were 
you, it's a felony to threaten a federal agent. 
I'm in the kitchen, hurry up and get ready for work. 
You know...W-O-R-K, it's what the government pays us 
to do, well, me anyway. C'mon...you're going to be 
on time today. You've got about a half an hour."

Mulder hauled himself from where he'd been sleeping the 
glorious sleep of the dead. The weekend had finally caught 
up with him and he was trashed, wiped, blown out. 
Apparently, he'd inadvertently discovered a cure for his 
insomnia, a healthy dose of Scully and getting it on. 
He'd have to talk with her about making sure he got daily 
treatment. Moving from the bed gingerly; he was stiff, and 
not in a good way. While he'd never admit age might be a 
factor, he was all too aware of the sounds of his joints 
creaking as he made his way to the bathroom. 

Standing at the mirror, he smirked at his exhausted, albeit, 
delightfully spent self. There would have to be revenge. 
"Mark my words, Scully,"  he muttered,  I'll do whatever 
it takes to wear you out...eventually. It may be my last 
act on Earth, but I'm looking forward to doin' it to death."

Having made that vow, he was able to ignore the voice in 
his head telling him he was hopelessly pussy-whipped. He 
shaved, showered and dressed, putting on his black suit and 
a starched, white shirt. The finishing touch was a tie even 
Scully would have to admit was a conservative choice. No 
cows, no flying saucers, no hidden couples illustrating 
poses from the Kama Sutra. He had to make a brief return 
trip the closet to fetch his Smith and Wesson, his Walther 
leg piece and holsters. He put them on in front of the 
bedroom mirror and let it settle in that in fact, the 
work week had arrived.

When he got to the kitchen, he was amused to see that 
Scully practically matched him in a black pantsuit and 
white blouse. She had her right foot up on a chair and 
hitched up her pantsleg in order to adjust the holster 
for her brand new SIG 239 9mm. Her waist holster was 
securely in place, and her SIG 226 rested securely 
against her hip. Once confident everything was going 
to hold, she stood, rolled back her shoulders and turned 
her head in his direction.  "Lo and behold...nice to see 
you're finally up."  She was definitely using the 
'back to business' voice. Her brief case and their  
IDs and badges were on the table. She tossed him a 
granola bar and a banana.  

"You can eat that later, we should go. I've got two 
autopsies to do, plus a 9 o'clock meeting with Skinner. 
What's on your agenda?" She managed a smile, a pretty 
good one considering they were already off and 
running.

"Violent Crimes consult, that'll be a great eye-opener. 
Nothing like five or six hours of hearing, 'What do you 
make of all of this, Spooky?'

They grabbed their stuff, and he threw the granola bar on 
the table and shoved the banana in his coatpocket. The 
titanium case with the rest of the firepower was stowed in 
the hall closet. They'd decide later when to 'redecorate' 
at his place. Ready to head out, Scully led the way with 
her briefcase under her arm and her hand on his elbow.  
Securing all the necessary devices with her new 'keychain' 
once they were in the hall, she teased, "I'm going to avoid 
the obvious question and assume you're glad to see me."

They drove in separately, but he followed her, bumping up 
against her rear end at every red light, relishing in the 
obvious symbolism. He even thought he saw her blow him 
a kiss in her rear-view mirror, but he knew she'd deny it if 
he said anything.

After squeezing into the last ground level spots in the 
garage, they walked into the building and eased past the 
usual security. At the elevators, Mulder asked, "So, do you 
have to meet Skinner right away?"  He needed a pick-me-
up.

She checked her watch, it was about ten to nine.  "No, I've 
got a couple of minutes."

"I was thinking...I know you said you'd no longer suffer 
the slings and arrows of our beloved colleagues from the 
bullpen, but that was just blowing smoke, right? You're not 
exactly the avenging angel type."  He leaned against the 
elevator bank and waited for her to take the bait. His eyes 
were lit up with barely concealed amusement. C'mon,  
Scully, just a tiny bit of fun before going back to the 
trenches.

And take the bait she did. Swallowed it whole, actually.  
"So you think that was idle talk?"

"Something like that. You could prove me wrong, though. I 
mean, we could take a stroll through the bullpen right now, 
before you're your meeting and see if you can make good 
on all that tough talk. Of course, if you'd like to recant..."

"Mulder, get in the elevator. Hit the button...Let's go. 
You're on."  She knew exactly what he was doing, but the 
chance to hear the words 'I was wrong, Scully,'
was irresistible.

They rode up to the fifth floor and made a beeline for the 
bullpen, and started down the long aisle of with rows of 
desks on either side. Sure enough, before they were a 
quarter of the way down, they heard someone's voice, loud 
and clear.  "How did that psych job end up with that primo 
piece of tail? I guess he must be getting his physicals on a 
regular basis."

As soon as she heard the offending remark, she got a visual 
on its source and headed for one desk in particular. Mulder 
was in hot pursuit right behind her.

Judging by his youthful appearance and the background 
color of his ID, he was a new Academy grad. They came up 
on his blind side, so he was unaware that the proverbial 
boom was about to be lowered. He was leaning toward one 
of his cohorts, reveling in what a clever guy he was, when 
Scully tapped him on the shoulder. Seeing the approach of 
imminent doom,  the cohorts immediately relocated to 
various parts of the woodwork. The kid seemed in 
generally good shape, although his face was round and pasty, 
like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Scully looked him up and down. 
Doughboy, it's time you learned a little respect. His head 
jerked up and he sputtered, "Yyyesss...Oh, Jeez."

"What's your name, Agent?"

"It's Walt, Walt Wisniewski."  He was beginning to look 
more pale, if such a thing was possible.

"OK, Agent Wiz..whatever your name is. Do you know 
who I am?"

"Yes, ma'am. You're Special Agent Dana Scully."

"And I take it you know who he is," pointing to where the 
'psych job' had parked himself on her right.

"Yes, he's Special Agent Fox Mulder."  There was a thin 
film of sweat forming on Doughboy's upper lip.

"And you understand we're senior agents, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're batting a thousand, so far, Agent Wiz. I had a 
question, though."  Pointing to his cronies, none of whom 
had the gonads to look up from their riveting work, 
"Were you talking to them about us just now?"

"No...no ma'am, not at all!"

"I see, so you were talking to yourself, then?"

"Well, not exactly...I mean, I..."

"C'mon, Agent Wiz, either you were talking to them about 
us or you weren't."

"Agent Scully, I wasn't talking to anyone about you or 
Agent Mulder, I swear."

"OK, let me get this straight...we were walking through the 
bullpen and you started talking to yourself."

"Uh...well...Oh, Jeez."

" 'Oh, Jeez,' indeed. Agent Wiz, when's your next psych 
eval?"

"Next August, ma'am."

"Agent Wiz, I feel like doing you a favor. I'm meeting with 
A.D. Skinner in a little while. What if I see if I can 
get your psych eval pushed up to, say...next week? 
How would that be?"

"Douhghboy's face fell completely at this point and his 
hands went to the side of his head like he'd been hit 
in the with a sledgehammer. "Thank you for your help, 
Agent Scully."

"Don't mention it."  She turned to Mulder,  "Do you have 
anything you'd like to add here?"

He furrowed his brow, waived his hands across his chest 
and mouthed, 'No, no, no.'

She slipped her hand on his shoulder, "I guess we should be 
going...Agent Mulder?"

"After you, Agent Scully. Please, after you."

As they sauntered back toward the elevator, Mulder didn't 
say he was wrong, he said something better.  "I'm scared of 
you."

"You should be..."  Just then her cel went off and she got it 
by the second ring. Gloating would have to wait for later.  

"Scully. Sir, I'm on my way... Yes, Agent Mulder's 
here...About out meeting...I see..."  A very long silence 
ensued, with whatever was being said on the other line 
causing Scully to fix her gaze on the ceiling. 
"No, it's no problem...I'll handle the other matters 
tomorrow...It'll be taken of...Yes, sir. Today...I'll tell
him, sir."  Conversation over. 

Scully's eyes narrowed and she locked looks with Mulder. 
Today's taste of victory was brief indeed. "In case 
you couldn't tell, that was Skinner. Whoever you saw in 
accounting on Friday complained to high holy hell and now 
you and I both have to go there and straighten everything 
out. Skinner said he didn't give a rat's ass how long it took us, 
just get it done and get it done right. By the way, 
your consult's been reassigned, my meeting's been cancelled 
and I have three autopsies to do tomorrow."  She put her cel 
away, and blew some air through pursed lips, "Let's go, 
we've got a long day ahead of us."

She started to get into the elevator when Mulder slid ahead 
of her, blocking her path.  "What? No chastising, Scully? 
Not even a decent scolding? That's not the woman I know and 
love."  He leaned toward her,  "Is there something I should 
know about?"

Scully's face was smooth and unreadable, except for her 
eyes. Something sly lurked in their depths for a minute, 
then disappeared.  "I'll take care of you when we get home 
tonight."

Mulder moved away to let her pass.   "I'm counting on it, 
Scully. I'm counting on it."

End Book 1

feedback to:alvaradomccain@earthlink.net


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx



Title: Better with Practice -- Absolute Beginners--Book 2 


  
It was the middle of Wednesday afternoon and Mulder's 
neck and shoulders were beginning to ache. He'd been working 
on his laptop reviewing file after file since this morning, 
and Scully had been doing follow up calls. He hated being 
shoved into this cubicle, complete with its too-small desk 
and glaring fluorescents. Eternal damnation was not fire 
and brimstone or some rung of the underworld according to 
Dante. It was located in the bullpen of the FBI, and they'd 
been stuck there for the last two weeks, prisoners in background 
check hell. He felt bored, he felt tired, he felt pissed. 
Just close your eyes for minute, he told himself, 
close your eyes and regroup.

The boom was officially lowered the day after the last 
audit. Skinner tried to stop it from happening, sending the 
two of them to placate the auditor, who had, apparently, 
better contacts than anyone could've imagined. The brown-nosing 
little bastard was outraged at what he termed in his call 
to good 'ole Alvin as, "the unconscionable waste of taxpayer's 
money devoted to alien snipe hunts, and the offensive behavior 
of the Agent-in-Charge."

Skinner's attempt to have them defuse things failed, and 
the upshot was that they were pulled once again off the X-
Files. Now they spent almost all their waking hours fact 
checking registrations and licenses for Bureau data bases.  
To add insult to injury, everyone else on the floor was
a wet-behind-the-ears Academy grad, and every morning they 
were treated to the stare of some young blue-flamer. Mulder 
knew he would've randomly discharged his weapon by now if it 
wasn't for Scully. But there she was, serving her sentence 
right alongside him, the only relief in a sea of monotony and 
mind-numbing scut work.  For some incomprehensible reason she
hadn't tore him a new asshole for gumming up the works to 
begin with.  Just the opposite.

The first night after it happened, they drove home, and as
soon as they got in the door Scully pointed to the sofa and 
uttered the three best words of the day,  "You.  There.  Now."   
Before he knew it they were doing their impression of 
a human slip knot, not even bothering to take off their 
clothes.

In between him thumbing her nipples, and her biting his
earlobe, she managed to tell him she planned on working out 
her frustration on him, unless he had an objection.  At first 
he didn't.  Then he did.  Mulder felt a rush of territoriality 
that for the moment, won out over arousal. In his mind's eye 
he saw seven years of brushes with death and bureaucratic 
bullshit, graveyards and hospital rooms. And he told himself 
that it wasn't going to happen--he'd be goddamned if any of 
that was going to touch this part of their lives. It was only 
going to be about the two of them, skin against skin, his 
life locked into place with hers.  And so he pressed her, 
temporarily bringing the proceedings to a grinding halt.

She stared up at him, eyes questioning, confused.  "Why? Why 
talk about it now?"

He cupped her chin with one hand and whispered, "Because I 
don't want them to have this." His free hand stroked her 
collarbone and came to rest just above her heart.

It was the ache in his voice that did it, and finally,
she relented.  A long silence and then the words came. Even 
in her quiet, deliberate way it was obvious that she was 
angry, but it was all directed at Kersh, at a bureaucracy she 
had no more patience for. She told him that they would deal 
with it, they always had, that they always would. She also 
told him that it didn't matter in the long run, they were 
together, that they would get the X-Files back, but yes, it 
was bad.  A minute later her lips were against his ear, her 
voice liquid as honey,  "Make me feel better."

Cross examination finished, he dragged her to the
bathroom announcing it was time for hydrotherapy and peeled 
off her clothes even though she pretended to fight him off.  
With the sound their laughter unfurling all around them, 
Scully managed to push him into the shower fully clothed and 
everything about that day dissolved as they fucked standing 
up, hot water sluicing over them, her without a stitch and 
him in his full FBI gear. Right now he can hear the water 
pulse and unkink his stiff neck, smell the soap and her skin 
and wet wool, feel her...hit him in the head with a paper 
clip.

His eyes slowly opened, "I detect a disturbance in the Force. 
Scully, clearly you've gone over to the dark side."

"You're daydreaming." She turned her chair to face 
him, and dangled a box of paperclips in his direction.

"Day dreaming would mean I am not performing my task as a law
enforcement officer, that I am violating the trust that..."

"My mistake. You were meditating, ruminating, cogitating, 
mentally levitating...Come on Mulder, surely one of them 
applies."

"I was astral projecting, if you must know. Continuing 
research. Multi-tasking."

"Astral projecting, I see. Fascinating as always, Mulder... 
all on the taxpayer's dime. And just what, exactly, were you 
directing your astral body to do?"

He slid himself over to her desk, leaned in and whispered,  
"My astral body was doing bad bad things to your astral body. 
Slowly, very very slowly, things of an explicit sexual 
nature. In fact, on the metaphysical plane, parts of 
me are grinding into you even as we speak."

"Really? Funny, I don't seem to be feeling a thing. Maybe 
your astral body needs a guidance system." She flashed him a 
wicked smile, and he started to move closer.

"Maybe I need directionals that are more...three dimensional. 
Could you help me with that, Scully?"

Her hand flew up, stopping him, "Hold it right there, I'm 
sure you don't want this assignment to be any longer than 
necessary. I know I don't. C'mon, there's a ton of data you 
need to review and calls I need to make. Break's over."

His mercury eyes locked with hers for a minute, then he 
sat back, threw his arms over his head and stretched. 
"Oh, fuck it...You have your weapon. Put me out of my 
misery."

"What? Right now? I guess I could just shoot you, but I 
thought the plan was for you to die a slow, lingering death 
caused by having sex as often as possible, in every 
conceivable position until you tragically died of exhaustion." 
She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and tried 
to keep on her game face.

"Oh right, that."  His eyes lit up and he let himself take in 
how heart-stoppingly gorgeous she was, even here, in the middle 
of the day in the midst of what was without a doubt their 
crappiest assignment.   "You win then, it's back to the grindstone 
for yours truly. One thing though, you couldn't have been 
diligently making calls and observing my paranormal research 
at the same time. Are we feeling a little bored, Agent Scully?"

She gave him the raised eyebrow and the scowl, and pointed a 
well-manicured finger at his desk. "Work, Mulder, work."
Her heart really wasn't in it and she knew he knew.

"You didn't answer my question. Tell me."

"Bored to tears. bored beyond belief, bored to the very core 
of my being. But I'm plan on getting through this if for 
no other reason that it will piss off that sanctimonious 
sonovabitch Kersh."

"Scully, you always know what to say." He laced his fingers 
together and cracked his knuckles, then slowly moved back 
into position at the computer. But Mulder managed to notice 
his partner smiling and shaking her head from the corner of 
his eye. He was going to get them sprung, at least for a 
couple of days. The question was how.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Salvation came at about four o'clock that afternoon in the 
form of the Private Security Registration Database for the State 
of Maryland. At first glance, Mulder thought he was just strung 
out on caffeine, or that this assignment was finally rotting out 
his brain. But there it was, between Ramos, Daniel -- Private
Investigator, and Rinnett & Co.,-- Corporate Security...
Rashad and Reeves, Ltd. He opened the file and sure enough, 
there were the photos and background data on Calvin Rashad 
and Terrence Reeves. Could it be possible? These were people 
he knew, people he liked, people who hated the pencil pushers 
just as much as he did.  Maybe it was time for a road trip to 
Baltimore.

When he'd first met them they were all in BSU. Calvin was 
attached to the unit as a consulting pathologist and Terrence 
had been the golden-boy profiler until Mulder got assigned 
to the unit. The two friends were thick as thieves and not
particularly disposed to having a Hallmark moment with a young, 
white, rich-boy-East-Coast-smartass. They sniffed around him 
warily until he'd cracked open a serial kidnapping case, 
following a lead that the SAC explicitly told him to ignore. 
Afterward, they became an unholy trio at work, much to the 
dismay of supervisors. A growing lack of respect for authority, 
the appearance of unconventional methods, and a killer 
solve rate was the result of the new alliance -- so even 
though the higher-ups didn't like it, it meant they were 
pretty much left alone.

Reeves and Rashad saw that the tall white boy needed some
remedial education and decided to take care of it. In between 
cases, Terrence schooled him in the fine art of the jump shot, 
and Calvin tutored him in the differences between 12 and 18 year 
old Scotch. Both of them were constantly on him with what became 
their chant, 'Get a woman, and get a life.'  Mulder 
scrolled down the file again,  "Gentlemen,"  muttering 
to himself, "It only took me almost a decade, but mission 
accomplished."

Their glory days were short-lived. Terrence soon got
transferred to the Atlanta field office as an ASAC, and made 
sure Calvin followed him there. After that, Mulder found himself 
alone again, and strange things began to happen. It didn't take 
much for him to get fairly strange himself, and it wasn't long 
before he won himself a permanent slot in the basement of the 
Hoover Building. They'd lost touch until about a year ago when 
he heard that they'd both been shot and seriously wounded in a 
raid on a drug dealer. When he phoned them in the hospital, 
he got the usual earful from Terrence, who was quick to playfully 
lay into him,  "Goddamn, Mulder! Nice of you to call...you know me, 
I'll do almost anything to get close to some pretty, young nurses.  
I'd ask how you are, but we both know you can't play basketball 
worth shit, and I doubt seriously you're getting laid.  
Don't forget, I know what you look like, Spooky."

When Calvin got on the line he was as direct and 
circumspect as always,  "Reeves and I have thought about 
freelancing for awhile. I think we're both clear that staying 
alive just might mean a slight change of career....It's just 
time for us to make a move, Fox.  We've been lucky for a long 
time and now it's time to quit."

Apparently, by the look of things now, they'd done more than 
just consider it; they'd gotten out of Bureau and opened their 
own security firm. Based on the description in the record, 
they specialized in protecting high profile individuals. 
Famous people, wealthy people. And from the looks of the gun 
purchase manifests, it was clear the clientele required that 
someone have major firepower.

He was going to go for it.  He'd call them and if there was 
any possibility of the existence of God, they'd be available, 
and the two of them could get the hell of out of the office for 
a couple of days.  Waving at her furiously, he proclaimed, 
"It's Salvation time, Scully!"

This display pulled her off the phone, if for no other reason 
than medical curiosity. Her partner had clearly gone off his 
rocker again, and she wondered exactly which diagnostic code 
they were going to use in the hospital this time. On the other 
hand, she was sure her eyes were going to cross if she made one 
more phone call. Maybe she'd just cash in her mental health chips 
and join him.  "I was hoping the Second Coming would look a 
little different than this. What have you got?"

Mulder flipped open his cel and dialed the number on the 
screen.  Someone who said they were an assistant answered 
the phone, and made sure he let her know that this was a FBI 
related matter and that he needed to speak with Mr. Reeves 
or Mr. Rashad immediately. He glanced a Scully, who was 
tapping furiously on her desk and mouthing 'What are you doing?'
He mouthed back,  "It's OK...you'll see,"  and winked.

"Calvin Rashad here."

"Hey, Calvin, it's Mulder. At least I didn't wait until the 
next hospitalization to call."

Scully came over and stood in front of his desk, she was not 
about to be left out of the loop. Calvin's baritone was
coming through loud and clear.  "Fox! It's great to hear 
from you! I'm good, really good. Terrence is his usual self, 
but hardly otherwordly. We don't really have anything here 
to interest an expert on the paranormal, just the lives 
of the rich and famous. But I suspect you already know what 
we're up to, since you made the call. What can we do for you?"

"Well, now that you mention it..."  With that Mulder launched 
into the whole description of their tragic situation, and 
how Reeves and Rashad held the keys to freedom, if they didn't
mind helping an old pal and his partner. The plan was simple, 
he and Scully would come to Baltimore for a couple of days, 
they could see how Reeves & Rashad conducted business, write a 
glowing report of how the former agents were not trading on 
their FBI cachet. Mulder hoped they'd bite -- it'd keep him from 
having to be put in restraint again, to say nothing of giving 
him at least forty-eight glorious hours alone with Scully.

Rashad was chuckling at the other end of the line, 
"You must have really gotten in A.D. Kersh's craw. Good for you. 
Of course you can both come out here, bur please come as our 
guests. No hotel. We have quite the setup for out of town 
clients. Luckily, we've been successful and well...these days 
we entertain and protect. Come on out and we'll take care of 
everything. One thing though, your 'partner,' she's a little 
more than that, isn't she?"

"Yes, yes she is. How did you know?"

"Fox, your voice gave you away every time you mentioned 
her name. Careful, you sound like a man in love."

"That bad, huh?" Mulder was chuckling himself now.  "Listen, 
you'll meet her and you'll see for yourself."

He closed the file, shoved his cellphone in his pocket, picked 
up an internal line and asked for Assistant Director Kersh. 
Kersh's receptionist tried to take a message, but Mulder told 
her that this was about the Bureau's public image and she 
wouldn't want to inadvertently withhold information from the  
Assistant Director. He had to play this just right, so when 
Kersh picked up he heard one solemn and serious Special Agent.  
"Sir, I came across a security firm registration that involves 
two former agents."

"Yes, Agent Mulder, that's riveting news. How is this a concern 
of mine?"  The baritone at the other end of the line sounded 
impatient.

"There's no discrepancies in the documentation, but there is an 
issue of whether or not the applicants are using their previous 
employment as means of promoting themselves.  You know sir, if it 
looks bad, it's bad for the FBI.  What I'd like to do is send 
someone out there to check into it, someone suitable." Mulder 
made sure Kersh could hear the smirk ease into his voice.  
"Assistant Director, Agent Scully and I are senior agents, 
and frankly, while this matter needs attention, it's hardly 
the kind of work we're used to."

"Send someone? Agent Mulder, what you and Agent Scully are 
used to doing and what I plan on having you do are clearly
two different things, in case that hasn't become clear to 
you. Since you've been so diligent thusfar, I suggest you 
both get ready to do some field work.  Take a couple of days 
to make a thorough site visit, see how they conduct business.  
Is that clear, Agent?"

"Crystal, sir."  Mulder let his voice ice up.

"Oh, Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention." Click, 
and then a dead line.

"No Alvin, thank you."  Mulder calmly placed the receiver 
down and took in his victory. Superior strategy is its own 
reward, he thought. Screw that, he thought a second later. 
His arm shot up and he gave the universe a thumb's up.

"I take it you're pleased with yourself."
Scully shook her head, poor Alvin never stood a chance
against her partner's machinations.

"You should be pleased with me as well. C'mon, we're outta 
here."  With that, he slung on his suitjacket, loosened his tie, 
and grabbed her by the hand. She could barely get on her blazer 
and grab her bag. He hustled her into the elevator and by then 
she'd managed to organize herself. As he hit the button, 
she looked over at him and tried to sound exasperated as she 
chuffed,  "I know I should be saying something to try to stop 
you." 

"Since when has that ever worked?" 

"Point taken...By the way, what was that I overheard your 
friend saying? Something to the effect that you sound like a man 
in love?"  She was smiling now.

"There's definitely a rumor floating around to that effect." 
He started fingering the lapel of her jacket. He was smiling too.

"Well then, it would appear that further investigation is in 
order. Lead on Mulder, lead on."

They pretty much maintained their professional decorum the 
rest of the ride down to the garage. As they started to split 
up to get into their respective cars, she tugged at his sleeve.

"Mulder..."  She suddenly felt bold, especially since there 
didn't appear to be anyone in her line of vision.  "I suggest 
we drive home as quickly as possible."

"Why? You can't be in that much of a hurry to get to 
Baltimore."  He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Why? Because we're going to throw some things into a bag, 
get to wherever we're going and complete whatever interview 
you've got planned. Then I'm going get you alone and
make you forget every other woman you've ever been with."  
Scully felt the blush creep up her neck and across her face.  
She was so far gone, totally a lost cause. Making sexual 
overtures at work was proof she'd completely and utterly 
plunged off the deep end.  "I've gone and done it now, 
haven't I?"

He leaned into her and whispered in her ear,  "Not yet. 
But we will...and soon. There's no other woman to forget, 
Scully. No one worth the effort. There's just you. 
You know..."

He was going to say something else but she grabbed him on 
either side of his face and kissed him soundly. Might as well 
make losing it official, she told herself, and before he could 
do anything else she kissed him again, hard, and then ran and 
jumped into her car.  Out the driver's window she yelled, 
"Get going, Agent Mulder."

Scully was treated to the sight of him walking to his car like 
a man in a trance, slowly opening the door and easing in. 
She could barely make it out, but she was sure she heard, 
"Whatever you say, Agent Scully...whatever you say." As he put 
the key in the ignition, she could see he was grinning like 
an idiot.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

True to her word, Scully made it back first, ran into the 
apartment and headed for the bedroom and started packing an 
overnight bag. Pulling up a few minutes later, Mulder waited a 
minute before going inside. He flipped open his cel again and 
hit the number for Reeves and Rashad. Calvin picked up this 
time.

"Calvin, it's me again. Listen, I know it's asking a lot, but 
I want this trip to be special. Completely different from what 
she's used to. Could you handle a few things for me?"  He took 
Calvin's laughter on the other end as a 'yes'  "Here's my credit 
card number. Now here's what I was thinking...Right, that's what 
I want...You can? Great....Oh you did?  Perfect...That should just 
about do it."  He was finally going give Scully a surprise that 
didn't involve crop circles, ectoplasm or an ER--it was way 
overdue. He out of the car and sprinted the rest of the way 
until he was at the apartment door. He fumbled with his 
keys, and was just about to turn the lock when Scully opened the 
door.

She was breathless, barefoot and half-dressed, wearing black 
pants, an unbuttoned green shirt, a black lace bra. "Finally.
Get that profiling ass of yours in here, I was serious
about being in a hurry." She grabbed him by the elbow and 
yanked him inside.

"In a hurry to go or did you have something else in mind? You 
don't exactly look like you're ready to conduct official 
business."  He eyed her up and down and could see she 
was clearly a woman on a mission. A mission that hopefully 
featured nudity and them playing a hot and sweaty round of 
'connect the body parts.' For now, he'd try to be a good boy 
and wait. Still, he couldn't resist seizing the opportunity 
to toss some innuendo. 

She was buttoning up and looking for her shoes, "Go change, 
I've got stuff packed for the two of us. The sooner we leave,
the sooner we conduct the interview, the sooner..."

He jumped on that one,  "The sooner you can conduct a
comparative anatomy lesson."

"Something like that. Go."

"Your wish is my command."

"We'll see about that later," and swatted him on the arm.
"Go.  On."
 
"Yes, dear." Mulder headed quickly to the bedroom before Scully
could hurl anything at his head. 

All it took was a few minutes and Mulder changed into 
the usual jeans and gray T-shirt, had snatched his leather 
jacket and the overnight bag, and now was the impatient one 
scuttling Scully out the door, out of the building and down
the front stairs.

   
She was just about to ask whose car were they going to 
use when she heard someone's voice, "Mr. Mulder? Ms. Scully?  
Mr. Reeves and Mr. Rashad sent me to drive you." He was standing 
next to a car next door to Scully's apartment. The car a was 
a late model, black Lincoln sedan, and the voice belonged 
to a young man wearing a chauffeur's uniform. He looked like 
an Iowa farmboy, young, hungry-eyed, and built like the 
proverbial brick shit-house. The look was completed by a 
Corp-style buzz-cut. The young centurion was standing at 
attention, but managed to break formation long enough 
to motion them to the car.

They started toward him, with Scully walking just slightly 
ahead. Her eyed narrowed and she let her head fall back to ask,  
"The Marines have arrived. Now what?"

He slipped his arm over Scully's shoulder and whispered, 
"There's nothing wrong with discipline, loyalty, and the ability 
to kill a man barehanded at close range.  Semper fi, Scully, 
just go with it."

"Semper fi, my ass." The eye-rolling had commenced.

"I'm ready to pledge my allegiance, but you'll have to wait 
until we get in the car."

"Mulder, don't let your mouth write a check your body can't 
cash, " was her zippy rejoinder.

He leaned into her even more, his breath hot in her ear, 
"That was a mistake."  He could feel her shudder. 
"It's on, Scully, the games have begun."

Corp-Boy opened the car door with a flourish, "Ma'am, allow 
me."

Scully treated Mulder to the sight of her delicious ass as 
she bent to slide her way into the cavernous interior. He got 
in alongside her, dropping the bag on the floor and
sprawling across the backseat. Tactical positioning was
completed by draping one leg over hers, and snaking an arm 
around her waist.  "Comfy, Scully?...I know I am."  
Then, to the young hero at the wheel, "I think it's time 
we blew this pop stand."  Then someone hit the control 
console in the back seat, and the driver could hear 
muffled laughter as the privacy window whirred shut.

They sat in silence for quite a few minutes. Mulder was 
humming, slouched lazily, arm draped against the back seat. 
Scully was tucked comfortably at his side, but her bliss 
was interrupted by one thought. Payback was rumored to be 
a bitch, and Mulder hadn't said anything since they'd left.

"Mulder, are you OK?"

"Uh huh, why shouldn't I be?"

"Well, you haven't said anything for at least fifteen minutes."

"Don't need to."

"Are you planning on telling me exactly where we're going?"

"Nope."

Mulder shifted his weight and moved so he was resting on his 
hip, facing Scully. He slid off her jacket against the sound of 
her feeble protests. He took his time letting his eyes rove 
across her face. Then he took her hand in his and began to 
trace swirling patterns across her palm, up her wrist, and 
along her forearm. Scully was aware of some rapid changes in 
her autonomic nervous responses. She could feel her heart 
speeding up, her breathing becoming more rapid. And before 
she could stop herself she was saying things like,  
"That's so...good."  Hearing him chuckle, she realized 
somebody was getting even.

"Mulder!"

Before she could say another word, he'd started kissing her 
neck, slow, ravenous kisses, smiling when heard her murmur his 
name. "Making you crazy yet?"

Scully could feel how quickly a vague sense of arousal became 
a precise and achy point between her legs. "You have no idea 
how much." She pulled away just enough for Mulder to see how 
the blue of her eyes were flecked with gold, the pupils dark 
with excitement.

Mulder leaned in and started to run his finger along the 
curve of Scully's mouth, stopping to tease her lower lip. 
"You know, since we have some time on our hands before we get 
where we're going, I was thinking we could play a driving game 
to kill the time. Here's how this one goes. I'll place my finger 
on a spot, kind of like what I'm doing now, and you'll tell me
whether or not you'd like my lips there. You game?"

She nodded. The thought of it was so simply erotic... 
"I'm assuming the game's...mutual."

"Ah, you read my mind." He was already hard as a knife, 
but he was gong to be patient tonight. They started a call 
and response, two words punctuating the silence, their hands 
moving subtly, but deliberately.

"There?" The corner of her mouth. 

"Yes."  A sharp intake of breath.

"There?" The notch of his collarbone. A sound like a low hum 
in his throat.

"Yes."

The rustle of fabric, and the slide of her shirt. "There?" 
The hollow between her shoulder blades. 

"Yes."  Her breath was ragged now.

"There?" The inside of his thigh. Her fingers dragging their 
way slowly up and down. 

"Yes. Jesus, yes."

"There?" The tender spot just behind her ear, then her 
earlobe, then the slope of her neck.  

"I...oh, I...yes."

He drew his fingers across her shoulders, brought them to her 
cleavage. He ran his fingers lightly over the rise of her 
breasts.  "There?"  Mulder could feel her sway underneath 
his touch, it stunned him how passionate she was, how her 
desire resonated through her whole body.

"Please..."

Scully's took her one of her hands and began lightly stroking 
Mulder's thighs again. "There?" 

"Don't...stop." He could barely get the words out.

She let her fingers trace a path to his hip and let them 
flutter all the way down, finally unzipping his pants and wrapping 
her hand around his cock. It was amazing she could keep her 
focus at all. Mulder was moving faster. He'd already managed 
to get past buttons and zippers, and was stroking her to wetness 
with one hand, and unfastening her bra with the other. As he 
bent forward to swirl his tongue over a nipple, Scully slid 
her hand up and down in slow, maddening strokes.  
'He better be taking the long route,' was Mulder's last 
complete thought for a quite a while.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was sometime later, although neither one of them was 
too aware of the passage of time, long enough for Corp-Boy 
to have made to it Baltimore. He'd parked the Lincoln down 
the block from Reeves and Rashad's office, gotten out and was 
now tapping on the back window.

"I think we've stopped."  Scully had ceased tracing lazy 
circles on his chest long enough to offer that flash of 
insight.  A second later and she'd snapped to attention, 
and was furiously trying to get herself together.

Mulder's eyes were still closed, his head lolling back 
against the cool leather upholstery. He wasn't able to 
shift gears as quickly but he could hear her rummaging 
the wetbar.  His opened slowly to a disheveled, 
tousled-haired Scully, one arm in her shirt, bra partially 
fastened. She was gorgeous, she was unbelievable, she was 
about to hurl some napkins at him.

"I guess the mood's been broken."  Mulder sat up, sighing, 
"I'll try to make myself presentable." He was momentarily 
transfixed by the sight of her bra still half undone, 
one breast almost spilling out of those wisps of lace.  
"Or I could help you first."

She wagged a finger at him and tsked.  "I think I'm still 
able to dress myself. Come on Mulder, hurry please. 
I really don't want the Corp thinking it's got to 
come to our rescue."

Over the next several minutes, they toweled off,
shoved themselves back into their clothes, buttoned up, 
zipped up and tried to give the appearance of two normal 
passengers just arriving from  D.C. The tapping went 
on unabated, coupled with,  "Mr. Mulder? Ms. Scully?"  
Corp-Boy knew better than to open the passenger door. 
After all, he'd driven Arrowsmith around last month.

"Remind me to get you in the back seat of a car more often."  
Mulder flung the door open with one hand, then pulled Scully 
out and grabbed the overnighter with the other, and 
victoriously emerged at last. Corp-Boy took his cue that 
it was time to go, so as soon as he was sure his party was 
planted on terra firma, he hauled himself into the Lincoln 
and pulled away.

Scully scanned the immediate view, recognizing Baltimore's 
familiar roughhouses. About 100 feet away was a squat, 
cinderblock building with a neon sign that glowed red 
with the words: Reeves and Rashad.  A bar?  An office
that looked like a bar?  "So, this is our destination, eh? 
OK, Mulder, we've gone out of state so that you can take me 
to the corner tavern. A little weird for a site visit, 
wouldn't you say?"

"Your lack of faith in me is appalling, Scully. When have I 
ever taken you anyplace weird? Well...since this morning, 
anyway."

Standing in front of some of those squat houses was 
a tall, gray-eyed man with toffee-colored skin and a 
headful of short, spiky dreads. He had a strong jaw and 
a full mouth, with traces of laugh lines at the corners 
of his eyes. He seemed confident, at ease as he signaled 
the two of them.  The look was completed by a full-on 
thousand-watt smile, a navy silk Versace suit and a 
white Italian cotton shirt open at the collar. It was 
Terrence Reeves, looking a lot less like a former ASAC.  
A lot less.

They started toward him, with Scully walking about five 
feet ahead. Keeping her eyes on the man approaching she asked, 
"You're telling me this guy was in BSU? That he was an ASAC?"

From behind her she could hear,  "Let's just say 
working with celebrities encourages a certain look."

"Mulder, good to see you. Really good."   Odd, because Terrence 
wasn't looking at Mulder at all. Reeves was a consummate
button-presser. It'd made him a good interrogator, amongst
other things, and tonight he was going to enjoy the hell
out of getting a rise out of his old friend from the BSU.

"Uh, I'm over here."  Mulder pointed to himself and waived. 
He could see that Reeves already had a bead on Scully and 
had gotten a little too close for his comfort. His jaw 
tightened as he watched Terrence sidle up to her and 
turn his back. All that was visible was his broad back and  
a couple thousand dollars worth of Italian suit.  Mulder did 
the math, it was starting already. 

Time to flex those Alpha male muscles, and quick. 

Before he could get out a word, Terrence looked over 
at him and drawled,  "I know what you look like."  
And to Scully, "I'm Terrence Reeves, and believe me, 
the pleasure is all mine."  He dipped his head to hers, 
draped her arm over his and whispered,  "Let's yank his 
chain.  Just follow my lead, OK?" She locked eyes with him 
for a fraction of a second and when he raised his head and 
flashed a conspiratorial grin just beyond Mulder's 
line of vision.

"You must be Dana! I'm sorry such a beautiful woman is 
saddled with the likes of this guy. But at least it 
means I have a chance to meet you."

Mulder was sure a line like that would earn his friend 
the 30 below treatment from his one and only. What he 
heard caught him by surprise. Instead of the withering  
retort, the patented Scully put-down, he heard this 
candy-coated response,  "Terrence, you wouldn't mind 
showing me around, would you?"  Turning to Mulder, 
"Just trying to get this interview underway, partner." 
The insult to this injury was the sight of Scully 
actually letting Reeves steer her toward the door by 
guiding her with his hand at the small of her back.

Mulder followed the two of them, the bag in tow and
feeling like he was somebody's faithful manservant. 
And he could sense the hackles rising on the green-eyed 
monster. What the hell was going on?  He mumbled something 
about someone still being a dick after all these years, 
while attempting to telepathically drill a hole in the 
back of Reeves' head. The jury was still out as to what 
he thought about Scully, although he seriously
considered the possibility of mind control.

But if Terrence noticed, his behavior didn't waiver, 
neither did Scully's. They just strolled right along, 
making some inane chatter. Mulder thought he must be 
hallucinating. This was a woman who charged down halls 
in a flak jacket, who dug up the dead and sliced open 
corpses, who told him to shut his Oxford-educated mouth 
when she was fed up with him.  His love, his life,
who was practically plastered against a guy she'd 
never seen before five minutes ago.

Terrence started to open the door for her, and announced  
"Any man you're with should consider himself damn lucky. 
Let's hope my man Mulder here's picked up on that. 
For someone so smart, I hear sometimes he misses the big
picture. Me, I try not to make that kind of mistake."

That was it. Mulder darted under Terrence's arm, got 
himself wedged against his beloved and removed Reeves' 
arm and the offending hand from its spot, pushing their 
bag into his hand. Reeves darted thru the doorway and 
took in the sight of the two of them, fairly amused with 
himself. He held the overnighter in front of his chest,
"Hey Spooky, did you want me to do something with this?"

His friend shot him a look,  "Well, you__could__
shove it..."

Terrence cut him off, laughing.  "Maybe I'll just stow 
it behind the bar."

"Good idea."

Mulder pulled her in front of him and wrapped his arms 
around her chest. Sliding his feet behind her and 
bumping himself into the small of her back, they waddled 
through the door, with her laughter getting louder the 
further they walked.  "That's it, Scully, move it 
or lose it."  To Reeves, "Sorry to cut in, but you 
know how it is."

They made their way toward Terrence and Scully noticed a 
small, hand-lettered note on the door: Private party. 
For a second, it didn't register that they were the 
party in question.  "Mulder, There's something gong 
on here tonight."

"Yes, my dear Watson, brilliant deduction. We're what's 
going on tonight.. But before the festivities begin, 
let me introduce you to Calvin Rashad."  He nudged her
with his knee just above her tattoo.

Calvin was standing behind the bar, looking more like a 
professor of literature than an ex-agent. He was taller than 
the other two men, with chocolate-colored skin, high cheekbones, 
and a Roman nose atop which sat a pair of round tortoiseshell 
glasses.  To complete the scholarly appearance, he wore an 
immaculate blue Oxford shirt buttoned to the top, a herringbone
tweed vest, and corduroy slacks.

"Well, let me come out and properly greet the two of you. 
He moved from behind the bar, walked over to them, and extended 
his hand first to Mulder.  "Fox, I have to say, you look 
damn happy." He then took both of Scully's hands in his as 
he greeted her.  "Dana, glad to meet you, I'm Calvin Rashad. 
From  the looks of things, you've had a positive 
effect on our usually dour friend here."  Calvin gestured
them forward to the barstools.  "C'mon, let's get you two 
settled in."  Looking over at his own partner who'd slipped 
behind the long curve of the bar, "I'm assuming 
Terrence has been his usual charming self."  Mulder moved from 
behind Scully, keeping his arm around her waist, walked her 
up her to the bar and watched appreciatively as she slid into 
a seat,  "Like always." They both got comfortable, stripping 
off their jackets and throwing them on a nearby stool.

Scully had been taking in her surroundings. As plain as 
the building was on the outside; it was beautifully done 
on the inside.  The bar itself was mahogany; the stools 
were leather, the lighting soft, a pressed tin ceiling
stretched overhead. A long gilt-frame mirror spanned the 
wall behind the bar, reflecting the four of them. 
There was a small dance floor on the other side of 
the room and a old style jukebox. The tables and had been 
put up, except for one, bracketed by two chairs. 
"This is your office? Quite...remarkable."

Calvin had joined his partner on the other side of the bar.
"Actually, this is where we where we house out-of-town clients.  
Many of them are entertainers and musicians... with the bar 
and bedroom in back we offer them something comfortable and 
private. Our business office is on the waterfront. It's a 
little more official looking than this."  Terrence offered 
his perspective,  "Plus, having this place gives us an excuse 
to play the best music on earth, R &B...blues....jazz.  
And I always told myself I'd have a bar one day. Finally 
lived long enough to merge business with pleasure."  
He winked at Scully,  "Looks like you and Mulder here have, 
too. Or am I wrong?"  He was treated to the sight of her 
staring at her partner over the bridge of her nose, 
as if to say, 'You want to handle that one, Oxford-Boy?'

Mulder jumped on that,  "Propriety is my middle name, 
Terrence. As a matter of fact, we're here to assess 
how you recruit these clients. Is there any use of your 
previous employment status in the marketing of your 
firm?"  He'd tried strapping on the serious, big-dog-in-
the-house attitude and he would have pulled it off, except 
for the bar straw sticking out of the corner of his
mouth. 

Not to be outdone, Reeves volleyed back,  "You need to back
up on that one, Tall-Boy."  He started laughing,  "Hell, 
we built this business on looking bad, talking tough, 
and being the meanest hombres on the playing field."

Scully, for her part, was watching this little testosterone 
display with rapt fascination, imagining what it would have 
been like to have been in the BSU with the two of them. 
She hypothesized that working with both of them would have 
forced her to violate her Hippocratic Oath; she'd willingly 
use extreme measures to rein them in.

It was Calvin who was the voice of reason,  "Fox, we really 
didn't have to exploit our backgrounds. It was more 
advantageous to hint at some vague cloak and dagger history.  
People love danger by association when its implied. Tell
A.D. Kersh that Reeves and Rashad, Ltd. are totally on 
the up and up. And when I get to the office, I'll ask 
Gloria to messenger all our promotional material to you 
in D.C., enough for you to wallpaper Alvin's office.  
Satisfied?"

Mulder was. He loosened up, wagging his head,  "Works for me. 
This work for you, Agent Scully?"

Unlike her usual response, she heard herself reply, 
"Very much so, Agent Mulder."  In any other circumstance, 
she'd feel guilty, duty-bound, ready to go through a 
a more thorough investigation, but something 
in her was utterly committed to the escape that Mulder had 
engineered. It was obvious that Rashad and Reeves didn't 
need to hype their firm, and there would be enough paper 
to collectively cover everyone's asses. Seven years 
with her impulsive, iconoclastic partner had rubbed off. 
Screw it, she told herself, screw the bullshit, 
and live a little.  "I believe we have enough 
information...what do you recommend we do next?"

Mulder turned to her and mouthed, 'Alriiiight.'  
In a crisp, clear and unmistakably delighted voice he 
announced to everyone in the room,  "I believe it's time 
to par-tay!"

Calvin took this as his cue, while Terrence leaned against 
the back of the bar to watch the kick-off of the festivities.  
"Well, let's start things off right.  Fox placed quite the 
tall order, but we were able to comply."  With that, he 
reached down and pulled out shot glasses, and a bottle of 
vodka --Russian, but rare and hard to come by -- Scully  
recognized it was a brand you needed friends who still had 
contacts in Customs to procure for you. The bottle was 
sparkling with a thin sheen of frost, Calvin set it in a 
bucket filled with more ice.  Rashad turned away for a minute 
and went to the refrigerator just behind him. He came back 
with a covered, silvery tray.  "Oh yes, Fox had us get 
this too." As he pulled off the lid, Scully took in the 
coup de gras -- caviar -- sevruga -- ridiculously costly -- 
Mulder had insisted on this too.

"I'm...speechless." Scully looked completely bowled over. 
Just what Mulder wanted. She drew his hands onto her lap 
and began to trace a lazy 'S' against his palms. She felt  
completely fazed, this was unbelievable: she had never been 
the object of this kind of attention, and never thought she 
would be.

He leaned toward her and said softly, "I'm sorry it took 
so long."  Despite the fact that there were two other people 
in the room, he began to place tiny kisses along her 
cheek, threading his fingers in her hair.

Calvin and Terrence tossed each other a look: it was time 
to go. Rashad cocked his head toward the door, and Reeves 
nodded.  Mulder and Scully didn't seem to be paying too 
much attention to anyone else but each other.

Just before they were about to leave, Terrence yelled 
playfully, "Sure you won't miss us? We could stay... "

Mulder and Scully's heads snapped around in unison. "No!" 
Scully grinning, waived goodbye; while Mulder shooed 
them away.

"Didn't really think so, but I wanted to hear it from you. 
We're gonna lock you in here, and..."  His voiced trailed
off, Goddamn, they were already back at it. Terrence shrugged  
and turned to his friend.  "C'mon partner, let's roll.  
No need to stay where we're not wanted."

Outside, as he checked the door, Calvin ran down the drill 
with Terrence. "Keep a line open. He'll call when they're 
ready. I'm on my way to the office; looks like one of our 
clients needs some hand holding.  You got his back, right?"

"You know it. Hers too." Reeves got in to the car and waited 
until his partner drove off. As he put the key in the 
ignition, he made his own assessment of the two people they'd 
just left. Mad love. Mad love, indeed. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The party, had in fact started. Mulder placed a shot in 
Scully hand. She was perched on the edge of the stool, 
looking far too luscious for her own good. It was time 
to kick this bad boy into full gear. He broke out his
best mangled Russian accent.  "Tonight, we leave behind 
our miserable lives as Moose and Squirrel. We are Boris 
and Natasha, partaking of the vodka, the caviar. There 
will be no talk of the miserable work of law enforcement."

"Boris, how can I ever thank you?" Scully rolled the 
glass between her hands. She thought she just might be 
a femme fatale, at least in his eyes.

"A drink first, Natasha, and maybe later you'll let Boris
inside your trenchcoat. Hold up your glass." They were 
both laughing as she dutifully complied. Mulder was in 
rare form,  "Following my lead without an argument? 
There's a first."  He touched the rim of his glass 
with hers, and the mood shifted, and he looked
at her with an almost unbearable tenderness. 
And something else.  Expectancy.

Something broke open in her in that split second.
Two weeks ago she pledged herself to him with a willing 
body and claimed him for her own. But there was one 
last step, one last thing held back until just this instant. 
A truth burst free from the last of her reserve, her fear. 
Something about the paper thin impermanence of life 
compelled her to turn a corner and not look back.

The air around them seemed to still, "Let me make a 
toast...Graim thu."  She held his gaze in hers, and
gave him a grave, beautiful smile.  One that held
the future.

"I know that wasn't Russian, Scully. Should I guess?" 

"It's Gaelic...it means I love you."  She didn't flinch,
didn't look away.

Mulder struggled to let the weight of this sink into
his psyche, his soul. She'd said it, finally said it.
His voice was raw when he tried to tell her, "You
know you don't have to...I know...I..." 

She took her free hand and rested it against his cheek,  
"There you're wrong. I do and I will, from now on."

He rallied and gave her a smile of his own, 
"Well then, I guess it's time to celebrate." 
  
On cue, they downed the first icy shot. It was smooth, 
cold at first against their lips, then as it swirled down 
their throats, it changed into warm silk, a sensual charge. 
Scully felt it ripple through her chest. She began to 
feel it work.  "Mulder, you have me where you want me."

Mulder felt his chest expand with warmth, and felt a 
surge of excitement. He wanted nothing more than to 
explore every inch of her skin, in every way he could 
think of.  "Let me show you how to eat this Russian-style. 
Give me your hand." Mulder reached over, took one and 
splayed it, palm down against his. With his free hand, 
he reached over and picked up a spoon of caviar, and 
smeared it on the soft curve between her forefinger 
and thumb.  "Now this is the most important 
part."  He brought the crescent of flesh to his mouth,
slipped the cold luxury and warm skin between his lips. 
"Delicious."  His lips parted in a slow, lazy smile, 
and held out one of his hands.  "Now, it's your turn."

Scully prided herself in being a quick study. She repeated 
the move: his hand, soft spot near the thumb, caviar, and 
then her mouth gliding across his skin. She finished, 
but didn't take her lips away, kissing the spot, letting 
herself linger. A moment passed and she raised her head, 
and saw Mulder's eyes were closed, his head tilted back 
slightly.  "Good?"

He opened his eyes and leaned into her, brushing his lips 
against hers,  "Very good...But there's something else 
I want...Dance with me."

"Mulder...I...we've never really..." She was surprised 
and a little embarrassed.  She'd been firing her weapon 
and sublimating and cutting open cadavers for so long 
that she wasn't sure she remembered how.

As if he read her mind, Mulder whispered,  "You know how, 
Scully. So do I. I want to make up for lost time...Say yes." 

She couldn't argue with that. "For lost time, then... yes"

He took her by the arm and walked her to the juke box. 
It was packed with Marvin Gaye, Miles, Nina Simone, 
The Shirelles, Monk, Howlin' Wolf...classics. They flipped 
through the huge amount of choices, until Mulder spied G11 -- 
Otis Redding. 

He pulled a quarter out of his pocket, shoved it in
the slot, and the sounds of "More Than Words Can Say" 
cascaded through the room. Longingly sensual, Otis' raspy 
plea swelled around them, 'I just couldn't wait, not for 
another day.' Mulder wrapped his arm around her waist
and they circled the floor slowly. Bending toward her, 
he started kissing her brow, her cheek, easing to her mouth. 
It was deliberate, reverent, and he murmured between each 
kiss,  "Graim thu."  Otis' voice swelled with the ache of 
being denied for so very long. 'You've got me in your hand, 
why can't you understand?'

Scully knew now how deeply he'd loved her, had always
loved her, the truth of it vibrated through her each time
his lips connected with her skin. Even though she'd buried 
it deeper, it'd been the same for her and she would show him.  
Openly.  Without hesitation.  Starting here, starting 
tonight.  Her hand traced a line from his cheek, down 
his throat to his shoulder.

They circled again and again, 'Baby, please.' His mouth kept 
moving against her skin--the kissing never stopped, and he 
kept whispering the words in Gaelic, the words merging into 
the song. He was sinking, sinking, drowning in the feel of 
her, dissolving.  Against her mouth, he promised,  "Always." 

As Otis crooned, 'I love you...more than words can say,'
Scully's warm mouth hungrily sought his, her tongue parted 
his lips. She wasn't dancing anymore, she was flying.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She's still flying.  Her tongue's mapping every inch of 
the inside of his mouth, her lips hotly sealed over his. 
Her hands are squeezing his shoulders, and then in an 
instant, it's all reversed. He's mouth's on hers and 
he's almost reeling from the sharp sting of vodka, the 
salt sea-taste of caviar, and the underlying richness 
that is just her. The tip of his tongue flicks against 
her lower lip, and he hums low in his throat as she draws 
it into her mouth. Tongues tease and slide against
each other, and the crush of lips is as explosive as a 
binary star. Then they're moving, and it's not clear who 
started it, but they're all of a sudden sprawled in one 
of the two chairs on the tiny dance floor. The shot glasses 
are clumsily slammed on the table, and their hands are all
over each other again as they struggle to get purchase. 
When the dust settles, he's sitting, and he's drawn her 
between his legs. She's half standing, and her hands are 
gripping his shoulders.  They're both breathing heavily. 

And then they break the kiss, staring at each other,
silent and stunned with the enormity of their want, feebly 
searching for the strength to speak. Seconds pass, minutes, 
too. It is possible that it's become so quiet they can hear 
the grinding of tectonic plates.

A confident smile eases its way across her face.  "If I take 
the guesswork out of this for you, will you still respect me 
in the morning?"

"Respect.   Want.   Need.   I have a selection here to pick 
from."

"What if I'm interested in all of the above."

"I think I can arrange that."

She brushes the hair away from his forehead and her eyes 
drop briefly to his mouth,  "Make love to me, Mulder."

Now he's the one with the confident smile, "I think it's time 
for bed."  And he takes her hand and heads for the door behind 
the bar.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They know what they're doing, where they're going, but walking 
from the dance floor to the backroom and crossing the threshold 
into the bedroom leaves them a little breathless. Just when they 
both think they're as connected as two people could ever be, 
they descend to some underground aquifer, some deeper place where 
they submerge even more into the deepest parts of themselves 
and each other.

It's hugely satisfying to see that the bed itself is enormous, 
with a carved, dark wood headboard, down pillows, red Thai silk 
comforters. There's also silk and cotton sheets, which they notice 
as Mulder peels them away with one hand. His other is still
holding Scully's, he can't bear to not be touching her right 
now. The contact means the promise can't be broken, 
the dream over.

They sit wordlessly on the edge of the bed, and slowly undress 
each other. This is some kind of braille, some kind new language 
where everything spoken by touch. Their clothing pools on the 
floor, no longer an interruption. Now comes the time for the 
poetry only skin can tell.

Her skin is incandescent, hot against body when she drapes
herself over him.--he is staggered by how combustible it all 
feels. He buries his open mouth in the hollow of her throat 
and has a fleeting mental image of burn marks on the sheets 
as he wraps his hands around her hips. 

Scully pulls herself up and away, and whispers  
'I want to make you feel everything.'  She moves, 
marks him subtly, lightly strafing his ribs with her nails, 
the knob of his shoulder with her teeth. Unhurried, she 
takes what seems like an eternity and traces some secret 
symbols across his chest with her tongue, savoring salt 
and skin and her own abandon. 

Mulder knows every good deed deserves a reward, 
so he rolls over and rasps his thumbs over her lips, her 
stomach and hips, tormenting, gentle strokes replaced with 
harder kisses.  He spends what seems like forever 
on her breasts, swirling his tongue over a nipple, 
then roughing both them with his teeth and she thinks 
she might be losing her mind. She wants to cry out, 
but the feel of his mouth on hers is too good to stop. 
Her tongue flickers in his mouth like lamplight, 
like memory.

This is devastating, this arousal. It's their special brand
of fusion. He can taste how he tastes on her, and no vodka 
was ever this intoxicating. As if she can read his mind, 
she moans her assent.

She slips a hand between her legs, warm, slick wetness coating 
her fingers. She draws the pads of her fingertips up the 
underside of his cock, the heat of them marking him from tip 
to root. She fully cradles him in her palm, he is her
treasure. She strokes him, rubbing her thumb along the edge 
of his cock, making a sacred circle, thinking about the snake 
on her back and eternity. Mulder traces his thumb against her 
clit, around and around, crowning her with a halo as he calls 
her 'angel.'

He takes his thumb and licks it clean before sitting up and 
tugging her to the huge pillows by the headboard. She straddles 
him and he makes use of both hands. One of hers has slid 
around his cock again, and the other is tracing the edges 
of his mouth.

"You're beautiful," she whispers.

"So are you," he whispers in response.

He quickly slides his fingers inside her in a smooth plunge. 
The sight of his hand between her legs brings him to the edge. 
He bites down on his lower lip to keep from coming, he wants 
to last, he wants to do so much more to her, with her. 
She's wet and soft and tight, those gorgeous reddish curls
parted and baring the rose-dark slippery flesh. He spreads her 
open, and she grinds into his palm.  He can feel 
her clit, a fleshy knot against the ball of his thumb. 
He wants to make her come like this first, wants to see her 
body blush for him, wants to feel her body contract and soar. 
He can hardly believe it when she stills his hand and with 
one of hers draws down the hard, sleek length of him, 
sliding the head of his cock just inside of her. 
Now her fingertips swirl up and down, and she feels him 
surge as her hand closes around him at the root.
 
 
In the two weeks they'd been lovers the sex had been urgent,  
playful, sensual, loving.  And in one of those times there had 
been a split second where some forever kind of branding had 
slipped under the radar before either one of them was fully 
ready to consciously acknowledge it. It was inescapable now, 
stripping back the old hurts, sealing the wounds. She'd seen 
him wracked with pain, scraped raw with grief and guilt, 
on the verge of psychotic, but never like this--losing himself 
in a joy so primal, so basic, she thinks it might change the way 
he looks forever. But the alchemy only happens on the inside, 
his face stays the same, here he is, her own truly beloved 
and as she keeps looking into his eyes she sees herself, 
that same joy reflected there.

"You know...you can feel it, can't  you?"  he breathed, 
as the world beyond the world cracked open. In one fluid 
motion, she is underneath him, and he covers her body 
like a canopy.

"Yes, yes," she breathes in counterpoint. 
It is knowledge that is liberating.

"You're not afraid?" he asks in a ragged breath, 
hoping, hoping.

"No...only that we'll forget." She is barely able to speak.

"Never."  He presses her hand against his heart so hard there 
is a print when she moves it to join the other one at the base 
of his cock.

"Never." She doesn't blink when he slides into her deep with 
one, long, slick stroke, and her hands falls away.

She gasped as he hitched her legs under his arms. Now he was 
there again, hitting her clit just right, slow at first, 
and then faster as he felt her clench and tense around him. 
She kept her eyes open, to let him know - to make sure he knew. 
Pleasure streaked through her like sheet lightning, and
one small part of the universe was rent apart in a bright, 
red hot second. She rode the wave within herself, over and over. 
She died a thousand little deaths, twisting underneath him, 
trying to say the words, but the only thing issuing from her 
mouth were those wordless words, the ones for him alone.

She's still coming, but it's fading now, like the outermost eddy 
on far surf. He wanted to tell her all the secrets he'd ever 
known, but he was thrusting, in and out and there was nothing else 
but how hot and tight and wet she was. He was at the brink when 
she murmured,  'Look what you do to me',  and the trembling 
started, and the blood was roaring in his ears and the shattering
overtook him, again and again, and the new truth was sealed in 
his heart as poured himself into her.

Sweat dripped from his hair onto her neck, his voice little more 
than a sigh, and he sank on top of her. Wrapping her arms and legs 
around him in a four-limbed embrace, she would be his little jailer, 
holding him captive against her breasts, her lion's heart.

He pulls his head away from the curve of her shoulder and tries 
to look at her, his eyes heavy lidded, his voice slurred and sleepy, 
"This old guy's not gonna last much longer."

"Don't worry, she says as she guides his head down and smoothes his 
hair,  "I'll be here when you  wake up, 'Space Cowboy'." 
She's teasing him, but there's love there, too.

"So, I'm your 'Gangster of Love'?" The words come out as a mumble,
and his breath hitches, draws long and deep.

"There's no other." She smiles as she feels him smile against the 
swell of her breast, and sighs when she feels his sleep come.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey."  Mulder's eyes open slowly and she's good for her word. 
She's watching him, threading her fingers through his hair, looking 
serious, but deeply happy, too. He thinks he's achieved at least one 
point in his favor on the cosmic scoreboard. He also thinks that any 
chance he has at all to keep score, to give a damn, is due 
exclusively to the fact of her in his life. Right now, both things 
please him.  "Anything you'd like to share with the class?"

This get a chuckle from her, "It's a little late 
for an interrogation...I just couldn't sleep."

"I think I'm the one who's supposed to say that." He rolls off her, 
but then pulls her over so that they're face to face. He slips an 
arm under his head and she mirrors him.   "You better tell 
me now before I sic my partner on you."

This gets a full, throaty laugh, "You win, I hear she's 
a fierce one. Well, if you must know, I was thinking about 
opportunities...lost and found."

He feels his heart stutter for a moment. Even though in the deepest 
way, he knows it's all good, that she's his, there's that one part 
of his dazzling, eidetic dura matter that only recognizes the words 
'opportunities' and 'lost.'  He wishes he had the usual kind 
of faith, but what he has is her and he has to ground himself 
in her eyes before asking,  "And your conclusion?"

She caught the split second when his face almost collapsed, 
and the swell of love for him tightens her throat, roughens 
her voice,  "I was thinking about the life I thought I'd have 
and the one I do."

He forges ahead, stepping out on some belief in her, in them. 
He realizes that he has no idea where it came from except 
from seven years of devotion and hearing tonight, 'Graim thu.'  
"So tell me."

She smiles because she knows this is the good part,  "I realized 
that I'd lost the chance for the kind of life I'd always wanted.   
Security.  Stability."  She took a deep breath,  "Children.   
Lost it and believed for a long time that was it."   
Her eyes glitter with unshed tears, and she stops him from 
putting his fingers across her lips.  "But I found the courage 
to want something else, the courage to see that I had another 
life and that together, we could have something wonderful.  
I miss what chances I lost, but I have joy in my life 
because of what is."  She keeps gazing into his eyes, 
and lets some bravado into her voice now,  "You make me 
happy Mulder, you're just gonna have to live with it."  
Judging by his wide eyes and the grin about to split
his face, she's satisfied her words have hit their mark.

He tries, unsuccessfully, to pull out his serious face 
from his usual bag of tricks,  "What about when we're back 
at work, slugging through one more hopelessly boring 
background check?  Worse yet, what about if we get 
the X-Files back...."

She cuts in, trying to match his seriousness, failing miserably, 
"...when we get the X-Files back and you're grating on my last 
nerve with some arcane explanation of some bizarre occurrence 
in the middle of Bumblefuck?

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'brilliantly cutting to 
the heart of yet another dark mystery.' "  His eyes flutter shut 
as she leans into him and begins to nuzzle his jaw, kiss the smooth 
spot just under his chin. He feels the blood rushing south, 
"Better yet, just tell me how I'm ever gonna get used to this."

"Practice, Mulder, practice."  Scully stops what she's doing 
and pulls him on top of her.

"I guess that means conversation's over."  He picks up where she 
left off, and the only sound in the room is the two of them 
laughing.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx



Title: Comes the Morning -- Absolute Beginners---Book 3



He's in that half-awake state, that if you put your mind to it,
you can still summon one last dream before the daylight invades,
and Mulder decides to go for it.

He rolls onto his side, takes a deep breath and it's summer on
Assateague Island, and it's all deserted beach, and wild ponies,
and the wind whipping across a blue sky that reminds him of
someone's eyes. He's naked, lying in a bed of sea grass bleached
by the sun to ivory paleness, silky smooth like someone's hands.

He spends what seems like an eternity drinking in the feel of that
smoothness against his skin, the way it seems made to touch the back
of his thighs, his shoulder blades, the nape of his neck.  Desire 
in this dreamworld is a slow burn, and he wants to let it build. 
The wind starts to move, bends the grass, and the grass feels 
like fingers stroking his chest, his knees, his temples...
then from a distance it seems like something moved, and the rustle 
of the grass sounds more like the rustle of bedding.

Part of him tries to get up but he wants to feel the fingers of grass
caress his skin and so, back down he goes. Now it's black velvet 
night,and the wind and the grass are still stroking him, and 
the sky is shot with stars. He's mesmerized by the way he's being 
touched, by the glow of the sky and then all of a sudden, the stars 
begin to swirl and rain down on him. Each point of light finds 
its way toa tender spot on his body and it's warm, like a kiss.  
He can feel that warmth seeping into his skin. Some recess of his 
mind stirs, knowing he can feel all of that real time, in real life, 
and his dreams tarts to fade.

His daylight self is slow in coming. He knows what his waking body
wants, but he's still riddled with sleep, so he takes his time
and lets himself breathe in the scent of her, of them, of the traces
of sex on the sheets before he starts to move. The bed is still warm
with their heat, so like a blind man, eyes still closed, Mulder lets
touch and smell  lead him to her.  He's surprised when he reaches 
for her and there's nothing there.  Now he's awake.

He's going to get up, find her and get her back in this bed,
but not just to make love all the live long day, although that's
certainly center stage in his mind. She's opened him to the core,
and he wants to show her all those things he's kept hidden,
including his hunger to touch and be touched.

Mulder told himself he was too complicated, too macabre
for something as basic, as necessary as that.

What he really thought was no one would ever love him.

As he hauls himself up and flings aside the covers,  he's hit
with a feeling that was no more than a distant rumor until
a couple of weeks ago.

Happiness.  This is happiness.
But he's convinced  it has to be made new each day,
and he needs her in order to do it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He's up and moving about the room., flexing his back and rolling his
neck, popping vertebrae, blinking his eyes. He wills 'Little Mulder' 
back down from fully aroused to just happy-to be-alive. 
Using his finely honed investigative skills, he surveys the 
immediate environment.  Nice.  Very Nice.  The bed is the first 
thing you encounter when you come through the doorway, he was really 
grateful about its location last night.

It's large room, and the bed takes up a third of it, flanked on its 
far side by an armoire and chest of drawers. The armoire and 
the chest are carved in the same wood as the bed, which Mulder 
guesses is rosewood. There's an obscenely large chaise flanked 
by end tables, all made of the same wood as the bed and covered 
in the same material as the comforter.  Red Thai silk.  Sumptuous.  
Mulder is impressed, his friends are doing very, very well. 
Above this little grouping of furniture is a skylight, which last 
night revealed enough of the moon and night sky to show them where 
ground zero was. In the corners of the room are torchiere lamps, 
which in any other circumstance would seem necessary, but he's not 
planning on catching up on his reading.

Right now, the room is bathed with the soft evidence of morning, 
and he supposes it's just the right glow to while away a day in bed, 
eating, drinking, and exploring the subtleties of sexing each 
other up. He plans on showing Scully every aspect of his morning-
light theory, knowing what a stickler she is for rigorous research. 
The far side of the room completes the suite, with a wall of books, 
an expensive, hi-tech entertainment center, and afully stocked 
wet bar, just in case you can't be bothered to leave the room.  
"Wouldn't want to get dehydrated,"  Mulder mumbles, as the corner 
of his mouth's quirked into a grin.

At the farthest edge of the room are two heavy oak doors. He opens 
one and having guessed right, walks into the bathroom.  Unbelievable.
It's all black granite, with a sunken tub, sauna, whirlpool, vanity, 
the whole nine yards of sybaritic delight. It's stocked with 
toiletries, towels,as well as everything the pleasure seeker seeks.  
He relieves himself, washes his face, brushes his teeth, 
runs his hands through his hair. He's still naked, but that 
really doesn't seem like a problem.

He's locked, cocked, and ready to stalk the wild Scully, wherever she
may be.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Having left the bedroom through the other remaining door, he sees 
that the rest of the rear annex was essentially a ground-level loft, 
an open space with groupings set aside for different leisure 
pursuits. This "little bar" is actually the size of a small 
warehouse. The first thing he passes is a gaming area with pinball 
machines, video games, and a professional-grade pool table. 

Just past that is a large living area with black leather sofa, 
chairs; chrome and glass tables and lamps, and yet another 
entertainment complex, with a plasma screen suspended from the 
ceiling, and all the audio gadgetry any performer or listener 
could want. 

At the far end of the space are black marble counters, cabinets, 
two marble-topped work islands, and a professional-grade stove and 
refrigerator. There are racks of dishes and glassware, and one 
redhead with wet, tangled hair--wrapped in a sheet, with her back 
to him, standing at the counter, apparently having just finished 
moving things from the refrigerator. Mulder creeps up on her, 
and wraps his arms around her waist, and starts nuzzling 
behind her ear.

She stops what she's doing and bends her neck to the side
so he can have better access.  "Good morning, sleepyhead."

"It's good now."  He breathes her in and smells sandalwood and skin.
"But I can make it a lot better."

"I  was doing something, Mulder."

"You can do something with me."

"I think I've done plenty with you so far, if memory serves.
I was hoping to make some breakfast. "

He bites down lightly on the spot where her neck merges into
her shoulder and she starts to giggle.  "No, no, no, Agent Scully,
no cooking."  He sees she's loaded the  counter with cheeses,
croissants,  jam, sweet butter, fruits of all kinds,  tomatoes, 
basil, and eggs. Coffee's already set up in a plunger pot. 
He spies an omelette pan pulled from the rack, a spatula 
and oven mitts.

Mulder wonders where the asbestos gear might be.

"Uh, Scully...here's the thing...you can't cook."

She's still pressed against him, but she's put on that voice brimming
with haughty pisseur that says, 'Surely you must be mistaken,'
"Excuse me, but are you telling me I can't make a simple 
omelette?"

"Yes, Agent Scully, yes I am.  I believe that is exactly the point
I'm trying to make."  He's got his groin pressed against the small
of her back, and he starts to slide back and forth, up and down.

Her arm has snaked its way backward to hold him by the waist,
"Now see here, I"m a grown woman perfectly capable of feeding myself,
and you too for that matter."  She knows that he's most definitely 
thefar better cook, having first sampled his cuisine during her 
convalescenceafter Fellig.  He's pulled impromptu meals together 
from time to time inthe past, although she knows he has his favorite 
take-out menusmemorized by heart.

"Nuking Lean Cuisine, and tearing open a bag of salad don't qualify
as actual culinary skills."  He nibbles on her earlobe and they both
give a little shudder.

"Mulder, you're not trying to piss me off, are you?"
She wants to sound put out, but it comes out sounding turned 
on instead.

"Let me ask you something, partner.  At your clan holiday gatherings,
why do you think the family always has you bring the pie?
The store bought brand they tell you they love?

She's able to dredge up her best sanctimonious Scully, and lights 
into him.  "I'm going to ignore what you're trying to imply. 
'Granny's Best Pumpkin Pie' is a Scully family favorite, 
I'll have you know. As to my qualifications...after seven years 
of everything you've dished out,  I think I have enough skills 
to handle the complexities of meal preparation, thank you very 
much. Now unhand me and prepare to be amazed."  She wiggles 
her rump against his crotch to emphasize her point.

Time for the heavy artillery, he tells himself, time to play 
the trump card.  "Scully, you've forced me to do this, 
but it's for your own good.  Think back.   1998.   Late Winter.  
Your kitchen.  The 'Exploding Grilled Cheese Incident.'   
Do I have to go any further?"  He's getting harder 
by the second, and her hips and her ass feel fantastic, 
but he's going to stay on point.

Now she's laughing that deep, rich laugh from somewhere in her belly.
Hearing it makes him think that he's found the philosopher's stone,
and in a way he has.

She's let go of his waist and turned around to face him, most of her
face is a mask of seriousness, but her eyes sparkle with sly mirth,
"You promised never to speak of that again."

"Desperate situations require desperate measures."  He remembers
lying on her sofa on one of their first movie watching, date-non 
dates when she got up to make them something to eat. About fifteen 
minutes later, he ran into the kitchen, smoke alarm blaring, 
to find her hurling a lethal strand of expletives into the
surrounding air space. The wall behind the stove was splattered 
with cheese, the slices of whole wheatbread, no more than cinders 
in the frying pan. When she saw he was on the scene, she tossed 
him a sponge and announced,  'Spontaneous combustion, could be 
an X-File."  They both bit back a chortle.  I guess it's Thai 
food tonight. You call, I'll pay....once this is scraped up.'

He blinks and shifts back to the matter at hand, waving his finger
in front of her as negatory,  "Icks-nay on the Ooking-kay, Scully.
Innocent people could get hurt."   He squinted at her to show
he meant business.

"I'm going  to have to step back from this one, right?"
He's playing with her damp hair, and she doesn't really
feel like toiling over a hot stove.

"Scully, make one move for that spatula  and I won't be responsible
for my actions."

She makes a lunge for the counter as if she was trying to snatch the
aforementioned cooking utensil. He's on her like wet on water and 
before she knows it, he's hefted her up and slung her over his 
shoulder, depositing her on one of the islands. He's roaring with 
laughter, she's almost crying, she's laughing so hard, and it seems 
a little crazy when he starts kissing her senseless.

She wonders how ridiculous they look, naked in someone else's 
kitchen, fumbling and fondling--smothered laughter and sloppy 
kisses and realizes she doesn't care. This goes on for a while, 
and the laughing winds down and they're both out of breath. 
Scully pulls away and Mulder clutches a hand to his chest--
a set-piece of his melodramatic repertoire. In a delivery worthy 
of an Oscar contender, he rasps in a labored, heaving breath,  
"God, you're  evil...."  They take each other in for a minute, 
a pause between rounds.

After a miraculous recovery, she posits this wily question,
"So_that's why you've practically pushed me out of the way any time 
I've tried to cook lately?" The bell must must have rung and it must 
beher move, because she takes his index finger and wraps her lips 
around it, swirling her tongue over the tip. He groans in response 
and she feels a  hot, wet, jolt between her legs and her eyes shut 
at the sensation.

His eyes drift shut, too.  "Self preservation is a powerful 
motivator, a basic human instinct."

"Hmmmm...any other instinct you'd like to act on?"

"I sense another one kicking into drive...Oh yeah, there it is."
His eyes open and his hands have found their way to where she's
tucked the sheet to hold it in place. He bends his head and kisses 
the round swell of her breast that peeks over the soft fabric. 
Then he yanks the sheet away, taking in  her creamy skin, the way 
her breasts sit high on her chest, the flex of her strong thighs,
the tangle of auburn hair that spans her mons.  Her head lolls 
forward just slightly, but her eyes are open now, too---
clouded, languid, the pupils dilated.

He licks his lower lip,  "Mmmmmm.   I feel hungry now."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He's grabbed the sheet from where it fell on the floor and spread it
behind her on the island.  Cradling her head between his hands, he
kisses her deeply, and she drinks in his tongue, breathes in his warm
breath. She's vaguely aware of slowly being lowered her until she's
lying flat. His hips are even with the edge of the island.  
She wraps her legs around his back, sliding toward him and pulling 
him down, down. His cock is taut and hard against her inner thigh.

He's her whole field of vision, he's everywhere, everything. 
His hands slide to rest on the hard marble on either side of her 
head. He stops kissing her and raises up long enough to confess,  
"I have to taste you, Scully...can't get enough."  He feels the 
blood rushing through him, he could easily slide into her and ride 
her to the hilt,  but he's not lying about how much he wants his 
mouth on her clit, her slick folds. He wants to wet his lips 
with her, drink her, savor her. And so he moves south to Mecca.

Now he's teasing his way down her jawline, nuzzling the tender 
underside until he finds a spot near a tendon running the length 
of her supple throat. He feels the moan working its way free, 
and he bites down when  he once again reaches the place where 
her throat and neck meet. She shudders again, long and hard, 
and she feels a molten pulse low in her belly, feels her body 
flush, knows he feels it too.

His hands have moved to her arms at her side and he grips her 
forearms. She shifts it around so that she's helping to hold 
him up, her strong hands gripping tightly. He's biting her 
shoulder, then tonguing the length ofher ribcage, then stroking 
upward until he finds her breasts. He sweeps  his open mouth 
across one nipple--then the other, back and forth, 
back and forth.  He feels crazed as they harden, 
almost giddy as he pulls on them lightly with his teeth.

"So good...Scully...so good."  His breath is coming in short 
bursts,and it vaguely registers in his mind that her breath 
is as labored as his.

"Mulder...you have to....please....I want you to..."  
She's a loop turning in on itself, white hot and the words 
are swirling in her head.  His head between her legs 
is all she wants, all she can think of.  Language is fading 
fast.

But he understands this half-spoken message, it's also what he
desperately wants. To prove it, he begin the long drag down,  
rubbing his face against her his open mouth licking and kissing
the flat of her stomach, her navel, the soft rise covered with 
springy, crisp hair.  His stubble sends shards of sparks all 
through the lower half of her body. He pulls his arms away, 
and her legs slide to loosely rest on his hips. Now his hands 
stroke each thigh, until he can see her open all the way for him.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, "beautiful."

Her folds are silvery wet, rosy, and her clit is a tight bud. 
She feels a sharp, exquisite slice of pleasure, of pain, 
right there in her ready flesh.

Bending at the waist, he lowers himself to the feast, his hands 
now kneading her thighs. She can hear him moan in the second 
it takes for his mouth to find her. He takes the flat of his 
tongue and strokes long and slow, then and swirls and swirls 
with the very tip, and it gets all starry in her head. 

She can't make a sound; all her energy, all her 
essence is being pulled to one spot, waiting to be released.  
He suckles her, pulling her clit slowly between his teeth, 

With greedy satisfaction he pushes her body to feel more. 
He loves it, loves how she moves with it, loves how she 
tastes--smoky, honeyed, like sea, like sky. He loves her smell,  
too--musk heavy, sharp.   Real.   And he loves that he can do 
this to her, give this to her, and he wants only one thing 
right now, to make her come, to bury his mouth in her 
when she does.

His hands are still firmly planted on her thighs when he starts 
to feelthe muscles tense and he knows it won't be long. 
A subtle tremor, getting stronger beneath his hands 
and a millisecond later he feels her transform into a riptide, 
her body liquid---legs, arms, belly, all her muscles contracting, 
releasing, and he's lost in the pull of her undertow. His mouth 
stays with her, tonguing her clit all the way through it. 
She feels as wild as the sea on his lips, rushing into 
his mouth. Her moan's a siren's call, he can't resist her, 
he'll never resist her. She'll beckon him the rest of his life--
her body, her brilliant mind,  the ocean's depth of her soul.
And he'll gladly let the waters fill him, cover him, 
carry him away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He raises up slowly, licking his lips, sampling and tasting, 
and it takes minute for him to reach his full height. 
She still manages to clasp him around the waist with her legs, 
although she's shaky. He bows her arms gently above her head, 
strokes her shoulder. Her eyes are closed and she's breathing 
shallow, rapid breaths. She can feel the pads of his fingers 
drag across her cheek and him smoothing away a strand of hair 
from the corner of her mouth. He thinks he'll see if she's 
returned to the world of the living.  "Scully," his voice 
soft and low. "Hi."

Her mouth parts slightly and she chews her bottom lip and 
draws in a breath to speak.  The rest of her body's completely 
stilled now.  Movement and speech are coming on-line slowly. 
First, there's a sultry smile of the recently undone, 
then one eye lolls open,  "Who's...Scully?"  
She hears the rumble of his laughter and decides he's earned it. 
She also decides to open both eyes.

"Feeling spent...or fantastic?"  He's waggling his head back 
and forth, looking pleased as all get out, proud as hell.

She's fairly proud of him herself.  "Uh...huh..."  He's earned 
the singular honor of being the only man on earth to tongue 
the retort right out of her.

"Monosyllabic responses, eh? Something must have adversely 
affected your language center..."

"Not.  Adversely.  Happy now?"

"Ah, she comes back to herself."  He's bent himself over her, 
leaninginto her face. "Couldn't have had a better breakfast...
I suppose I should help you up." His arms find their way 
underneath her and she responds by slipping hers around his 
neck. She adjusts her legs to a snugger fit, instead of letting 
them fall away. He scoots her to the edge of their little 
'workbench,' and tries to scoop her up when he feels her 
dead weight settling back down.

"Uh uh." She shakes her head and purses her lips.

"Uh huh?"   He looks her dead in the eye, and feels his heart 
drumming a little faster.  "As in 'no,' we're not going 
anywhere?"  He wanted to get her back in bed and spear her 
to the mattress, but maybe she really wanted to actually 
have a meal. He thought he could reel himself in, 
but he was geode hard, 'god-I-want-to-fuck-you-so-bad, 
fuck-you-'til-the-cows-come-home' hard.  He sighed, and her arms 
tightened around his neck,and she began to nudged him closer 
with her heels at the small of his back.

"I mean 'no,' as in this..." She gives him a party-girl smile, 
one she must've buried away in some unknown recess until now.   
He gets what 'no' means. 'No' in this case means another of his 
lonely bachelor fantasies is about to be fulfilled.  
Even though she's still perched on the marble edge, 
she leans back and as she does, one of her hand reaches 
for his cock, tugging him gently to her. In one move, she's on 
her back again, and her hand is making him very happy, 
sliding the tip of his cock inside her. He balances himself 
with his hands again on either side of her head.  
With one swift, strong, slick thrust, he's in her up to 
his balls, his thighs feeling the chill as he presses against 
cold stone, but every other part that matters is hot, hot, hot.

It's time for her to work her witchy ways, and she clenches 
and releases him, tightens around him, and slowly, slowly 
lets him go.  "Mulder," she breathes, talk to me."

His eyes rove her face, her body, coming to rest where they 
are joined together. His gaze is liquid, voluptuous.  
"Ohhhhhhhhhh," he groans through gritted teeth,  "Evil."

She wonders if he knows one of her fantasies just came true,
"Look who can't talk now."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It's hours later and they're ensconced in that big boat
of a chaise back in the bedroom. Scully made him lug two trayloads
of food back there, although not much haranguing was required, 
and they've just spent the better part of the morning brunching. 

They're sitting side by side withthe much-used sheet now both 
covering them up and serving as the world's largest napkin. 
Their new level of cardiovascular training requires them
to take in additional sustenance, to say the least. 
Mulder shifts so that he's on his hip, leaning toward her. 
He regards her thoughtfully, munching on the strawberry she's 
smeared with brie for him.  He starts cajoling her
to finish her second croissant, which he's slathered with 
blackberry jam and butter. He's glad she opted to shelve 
sensible and well-balanced for some other time.

"Eat, Scully, eat..."  He's had four, plus an assortment 
of cheeses, apint of strawberries, a pear, a banana, 
and coffee. She starts to shakes her head, but he breaks off 
a piece and waves it close to her mouth.

"Luscious, fat-laden food...sapid, unctuous, rich...
You know you want it...Whoa, there!"

She grabs his wrists with both hands, lunges at the proffered 
treat, getting all of it in one bite, and gives his fingers 
a nip in the process.

There's a speck of jam on her upper lip.  "Mmmm... Mulder."  
She's chewing away, mouth full, so that's at least that's 
what he thinks she saying. A gigantic swallow later,  "Yummy."  
She licks the jam away, reaches for her coffee from the tray  
and drains the last of it. She's up for a second, just enough 
time to deposit the remains of their little buffet on the 
farthest table. Before he can say anything she's back under 
the sheet and in his arms.

He draws her close so that she can curl into him and settles 
her head on his chest and drapes his arms around her, holding 
her loosely in place. Resting his head on the crown of her head, 
all is right in the world. Granted, it's a limited world with 
a short life-span, but it's good enough for him, and he's fairly 
sure it's good enough for her, too. The long, sweet pull of 
her breathing tells him so. It's a simple confirmation of what 
he's been given and he's categorized it as miracle, despite 
his official atheist standing.  

On the surface, this trip was just a lucky escape from boredom
and the bullpen. He knows that there's another life out there--
that sooner or later their world will darken--that it'll be 
time to run the razor's edge. But today is not that time. 
Blood and tears shed years ago paid for this impermanent 
paradise and he's not about to let anything rob him of a 
single second. The fact that Scully is now softly humming 
in her horrible off-key way must mean that she concurs 
with his summation. 

Time is golden right now and there's no hurry to do anything 
but be.

She has no idea how long she's been next to him, partially 
because she's so sated, and partially because she's slowly 
been trying to screw her courage to the sticking place. 
There's something she's wanted to ask him since she got up, 
thinking she could bring him some breakfast and
ask then, but his ambush very nicely delayed her request.
I'm going to do this, I am, she tells herself.

"Mulder?"

From directly over her head, "That would be me."

"I was thinking of changing some things at home. You know,
maybe getting some different furniture, maybe getting rid
of the dining room set."  Subtle approach, working my 
way to it, is her inner chant.

"That's...good...I guess."  She's thinking about decorating? 
He wonders how in the hell she's hidden her inner Martha 
Stewartfor so long.   Is it a Scully family trait?   
Whatever.  He was definitely going to break her of that one. 
He starts trailing a single digit down her spine. 
Time to move on before she starts going over the grocery list.

She knows his fingers are talented, but she's not going to 
get sidetracked here.  "You know, I'm getting the distinct 
impression you're trying to change the subject."

"Well, let's see...I 'm here with you, and we've managed 
to do a host of things that frankly I thought I'd only have 
a chance to watch on 16 millimeter film. On top of which, 
I'm stuffed, feeling generally lazy and...oh, hell Scully, 
let's just kick back. No work, mental or otherwise...
how 'bout it?"

Scully hasn't budged from her curled up position, convinced 
that if she moves and tries to look at him, she'll cave in. 
Given her history, what's happened in the the last couple of weeks 
has morphed her into somebody she almost doesn't recognize. 
She's now an emotional base jumper. Stepping onto the ledge, 
she readies herself for a big plunge, hoping she doesn't slam 
into the side of the building.

Alll she needs to do is say it, say it, say it.

She's been quiet for a while since he made his plea for a 
boycott on busy. He's not convinced that the kicking back 
has actually kicked in, however.  

"I can hear the gears turning in that beautiful head..."

"Move in with me."  It's almost inaudible.  Despite that, 
she must be freefalling, judging by the fact that she just 
heard him gasp.

He swallows hard. "What?"  He wants to be sure this is 
happening.

"You heard me."   Now her voice is clearer. And from some 
secret reserve of ballsiness, she pulls back, looks him in 
the eye, a faint smile on her lips.  

"Let me put it another way,  'Come live with me ...' "

He jumps in,  " '...and be my love, and we will all the 
pleasures prove."  He takes one of her hands, and kisses the 
knuckles, turns it over and kisses her wrist.  "Yes."  
His lips move up the inside of her arm, sprinkling dozens 
of kisses in a lazy trail,  "Yes, Scully, yes." 

He feels her body relax against him and the fullness of her sighs. 
He keeps working his way up her arm, until he stops abruptly 
and starts speaking into her shoulder,  "What about 'plausible 
deniability,' 'keeping a low-profile?' "

She ruffles his hair,  "Screw it. "  It's taken her the better 
part of her charmed and cursed life to come this far and 
she's not about to back down.  "We're not getting any younger. 
Besides, it's not like we have sterling reputations to protect 
anymore."

"Speak for yourself, sister.  I have a mystique to maintain."
This earns him a playful smack upside his head, and he hears 
her snort.

"Ouch.  OK, then.  Back to what I was doing."   He resumes 
the kissing until he's at the hollow of her throat, he hears 
the low hum of satisfaction there. Again, another stop 
and another question spoken into her skin, "So, think I could 
talk you into leaving today?"

"Tired of this already, eh?"

"Tired of Hegal Place and paying rent in the world's largest 
closet. Tired of anything that isn't about building a life 
with you."  That last one came out a mix of longing, regret 
and anticipation.

She gets up, and holds out her hand,  "C'mon."  
She leads him back tothe bed and crawls in, bekoning him 
with a nod of her head.

He leans toward her, still standing,  "We're not leaving, 
then?"

"In a little while. Get in bed."

"What about sorting, packing, throwing things away?  
Unless I'm mistaken, that usually constitutes moving 
preparations. Getting horizontal would seem to be 
counterproductive."

"Mulder, when does Kersh expect us back?"  She's smoothing 
the sheets, and the bed is starting to look more tempting 
by the minute. The fact that she's naked in it doesn't 
hurt either.

"Um...he said take a couple of days if we needed to."  
He started out standing about a foot from the bed, but he's 
slowly inching his way toward her.

"Let's see... today's Thursday...I'm sure there's something 
you'll tell Kersh we needed to investigate that required us 
to stay until Friday...So, let's say we leave later today, 
that gives us better than three days to start readying for 
the big exodus. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."  He's sitting on the edge of the bed, marveling 
at how he's ending up with Scully cajoling him into bed.

"Then. Get. In. Here."

In a flash, he's under the sheets and generally fumbling 
to get a grip on her--she's sort of wrestling with him and 
he's going along with it. They're creating general chaos, 
sheets twisting, pillows punched down and shoved around. 
Choking back their laughter, they're a fraction away 
from losing it when she stops.

"Glad I could get you to see my point."  She's let him 
capture her now, and she's lying on top of him.

"Well, now that I'm here...what exactly were you thinking 
of doing?"  He's beaming at her, and can't wait to hear 
her answer.

"Shhhh..."  She pulls herself up so that she's sititng on 
his thighs.  "Shhhh."  And she leans forward, begins lightly 
touching his forehead, brow, and temples. She moves slowly 
to the bridge of his nose, dawdling around the edge of his 
mouth. Her touch is feather light, the tips of her fingers 
dappling his skin. She gives his jaw, the beautiful arch of his 
throat the same treatment, her movements, slow, hypnotic.
There is nothing hurried or frantic about this.  It just is.

His eyes can't help closing against the sensation. He feels 
the brush of her touch over his Adam's apple, along the cord 
of muscle that runs the length of his neck. That touch, rippling, 
waving, like grass in the wind. He sees the beach at Assategue 
again in his mind's eye, but he's not dreaming. He goes to reach 
for her, but as he does, she stops him with a hand to the chest 
and gently pushes him back down.  "Scully, "  he murmurs.

"Shhh."  Her fingers trail along his ribcage, his chest, and 
she circles around and around his stomach. Following the outer 
crest of his hip, she comes to his thighs, dragging the very 
tips of her thumbs up and down the sides. It is intensely 
sensual, but she makes no move to arouse him in a more active way. 
She never stops making contact with him, never stops the gentle 
stroking. She looks down at him, and he's a wonder to her,
her own. One arm rests across his stomach and she reaches 
for his hand, lacing her fingers in his,  "Love you."

He wants to tell her about this morning, about Assatague, 
what it means.  "Scully, I had this dream..."

"I know,"  she says,  "I know."

End

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