TITLE: NON ILLEGITIMATI CARBORUNDUM AUTHOR: DONNILEE E-MAIL: DONNILEE@SNET.NET RATING: NC-17 CATEGORY: MSR SPOILERS: DUANE BARRY, PER MANUM SUMMARY: Don't let the bastards grind you down. THANKS: To my beta reader, FatCat, who consistently keeps me from looking stupid and makes me explain myself! Thanks for all your friendship, loyalty and hard work. DISCLAIMER: All characters used from the show, The X-Files are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement intended. No money made here. XXXXXXXXXX PART 1 (PG) HOOVER BUILDING X-FILES BASEMENT OFFICE WASHINGTON, D.C. I finished reviewing the material that had been passed to me. As I read, Agent Patrice Dublin had sat in the chair in front of my desk and peered at me like a vulture waiting to swoop in for the kill. He'd been ordered to bring the material to me for evaluation and request my assistance. They wanted any new insights I could give them on their suspect in a recent string of murders of middle-aged housewives from the suburbs of Washington, D.C., Maryland, Delaware and Virginia. No doubt this request had ruffled Agent Dublin's feathers. I slowly turned the last page in the folder over. I sighed to myself and looked up. "What do you think, Mulder?" he asked. "Early childhood loss, repressed anger, mental confusion, low intelligence, low achievement, low self-esteem, social isolation, parental rebellion, sleep walking, guns in easy access; all that is great fodder for revenge fantasies for sure," I conceded. "But?" he asked, knowing there was more. "But, he's probably not your man." "Why not?" he asked, obviously agitated. "He has all the criteria to make a very nice mass murderer." "He is a mass murderer!" he declared. I shook my head. "No, your man is a serial killer. Different animal all together. Some criteria overlap. What doesn't overlap is that your UNSUB is intelligent, this one's not. Your UNSUB is organized, this man is not. Your UNSUB is narcissistic. This man has low self-esteem. Now I can see this guy having some stressor be the straw that breaks the camel's back and he snaps and walks into his local McDonald's and starts spraying bullets at a crowd of strangers, or possibly attempt to take out a specific target," I said, and then paused. "There's no way this could be the guy?" he asked, sounding very disappointed and even a little whiney. He wanted to be a hero, and I didn't blame him. I shook my head. "Sorry, but I don't think so. Nothing is written in stone. You know that as well as I do, but if I had to make an educated guess, this isn't your perp." "Damn it!" he cursed, looking into his lap at his hands and picking a cuticle. "I'm sorry, Patrice. I wish I could tell you that it's over, but it's not. You have this guy locked up now?" "Yes. We can keep him on a 72 hour hold, but unless we book him at that point, we have to let him go." "I'd recommend the guy for psych evaluation. He did commit a crime." "Mugging a little old lady isn't exactly in the same league with murdering eight women." "No, but it's reason enough to ask for the evaluation. He may not be your UNSUB, but I'd wager he's extremely dangerous. You did a good job taking him off the streets," I offered. "Don't patronize me," he groused, but it lacked fire. "I'm not. I'm serious. We don't always get the ones we want. Sometimes, though, we're lucky enough to catch a good one we weren't looking for." "Just falls into our laps, huh?" "This guy did. She was a spunky old lady," I commented with a hint of humor in my voice. He chuckled. "Yes, she was. Seventy-five years old. Chases the guy down the street, throws her cane at him and trips him and proceeds to kick him in the balls, calling him a spawn of H-E-double toothpicks." I laughed with him now and he seemed to relax with me. "Hope I'm that feisty when I'm seventy-five," I commented. "Hell, I'm not that feisty now," I added. He nodded in agreement. "So what should I do now?" "You interviewed all the families and friends of the victims?" "Of course. First thing we did, besides setting up ballistics and scheduling autopsies." "Have you done a victim profile?" "Well, yeah. All the women are 40 - 50 years old, have children, stable marriages, live in nice neighborhoods." "Have you done a formal victimology?" He stared silently for a moment. "No," he admitted finally, knowing it was a mistake on his part, particularly with eight victims to compare now. "Well, maybe that's something I can do for you. Take some of the load off, so you can concentrate on other things," I offered. One corner of his mouth turned up but there was no mirth. He realized I was offering a solution that wouldn't make him look stupid for not having done this chore before. It was monotonous but it had to be done. "That would be a big help," he conceded. "These women have to have something in common besides their age, marriage and the fact that they have children. There's some connection. Sometimes it's like looking for a needle in a haystack, but it's usually there. If you can find that, it can open a lot of doors." "I know, Mulder. I went to the same classes you did," he said testily. I looked down at the file and didn't say anything. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. I'm just frustrated and now you pointed out my incompetence," he apologized. "Apology accepted. Look, you're not incompetent. These murders have come fast and furious as homicides go. You haven't had a lot of time to sit down and do the grunt work. I understand that." He stood up and stuck out his hand. I shook it. "I'll bring you a copy of the family interviews." "I want a copy of the whole case." He froze and retracted his hand more forcefully than necessary. "Why?" I sighed, audibly this time. "I'm not gonna take over your case, Patrice. It's just that you never know what little detail will jump out at you. That's all. We all know friends and family are biased. I want to see the information you gathered on these victims that didn't come from the family. "You're right. Sorry again," he said and shook his head in embarrassment. "Stop apologizing. Just get me the material, and I'll start on it first thing in the morning." "Tomorrow's Saturday." I shrugged. "I lead an exciting life," I deadpanned. He chuckled again and nodded. "I hear you. I'll have the stuff to you before the end of the day." "Pity the secretary that has to do all that copying," I commented. He nodded in agreement again. "The price we pay for efficiency. Kill a few trees a day." He walked out, closing the door behind him. The material on my desk stayed. It was a copy from his file, just the information on the suspect they were holding. He'd filled me in on the case verbally. Personally, I did think he screwed up, but I wasn't going to tell him that. A victim profile should have been done after the second victim and serious digging into these women's daily lives and habits should have been undertaken from the beginning. If it had, who knows what they might have found out? Scully had remained silent through the entire exchange, typing a report on our previous case. The lack of clicking fingernails on keys periodically, told me she'd been tuning in from time to time. I'd bet she'd heard every word. "What do you think?" I asked. "I think you were very generous to him and his little tiny ego," she said with a straight face. We both laughed and she said, "Do you need any help with this?" "I might. I need to read the file first, make lists of their daily routines, make phone calls about things that are missing." "You think things will be missing." "I know things will be missing. I know how Pat Squared works." Pat Squared was the nickname of the team of Patrice Dublin and Patricia Mosman. He was a handsome man in his late thirties. His partner, Patricia Mosman, was of average height, five feet, six inches tall. She was of medium build and obviously worked out, making her look like the muscle of the duo. They weren't the worst agents in Violent Crimes, but they weren't the best either. Dublin was six years out of the Academy, and Mosman was five years out. Despite numerous cases in the last four years since they'd been paired, I didn't think they'd cleared one case without outside assistance. Personally, I didn't think they had the right stuff for Violent Crimes. However, I wasn't making the hiring or placement decisions around here. Violent Crimes required a certain type of tenacious, yet detail-oriented personality that could also think in abstract terms. That was a combination that was often hard to find in new recruits. You found it in hard-boiled veteran detectives of various police forces who'd seen one too many dead bodies in their career. You saw it occasionally in private eyes that did half their work based on gut instinct. Unfortunately, it wasn't something they were able to teach at the Academy. That was the problem with these two. They knew procedure. They knew all the technical things to do like gather evidence, secure a crime scene, order an autopsy, and send evidence to correct ballistics or forensic department. They knew how to talk to victim's families and take an interview of standard questions. Where did they work? Did they have any known enemies? Any drinking problems? What about ex-husbands or boyfriends? What church, what school and what civic organizations did they belong to? The rub? Not a lick of instinct between them. A 'hunch' was a foreign concept to both of them. They were totally unable to intuit information from data they took down; totally unable to spot deceit in an interview or cover-up of a sensitive subject by the family member. All this didn't lead to a high solve rate. I was surprised that they hadn't been reassigned to new partners a couple years ago. I sighed loudly again and stood up to leave. "I'm gonna get going, Scully. You have a good weekend." "Wait a minute. Are you coming in here to get the stuff tomorrow morning?" "I said I'd wait for it tonight, but I think I'll go up to his office and track down his secretary. I'll snatch it as soon as it's copied and head home. I concentrate better there anyway." "I thought you weren't starting on it until tomorrow morning." I smiled. Snagged. "Well, it's not like I have a hot date tonight." "You could have if you wanted one," she commented out of the blue. I smiled and raised my eyebrows in question. 'What an odd thing for her to say,' I thought. "Oh really? Why? You want to take me out for a night on the town?" "Who said anything about me?" she asked. "Well, a date would only be hot if you were included in the plans," I fired back glibly. She actually blushed and I found myself chuckling again. Our relationship had been strained lately, and I didn't really know what to do about it. My sexual frustration was causing me to say things I shouldn't, and push the boundaries of decency in the innuendo department. She wasn't balking yet, but her sassy comebacks were at an all time low. I knew it was annoying her. Now I'd gone and done it again. We'd fought horribly only last week about my lack of professionalism. Then we'd kissed and made up, so to speak, sans the kiss, but things had been strained ever since. "Sorry, that was uncalled for." "It's all right. It really only bothers me when you do it in front of people." "Are you telling me I have free reign when we're alone together?" I queried. "I wouldn't go that far," she said, the warning tone in her voice clear. "O.K. So what did you have in mind?" "I don't know. Maybe dinner somewhere and then home for beer and a movie." "A chick flick?" She smiled. "How about we meet in the middle? An action flick." "You like Stephen King?" "Of course," she said with a smile. "Secret Window is on video now. Wanna see that?" "Sure." "All right, let me go collect this stuff and go home and change. Do you want to meet for dinner?" "Why don't you come to my apartment and pick me up? There's a nice Italian place in Georgetown, Portofino's. Their portions are huge and the prices are decent," she suggested. "Hungry?" I teased. "Starved," she said dramatically. "I didn't take lunch today. I worked through trying to finish this report for Skinner so that I don't have to worry about it over the weekend. Guess I'm going to have to anyway." "Bring it along. I'll take a look and render some sage editorial comments to spruce it up for Monday morning." She smiled in spite of her efforts not to. "Sage editorial comments?" she asked doubtfully. "What? You think my prose is wanting?" She shook her head and powered down her laptop, not deigning to comment. "Come on, Whitley Shrieber. Let's go." I laughed and followed her out the door after she retrieved her coat and briefcase. She went home and I continued on up to the second floor, finding Pat Squared's office and their secretary, Pam. The three P's; Patrice, Patricia and Pam. This just got weirder and weirder. I wondered if anyone thought of that when they put these people together. Pam knew what I was there for and told me it would be another few minutes. I wandered down the hall and filched some water from the Crystal Rock dispenser. The shot glass full of water didn't exactly quench my thirst, so I downed four more and then made my way back to Pam. She was finishing up and the whole ordeal only caused a ten-minute delay all-total. I thanked her and she asked me if I had plans for the evening. For once, I could say yes, and ignored her flirting. Her pout would have been comical if it hadn't been so pathetic. She was about 22 years old and I was hugging 40. What in the hell was she flirting with me for? Maybe it was the intrigue of Spooky Mulder. Maybe young gals went for that. I realized that I could probably use that to my advantage. Then I instantly conjured a picture of Scully in my head and knew it would be useless. Why even bother? My roots were planted elsewhere and they weren't going anywhere even if the Scully sprinkler never did water them. Patrice exited his office just as I was taking my leave and said, "Thanks again, Mulder. Let me know if you need anything else." "Sure thing, Pat. Thanks, Pam," I said as I gathered up the information. I hastily left and took the elevator down to the subterranean parking garage. I dumped my armload of files, briefcase, and trench coat on the passenger seat and fired up the car. I wanted to shower and change my clothes before meeting Scully for dinner. If she was going to grace me with her company on off hours, I didn't want to smell like yesterday's underwear. PART 2 (PG-13) PORTOFINO'S RESTAURANT GEORGETOWN, D.C. I listened to him made those maddening moans of pleasure as he ate his food. Sea Scallops, Jumbo Shrimp and Clams still in the mussel shells, perched atop a heaping mound of linguine in marinara sauce. I wondered if he had any idea how unconsciously sexy he was when he made those yummy noises in the back of his throat. God help me, he was wearing his wire frame glasses. He'd opted for a green polo shirt and black, form-fitting jeans and black boots. His hair still had that 'damp from the shower' look and the shirt made his eyes glow bright green in the dim lighting of the restaurant. He looked good enough to eat. I moved my cheese ravioli in lobster bisque around in the bowl and tried to keep my eyes off his throat as he swallowed. I took another sip of wine from my fourth glass and figured I ought to slow down. Then I remembered we'd taken a cab so we wouldn't have to drive and took another gulp. "Hey, slow down, high speed," he teased. When I glared at him he asked, "Is something wrong?" I thought, 'Other than the fact that I'm creaming my panties over here, Mulder?' We were skirting our personal problems as if they were dead animals in the middle of the table. I sighed. "You know, Mulder," I began. "Uh oh. I don't like that tone. I thought we were going to keep things light tonight?" "Who said that?" I asked, more testily than I had intended. His smiled was instantly washed off his face and I immediately regretted its loss. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like a shrew," I said quickly. "It's all right. What's on your mind, Scully?" I swallowed hard, trying to control my fear, and said, "Is it me, or are we a lot tenser around each other than we were a few weeks ago?" "Uhh, I guess so, but I figured it was the lingering effects of our fight. I thought if you wanted to bring it up, you would. Otherwise, I thought I should keep my mouth shut." "Not bring up an unpleasant subject," she stated. "Well, yeah. If you want to talk about anything, though, I'm willing. Just say the word." "I don't want to be tense around you, Mulder." "I don't want to be tense around you, either. So far, so good," he prompted. I smiled. We never talked like this. We talked about work. If a personal difference came up, we fought. I was tired of it. "Why do we fight about things instead of talk about them?" I asked. He looked perplexed. "I don't know. I guess because it's important to us." "What is?" "That we understand each other. It's important to me that you like me and respect me, which I know you do. Sometimes though, it's also important to me that you understand me, or my point, I guess." "You don't think I understand you?" "Only some of the time," he said with a shrug. "Really?" I asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. He scrunched his brows together. "See, now I don't understand you. I wish I did, I want to, Scully. Honestly, though, sometimes I'm clueless, like now. Why did what I just said upset you?" I looked at my bowl, stabbed a ravioli and popped it into my mouth. I chewed slowly and swallowed, then licked some sauce off my lips. I looked up from under my lashes, my head still down, and saw his eyes riveted on my mouth. The expression caught me by surprise. It was almost as though he were mesmerized. "What?" I asked softly. He snapped his eyes up to mine and shook his head slightly. "Nothing," he lied. "You were staring at me," I accused. "No I wasn't. I was looking at you, watching you enjoy your food. Is that a crime too?" he asked, suddenly sounding hurt. Now I'd done it. "Jesus, why is this so hard?" I exploded. "Why can't we have a normal conversation outside of work without it disintegrating into a sniping contest? Why can't we relax around each other?" He didn't say anything for several moments. He took another sip of his wine and then set down the glass. "Well?" I prompted. "I can't answer that for you, Scully. I don't know why you're tense. I don't know why you are uncomfortable talking about personal stuff, and I don't know why you can't have a normal conversation with me. What do you want me to say?" "Okay, fair enough, then answer for yourself. Why can't you?" He closed his eyes and cleared his throat. They popped open after a couple seconds and he said, "I'm afraid." I nearly fell out of my chair. I don't know what I expected, but that wasn't it. "Afraid? Of what?" I asked carefully. He silently considered my question for a moment before deciding to answer. "I care about you, Scully, probably more than I should. You're not just a partner to me." I felt myself softening. I couldn't help it when he said things like that to me. "I know, Mulder. You're more than a partner to me too. You know that. I've told you that. You're also my best friend. That's why it bothers me that we can't enjoy each other's company outside of the job." He was silent for several more moments, obviously contemplating what to say. "I still don't know what you are afraid of," I said. So quietly, I almost didn't hear him, he said, "Losing you." "Losing me? How?" "Losing you as my partner. Losing you as my friend. I don't know. I'm afraid of you walking out of my life for any number of reasons, all of which would be perfectly valid." "Why would I do that?" I asked incredulously. He shook his head with impatience. "Scully, I've brought you nothing but trouble since the day you began to work with me. Do I really need to list all the reasons why you would have a better life if you left me?" I tsk-tsked him with my tongue and he knew I was upset again. He shut his mouth. "Do we really need to go over this again, Mulder? For God's sake. What is it going to take for you to realize that you are not the cause of all the trouble in the universe? I chose to stay with you, Mulder. That was my choice. That choice has had consequences, sure. That's what life is all about, choices and consequences. I'm right where I am because of the choices I've made. It has nothing to do with you." "What do you mean it has nothing to do with me? It all has to do with me. It was my quest, my obsessions, my grief and my crazed pursuit of the truth that caused you to be abducted, to be left barren, to lose your sister," he broke off. "No, Mulder!" I said angrily. "Those things happened because I chose to stay. I chose to fight the good fight. I chose to pursue the truth with you. You didn't drag me. I wasn't forced. Don't you get it? Lots of things have happened to you too. They aren't any less or more significant than what's happened to you. Mulder, you just aren't that important in the world that everything is your fault!" He sighed. "Maybe that's the problem," he said quietly. "What do you mean?" "I'm not that important. I never was." "Oh STOP it. Now you're pissing me off. Why do you do that? Twist what I say, beat yourself up with it like it's a big stick. It's damned annoying, Mulder, this habit of self-flagellation. Nobody knows better than I how important you are to this quest. Nobody knows better than I how much good you've done, and mostly, nobody knows better than I how important you are to ME. I just mean that bad things happen to good people who poke their noses in dark corners. Blame the ones that do these things instead of yourself. That's what we do for a living, Mulder, stick our noses in dark places. I signed on for it, just like you did." He stared at his plate and then pushed it away. Now I'd ruined his appetite. "Do you want coffee or dessert?" the waitress asked, as she cleared our plates. Mulder looked at me, silently telling me to decide. "No, just the check please," I responded. She nodded and scurried away. "I've ruined tonight, haven't I?" he asked "No, just exasperated me. Something you have a gigantic talent for," I teased, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled with his mouth closed, but he was not amused. I could tell he was upset with himself. I was upset with myself for the direction the conversation had gone. He'd finally opened up to me and told me he was afraid and I jumped on him when he told me why. I knew he blamed himself for a bunch of things that weren't his fault. I knew he'd raised guilt to an art form. I don't know why it continued to surprise and anger me when he said things like that. I hated to hear him put himself down. It sucked wanting more for your loved ones than they wanted for themselves. Wait. Loved one? I considered that thought for a moment. Yes, yes he was. I loved Mulder. Lately though, I had a sneaking suspicion that those feelings were crossing an invisible line that I'd drawn in the sand a long time ago. The line was getting blurry and that scared the hell out of me. We paid the check and made our way to the sidewalk, where we hailed a cab. I gave the driver my address and Mulder made no objections. When we arrived at my place a few minutes later, he didn't open his door when I did. He obviously thought I was saying good night for the evening. "Come on, Mulder. Coffee at my place," I said as I climbed out on my side. He smiled, opened his door and paid the cab driver. He walked around the back of the cab and placed his hand on the small of my back in its usual position as we made our way into the building. While we waited for the elevator, he didn't remove it. It suddenly seemed hot on my back, even through my cashmere sweater. His thumb idly swished up and down and I shivered. He smiled down at me and said, "Cashmere. It's so soft." "It better be, considering what I paid for it," I quipped. XXXXXXXXXX DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN, D.C. He smiled wider and the doors opened. We stepped on rode it up to my floor. He waited patiently while I unlocked the door. We entered, hung up our coats and I secured the locks on the door. I made my way into the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. I returned to the living room to find him sitting on my couch, his boots removed and his black-socked feet resting on my coffee table. One arm was flung up over the back of the couch. The other rested on the armrest. He tipped his head back and then sideways as he watched me approach. Surprising myself as much as him, I think, I sat down next to him, barely six inches between us and leaned back, resting my head on his arm where it lay on the back of the couch. He merely looked at me, unalarmed, but obviously curious. "Coffee will be ready in a few minutes," I informed him. He nodded, letting his arm slip down off the back of the couch and rest lightly on my shoulders. I knew I surprised him further when I didn't resist, but rather, snuggled deeper into the cushions and turned slightly toward him. I wanted to feel close to him. The urge was overwhelming. He smelled of fresh air, English Leather cologne, which I loved and of his own peculiar Mulder scent that I would recognize anywhere. His glasses slid down his nose as he looked at me. I reached up and gently removed them from his face. He blinked owlishly for a few seconds and then watched as I put them on the coffee table away from us. I took off my shoes, and put my legs up on the coffee table next to his. He smiled wider and observed me with amusement. "This is cozy," he said, with forced casualness. I nodded. "Yeah it is. I love this couch. You don't sink so far into it that you can't get out, but it's cushy enough to be comfortable." "I meant sitting here with you." He hesitated. "Touching you," he added. I leaned back and turned my face up to his again. "I want to feel close to you," I admitted. He looked more confused than pleased but I let it ride for now. "Fine by me," he said, his voice a notch lower than before. I startled a laugh out of him when I said, "You need new furniture in your apartment." "What? Give up my vintage highway motel look?" he teased. I laughed. "It's got all the warmth of an autopsy bay," I said. He frowned. "I didn't think it was THAT bad," he said, unsure whether to laugh or be insulted. I smiled up at him and he smiled back. "I could help you, you know?" "What? Furniture shop?" I nodded in agreement. "Who said I wanted new furniture. I don't need much. It's not like I entertain on a regular basis." "I come over all the time." "And do I entertain you?" he asked, teasing me again. I grinned. "Most of the time." "Not bad for a 37 year old guy with no social skills," he said. I gave him a sad smile. "Do me a favor," I said softly. "Just for tonight. No more self-deprecating comments. All right? I want you to pretend you're a normal guy and I'm a normal woman. I want you to pretend you're spending an evening with your best friend, who loves you warts and all and has no need to have your faults explained to her." He swallowed. "O.K.," he answered quietly. "Best friend who loves me?" he asked, now nearly inaudible. I smiled wider and leaned into him. "Yes. Can you do that for me? Just for tonight?" "I'll try," he said. "That's all I can ask." I heard the coffee pot sputter. The tension rose as I realized I'd maneuvered myself so that our lips were a scant two inches apart. His warm breath cascaded over my chin and I felt myself break out in a sweat. I jerked away and stood up. "Coffee's ready. I'll be right back." I heard him sigh deeply and loudly as I exited the room. I poured our coffee and returned. He was as I'd left him, his arm back on the rear of the couch. This time, though, his head was tipped and laying on the back of the couch. His eyes were closed. I stood behind the couch, which sat in the middle of the room, facing a fake gas fireplace, and looking down at him. He was so beautiful to me at that moment that I nearly wanted to weep, and I didn't know why. He was afraid of losing me. What was I afraid of? Losing him? Impulsively, I dropped down and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. He jerked upright and I had to spring back in order not to get hit. I laughed, holding a mug of coffee in each hand out to the side for balance. A little spilled on the rug, but it was a dark yellow and I decided to let it go for now. I circled around and handed him his cup. He brought his feet to the floor and reached for it. "Thanks," he muttered, taking a sip while I settled myself in next to him again. "What was that for?" "What?" "The kiss," he said. I grinned and shrugged. "I don't know. Impulse. You just looked so relaxed sitting there." He lifted his eyebrows, clearly indicating he didn't believe me. "Right," he said with obvious skepticism. Wasn't that my department? "You're not the most impulsive person in the world, Scully," he continued. "Maybe I just wanted to see what you would do?" "You risked spilling hot coffee all over my face just to see what I would do?" he asked. He almost sounded annoyed. "I don't know why I did it, Mulder. You looked cute lounging there, O.K.? I did it, I don't know why." Now I was getting irritated, realizing I really didn't know why. He was regarding me with suspicion. "Why is this such a big deal? Christ! Why is everything I do such a frickin' big deal?" I nearly hollered. He looked chagrined and waited until I focused on him again. "Because it is, Scully. Because every time you touch me, it's a big deal to me. Every time you want to spend time with me outside of work, have dinner, or be my friend, it's a big deal to ME. If you kiss me, that's a REALLY BIG DEAL to me," he said adamantly. We sat staring at each other. It was beginning to dawn on me what he was saying but I still wasn't sure. Was he saying that his feelings were crossing that invisible line as well? Could I ask him that? How? My mind whirled with unanswered questions. "What are you saying?" I finally managed to push out. He licked his lips, sipped his coffee and then set it down on the coffee table. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" "I think you do." I paused. "I think you should." "I don't want to," he said with finality. "Why not?" "I told you, I'm afraid." "Of losing me," I said, completing his statement for him. "Yes," he said simply. "What if I promise you won't lose me?" I asked. He smiled like I was a wee bit dense. "You can't promise me that." "Life is all about chances, Mulder. I'm giving you a chance, here and now, to tell me whatever you want to tell me and I'm promising that I won't walk away from you because of it, whatever it is." PART 3 DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN, D.C. "Why are you making me that promise?" he asked suspiciously. "Because I need to know. I want to know. I'm tired of this guessing game. I'm tired of being tense and uncomfortable around you. My lines are blurring. You're more than a partner and have been for a long time. Maybe now you're even more than a best friend. I need to know if your lines are as blurred as mine," I told him honestly. He looked at me, surprised by what I'd just said. "My lines aren't blurred, Scully." "No?" "Nope. I left my lines in the dust a long time ago. I stepped right over them and kept on walking." He chanced a glance at me and found me staring at him. I couldn't look away. "What are you saying, Mulder? How far past the line are you?" We were talking in the abstract. What the hell was wrong with us, I wondered. Why couldn't we just have straight talk? I supposed this was progress and I shouldn't gripe. At least he was talking to me. He stared at me for a long time. Finally he asked, "You promise you won't leave?" "I promise," I said in a breathy voice, barely above a whisper, wondering what the hell had happened to my vocal chords. "I'm all the way past the line, Scully. I guess, for me ... there isn't a line anymore." I licked my lips and watched his eyes follow the movement and then rise up to look me in the eye again. "What does that mean?" He was very still and silent for several moments. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall. Then he said softly, but clearly, "I'm in love with you, Scully, all the way. Haven't been any lines in front of me in a long time." He looked away from me and picked up his coffee. It gave him an excuse not to look at me and I allowed it, knowing what it had cost him to say that out loud. I'd asked for it. Now I had it. What was I going to do with it? Could I be as brave as he was? I had to be. I couldn't stand this minefield we kept dancing through any more. He set the mug down again. "Well, you're not bolting off the couch, so that's a good sign," he said finally, still not looking at me. "Isn't that something?" I returned dryly. He did look at me now. He laughed suddenly. It sounded strained. "Somehow I thought if I ever told you, something big would be happening." "One of us on our death beds or something?" I guessed. He smiled. "Yeah, something like that. I at least expected some sort of shocked reaction, if not to the fact of it, to the fact that I'd actually said it. Kind of anti-climactic, actually, you just sitting there in silence. Me wondering what the hell is going through your head right now. Well, that's pretty normal actually, isn't it? I never know what you're thinking." He was babbling nervously. I realized my lack of response was sending him into a panic. Even though I hadn't left, or thrown him out, I hadn't exactly given a proper reaction to such a momentous announcement. He wasn't looking at me but he was still talking. "I didn't expect you to do cartwheels or anything. On the other hand, some kind of reaction would be good. You know. Shit in your hat, Mulder. Oh, don't be ridiculous, Mulder. What the hell are you talking about, Mulder? What the hell are you think ..." I cut him off with a kiss, simultaneously sliding over to straddle his lap. He gasped and hesitated briefly but then responded with enthusiasm, his tongue lashing out to meet mine in mid air. He groaned as my tongue slid into his mouth and pulled me tight against him as he wrapped his arms around my back. We made out like horny teenagers for several minutes. Finally, we needed to breathe or perish so we separated, panting heavily and leaning our foreheads together. I think we both knew the respite was temporary. "Was that a good reaction?" I asked shakily. He grinned. "The best." I palmed his face and gazed down at him from my perch on his lap. "You're a beautiful man, you know that, Mulder?" "Thank you, but that's my line. You're beautiful woman, Scully." "Thank you." He face became serious. "Why now?" "I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of feeling the tension and not doing anything about it. I'm tired of denying how I feel," I concluded. "And how do you feel, Scully?" "It's not obvious?" "Well, could be love, or it could be that you're horny," he joked. I punched him in the shoulder and he winced. "What would you say to both?" He sucked in a shaky breath. "I'd say that's my favorite answer." I laughed then and he joined me. "I love you too, Mulder." "I don't believe it," he whispered. "Believe it. Want me to prove it to you?" "Please," he said in a mock begging voice. I smiled and said, "Take me to the bedroom." He was serious again instantly. He stood up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He walked slowly and carefully into the bedroom, holding me tightly to his chest. He set me down gently on the edge of the bed. The next fifteen minutes was spent undressing one another, and exploring the newly revealed skin with lips and hands. This elicited quite a few gasps and moans as we grew used to the sensations, and lost our fear of touching one another. I was glad he was taking it slow. Finally naked, we crawled onto the bed and laid down facing one another. We explored some more, our hands traveling over the dips and valleys of each other's bodies. XXXXXXXXXX I was going crazy. This had to be a dream. That was all I could figure. Not in my wildest fantasies did I ever think that Scully and I would actually ever get to this point. I had truly thought I was doomed to spend the rest of my life pining for a woman I couldn't have. Now she'd given me the ultimate surprise. I was sick of the tension and half-truths myself. She'd pried my confession out me like a skilled surgeon. As I'd waited in fear, my entire life had passed before me along with visions of a bleak future without her in it. I'd started babbling like a sixteen year old on speed. Then, she'd kissed me. Originally, I thought it was another shock kiss, like the one delivered to my forehead earlier, just to shut me up. Instead, it had morphed into an erotic exercise beyond my wildest dreams. I'd been filled with the pleasant confusion of hope. XXXXXXXXXX NC-17 PORTION XXXXXXXXXX Determined to let her choose the time, I kept fondling her, but my endurance was wearing down. I wanted to be with her, IN her, a part of her. I kept thinking she was going to stop me any minute, but after her earlier request, I didn't think she'd appreciate me voicing my doubts right now. Instead I rolled between her legs, feeling my cock brush the baby soft skin of her inner thigh and smearing the pre-cum that was leaking from me at a copious rate. I buried my face in her neck, kissing the tender skin there and then whispering, "Please, Scully," in a voice that sounded as desperate as I felt. She hummed with what I hoped was pleasure and not impatience. Her small hand reached between us as I rose up on my elbows and knees and encircled my penis. I groaned and used one hand to grasp her wrist. "Easy. I'm on borrowed time as it is." She merely smiled but didn't stroke me, for which I was grateful. She gave a gentle tug and I followed, lining my pipe-hard cock up with her wet entrance that was thick and syrupy with her own arousal. I'd done that to her. It was like a miracle to me to feel that tangible evidence of her excitement coating the top of my dick with its warm embrace. I braced both elbows on the bed and carefully pressed forward. She gasped and removed her hand, placing it on my bicep. The other one followed suit and her neatly trimmed nails dug into my skin. I didn't mind at all. The slight sting helped take the focus off my throbbing shaft. I held my breath and slid into her, a small, slow bit at a time. We both gasped and moaned and then let rip with low groans of surprise and arousal as I kept sinking into her wet depths. I pressed until I felt the opening to her womb and stopped. I was almost in. She raised her legs on my hips slightly and I sank the rest of the way in, pressing firmly on her cervix. I groaned and we froze. She hissed through her teeth and whispered, "God, Mulder, it feels so good." I panted, trying to regain control. I was too close. When I found my voice again, it was raspy but working. "I can't think of anything but this feeling, Scully, the tight, wet hold of you around me. It's so fantastic." She smiled and wiggled her hips. I groaned and began to pump into her gently. She was so small inside, and so tight. I hoped that meant she hadn't been with anyone in a long time. I didn't think she had and I wasn't about to ask her right now. Despite the snug fit, I could hear the sounds of her swollen, wet nether lips as I pumped in and out of her, filling her to the brim. I put my hands under her shoulder blades and curled my hands over the top of her shoulders. I sped up, sliding my cock in and out of her at a slightly quicker pace. Without warning, she arched her back off the bed, and went rigid. She screamed, "Oh Jesus, I'm commingg!" I gasped in surprise and bit my lip as I felt her velvet walls collapse around my aching shaft, massaging it with ripples of spasming muscle. "Oh God!" I croaked. She groaned and said, "Mulder, let go!" I kissed her and did just that. I could feel blasts of cum rocket up my shaft to splatter her inner walls. My body was twitching and trembling as I yelled directly into her mouth, howling in victory. I followed that with a world-class moan that didn't come close to expressing the most incredible pleasure I'd ever known. XXXXXXXXXX END NC-17 PORTION XXXXXXXXXXX I collapsed against her, her arms slipping around my sweaty back, her legs still locked at the ankles near the base of my spine. My cock throbbed and twitched in her canal as it softened, but it remained inside, where I always wanted to be. "I love you, Scully," I whispered, kissing her gently once again. "I love you too, Mulder. Don't listen to your own bad publicity, huh? We were meant to be together like this. I believe that now." I smiled softly, overcome with feelings of love and confusion and desperate joy that I couldn't quite contain. "If you love me, I can't be all bad," I conceded. "That's right, and don't you forget it. Non illegitimate carborundum," she stated solemnly. "My Latin is rusty, Scully," I informed her, hating to kill the party. She just chuckled low and said, "Don't let the bastards grind you down." "Amen to that," I replied. THE END.