An Informed Choice by Karen Rasch krasch@earthlink.net http://home.earthlink.net/~krasch CLASSIFICATION: V, MSR, post-ep ("All Things") RATING: NC-17 SUMMARY: "What if there was only one choice, and all the other choices were wrong. . . . All the choices would then lead to this very moment." NOTE: I have purposely avoided reading any other "All Things" fic while working on this. I apologize in advance if I echo any other writer's themes. (I suspect many of us are working on an even smaller canvas than usual this time out. ) DISCLAIMER: I still don't own 'em, much as I'd like to, sometimes. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox Television. This story is written out of love of the characters. No profit is being made, no harm is intended. ************************************************** "Guess, if you can. Choose, if you dare." - Corneille ***** She didn't know what time it was when she awoke. Late, certainly. But then, it had been late when she had fallen asleep, so perhaps 'early' was the more accurate assessment. Either way, the sun had not yet risen. The streets outside were dark and quiet, the stillness almost reverent, as if the world were waiting, breath suspended, for an event of almost unimagined import. Scully woke alone, on Mulder's couch, the scratchy Mexican blanket he kept folded on the back of the sofa draped over her from chest to toe. When she first roused, she simply laid there for a time, taking in the familiar surroundings, the comforting sights and smells she associated with her partner. She had slept here before, in Mulder's apartment, on his couch, oftentimes entirely on her own, waiting for him to return from some solo misadventure or another. This time was different, however. She was different. And she thought that maybe, just maybe, Mulder was different now too. Smothering a yawn with her hand, Scully stood and stretched, the blanket falling away to pool at her feet. She was still dressed in the clothes she had worn to the hospital that morning. Another suit, another pair of stockings. Office attire, worn on a day when she hadn't even darkened the Hoover Building's doorstep. Not the best sleep-wear, she admitted to herself as she shuffled to the kitchen for a glass of water. Everywhere her body bent, the fabric covering it had become creased and crumpled. If she were not mistaken, she would soon be forced to spend some quality time with her iron, or at the very least, to hand that delightful chore over to her dry cleaner. Thank God she had gotten rid of her heels before nodding off. They leaned drunkenly against each other near Mulder's front door, their toes barely visible from the kitchen. Thirst quenched, she started back towards those shoes, walking slowly, languidly, working out the kinks that had accumulated from her catnap, when suddenly she stopped only a few feet shy of her goal. There, in the apartment's vestibule, she paused to listen, alerted by some unknown something tickling the very boundaries of her consciousness. Head cocked, she soon heard what had commanded her attention. A rustle. Then, a sigh. Then, deep, even breaths. The sounds came from Mulder's bedroom. Drawn unthinkingly, Scully padded to his door and peered inside. Mulder lay on his back, bundled in the bedclothes, fast asleep. Oddly contented by the sight, she stood and watched him, contemplating his face, striped as it was by the light filtering in through the blinds. Relaxed in slumber, his features seemed somehow soft to her fond eye, boyish. Yet the feelings her silent vigil stirred were anything but maternal. She thought instead about all they had been through together, the triumphs and the catastrophes, the times she had wanted to strangle him for subjecting her to yet another slide show, the hours they had spent stuffed side by side on their all too frequent cross-country flights. She remembered how often he had challenged her, questioning her science with the same kind of passion with which she tended to dispute his intuition. She recalled every whispered intimacy, the private histories they had shared, the failings and weaknesses they had revealed. But mostly Scully was reminded of the moments when no one else but Mulder would do, when she had wanted no one but him to hold her, soothe her, to stand beside her when danger threatened. She could conjure up dozens upon dozens of instances, snapshots from her life, that she treasured simply because he was in them. Their years together had cost her dearly, yet... ...what she would have missed had things turned out otherwise. Like tonight's conversation, for instance. It had felt good to tell Mulder about Daniel. It had felt right and way, way past time. Colleen knew what she was talking about when it came to things like shame and guilt, Scully silently acknowledged. She couldn't even count the number of times she had stopped herself from looking back on that period in her life, on the days when she had been young and impressionable, rebellious, and Daniel had been the most exciting man she had ever met. Even now, years later, she was amazed by how strongly she had locked those memories up inside her, afraid to pull them out and study them too closely, wary of the pain and embarrassment they were sure to provoke. If only she had been willing to embrace the mistakes she had made, learn from them and move on. . . If she had, she wouldn't have wasted so much time questioning if she had done the right thing. She wouldn't have laid awake at night, tossing and turning over the road not taken. Worrying and wondering about the man she had left behind. Shaking her head, Scully crossed to the foot of Mulder's bed, taking pains not to wake him. Not yet. She wasn't done looking. She had never really known Daniel, she now recognized, not the way she did Mulder. She had never truly realized how selfish he could be, how weak. He had told her that he had relocated to D.C. ten years ago, had suggested that she alone had been his reason for the move. And yet, during all that time, he had never once tried to contact her, never called to see how she was doing with her new career or even to reach out to her as a friend. That wasn't love. Or some sort of pining for the loss of their bond. That was running from the mess he had made of his marriage, not running to be at her side. Mulder had literally gone to the ends of the earth for her. Daniel couldn't even be bothered to hop a cross-town cab. A faint smile tugging at her lips, Scully took a deep breath, then slid her suit jacket off her shoulders and laid it on the end of the bed. She next pulled her sweater over her head, discarded it, then eased the zipper down on her skirt and pushed it to the floor as well. Her slip, hose, bra and panties were quick to follow. Soon, she stood naked beside her sleeping partner. The April air was chilly. A brisk spring wind rattled the branches on the other side of Mulder's bedroom window, a slight draft seeping in through the casement. She could feel goose flesh rising on her arms and legs. Her nipples tingled and puckered, stiffening rapidly into tight little peaks. She needed to get under the covers. With a light step, Scully neared the bed and took hold of the comforter. Lifting it slightly, she slipped slowly beneath. Yet, despite her care, the moment her full weight settled atop the mattress, Mulder jerked awake, pushing halfway to a seated position before Scully stayed him, her hand pressing lightly on his chest. His skin was warm and soft against her palm. "Shh," she whispered. "It's me, Mulder. It's only me." "Scully?" he queried from where he lay balanced on his forearm, his hair spiking every which way, his voice sleep- clogged and low. "Yes," she said simply, curled closely beside him, resting on her hip. "What . . . ?" he began, blinking, clearly confused. By her nakedness, her nearness. By the way their world had again seemingly transformed while his attention had been directed elsewhere. "I decided I don't want to sleep alone anymore," she told him, focusing on her hand rather than on his eyes, watching as she lightly scratched through the hair sprinkled across his breast. "You don't?" he asked after clearing his throat. "No," she replied, lifting her gaze. "I decided instead I want to sleep with you." Lying perfectly still, Mulder swallowed hard, his eyes staring, large and nearly black in the shadows, but said nothing. He just kept looking at her. "Is that okay?" Scully asked quietly. Apparently hearing a note of hesitancy in her voice, his expression turned tender. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, that'd be okay." "Good," she said, a slow smile curving the edges of her mouth. Reaching up, she traced the shape of his face with her fingertips. Delicately, she ran her index finger over first one eyebrow, then the other. She next skimmed it along the bridge of his nose, outlined the bow of his upper lip with her thumb, the rest of her fingers spread wide against his cheek. "What are you doing?" Mulder asked, his lashes hanging low. "I'm touching you," Scully replied. Leaning in, she kissed him, her hand cradling the back of his head to lead him to her. "I'm touching you, Mulder," she whispered when the kiss was finished, their lips still close, their breath hurried and hot. "Can you believe it? I'm touching you." "Do it again," he gruffly begged, his eyes yet closed. And, tightening her fingers in his hair, she did. This time, Mulder chose to deepen the kiss. Angling his head, he pressed his mouth firmly to hers, the pressure demanding. Lifting his hand from where it had been resting chastely atop the covers, he swept it across her shoulders and pulled her roughly to him, his grip almost bruising with its force. Moaning her encouragement, Scully responded by circling her arms around his neck and lying back, pulling him with her so that he ended up braced above her, his hips bracketed by hers. Mulder seemed to approve of her actions. Murmuring her name between kisses, he softly slipped his tongue between her lips. Once inside, he smoothed it slowly along her teeth, the roof of her mouth. He rubbed it against her own tongue, teasing her, tasting her, urging her to follow his lead, his mouth warm and supple as it moved over hers. Sighing, she did as he had hoped, eagerly returning his sweet, wet caresses. "You're not wearing any clothes," he said when he at last pulled away, his eyes drifting from her face to her mid- section, his hand skating gently down her torso as if to confirm his findings. "You are," she responded with a lift of her brow. "Not for long." Propped on one elbow, he somehow managed to reach back and shove his pajama bottoms off his hips and down his legs without simultaneously collapsing on top of his partner. Kicking the pants free and away, Mulder returned to his former resting place, his hardness cushioned by the yielding softness between her legs. "That was fast," Scully murmured when she felt his bare limbs tangled with hers, at a loss for anything else to say. "I promise you I have more than one speed," Mulder mumbled, bending down to rub his nose tenderly against hers. She smiled up at him, wondering at her sudden, irrational desire to laugh. Mulder returned her smile, his upper body caging her own, his lower half nudging insistently now against her core. "I'd like to take this slow, Scully," he said, his fingers combing softly through the hair fringing her face, his voice hoarse with need. "I'd like to. But I honestly don't think I can." "That's okay," she said, massaging the long, lean planes of his back, reveling in the play of muscles shifting beneath his warm, silky skin. "No, it's not," he told her with a rueful half-smile, dipping his head to steal another kiss. "But I'll make it up to you next time." "Fair enough," she said, sliding her hands down to cup his behind. Filling her palms with his firm, rounded flesh, she flexed her fingers and gave him a squeeze. Mulder groaned in reply and thrust his hips against her, grinding his cock into her crisp, springy curls. Arching her back as she writhed in counterpoint, Scully felt Mulder snake his arm beneath her, bowing her body so that her breasts were pointed straight towards his mouth. As if unable to resist such temptation, he bent his head and sucked her nipple between his lips, drawing on it hard, swiping at the tip with his tongue, scraping along its length with his teeth. Chin tipped towards the ceiling, Scully cried out her pleasure, her eyes pinched shut, her fingers once more digging furrows in his hair. Throwing her leg over the back of his thigh, she lifted her hips from the mattress, twisting in his embrace, rubbing against him in whatever way she could. Wanting him inside her then, at once, needing him there to soothe the ache concentrated low in her belly, the one that seemed to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat, to throb with every tug of Mulder's mouth upon her breast. Switching his attention to her other nipple, Mulder reached down between them and found the opening to her body. Tenderly, he traced the moist, swollen petals, gliding along their slick surface until he reached her most sensitive point. Settling his thumb against the tender bud, he sunk his first two fingers into her depths, buried them as deeply as he could, then slowly redrew them once more, curving them as they exited her warmth. "Mulder!" she gasped, clutching at his shoulders. "You feel ready, Scully," he murmured, stretching up to press a series of soft, wet kisses along her jaw-line. Below, his thumb brushed lazily from side to side against her almost painfully aroused center. "Are you? Are you ready? Do you want this, want me?" Twitching her hips in time to his caress, she turned her head and captured his earlobe with her teeth. Nibbling for a moment on the velvety bit of skin, she then whispered in his ear. "Seven years, Mulder. Every moment, every choice, leading to this. This night, this bed." With that, Mulder's hand slowed, then stilled between her legs. Easing back, he looked down at her, his cheeks flushed, his hair feathered messily across his brow. In his eyes was something she had never seen before, a depth of emotion that made her own eyes water in recognition. There, shining from beneath his lashes was all the evidence she would ever need regarding Fox Mulder and the way he felt about her. She saw it plainly-- his need, his desire. His love. It was all there, on display. No more hiding. No more game-playing. Just them. Now. Finally. Throat tightening, Scully wondered if Mulder saw the same thing when he looked in her eyes, if all his nagging questions were silenced simply by stealing a glance in her direction and having her return his gaze. She hoped so. But in case her expression still hid more than it exposed, she decided she ought to tell him. Just to be safe. "If the past couple of days have taught me anything, Mulder, it's that the path I've been following--leaving medicine for the Bureau, the X-Files, all of it--has been the proper one." Listening, Mulder nodded his encouragement. "I made the right choice," she said tenderly, cradling his face with her hands. "The only one I could make. I'm where I ought to be. With you." A smile flitting fitfully across his lips, Mulder moistened his mouth as if to speak. But when his gaze took on the same damp sheen as hers, he appeared to lose his nerve. Closing his eyes against the threatening tears, he lowered his mouth to hers. "Scully," he whispered brokenly, then kissed her once more. Lips parted to welcome him, she coasted her hand down the front of his body and closed her fingers around his erection. It pulsed hot and moist against her palm, the skin delicate and seemingly fine-grained. Gently, she slid her grip from one end to the other, measuring him, marveling at the tremendous tension contained in that sensitive length of muscle. The moment Scully touched him, Mulder's head snapped back, breaking the kiss. Eyes still shut, mouth stretched in a grimace of pleasure, he moaned and bucked against her hold, all patience, all control, now apparently lost. "Now, Scully . . . now, please. . ." Pressing a kiss to his temple, Scully obliged. Easing her legs a bit further apart, she guided Mulder into position. Arms twined around her, he pushed into her body with one single powerful, thrust, sheathing himself as deeply as he could. Fingers grasping at his upper back, she gasped beneath him, her slender frame tensing with the initial intrusion. Mulder stilled immediately, his forehead buried against the side of her neck, his lanky form trembling in her embrace. In almost no time at all, Scully felt herself adjust to the fullness, to the sensation of being stretched by the man inside her. Her muscles eased, her death grip loosened. "Scully?" Mulder rasped against her cheek. "Move," she softly pleaded, her hands roving restlessly up and down his spine. "Go on and move." Groaning, Mulder did just that. He slowly retreated from inside her, easing back until only the tip of his erection remained secreted within, then lunged forward with his hips once more, to reclaim her body as his. Again and again, he drove into her, and again and again, she met him thrust for thrust, thighs spread wide to deepen his penetration even further. "Scully . . . " Mulder whispered after a time, his arms braced on either side of her head, sweat trickling now from his hairline. "I don't . . . I don't know how long . . . " "Don't hold back," she urged, her breath exploding from her mouth in harsh little pants, her pulse pounding the same rhythm at her temples. "Don't wait for me." "Scully . . . " "Mulder, please . . . " Whimpering his reply, Mulder hooked his arms beneath her legs and sat back on his heels, his knees parted, dragging her with him. With one hand, he anchored her body there on top of his thighs. With the other he reached out and began circling the pads of his fingers against her clit, swiftly spiraling around the tiny bundle of nerves, his way slicked by her body's own moisture. "Oh my God . . . !" Scully cried, thrashing with his rough caress, her eyes squeezed shut, her arms flailing, then falling, dropping heavily to the pillow on either side of her head. Above her, Mulder glowered like a man possessed, his face dark, his eyes feverish, the muscle lining his jaw clenching and unclenching with every desperate stab of his hips. "Come on, Scully . . . come on," he coaxed, his fingers still working her. "Come on, don't make me do this alone." She didn't know if it was Mulder's entreaties or the skillful way in which he aroused her physically, but all at once, she could feel it, could feel her body quickening. Moaning now, giving herself over to the sensations, Scully could almost imagine her pleasure coiling like Eve's snake in the depths of her womb, bobbing and weaving, looping round and around, not unlike the tattoo on her back. In her fantasy, each circle would bring the reptile nearer to its target, closer to the point of her release. She could all but picture its narrow tongue darting out to flick at her insides, each tiny lick sending tremors shooting through her, firing her blood like some kind of delicious poison, teasing her with a taste of what she might expect, the ecstasy she might enjoy . . . If she could just hold out a little longer. "Oh, oh . . . ," she groaned mindlessly, undulating now like that wicked serpent herself, moving slowly and sinuously atop the sheets, her fingers raking through her tangled hair. "That's it . . . that's it, baby," Mulder crooned, his hips still pumping tirelessly. "Just let it go . . . let it happen, Scully." She wanted to. Oh God, she wanted to. And she was so close . . . The snake turned tighter and tighter, each circuit growing smaller, growing closer to where she wanted it to be, closer to that place, that spot, that touch, that-- "Mulder!" And with a startled gasp, she convulsed around him, muscles fluttering, back arching. Blindly, she grabbed at the bedclothes for purchase, her fists bunching full of fabric. Dazed, she reached for Mulder . . . . . . only to have him collapse on top of her, nearly crushing her with his unexpected weight. One, two, three more slaps of his hips, and he too was bellowing his climax, the cry choked and inarticulate. Yet somehow, Scully thought she might have heard come small part of her name contained within the roar. Lying there afterwards, sated and content, her arms looped loosely around Mulder's shoulders, his head pillowed on her breasts, Scully suddenly remembered something. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" "You called me 'baby'." "No, I didn't." "Yes, you did." Lifting his head from her chest, he looked up at her. "You sure?" "Yes," she said calmly. "Hmm," he replied, his brow furrowed. "I hadn't realized." She arched her brow. He said nothing for a breath or two, then asked, "Do you mind?" She tried not to smile. "I don't know yet." The corner of Mulder's lips quirked. "Well, why don't you think about it for awhile and then get back with me." Scully chuckled. "Good idea." Crawling up the length of her body, Mulder leaned down to bring his lips softly to hers. Wrapping his arms around her, he turned them so that he now rested on his back with Scully's cheek pressed against his shoulder. "Stay tonight," he said quietly when they were settled, his fingers sifting gently through her hair. "Stay here with me." "Mulder, I can't," she murmured around a yawn. "I haven't got any clothes." "I don't see the problem," he said, his delivery typically deadpan. She smiled against his skin. "I'm sure someone at the Bureau would. Tomorrow's a work day, don't forget. I've got to go home, take a shower, get changed." "Not yet," he implored, pulling her closer, his hand smoothing slowly along the pale expanse of her back. "No," she agreed, far too comfortable in his arms to leave him just then. "I'll stay for a little while. Till you fall asleep." "Good," he murmured, nuzzling the top of her head with his chin. "Stay as long as you want." Sighing, she nestled cozily against him, snug and secure in his embrace. "Stay forever," he whispered, his breath warm against her scalp. "I can't tonight," she whispered back, stretching up to kiss him tenderly right where his shoulder met his neck. "But soon." Soon, Mulder, she promised inside her head. Soon our time together will have no end. * * * * * * * * THE END krasch@earthlink.net http://home.earthlink.net/~krasch ========================================== "I want, by understanding myself, to understand others. I want to be all that I am capable of becoming. . . . This all sounds very strenuous and serious. But now that I have wrestled with it, it's no longer so. I feel happy--deep down. All is well." Katherine Mansfield, Journal (last entry) ==========================================