TITLE: LOVE AMONG THE RUINS AUTHORS: Secret Squirrels -- Bonetree, Brandon D. Ray, Char Chaffin, CindyET, Lara Means, and mimic117 FRAME STORY: Brandon D. Ray ARTWORK: CindyET (Complete HTML version with artwork can be found at http://cindyet.xfilesfanfiction.com/~cindyet/LATR.html) E-MAIL ADDRESS: Secret-Squirrels@yahoogroups.com DISTRIBUTION: Please ask. It's likely we'll say yes and be flattered, t' boot. SPOILERS: Through Season 8 RATING: NC-17 (Here there be smut. No minors, please. This story contains adult subject matter and graphic descriptions of explicit sexual situations. The art is kinda hot, too.) CLASSIFICATION: S, MSR SUMMARY: Newlyweds Mulder and Scully have a mere 48 hours to enjoy their honeymoon before they must return to real life. With little William at grandma's, our heroes lock themselves away for two days of connubial bliss. Disclaimer: These characters belong to Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions. We use them to pay homage, not bills. Authors' notes: "Love Among the Ruins" is the sequel to "Bare Ruin'd Choirs." Although it's not necessary to read that one first, you may want to and can find it in its entirety at: http://cindyet.xfilesfanfiction.com/~cindyet/BRCintro.html. In case you missed the Rating above, we're gonna say this one more time: this story is smut, smut, smut. Adults only. Got that? Special thanks go to Bambi for suggesting the title "Love Among the Ruins." LOVE AMONG THE RUINS By the Secret Squirrels PROLOGUE -x-x-x-x-x-x- When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state (Like to the lark at break of day arising >From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate, For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings. --William Shakespeare -x-x-x-x-x-x- RESIDENCE OF DANA SCULLY & FOX MULDER ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA MARCH 20, 2003 7:05 PM "I thought we'd never escape," Mulder said, closing the door and locking it behind them. He turned to face Scully, standing a few feet away, in front of the sofa. "They wanted to see us," she replied. She slipped off her coat and handed it to him. As he hung it on the rack next to his own, she went on, "It's been a long time since all those people were together in the same place. I was just realizing that this morning, when Mom was helping me get dressed." "I know," he agreed. He stepped back next to her and put his arms around her waist, nuzzling his lips in her hair. "It's been a long year. And a hard one." "It has." They stood together like that for a few minutes, soaking in the peace and quiet. They so seldom had moments like this; they so seldom had the opportunity just to relax, or have fun. Mulder didn't want to move, and Scully seemed content to stand within his embrace, gently stroking his back, breathing against his chest. "I could stay like this forever," she said at last, stirring in his arms and turning her gaze up to meet his. "But I don't suppose that's really practical." She smirked, in the way that she never let anyone but him see. "And we'd be missing out on an important tradition or two." "Eager, are we, Scully?" he asked. He dipped his head, brushing his lips lightly across hers. Not yet, not yet. He wasn't quite ready. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but there was something -- "Yes, of course," she replied, squeezing him a little tighter. "It's our wedding night, after all. And we haven't had much time...." She let her voice trail off, but she didn't have to say the words. He could hear them anyway, as clearly as if she'd spoken them aloud. We haven't had much time together. We haven't had much time for fun. We haven't had much time for us. He released her from the embrace, only to take her hand and lead her over to the sofa. She started to sit next to him, but he wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her down onto his lap. "Mulder!" She struggled for a moment, laughing, then seemed to decide she liked it after all, and settled down, a look of wary amusement on her face. "When was the last time you necked with your boyfriend on the living room sofa, Scully?" he asked. "Can you even remember that far back?" She rolled her eyes. "I assume we're not talking about Eddie Van Blundht." There was a time when those words would have hurt, but back then he would never have asked that question. They were past that now. "No mighty morphin' mutants, Scully," he agreed. "When was the last time? Hell I'll make it even easier on you. When was the last time you actually had fun?" She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off. "And I don't mean playing with Will, or coloring with Matty and Sarah, or any of that. I mean *fun*." "Those things *are* fun," she protested -- but the smile that lingered on her face told him she knew exactly what he meant. "Fun with a *man*, Scully," he persisted. "And it doesn't even have to be the *last* time you had fun with a man. Just any old time. Anything that you can remember." "Any old man?" she teased. "The list is so long, after all." "Oh, I'll bet there were a few." He leaned in and kissed her again. "Back in the day." "I don't want to think about them." A shake of her head, still smiling. She ran her finger along the line of his jaw. "I want to think about you." "Little ol' me?" He slipped his hand from her waist to her hip, hesitating only briefly as his fingers encountered the bump of scar tissue left by one of the alien Invaders. That had been a bad one; that had been close. But God help him if she hadn't saved his ass anyway. Again. "Hey." Her voice dragged him out of his sudden melancholy, and he looked into her eyes and found redemption, as he always did. "You said something fun," she remonstrated. "Something happy." "I know. I'm sorry." He couldn't keep his smile away as once more he drank of her beauty. He was intoxicated, and he would be the first to admit it. "All right," he went on. "So you don't want to think about them -- but I still want to hear about something happy. I want to hear about a time when you had fun." He pressed his palm against his chest in mock nobility. "And if I have to be the star attraction -- so be it!" She sat in his lap for a minute or two, obviously thinking, reviewing her memories, looking for one to share. At last, a slow, seductive smile spread across her face, and Mulder felt his heart start beating a little faster. This was going to be good; he could tell already. Whenever she got that look on her face -- "Okay," she said, deliberately shifting her weight so as to rub her bottom against a part of him that had suddenly sprung to attention. "It all started with fingerpaints." -x-x-x-x-x-x- THE GEORGETOWN DEVIL MEETS SLEEPLESS IN ALEXANDRIA By CindyET "Fingerpaints?" "Yes, Mulder, fingerpaints. Remember the Jersey Devil case?" "Yyyyyyes. What does the Jersey Devil have to do with fingerpaints...or, for that matter, what does the Jersey Devil have to do with you having fun?" "That's what I'm going to tell you. Now sit quietly and listen. This is a rather long story." "How long?" "Would you prefer I skip the details?" "No, no, no. Not at all. I want to hear every word. It's just..." "Just what?" "Could you, um...shift a little to the right?" "Like that?" "Ow! *My* right." "Ah. How's that?" "Better, thank you." "May I begin my story now?" "I'm all ears." "I wouldn't say that, Mulder, I'm sitting on a pretty big--" "Scully, your story." "Right. October, 1993. Back from Atlantic City, you had an appointment with an ethno-biologist at the Smithsonian." "I remember. You blew off a date with Mr. Boring to come with me." "Rod wasn't boring, he... Never mind. This story isn't about Rod." "Good. 'Cause I thought *I* was gonna be the star of your happy moment." "You are. After I left you at the Smithsonian with your ethno- biologist friend..." * * * A parking space opened up in front of my building -- thank God for small favors. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I've got a trunk- load of junk to unpack. I park in the abandoned space, pop the trunk, grab my purse, case notes, and keys, and climb from the car. It's raining; the case notes are going to get soaked if I don't hurry. Juggling my armload, I round the rear fender to peer into the trunk, which is jam-packed full of party paraphernalia. My godson's buddies ate their birthday cake and took home the party favors, but I'm still stuck with empty food containers, paper and paints, scissors, tape, extra folding chairs 'just in case'; it'll take at least three trips to get all this stuff from the car to the apartment-- Oh, damn. The green fingerpaint. It's everywhere! The lid must have come off the jar and spilled -- dammit -- on everything! Why the hell did I have to bring fingerpaints? Twenty minutes later, I've cleared out the trunk and, with a little club soda and elbow grease, removed most of the green stains from the carpet liner. All the paint-covered items are now piled beside my kitchen sink, except for the folding chairs, which are still out in the hall leaning against the wall beside my door. Before rolling up my sleeves and scrubbing, I take inventory: five Tupperware containers, two pairs of safety scissors -- gotta remember to put those back in my first aid kit once they're clean -- Mom's cake server, and half a dozen jars of fingerpaints. I toss out what's left of the giant pad of paper the kids used for painting on -- it's ruined. The four recently dry-cleaned skirts that never made it back into my closet need to be returned to the cleaners, along with the clothes I'm currently wearing. I look down at what was once my prettiest silk blouse. Counting to ten, I remove my shirt-- **"Finally."** **"Excuse me?"** **"Clock's ticking, Scully. We've only got forty-eight hours to...uh...um..."** **"Point taken. Don't worry, this is where the fun part begins."** **"I noticed. You took off your shirt and then...?"** I remove my shirt and notice green paint has soaked clear through to my bra. **"What kind of bra were you wearing?"** **"I don't remember. Does it matter?"** **"Of course, it matters. I want you to describe it."** My brand new peach-colored bra -- the one with the lace cups that barely cover what they're supposed to-- **"Yes! The one with the thin straps and the easy-open front thingy?"** **"Mulder, I didn't have that particular bra in 1993."** **"Just go with it, Scully."** **"My peach-colored bra with the thin straps and the easy-open front thingy..."** ...looks like jungle camouflage. I unhook it and take it into the bathroom where I fill the sink to let it soak. As the sink fills, I catch my reflection in the mirror. Paint freckles my face, hands, arms, cleavage. A big splotch of green covers my left breast. I reach for the washcloth, and then, for some reason, change my mind. Instead, I run my index finger through the paint, smearing a wiggly line around my bare nipple. The paint is slippery and it feels kinda...nice. I draw another line, connecting my nipples like dots. Both nipples harden. Hmmm. Should I...? **"Scully, you didn't!"** **"Yes, I did."** Why not? I hurry to the kitchen and gather up the paint jars. There are six different colors: yellow, blue, red, orange, purple, and a small amount of what's left of the green. Carrying them back to the bathroom, I decide the mirror is too small in there, so I take the paint into the bedroom instead, where I have two mirrors: a big one above the bureau and a full-length one that stands in the corner. I line up the jars on the bureau in rainbow order, removing each lid as I add it to the row. My heart is racing and I feel like a naughty child. What would Sister Mary Katherine say if she knew what I was planning to do? Stepping out of my shoes, I unbutton my pants and slide them off. My hose are the next things to go. Wearing nothing but my panties, I turn to face the full-length mirror. A small redhead with a green line linking one breast to the other stares back at me with devilish eyes. This painted lady doesn't care whether or not Sister Katherine thinks she's wicked. She plans to do something a little out of the ordinary tonight. Hooking my thumbs beneath my waistband, I slip my panties down below my hips. When they reach my knees, I let them drop to the floor. Voila, my canvas is ready. Starting with the purple, I dip a finger into the jar. The paint is thick and doesn't drip when I lift it to my neck, and it's cold from sitting in my car for a day and a half. I paint a tentative line along my collarbone, raising a rash of goosebumps on my arms and thighs. Despite the paint's chilly temperature, I feel a fire ignite between my legs. I pose to admire my handiwork in the mirror. Next I dip my finger into the red jar. I draw a heart over my own heart. The paint glides across my skin, and with little swirling motions, I color in the heart. Each tiny stroke causes my breasts to bounce a bit. I look in the mirror and watch, wishing someone other than myself were painting my skin. How would it feel to have big hands spreading paint across my breasts, or a long finger drawing a straight line from my breastbone down to my...? ~sigh~ I paint several orange curlicues on my abdomen. Then a series of green lines, from my waist to the undersides of my breasts. A yellow zigzag from my left knee to my groin resembles a lightning bolt, and I swear I can feel its electricity tingling my center. Scooping some green onto my finger, I consider touching it to my...uh...is this stuff non-toxic? I check the label. Yes, of course it is. It's made for kids. Heck, it's even edible, according to the fine print. I taste it to be sure, just a dot on the tip of my tongue. Hmm. Doesn't taste great, but not terrible either. Well, here goes. I press my paint-slicked fingertip between my-- Someone knocks on the front door. Damn it! "Scully?" **"Oh! This is *me*!"** **"Yes, it was you, Mulder."** **"You didn't answer the door when I knocked."** **"No, I didn't."** "Scully? Are you home?" Mulder's voice carries clear to the bedroom. Although I have no intention of answering the door, I consider putting on my robe. "Scully?" Go away, Mulder. I hold my breath and wait. I hear nothing. A full minute passes. Still nothing. He must have gone. I breathe again...and begin to rub my finger slowly against my...mmmmm. Mulder's face floods my mind and I pretend that he is-- **"Really? You thought about me while you...?"** **"Yes, Mulder, I thought..."** ...about Ellen's question the day before: "What about that guy you work with? I thought you said he was cute." **"You told Ellen I was cute?"** **"I did. Then I said..."** "He's a jerk." **"Oh."** **"But I amended my statement. I said..."** "He's not a jerk, he's...he's obsessed with his work." **"Oh, big difference, Scully."** **"It was the truth. *Is* the truth. You remember what happened next?"** My phone rings. Jesus H. Christ, a little privacy, please? I'm in the middle of something here. I let the machine pick up. //Scully it's me. I need to talk to you. It's about the case. Call me as soon as you get in -- it's *very* important.// Very important? The Jersey Devil? How important could it be? Mulder *is* obsessed. Why can't the man go out and have a beer, take a day off. Does he have to work, work, work, when I want to-- Damn it. I wipe my hands on my thighs, cap all the paints and put on my robe before dialing Mulder's cell number. I don't want to be naked while I'm talking to him on the phone. It would be just like him to ask, "Scully, what are you wearing?" "Hey, Scully," he answers on the first ring. "I need to see you." I cinch the belt on my robe. "Uh, yeah, okay. When?" "No time like the present. I'm on my way." "Mulder...uh, how long before you...where are you now?" Someone knocks on my door. I'm guessing it's Mulder; he never left my building. Phone in hand, I go to the door and open it. "Hey," he says into his cell and smiles at me. "You forgot your case notes out here in the..." Holding my files in one hand, he waves them at the folding chairs and squints at the paint on my face. "Mulder, what's so important it couldn't wait until Monday?" "You're busy?" "I--" "If I've caught you at a bad time...? Maybe you're getting ready for another date with that guy -- what was his name?" "Rod. And no, I'm not getting ready-- What did you need to tell me?" He shoulders past me, striding into my living room. I follow, point to the couch, indicating he should sit. Without removing his coat, he takes a seat at the far end. I sit at the opposite end, and he leans toward me, elbows on his knees, hands waving the air as he speaks. "Dr. Redmond agrees the planet is probably teeming with humans raised in the wild, Scully, providing a factual basis for many age-old legends like the wendigo of northern Canada, the Russian alma, the Chinese yaren, the African ngoloko, kakundakari, and Tano Giant--" "Those are myths, Mulder, like Gilgamesh or Mowgli. Who is Dr. Redmond?" "A colleague of Dr. Peters, the ethno-biologist we met earlier at the Smithso--" Mulder leans closer. He draws an invisible circle in front of my face with his index finger. "You, uh...you've got something..." "It's fingerpaint." He nods, as if this makes perfect sense. "Like us, wild humans are most likely tribal, aggressively territorial, oriented by selfish sexual and reproductive drives--" He stops talking and waggles his finger in the general direction of my cleavage. That finger. That long, beautiful finger. I can't help but picture it, glossy with paint, sketching a bold line between my-- "I was in the middle of cleaning, Mulder," -- I tilt my head toward the kitchen where paint-spattered Tupperware sits unwashed beside the sink -- "a little fingerpaint accident." Glancing at the kitchen, he nods again, and then his focus drops to my bare feet, where a squiggly orange line runs from my toes up my shin and disappears beneath my bathrobe. "Cooperating...like a...tribe..." His voice falters and he stands. "I'm gonna go." I'm staring at his hands. Oh, Christ, those hands. "That would be a good idea." I stand, too, and feel the wet paint glide between my legs. "We can talk about this--" "On Monday." "Right." * * * "And that's when you left." "I've always wondered about the paint thing, Scully, but I'm not really seeing how your story was...well, a particularly happy moment for you." "It was a milestone, Mulder." "In what way?" "It was the first time I ever thought of you as a potential lover." "Ooooooh. That is nice." "Yes, it is." "Did you go back to your, uh, fingerpainting...after I left you?" "Sorry, Mulder, my story is over. It's your turn now. When did you first, you know, think of me as a potential lover?" "Right after you said, 'Agent Mulder, I'm Dana Scully, I've been assigned to work with you.'" "Liar." "I am not." "Pants on fire." "Well, yes, they are. Would you mind shifting to *your* right a bit?" "Better?" "Sorta." "Good. Now gimme the details." "Remember the Dudley, Arkansas case?" "Home of Chaco Chicken?" "That's the one. 1995. Sheriff Arens, Creutzfeldt-Jacob, town of cannibals." "How could I forget? I almost got my head chopped off." "And who was the knight-in-shining-trenchcoat who saved your cute little ass?" "Mulder! You weren't thinking about me in a sexual way when I was bound and gagged!" "No, no, no. Although, if you wanna get out those Bureau-issue handcuffs--?" "Forget it, Mulder. Tell your story." "Before you and I left DC to investigate the town of Dudley, I showed you a videotape of a television documentary." "About a guy in an insane asylum." "Yep. Creighton Jones. He pulled off the road on May 17, 1961 to take a nap. They found him three days later so deranged he had to be committed." "What about him?" "Nothing about Creighton Jones specifically. I told you I saw that documentary when I was in college and it gave me nightmares. You said--" "I said I didn't think anything gave you nightmares." "Right. Well, uh, I lied." "Pants on fire. Are you now saying you didn't have nightmares about Creighton Jones?" "No, I did. It's just, I sorta led you to believe that those nightmares were a one-time thing, when I was younger. To be honest..." "You were still having nightmares." "All the time." "Why didn't you say something?" "Well...that's the crux of my story." "Your nightmares are related to the first time you thought of me as a potential lover?" "Sorta, yes. The story starts when..." * * * Scully and I returned from Dudley, Arkansas around mid- afternoon. After writing my report, I came home, took a shower, ate take-out Chinese, watched three movies back-to- back, until now it's 2:48 a.m. and the damn Chaco Chicken case is circling around my brain like an off-key round of Row, Row, Row Your Boat. I'm thinking I won't be sleeping at all tonight. Again. Doctors say the three most common causes for insomnia are 1) stress on the job, 2) poor eating habits, and 3) a lack of exercise. Hmm. I can't attribute my sleeping problem to lack of exercise -- I run almost every day. Sometimes it's just an ordinary five- mile jog. Sometimes it's a heart-pounding pursuit over the hills of Podunk, Iowa, the dales of East Bumfuck, Montana, or, more often than not, under a chain link fence at a top-secret military installation. Mutants, ghosts, men in black. Exactly who chases who is a week-by-week thing. Hunter or hunted, I get a great cardiovascular workout on a regular basis. So, how about stress on the job? Could work-related tension be keeping me up at night? Nnnnnnah. My job isn't stressful. I honestly find it stimulating. What the hell else would I do if I weren't chasing Bigfoot, Fluke Man, the Jersey Devil, or a liver-eating-brain-sucking-hypothalamus-crunching-alien-human- hybrid-clone-from-outer-space? Sit at home? No thanks. As for my diet, what's wrong with double-cheese pizzas, quarter-pounders and take-out Chinese? Sssssooooo, ruling out the three most frequent causes of nocturnal no-doze, I asked my friendly neighborhood doc (*not* Scully) if...uh...too little sex might cause some men to lose sleep. Hypothetically speaking. Doc wouldn't say yes, and he wouldn't say no. So I'm thinking, life in the no-nookie zone is at the root of my problem. Let's face it, I haven't had sex with a woman in months. And it's entirely possible the last time was with a vampire. Don't get me wrong -- it's not that I can't get dates. That part is easy. Keeping a date interested long enough to dance the Mattress Mambo -- now that's the trick. Fact: most women are turned off by the mention of alien invasion. Prior to sex, the topic of extraterrestrials in general is apparently taboo. Oh, and for those who might think beating oneself off while watching a triple-X movie marathon counts as the kind of sex that promotes deep sleep and prevents insomnia -- I'm here to tell you, bro, it does not. If it did, I'd be in a perpetual coma. So, what's a restless G-Man to do? Dr. Sleepless -- the doctor I saw because there was no way in hell I was gonna go to Scully with this sexual deprivation theory -- explained some strategies I might try to help me fall asleep. 1: Count my breaths. He said, "Don't resist the thoughts that come into your head, but try not to follow them either. Instead, accept them. Notice the thoughts that float into your consciousness...then observe as they float away." Fine. I tried it the first night. It went something like this: One...one delicate hand wrapped around my-- Breathe. Two...two 900-number phone calls. "Marty, right now I'm wearing--" Breathe. Three...three Celebrity Skin magazines, oh, God, look who's the centerfold-- Breathe. Four...four porn tapes starring redheaded lesbians-- Ahhhhhhhh! Nothing was floating away but the ejaculate on my leg. Second night. 2: Try the "body sweep." Dr. Sleepless said, "In this exercise you move your attention slowly up your body. As you pass over it with your awareness, flex and relax each muscle group as you go. The goal is not to fight off the thoughts that arise, but to keep yourself detached from those thoughts, letting them depart." Okeydoke. I started with my toes. Flex. Relax. I thought about stiletto-heeled shoes on dainty little female feet. Moving up my legs, I flexed and relaxed my ankles and calves. I thought about nylons with seams running up the back of...Scully's shapely legs. Jesus, she has great calves. I flexed my thighs and thought about a lacy black garter belt and pretty little bikini panties and Scully's glorious rounded ass...which led me to think about all the sex I wasn't getting, so I said "screw it" and flexed my dick until it exploded in my hand. Night 3: Temple massage. Led to masturbation. Night 4: Visualization. Ditto. (Are you sensing a pattern here?) 5: Use the bed only for sleeping. Huh? Did I not mention the "getting no sex" thing? To be honest, I don't do anything at all in my bed. I prefer the good ol' leather couch. For eating. Reading. Sleeping. Jerking off. Hey, it's closer to the VCR and the box of Kleenex. Okay, by now you've got the picture, I've got the picture, it's a fucking Kodak moment and I'm a masturbation junkie. The monkey on my back is the hand on my cock. I couldn't stop now if I tried. Unless... No. Forget it. She wouldn't go for it. Not even to rid me of unhealthy sleep patterns. Althooooough... She is first and foremost a doctor. Isn't she required by some doctor law to help me? Hippocratic oath and all that? If I approached her as a patient...with a condition...a debilitating condition... Nnnnnnnnah. Crap. It's 2:56, I'm wide awake and on the verge of wrestling with old Johnny One Eye. This is intolerable. Grab phone. Hit speed dial. One ring. Two. //H'lo?// Shit, I woke her. Of course I woke her. It's fucking 3:00 in the morning. //Muller? Zat you?// "Hi, Scully, I...uh, I've got a question for you. An important question." //What time...? Mulder, it's 3:00 in the morning!// "Is it?" //You know it is.// "Sorry." //What's your important question? It better be good.// "It can wait 'til morning." //Mulder, you've already--// "No, really. I'm okay." //Are you hurt? What happened? Mulder, where are you?// "I..." //Mulder?// "I think...I think I might be sick." //Sick?// Her voice is all worried-like and I can just picture her sitting up, concern etched in her brow. Maybe she's throwing back the covers, already getting out of bed. Whaddaya suppose she's wearing? //Mulder, you didn't eat any of that Chaco Chicken did you?// "It's possible I had one teensy bite." Oh I am such a low down-- "I think...I think you better come over." //What are your symptoms, Mulder?// "Symptoms?" //Fever? Chills? Nausea?// "All of those." //All?// "Yeah, and I'm dizzy. My eyes feel strange." //Your eyes?// "Like they're being squeezed. Is that bad?" //I don't really know, Mulder. I'm coming over.// YES! "Oh, you don't have to do that." //Yes, I do. I want to.// "Well...if you think it's best." //I do. Are you going to be all right until I get there?// "Yeah, I think...I'm pretty sure...I'll hang on." She hangs up and I grab my crotch. "Open the bomb bay doors, Private Mulder! Aye, aye, Captain Fox." I unzip my fly and liberate my payload. Getting into position to yank my doodle, pump the python, hold the sausage hostage, I try to play out in my head how the conversation is going to go once Scully arrives. "Ooooh, Mulder, is that all for *me*!" "You bet your sweet--" I'm wondering where we should do the deed. Against the wall, on the kitchen counter, under the coffee table? And how precisely should we go about it? Scully's a good Catholic girl, so she probably wouldn't object to the tried and true Missionary Position. But would she be willing to attempt something a bit kinkier? A lap dance? A slurpy soixante-neuf? I don't suppose there's any chance she masturbates. I start stroking. And stroking... And stroking... Oohh, mama, I'll be sleeping like a baby tonight! Rock-a-bye Mulder, Scully's on top; when my wad bl... Uh-oh. That brings up a teensy-weensy concern. Because it's been a few months since my last real roll in the hay, it's entirely possible I might detonate too soon, humiliating myself and ruining any chance for a future close encounter of the Scully kind. Operating under the assumption that a few practice runs might improve my stamina, warm me up for the game and extend my time on the playing field, I go through the motions...uh...three times in twenty minutes. A personal best, if I do say so myself. I decide one more lap around the track will ensure I don't pop my cork prematurely. Lying on the couch, eyes closed, hand working hard, I picture Scully wearing a lacy bra with thin straps and one of those easy-open front thingies. Her dainty fingers toy with the clasp. Lips pursed, she gazes at me through her lashes. "Tell me your deepest, darkest fantasies, Agent Mulder," -- she unhooks her bra and exposes her breasts, inch by sexy inch -- "and I'll make them *all* come true." Oh, god, I'm gonna-- There's a knock on the front door. Shit! "Mulder?" **"Ooh! This is *me*!"** **"Yes, it was you, Scully."** **"So this explains--"** **"Yeah, yeah. You knocked on the door and..."** "Coming, Scully!" I scramble to get off the couch but my pants are down around my knees, so I yank them up and stuff myself into them. Owwww! The pain knocks me backward. I can't quite zip my fly. "Use your key, Scully." Shit, shit, shit, the Hindenburg won't deflate, so I grab a pillow and cover my lap just as Scully walks around the corner. "Mulder, you look flushed. Do you have a fever?" All doctor-like, she removes her coat and comes to stand beside the couch. She places a cool palm on my sweaty forehead. "You feel warm. Pupils are dilated. Your pulse is racing. Do you feel sick to your stomach?" "I could vomit right now." "Maybe I should drive you to the hospital." "No, no, no. I'm not *that* sick. Honest." "Mulder, Creutzfeldt-Jacob's disease is nothing to..." She stares at the crumpled tissues dotting the floor around the coffee table. "Is your nose running?" "Uh...could be." I feel like such a cad. She's obviously concerned about me while I've been wanting to boink the bejesus out of her. She eyeballs the pillow in my lap. "I think I see what's going on here." "You do?" "Yes. You're exhausted. You need a good night's sleep." "You have no idea." "Lucky for you, I have the perfect remedy." I doubt she's thinking what I'm thinking. "Really?" "A glass of warm milk with a shot of whiskey. It was Grandma Scully's answer to everything that ails you. Got any whiskey?" "I think there's a beer in the fridge." "Maybe I should've asked if you have milk." "Better check the date on the carton." She wrinkles her nose, and heads for the kitchen. "Will you stay while I drink it?" I ask. "I'll do better than that," she calls from the kitchen. I zip up my pants before she looks around the doorframe and says, "I'll stay until you fall asleep." True to her word, Scully brings me a warm cup of Grandma's famous sleeping potion, she sits with me, and I fall asleep. We both live happily ever after -- more or less -- because I realize it isn't Grandma Scully's magic potion or Dr. Sleepless' advice or even boinking the bejesus out of my partner that allows me to drift off into dreamland; it's having my very best friend in the whole wide universe get out of bed in the middle of the night, drive all the way over from Georgetown to sit with me until I fall asleep, just because she cares about me. * * * "Scully, you're not smiling." "Something about your story bothers me." "The fact that I lied to you?" "No, not that particularly." "The fact that I wanted to boink the bejesus out of you?" "Nuh-uh." "Then what?" "I can't believe you didn't see me as a potential lover until 1995." "Scully, I was attracted to you the first time we met. I fantasized about you lots of times before the Chaco Chicken incident." "Then why...?" "It wasn't until after we returned from Arkansas that I felt I had the slightest chance of scoring...you know...for real." "Why then?" "Because, because of the way you looked at me when I rescued you." "My hero." "Exactly." "Well, Sir Mulder, how can this damsel repay you for saving her life?" "A lap dance? A slurpy soixante-neuf? I don't suppose you'd masturbate?" "I'm willing to try anything you'd like. Just name it, my love. Your wish is my command." -x-x-x-x-x-x- Mulder awakened alone, and in darkness. For a moment, as he fought his way towards a muzzy consciousness, he wondered if it had all been a dream -- just another of the half-waking fantasies that had sustained him during the dark, lonely months when he and Scully had been apart. He'd gone to bed each night worrying about her and Will, and wishing he could be with them, and greeted each new day with the same thoughts hovering around the corners of his mind. So maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe their unexpected reunion on Christmas Eve had never happened. That would be good, right? That would mean that all the rest of it -- the invasion, the war, the brutality, the death -- none of it had happened, either. And wouldn't that be better? He reached full wakefulness before he had to answer that question, and by then, he knew it wasn't so. This wasn't the cold, lonely bed he'd made do with in Boise, nor the one in Pierre, or in Birmingham. It wasn't even the overstuffed featherbed he'd lucked onto in Bar Harbor. God, the dreams he'd had in *that* bed. If only Scully had been there -- But she hadn't, and that was that. More importantly, she was *here*, somewhere in the apartment. *Their* apartment -- the new one that they'd picked out as their home, now that the war was finally won. Or at least over. Mulder grimaced, shook his head and rolled out of bed. No time for such thoughts now. They had 48 hours for their honeymoon - - less than that, now, although since it was still dark out, that meant it wasn't yet Sunday morning. But he didn't intend to waste a single moment. He pulled on his discarded boxers and went looking for her. He found her in the living room, standing at the window, looking out at the darkened city. She was wearing his dress shirt, the one she'd pulled off him so insistently a few hours before. He paused for a moment and let himself admire her, his gaze raking across the shadowy curves made visible by the dim illumination of the streetlights. She knew he was there, of course. He could tell by the set of her shoulders and the slight tilt of her hips. Yes, she knew he was there, and she was waiting. Was she ... was she actually *posing* for him? He shook his head and smiled, and moved forward into the room, until he stood directly behind her, his hands finding a natural resting place on her hips. She shifted her weight so that she was leaning back against him, and she rubbed the back of her head against his bare chest. "I had to get up to go to the bathroom," she said, her voice very soft. "I stuck my head in to check on Will, and he wasn't there. For just a second ...." "He's with your mother," Mulder replied, when her voice trailed off. He remembered his own momentary confusion upon waking, and suppressed a small shiver. He dipped his head to place a soft kiss behind her ear. "He's safe." "I know." She turned in his semi-embrace, and the brilliant smile she gave him seemed to light the room. "I realized it almost immediately. Then I came out here for a glass of water, and got distracted by the city ... and now here you are." "And now here we are," he agreed. He prodded her toes with his. She smiled again, and carefully stepped up onto his insteps, maintaining her balance by grasping his upper arms, while he tightened his own grip on her hips. "Are we going somewhere?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement, as he began to walk backwards, step by slow step, singing as he went. "Back to back, belly to belly ... Well I don't give a damn 'cause I've done that already ... Back to back, belly to belly ... At the Zombie Jamboree." Scully was smiling, sliding her arms up to loop them around his neck, and moving her hips in rhythm to his song. He took another uneven step. The sofa was back there somewhere ... he craned his neck, trying to spot it -- They toppled over backwards in an abrupt cataract of arms and legs and laughter. Somehow, Mulder managed to hold on to Scully, and when the sudden flurry abated, he found himself lying on his back, with Scully sprawled out on top of him. "Well that was exciting," she said. "But I think the Kingston Trio will sleep soundly tonight." She wiggled against him, trying to get comfortable, and making him distinctly *un*comfortable in the process. Her hair, tousled and disheveled from their earlier activities, hung down around her face like a curtain. She leaned down to kiss him and it enclosed them both, a small, intimate sanctuary. Their mouths separated at last, but rather than return to the outer world, Mulder nuzzled her cheek, dragging his lips along her jaw line and inhaling deeply. She smelled of Scully and sex, the most intoxicating combination imaginable, and he closed his eyes and took another breath. "You smell goooood," he murmured. "Really." She suddenly shifted her weight, pulling back a little and propping her elbows on his rib cage, and Mulder didn't have to open his eyes to know that she was giving him the eyebrow. But he opened them anyway. -x-x-x-x-x-x- MEPHITIS MEPHITICA By Brandon D. Ray "Do you practice that look in front of the mirror? Or did you do it too much when you were a kid, and your face froze that way, just the way the grownups always warned us?" "So I smell good." "Well, yeah." "Funny. That's not what you said before." "Before?" "Before." "Scully? You want to help me out here? Because I think you lost me at the last turn. Or maybe the one before that." "Mulder." Pause. "You're hopeless." Pause. Sigh. "I guess it's time for another story, isn't it." "Another story? You mean like --" "Yes, I mean like." "Is it lame, like the last one you told me?" "Lame?!" "Ouch! Lame, Scully. Very lame. Fingerpaints, and they weren't flavored, either. And you didn't even have an orgasm." "It *was* our first time, Mulder." "In your mind." "Yes. Our first time in my mind. And besides, you interrupted me when you came to the door. Remember? If you hadn't --" "Ah, yes. So you're saying that this time I *didn't* interrupt you?" "You'll just have to wait and see." * * * At least the motel is almost empty. I'm sure the owners are unhappy about that, but all it means to me is that there's plenty of hot water. I reach out and turn the faucet, and the spray from the shower gets a little hotter. Ahhh. Perfect. I begin to scrub, working the cheap motel soap into as good a lather as it's capable of. Note to myself: after two years and then some of running off across country at a moment's notice, you'd think I'd be smart enough to make sure all my damned toilet items were packed before I jumped in the car. Check that. Not *smart* enough -- if I were smart, would I still be doing this job? *Experienced* enough, though. God knows this isn't the first time, or even the second or third, that I've managed to get out in the field, only to find that I'd forgotten some essential personal item. Mulder thinks I'm some avatar of organization and orderliness, but .... Shit. Mulder. That son of a bitch. I can't believe he said that to me, after I came running in the middle of the night, *again*, and saved his ass, *again*. I can't believe he even *thought* it. **What? What'd I say?** **I can't believe you don't remember this.** **Scully, you gotta give me some help, here. You can't convict a man without even telling him what the charges are!** **Just wait.** And that was the problem, of course. Waiting. I'd been waiting for -- well, sometimes it seemed as if I'd been waiting for eternity, but that wasn't really true. We'd only been working together since '93, and he hadn't really started to get under my skin -- not in *that* way -- until after I was abducted and returned. I'd admit to the occasional stray thought -- **Stray thought? Those fingerpaints sounded like more than a stray thought.** **Shut up.** -- the occasional stray thought, but that was as far as it went, that first year. After that, however .... I turn under the shower, letting the spray wash over my back, then tilting my head to wet my hair. I reach out, eyes closed, and fumble with the tiny little complimentary bottle of generic shampoo, and wind up dumping more than is strictly necessary onto my head. Well, maybe not more than's necessary *this* time. It really is going to take some work to get the stench out. "'Scully, you smell bad,'" I mutter, gritting my teeth as the words bounce back from the walls of the shower. "'*Bambi* has this theory I've never come across --'" **Aha!** **Mulder -- shut *up*.** I slam the shampoo bottle back into its little niche, and try not to fume while I lather my hair and rinse it out. The water continues to pour down on me, hot and steamy, gradually working the kinks and knots out of my muscles. Slowly, slowly, just a little at first, I start to relax. I don't know what I expected when I came racing up here. I truly don't. Yes, Mulder's my partner. Yes, he sounded like he was getting himself into some extracurricular trouble. But what else was new? It wasn't like he'd broken into another military base, or had Black Ops troopers on his ass again. This had been an agricultural research station, for God's sake. And Dr. Berenbaum -- well, she was a lot of things, but she was certainly no Cancerman. **What sort of things, Scully?** **What?** **You said Bambi was a lot of things, but that she was no Cancerman. What sort of things did you have in mind?** **Oh, come on!** **No -- I truly want to know. What were you thinking? You weren't -- you weren't jealous, were you? Were you really worried about me?** **I always worry about you, Mulder.** **That's all the answer I'm going to get, isn't it?** **Yes. Now do you want to hear the rest of this story? Or shall we talk about something else? Sheriff Hartwell, perhaps?** **Shutting up.** What I really want, I finally admit to myself, is a little gratitude. Some sign that Mulder appreciates my efforts on his behalf. I'd dropped everything, just as I always did, and got here just in time to save the day, just as I always did -- and what's my reward? He openly drooled over that USDA bimbo, then he insulted me, and now, finally, he's abandoned me in another cruddy motel, with nothing but generic soap and shampoo for company. I turn my face into the spray again, eyes closed, and try to force the unpleasant thoughts away. What I need is a distraction. A diversion. Something to take my mind off all the crap that had literally just been thrown at me. I need ... I need .... Yes, I think, as my hand strays down across my belly, smoothing away the last of the suds. Yes, that would do nicely. What I need is a little stress relief; a little release. I let my hand continue southward, trailing my fingertips through my curls, while I bring the other one up to caress and pinch one of my nipples. Yesss ... yes, this is good. The water is warm and relaxing, and already I can feel my troubles start to drift away. The only thing that would make it better would be if it was someone else's hands doing this to me -- The sudden draft of cool air takes me by surprise, and I start to turn to see what's caused it ... but then I'm aware of someone stepping into the shower behind me. Someone large and comforting and masculine. I have a quick flash of Anthony Perkins, knife held high, but I reject the thought. Not here. This is someone ... someone a little dangerous, perhaps, but nevertheless someone I can trust. I don't have to open my eyes to see him; I already know what he looks like. He's tall and dark, his nose is a little too big, and his hazel eyes are full of regret. "I'm sorry, Scully," he whispers, his mouth hovering next to my ear as he bends over me. I shiver a little at the sound, but I do not speak, and after a moment, he repeats, "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. Let me make it up to you." He touches me then, his hands large and warm and heavy as they glide across my shoulders and down my arms. His fingers are slick and oily -- with what? He brings one hand up to caress my cheek, and then suddenly I know, because I can smell it. It's ... yes, it is. It's that lilac scented shower gel, the one that I almost never buy because it's so expensive, and there's no one in my life who I really need to impress right now. But God, it feels so good, and the scent is so wonderfully understated. And Mu -- and this man, this wonderful man, somehow he knew what I wanted, what I needed, and he's brought it to me. Now he's rubbing it into my skin, massaging my poor, tired muscles, his hands gliding across my body, spreading heat and pleasure wherever they go. He seems to know just how to touch me, in all the right places. It's almost as if he can read my mind. I sigh with contentment as he tilts my head forward, once more dousing my hair as he works at it with his fingers, his nails scraping my scalp, sending tingles of electricity down my spine. The shower is now filled with the scent of lilacs, and I moan with pleasure as his hands work their way down the back of my neck, his thumbs pressing delicately but firmly at each vertebra before moving on to the next. His hands continue past my shoulders, onto the planes of my back. I arch against him, momentarily trapping his hands between my back and his chest. I feel his erection brush against my lower back, but there's no insistence there, no demand. It's there for me if I want it, and not if I don't. **Not if you don't???** **That's right. This is my fantasy; I get to have things however I want them. You got a problem with that, Detective Kresge?** **That was low.** **It was meant to be.** His hands are sliding and tickling across my hips, probing here, touching there, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His fingers hesitate, hovering along the crease between thigh and pelvis, and I shudder, involuntarily jerking back against him. A moan fills the shower, echoing off the walls, and I know it came from me. And now he begins moving upwards, stroking my belly, tracing the outlines of my ribs. It would tickle if I weren't so aroused, but at this point, every part of my body is an erogenous zone. His knuckles brush the undersides of my breasts, eliciting another moan ... and then his hands turn, and he cups them, running his thumbs across my nipples. Lightning. I've seen that metaphor used in fiction, in those cheap romance novels that Missy used to buy, but now, for the first time in my life, I know that it actually can feel like that. The hot, urgent sensation jolts through my body. My eyes slam shut, my knees turn to jelly, and I sag back against Mulder -- **Thank you.** **You didn't really think it could be anyone else, did you?** **Not really. But, well, you know ... Thank you.** **You're welcome.** -- knowing I can depend on him to keep me from falling. He wraps his arms around me and steadies me, holding me close against him. His hands are still cupping my breasts, and I thrust them forward, arching my back in a silent plea for more contact. And he obliges me, rubbing and kneading them, pinching and squeezing my nipples, and everything is just so, so right. My head is thrown back against his shoulder, my eyes are closed, and I'm breathing through my mouth, in short, sharp gasps. The shower is still on, spraying hot water on everything, but I barely notice, as the heat from the body pressed up against mine overwhelms all other sensations. After some endless, unmeasurable time, his hands start sliding downwards again, retracing their bath across my ribs and abdomen, softly caressing my waist and hips ... and finally, finally, arriving where I most want them. I ease my thighs apart, his fingers quest forward, burrowing through my mound of curls, teasing my lips, and -- OH! SWEET! JESUS!! I don't even know if I said the words aloud, but I can hear them echoing through my head. Mulder's fingers are everywhere, stroking and touching, exploring my folds. I thought I knew power when he was playing with my breasts, but this ... this is unbelievable. Unbelievable, and almost unbearable. He's touching me everywhere I want to be touched, and I'm rotating my hips, jerking them and making incoherent sounds of approval and encouragement. I don't know how much more of this I can take. The tension is building and building inside me, burning like a flame low in my belly. Mulder's fingers are moving faster, faster, hitting all the right spots, driving me higher and higher and higher. I'm on the brink. I'm almost there. I can feel it, hovering all around me and inside me, making me quiver with breathless anticipation -- And Mulder plunges a finger inside me, then two, then three, pumping quickly and curling them up and forward, pumping, pumping ... and then his thumb strokes the tight bundle of nerves at my very center -- The world explodes. I can't see, I can't think, and I certainly can't speak. I'm making low, guttural sounds, but I can barely hear them over the roaring in my ears. Wave after wave after wave, the orgasm is washing through me and around me. For a few seconds or minutes or hours everything else just goes away, and I'm floating there, surrounded by warmth and pleasure. I could die at this moment and not care -- Suddenly the water is off, and I'm being scooped off my feet. I give a short, undignified squawk, but then my arms are around his neck and he's cradling me close against his chest. He's amazingly steady on his feet, despite the slippery floor of the stall. He brushes the shower curtain aside with his shoulder, and steps out into the bathroom. The next thing I know, I'm standing on my feet and being wrapped in a towel -- and not one of the damned, thin, threadbare towels supplied by the motel, but a big, fluffy one that's somehow still warm from the dryer. My skin is warm and tingly as Mulder rubs me down, his hands large and strong and comforting as he works at me through the towel. He kneels before me, head bent, and carefully dries my calves and ankles -- he even dries between my toes. Then he rises to his feet, lifts me once more into his arms, and carries me off to bed. I snuggle down square in the middle of the canopied, king- sized bed that has somehow suddenly appeared in the Miller's Grove Motor Lodge. Mulder crawls in after me, pulling the blankets up around our shoulders and taking me into his arms. I smile, and sigh, and turn on my side, and he spoons up behind me, warm and loving and comforting. Just before I drift off to sleep, I whisper a single word: "Forgiven." * * * "Wow. Scully. That was ... that was pretty good." "Not lame?" "Not lame at all. I'm ... I'm impressed. And aroused." "It got me through the night, anyway. More to the point, it kept me from wanting to kill you the next morning." "That's a good thing." "At the time it was a practical decision ... but I've come to realize that there are other, less tangible advantages to keeping you alive." "Hey! That's something pretty tangible you've got hold of." "Yes, it is. And getting more tangible by the minute. Mmmm. What you're doing feels good, too." "Glad to be of service. Ahh. Yes. Like that ... just ... just lift your knees a little. Oh yes. You know, there was only one thing missing from your story. One thing you left out. But I think I've already figured out how to fix it." -x-x-x-x-x-x- SHE IS ME By Bonetree The next time Mulder awoke, it was to the sound of a siren wailing, a Doppler-whine streaming down the street in front of the apartment building that startled his eyes open, his grip around Scully tightening like an instinct. No, it wasn't a raid. There would be no more raids. This was an ordinary tragedy, the ghost of it drifting through the city as the sound retreated into nothingness. He had become immune to the tragedies. They were stacked like bricks, a wall around a part of him that he opened only to Scully now, and only then sometimes. Looking down at her asleep in his arms, a scant few hours from their most recent lovemaking, the playfulness of their earlier exchanges eluded him. Instead, memories crowded in, a mass of them, washing through his body and forcing the faint ache and tingle of pleasure out. The day Maggie had wept when Charlie did not come home. Scully's face, the way it was split by anguish and anger for days afterward from watching her mother's tears. He'd never seen her more determined than after that, the way her face had set into a hard patina of grief, resigned to the struggle that was ahead of them. No. He had seen that look of grief before. He thought of their earlier conversations, the trading of stories of times they'd wanted one another, sought refuge in the other's body. And he remembered the time he'd wanted nothing more than to give that refuge to her, to push everything else away. He looked down at her sleeping in his arms, the story coming to him. He wondered for a moment if he should wake her to tell her, but decided against it. This was a story he would not share with anyone but himself. If they were to remember the nights of wanting, this was a night he would remember alone. The moon hung like a bulb on a cord outside the window. He watched it, and let the memories come. * * * She'd said she was going home, and she'd left him there in the hallway of the hospital, her confession of the apparition in the bathroom while she'd mopped at the blood the cancer had pushed from her a heavy shroud across his shoulders. Death had visited her, and from the resigned way she'd turned from him, going off to her apartment alone, she seemed to have let it in. Anger had coursed through him as he stood there, feeling emptier than he had in his life, lonely as a church without graves. He'd gone to the door and watched her sit in the car for a long while, her head jerking up from where it had slumped against the steering wheel once, as if in surprise. Then she'd started the car and headed off into the maze of streets. Awhile later, the strange case closed, he'd climbed into his own car and headed into the same streets into the night. Home then, his coat on the rack, he'd tossed his tie and jacket onto the floor by the door, unbuttoned his shirt, gone to the fridge for the solitary beer that sat on the empty shelves. The light from the appliance was the only bit of it in the whole house except for the slats that came through the window, the blinds half closed like tired eyes. When he sat on the couch, the light sliced his legs, glinting off the bottle in his lap. He sat still for a long time, barely breathing. She was slipping away from him. It was as though she were passing through some invisible door, vanishing, becoming gauzy and insubstantial. Her body was already growing thinner, the set around her eyes darker, her skin more pale. He'd watched it for all those long weeks in the basement office, looked away dutifully, quickly, every time she caught him staring from across the room. Her eyes were always pleading when she looked at him before he turned away. Don't look at me, they said to him, clear as any voice. Don't see what you see. He knew she thought he saw her as weak, or at the very least weakening. If only she knew what he thought about when he saw her. What he had seen since nearly the first day they'd met. Sitting there with his beer, he'd taken a long drink and closed his eyes. The tears had started, held in check like hers as she'd left the hospital, emotion coming out of its stiff clothes. She was slipping away from him. But how to bring her back? He let his thoughts open, seeking the answer... In his mind he was at her apartment door. He would let himself in with the key he'd been given. The room he entered would be dark, he knew. She would have gone straight to bed to flee what she had seen, what she feared. He would find her on the bed, curled in moonlight beneath the sheets. She slept soundly. It would take a lot to wake her. Certainly he wouldn't have to worry about the sound of his clothes being shed, the gentle sounds of them on the carpet as he stripped down to nothing and made his way to the side of the bed. He would watch her breathing for a long time, memorizing it. Then the first kiss on her hairline, traveling the contours of her face with his lips until she drew in a breath and opened her eyes. In his mind, she was not surprised to see him there. There was no protest at his presence, his nakedness. It was how he'd always come to her before, only now she could see it. She slept on one side of the bed, as though leaving the other side free for...something. Death had moved in, littering the floor with his dark, invisible things. Mulder was there to take his place. She was on her back, her hands on his chest as he leaned over her, undressing her slowly. He pulled the covers back and removed the last of her clothes, hiding nothing. When he eased into the bed beside her, his body ready for her, he always imagined the perfect fit of them, how she would turn to him, her leg hitching up to his waist, her arms around his neck. Their breath mingled in kisses and half-spoken words against the other's lips. Her breasts were pale and soft beneath his hands, the curve of her waist made for his palm, her hip a welcome mound beneath his hand. Her fingers moved through the scant hair on his chest, her nails grazing his abdomen on their way down... He took another long draught of his beer on the couch, leaned back into the cushions. The tears fell freely now, his erection against the heel of his hand. He'd refused to heed it. Then he would push inside her, her thighs clenching him, her fingers pressing into his back. He would feel her breath against his ear, the murmur of his name. In his mind she was bathed in a darkness too thick to penetrate. And he was inside her, beginning to move, filling her again and again, pushing the darkness out. Pushing her death out -- her resignation to it, her pain. He would cure her with his body. In his imaginings that night, he'd been sure that what he felt for her could do it, could overcome anything. It had sustained him, this wanting. How could it not sustain her if he allowed her to feel it? Sleep had begun to overtake him on the couch, the beer slack in his hand, his body's need for her fed from what he saw behind his closed eyes as he drifted. When she came, she had no breath, her teeth against his throat. She felt alive beneath him, pulsing. When he came, his face against hers and his mouth open on a cry, his body filled hers with something like light. * * * The moon blurred around the edges as he stared at it, blinking furiously. Scully shifted in his embrace, turned and woke, looking up into his eyes, the set of his face. "Don't," she said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. His lips found her forehead. "I'm sorry," he murmured against her. "I won't." She nodded, her eyes half closed. "Sleep for awhile longer," she whispered. "And dream. We can dream now, you know. Everything's in front of us. And everything's behind us, too." She kissed his mouth softly. "All right," he said, and settled down against her back again, his arms around her. He counted her slow breaths. Ten. Twenty. Then he, too, was asleep. -x-x-x-x-x-x- Scully found herself wakeful in the hours before dawn. She'd been aware of Mulder's own earlier insomnia, in a dreamy, half-conscious sort of way, but she'd remained still and silent, knowing by some basic instinct that he needed to work through whatever was bothering him on his own. At last he'd seemed to relax a bit, and she'd turned and calmed him with a few words. But now, more than an hour later, Scully herself was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, sleepless. She didn't know with certainty what had been keeping Mulder awake, but she could guess. Even after all these years, after everything they'd been through and all they'd done with and for each other, her ... oh, my ... her *husband's* capacity for self-doubt and guilt never ceased to amaze her. She shifted restlessly amongst the bedclothes, trying once more to get comfortable, but then Mulder mumbled something in his sleep, and she stilled again. He needed his sleep. Not only because of the catharsis he'd apparently just experienced, but also because they would both need to be at the top of their game as they faced the challenges that still lay ahead. Well, if she was going to be awake, she might as well be doing something constructive. Moving carefully so as not to disturb Mulder, Scully slipped out of bed. Groping around in the gray of early morning, she located her robe, slipped it on, and stepped out of the bedroom, then moved down the hall to the living room. For a moment or two she paused by the picture window, staring out at the scene before her. But this time, the darkened cityscape failed to hold her attention, as her thoughts turned once more back to Mulder. After all the horrible events of the past year, she'd promised herself that she would never again take him for granted, that she would never allow herself to forget his importance in her life. She'd spent too many months and years in denial of her need for him, and she'd vowed that it would not happen again. But now she wondered if perhaps she'd failed in another way. In finally opening herself to Mulder, and allowing him to care for her in the way he'd clearly always wanted, she was afraid that perhaps she'd neglected her reciprocal duty to see to *his* needs. And she now felt a stab of guilt over her decision to lay still in his arms, feigning sleep, while her perfect other wrestled with his sorrows alone. She shouldn't have done that. Well, there was no undoing it. The only thing she could do, now, was to do as she'd told Mulder -- look to the future, and try to learn how to dream again. And she knew just how she wanted to start. She'd tried something like this once before, long ago, but it hadn't worked out as she'd planned. Now, however, there was no uncertainty left between them, and no extraneous influences to distract them. Scully smiled to herself as she turned and headed for the kitchen. What she had in mind was a small thing, and in and of itself would mean little, but it was a start. Even the longest journeys begin with a single step. -x-x-x-x-x-x- COMING CLEAN By mimic117 "Is that coffee I smell?" "Why don't you open your eyes and find out, Mulder?" "Don't wanna." "Why not?" "If I open my eyes, it's officially morning, and I don't want it to be morning." "Why?" "'Cause then we officially have only one day of honeymoon left. So I'm not opening my eyes." "Mulder, you can't stave off the inevitable by keeping your eyes closed." "Can too." "Cannot." "Can try." "Try all you want, but you're not getting any coffee until you open your eyes." ~sigh~ "Fine... Scully, do you always deliver breakfast in bed while naked?" "Only when the recipient is my husband who's also naked." "I think I'll become a nudist." "Considering how much you like prancing around in the buff, it wouldn't be much of a stretch. Scoot over. Let's eat breakfast while it's still hot." "Breakfast isn't the only thing that's hot." "I can see that, but I'm going to ignore it until I've built up my strength again. Did you get any more sleep last night? Or did you stay awake agonizing over the what-ifs and should- have-beens?" "I told you I wouldn't, Scully. And I didn't. I was just thinking, that's all." "About what?" "About things. Stuff." "Not happy stuff, from the look in your eyes." "We're not gonna talk about that. This is our honeymoon. We're going to talk about happy things. So what did you do this morning besides prepare breakfast in your birthday suit?" "I was thinking, too." "About...?" "My cancer." "Scully..." "It's okay, Mulder. This was a happy thought." "How can anything having to do with your cancer be happy?" "Because I was thinking about the first time I ever decided to jump your bones." "You're kidding! You were planning to have your way with me while you were sick with cancer?" "Not while I was sick. This was right after I went into remission. Remember that case down in Florida? The "mothmen"? It was our first time out of town after my miracle cure astounded the doctors." "Yeah, I remember. We were on our way to build towers of furniture when we got stopped by a road block." "And then you got out of the car." * * * I really didn't blame Mulder for getting out. What I was ready to smack him for was leaving me behind with Agents Dull and Duller. If I had to listen to one more boring story about how they validated their partnership on each others' shoulders, I was going to rip the upholstery into strips and lash them to the head rests by their necks. Tight. So to avoid the lengthy explanation and accompanying paperwork, I got out of the car, too, and followed my unvalidated partner into the humid Florida undergrowth. As soon as I heard him talking about odd footprints, I knew we weren't going to make the seminar. I figured we'd catch hell from Skinner for blowing it off, but what else was new? For once, I didn't care. I was just glad to be out in the field, again. **Really, Scully?** **Yes, Mulder. Really.** **You rebel! I thought for sure you were totally pissed at me.** **I had to keep up appearances, didn't I? Couldn't let you think it was okay to blow off whatever assignments you wanted, whether I agreed or not. Besides, that was right about the time I decided I was tired of letting other people control my personal life.** **So you decided to screw my brains out.** **You want me to tell this or are you going to keep interrupting?** **Please, continue, Scheherazade.** **Thank you.** It took me a long time to work up the nerve to bring in that plate of wine and cheese. I kept thinking about it and thinking about it until I'd worn the idea thin and ragged. Then I quit thinking and just said "What the hell?" I had a plan in mind. A celebration, if you will. So much of our time in recent months had been spent hiding, lying, worrying, or just plain hurting. I wanted that to change. I'd been handed a second chance and I was going to take advantage of it. But I wasn't going to do it alone. Not anymore. So I went to a little convenience store next to the motel and rustled up some party food. The choices were rather limited, but I managed to find a couple of small bottles of a halfway decent wine. I bought chunks of a few different kinds of cheese and some crackers, and hauled it all back to my room. The motel manager lent me a tray to put it on, and I was set to par-tay. I walked into Mulder's room and found him surfing the web. He seemed surprised. It felt nice to know that I was the one who put that happy smirk on his face. "You try any of that Tailhook crap with me, Scully, and I'll kick your ass." Well. Didn't that just bring up a wonderful mental image? Mulder, walking a gauntlet of groping women, hands all over his chest and ass and... I usually enjoyed seeing other women checking him out. But recently, the idea of strange women with their hands on him was enough to put me in a real funk. I needed to do something about the jealousy that was getting harder and harder to control. **You were jealous?** **Of course I was. *I* wanted to be the one touching you. And I was planning to that very night, but you suddenly jumped up and grabbed your jacket.** **Uh oh.** **Damn right.** "When I get back, we can build a tower of office furniture," Mulder quipped, and then he left. Opening one of the tiny wine bottles, I poured some into a plastic cup and took a healthy slug. I couldn't believe Mulder just walked out on me to go chase goblins. Of course, he didn't have a clue about what I had in mind, but that didn't make me feel any better. I looked around his room, not quite sure what I should do next. Realizing it was going to be wine and cheese for one instead of two, I locked Mulder's room and took the party tray back to mine. I moped around for a while, nibbling on cheese and crackers, but not exactly hungry anymore. I'd had a plan. A way of bringing some closure to both of us - a chance to rid ourselves of the past and start fresh. Now it seemed like I would have to put the idea on hold. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I could still carry out part of my agenda. If Mulder couldn't be there in the flesh, he could still be with me in my mind. And maybe it would be enough to give me the peace I was hoping for. **Is this the good part?** **That depends.** **On what?** **On whether or not you let me finish.** **Oh. Can I ask a question?** ~sigh ~ **Okay.** **Does this involve a can of Reddi Wip?** **No Reddi Wip, Mulder.** **Are you sure?** **Yes, I'm sure. Why do you ask?** **'Cause I've always had this fantasy about you and a full can of whipped topping...** **Well, this is my fantasy, not yours.** **Oh. Right. Do we have any Reddi Wip in the kitchen?** **If you'd let me finish my story, you could go find out.** **Don't mind me. Carry on.** Gathering up shampoo and shower gel, I went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I left my phone in the other room. I didn't care what else happened, there would be no interruptions tonight. I stripped off my clothes, while the water heated up, and left them in a heap on the floor. They were a skin of sorrow being shed to make way for a clean, healthy new me. If I'd had a way at the time, I would have burned them. As steam filled the bathroom, I shut my eyes and let my mind conjure the image of the mist swirling in the wake of the closing door. Mulder had entered the room. He quickly removed his clothes, adding them to the pile on the floor. Holding the shower curtain open, we both stepped into the tub. The water was just short of scalding, but it felt wonderful as it flowed over my head. We stood facing, with the spray bouncing off his chest, and stared into each other's eyes. "This is where it begins," I told Mulder. "No more loneliness, doubts, misery or despair. We can watch it all wash away." Mulder nodded. Picking up the shampoo, he squeezed some into his hand and reached for my head. His long fingers dug furrows through my hair as they massaged my scalp. I groaned aloud as his hands pulled all my rage to the surface and mixed it with the suds. It cooled the water as they combined, so intense was its heat. Pushing my head under the spray, Mulder stroked his fingers through my hair, sending the foam sluicing down my back and into the drain. I reached for the shampoo, to do his hair next, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm. "You first." Nodding, I allowed him to take over. Mulder rubbed the shower gel into a lather in his palms. Using only his fingertips, he washed my face with firm, circular strokes. With my eyes closed, I could feel every inch of his skin where it touched mine. It tingled and tickled, the way your lips do when you hum against a waxed paper-wrapped comb. As Mulder cleansed each new area of my body, I felt the emotions that had weighed me down for a year leaching out through my pores. Pain and despair ran down my face, dripping off my chin to the shower floor. Sorrow trickled from my fingertips, swirling together with the misery oozing from my feet as they spiraled down the drain. Mulder's fingerprints scraped across my breasts, catching on my nipples as all the doubts and loneliness welled up under his tender touch. When his long fingers glided between my thighs, I came. Not in a burst of heat, but in soft, pulsing waves. As if my body were giving thanks for the purity of pleasure. His strong hands steadied me as I shuddered through my release. I felt him let go of me as I drew in a deeper breath of life than I had taken in months. For the first time in so long, I wanted to gaze into a man's eyes with all the love I was capable of giving -- without hesitation or fear. But when I opened my eyes, he wasn't there. Mulder wasn't standing beside me, with love in his beautiful eyes and diamond sparkles of water on his skin. And it was okay. The time wasn't right for us yet. I was willing to wait for it. With the past year's pain finally purged, I could stand to wait for a bit longer. Shutting off the water, I stepped out of the tub and dried off. Putting on my pajamas and robe, I went back to the remains of my party. I was in the mood to celebrate, again. I'd accomplished what I'd set out to do all along. * * * "It wasn't too long after that you called me, babbling about glowing eyes chasing Louis through his house. So I got dressed and waited for you to come back for me, so we could end up out in the Florida swamp where you could get chewed on by a mothman." ~sigh~ "That was kind of sad, Scully. I wish I could have been there with you." "You were, Mulder. You were in my mind the whole time. So was that the good part?" "Yes, it was. Even if it was a little sad." "Not lame?" "I'm sorry I ever called your fingerpaints lame, okay?" "Okay, I guess. Just don't let it happen again." "How come it didn't?" "What?" "Why didn't you ever try again, Scully?" "Well, it wasn't too long after that we found out about Emily..." "Oh." "The time never seemed quite right again." "I'm sorry I walked out on you in Florida. I wish I'd known what you were thinking. Maybe if we'd been more open with each other, like we are now, we wouldn't have waited so long to be together." "Or maybe we would have anyway, Mulder. I still believe things happen for a reason. We came together when the time was right for us." "Still, it would have been nice to wash away the worry and pain of your cancer together." "No regrets, Mulder. What we did is over and gone. It's what we do now that counts." "So what should we do now?" "Wanna take a shower with me?" "Are you propositioning me, wife?" "It saves on water. Conservation and all that." "I'll wash your back if you wash my --" "It wouldn't be any fun showering together if I didn't, now would it?" -x-x-x-x-x-x- BITCH By Lara Means "Mulder, you're thinking again." She could tell just by looking at him that his mind was hard at work, even though his body was exhausted. "I'm just wondering, Scully, how long you've had this little jealousy problem," he murmured, wrapping himself around her. "From the beginning." He gave her a look. "Phoebe Green," she said. "You're kidding." "Nope." "Scully, that was... God, that was forever ago. And it was over long before she came to Washington." "Didn't seem like it." "What happened to 'everything's behind us'?" "Almost everything." She grinned, snuggling close in his arms. "But I *was* jealous of her. Of every woman who's paid attention to you." "Must be a short list." She laughed softly. "What?" he asked. "You still don't get it. All these years, and you still don't get it." "Get what?" "The effect you have on women." "Well, I know the effect I have on *you*," he said as he nuzzled her ear. "Yes, but..." She paused, momentarily distracted, then continued, "Women have always been attracted to you, Mulder." "You ever do anything about it?" "What, like tell some woman to back off?" He nodded. "Once," she said. He pulled away from her throat to look at her, aghast. "Who?" "Karin Berquist." "Karin-- Scully, Karin Berquist, that was just--" "-- two professionals exchanging information, I know. But she wanted you, and I wasn't about to let her have you." "What did you say to her?" "I just made sure she knew *I* knew what she was up to." "I can't believe you did that." "What was so frustrating, Mulder, was your complete disbelief that the woman could have lured you out there to meet you. You can be damn charming when you want to be, and she was probably captivated the moment you struck up an on-line conversation. You're intelligent, funny, passionate -- and that's before she got a look at you." He stared at her in disbelief. "You're serious." "I couldn't get it out of my mind the whole time we were there. And when you did that little touchy-feely thing, I almost lost it." "What touchy-feely thing?" "You don't remember." "You do, obviously." She sighed. "She was at the computer. You wanted to show her something, so you put your hand over hers on the mouse." "I have no recollection of doing that." "Of course not. Because you didn't see it as a seductive gesture. She did, and you had no idea at the time." She sat up in bed, pulling the covers up around her. "I wanted to show you, Mulder, how attractive you were. How you affected Karin Berquist, how you affected *me*. But things happened --" "Tell me," he whispered, moving to hold her again. "Tell me what you would've done." * * * I get back to the motel before him -- he's still at the vet clinic. It's probably a good thing he's not here, because I'm still fuming over that conversation with Karin Berquist. "Feminine wiles, my ass," I mutter, kicking my shoes across the room. "A lot of good they've done me." I stare daggers at the door connecting our rooms, again wondering how Mulder can be so dense. "I'm flattered," he says, refusing to see it. It's a wonder I have any buttons left after I strip off my clothes and get ready for bed. I forego a shower, knowing it wouldn't do me any good. But I know what *would* help... and I hear him coming in next door. I wait a bit, until he's had a chance to start undressing. Then I throw open the connecting door and march right into his room -- **I think I'd remember that.** **You would if I'd done it, but this is what I *would've* done, remember?** **Oh. Right. Carry on.** -- march right into his room. I timed it just right -- his shirt is unbuttoned and untucked, and he's so startled by my bursting in he looks a bit befuddled. It's a good look on him. "Scully, what --" I don't give him time to finish his question. Instead, I grab him by the shoulders and shove him up against the nearest wall. My body molded to his, I take his face in my hands and kiss him. If he was startled before, he's stunned now. He ain't seen nothin' yet. I part his lips, my tongue snaking into his mouth. He recovers quicker than I expected and responds to my kiss, trying to take control. He brings his hands up to my arms, my shoulders -- my hands find his and move them away. I'm pinning him to the wall with my body and my mouth, and it feels so good... He breaks the kiss and looks down at me, seriously puzzled. He gives me that little-boy lopsided grin and I think I fall for him all over again. "Glad to see you too, Scully," he murmurs, then leans in to kiss me. Uh-uh -- this is my party. I pull back from him, still holding on to his hands. "Wait a min--" "Shh..." I tell him, pulling him toward the bed. I let go of his hands long enough to take off his shirt, then I slide my hands up underneath his t-shirt and take that off too. He reaches for me and I sidestep him, shaking my head. "Later," I promise, then take hold of his waistband. Mulder finally gets a clue and stands there, still and silent, as I unbutton his trousers. He trembles a bit when my fingers find the zipper, and I smile. I take this part slowly, savoring the anticipation that crackles between us. I can feel him beneath my knuckles, half-erect just from our kisses. Zipper down, I slide his pants off his hips, giving his ass a squeeze as they fall. Now *I'm* trembling as I slip my hands under the elastic and ease his shorts down too. He's mostly naked now, standing there with his pants around his ankles. I turn him around to sit him on the bed, then I kneel down. Apparently he kicked his shoes off the second he walked into the room, so all I have to worry about are his socks and pants and shorts. Once I've taken care of that, I look up at him. His eyes are closed. His fists are closed. His Adam's apple works as he swallows hard. It takes a second or two, but I finally get it. He's naked, and I'm on my knees in front of him. Well, that was my plan anyway. Sort of. I reach up and stroke his face -- he leans into my touch, eyes still closed. "Mulder," I whisper, and he opens them. "Lie down." He moves up further on the bed, hastily shoving some pillows behind his head. He looks glorious like this, naked and aroused. I get up and step away, not too far, just so he can see me. I begin to unbutton my pajamas, taking it slow, doing this for him. My nipples harden almost painfully when the cool air hits them, so I cup my breasts and squeeze. On the bed, Mulder moans -- and I see that he's taken himself in hand, moving slowly from root to tip. My eyebrow arches and I step closer, removing his hand from my prize. "Mine," I tell him, hastily stepping out of my pajama bottoms and panties. Mulder whimpers a bit when he sees me, and part of me wants to let him look to his heart's content -- but that can wait. Tonight's about something else. I climb onto the bed next to him, stretching up to kiss him again -- God, this man can kiss! We'll definitely have to do this more often. Then I pull away and nuzzle his ear. I lick his neck, bite his shoulder, nibble my way down toward his chest. He tries to get his hands into the action, but I gently swat them away. It takes a minute or so, but he finally understands and uses his hands to grip the sheets. When I reach Mulder's nipples, I depart from my previously determined course -- inspired by his reaction before when I squeezed my breasts, I raise up above him, my hands on his shoulders. Then I lower my body until my nipples just touch his -- the groan and shudder I get from him tell me how much he likes this. Or was that me groaning? I lower myself completely and we're pressed together, skin to skin, and I have to claim his mouth again. This time he wraps his arms around me and tries to roll us over -- it's a struggle, but I manage to keep him on his back. I break the kiss and get back on track, nibbling my way down his body. I move between his legs and sit back, admiring him, stoking his anticipation. My eyes locked with his, I run my hands slowly up his thighs, from the knee to the crease at his groin. I smile as his eyes practically roll back in his head. Finally, finally... I play my fingers along the length of his cock. A feather-light touch at first, then more firm, until at last I'm holding him the way he was himself just a few moments ago. **Mulder, are you okay?** **Keep going, Scully, don't stop now...** I stroke him for a while, getting used to his reactions as I tighten or loosen my grip. He's raised up on his elbows, watching me touch him. I'm glad -- that's just how I want him right now. I lean down and take him into my mouth. Mulder lets out a long, low moan as the moist heat envelops him. I take this as slowly as before, moving my head up and down, swirling my tongue around the sensitive ridge, letting my teeth gently graze him on the way down again. His moans are nearly constant now, and knowing how much he's enjoying this is really turning me on. I spread my legs a little and reach between my thighs, shuddering as I rub my clit. First plunging two fingers inside then rubbing it again, I'm a little distracted from my primary task -- but then, so's Mulder. I glance up to find him flushed and breathing hard, staring at my hand, at what I'm doing. So I turn my attention back to him -- by relaxing my throat and taking all of him in. I haven't deep-throated anybody since college, but it's nice to know I haven't lost the skill. Mulder's hips are moving now, gently thrusting into my mouth. He reaches out a trembling hand and brushes my hair away from my face, so he can watch what I'm doing. I rub myself a little harder, a little faster, and I feel the tingle -- I'm close now, so close. My movements on Mulder's cock become deeper, longer, more powerful. I run the flat of my tongue up the underside, I hollow my cheeks and suck, I encourage his thrusts. Suddenly the hand that held my hair back now holds my head to him -- He explodes in my mouth. And I shatter. After a while, after our orgasms subside, I move up to lie next to him. His arms go around me instantly, but I shift so that his head is on my shoulder. We lay like that for a moment, both of us exhausted, but soon Mulder can't help but ask. "Scully..." I head off the question of "why now," mostly because I don't know the answer. Instead, I give him something else to ponder. "Other women want you, Mulder. But they can't have you." He searches my eyes, and apparently he's satisfied by the answer he finds there. He snuggles close and kisses the top of my breast. After a bit we both fall asleep. * * * "Of course, what *really* happened was that I had a powerful orgasm all by myself and fell asleep alone in my bed. I didn't even hear you come in." She noticed that he's breathing hard, and she shifted in his arms. "Mulder?" "You fantasized about giving me a blow job." "Well... yes." "And you came from that fantasy." "Yes. That's not so unusual... is it?" He leaned in and kissed her, a passionate kiss. Then he whispered, "Have I told you how glad I am that you married me?" -x-x-x-x-x-x- Mulder refused to look at the clock. He'd been awake for a while, lying here in the darkness, trying not to think about the passage of time. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't ignore the fact that they only had a few hours left. Scully was asleep. At least, he thought she was. She was curled up in her characteristic ball, like a red haired hedgehog, and her breathing was slow and easy. He'd almost awakened her several times, wanting her company, not wanting their few remaining hours to go to waste. But each time he'd managed to restrain himself -- and in truth, he took considerable comfort in seeing her like this. Calm. Relaxed. At peace. And as he lay in bed in the dark, listening to her breath, his thoughts drifted. It had been such a long, strange journey that the two of them had been on. That first day, when she walked into his office, holding her science before her like a gladiator's shield as she entered the arena -- he never could have guessed, way back then, that one day she would become his indispensable, perfect other. He'd given her three months, he remembered. Three months before she got fed up -- with him, and with the X-files. He hadn't been looking for a partner, let alone a soul mate. He hadn't wanted one. But he'd found one, anyway. The past 48 hours had been amusing, as they each shared with the other what they remembered about their life together. Amusing, but also enlightening. All those years he'd been watching her, out of the corner of his figurative eye, and now he finally knew that she'd also been watching him. Thinking about him. Fantasizing about him. Wanting him. He'd explored his feelings about that, earlier in the weekend, trying to figure out how he felt about it. A part of him mourned the wasted time, but for the most part -- surprisingly, considering how moody he often was -- he couldn't find it in himself to have any real regrets. Not about their relationship, anyway. Oh, there were things he would have done different. And there were definitely things he would change, if only he had the power to do so. There'd been too much pain, too much suffering, and not nearly enough joy. But their love affair? It might have been a long time coming, but he liked things the way they were. He liked the way things had worked out. And -- as Scully had said once, in another context -- he wouldn't change a single day. If nothing else, he would never, ever give up their first time together. It had been too special, too fraught with emotion.... "What are you thinking about?" He blinked, and realized that his eyes had drifted shut. Scully was awake now, her body uncurling as she stretched languidly. Her bright, blue eyes seemed to pierce the darkness, and she had that somewhat amused, "what-the-hell" look on her face that he loved so well. He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth, and she smiled. * * * "Mulder?" "I was just settin' and thinkin'." "About what? Mmmm. You're nice and warm. I like that in a man." "Jesus, Scully! Your feet are like ice!" "I know. Why do you think I put them there? Seriously, Mulder. What were you thinking about?" "Us." "What about us?" "About ... you know. All the stories we've been telling. Everything we've remembered. And ... I've been thinking about the first time. You know. That night." "Oh." "Hey -- don't be sad. I didn't mean --" "I know. And I'm not, mostly. It's just ... it was a difficult time." "Have we ever had any times that weren't difficult, Scully?" "Not many." Pause. "Mulder? Would you ... would you help me?" "Help you what?" "Help me remember." -x-x-x-x-x-x- LET ME LOVE YOU TONIGHT By Char Chaffin They didn't make love for the first time because one of them felt sorry for the other. Strangely, he'd always thought that if he were ever to have the honor of a night with Scully it would be under the blanket of comfort rather than true need. Well, actually...he'd need her desperately, and she'd allow him the comfort of her body. But it didn't happen that way. They didn't do it in a haze of blind lust. Not because the feelings he had for her were not coiled within the confines of his heart and so tightly wound that they could spring free at the slightest indication of acceptance, from her. Of course they were. Firmly in place, at least for him, since almost the first year of their partnership -- perhaps the lust he felt had aged over the years into a painful yearning. Because of this maturing, he still would not have proceeded blindly -- if she'd wanted him in that way, with that kind of frenzy. It wouldn't have been right. Love, pure and simple -- desire, more than enough for both of them -- those emotions comprised the reason. Knowing that Scully had asked him to give her what she needed, to conceive...sad heartbreak when the attempts failed. It wasn't even that, although you'd think it would have been. How easy to just say, "Well, Mulder...it didn't happen scientifically; maybe if we just go the old-fashioned route, and hump like minks--" No, it wasn't that. It's hard to find the energy for sex, just for sex's sake -- when the mind is grieving and the heart is sore. After that first failed attempt she was so fragile. Trying to keep her spirits up, but he could see right through her. Mulder remembered the beginning of the autumn; how she smiled a lot. He was back at work and feeling himself again. Their partnership was stronger than ever, and they'd even engaged in some light flirting. So much different than the innuendo-laden tripe he usually bestowed upon her -- because this time she was flirting back. It was fun...it was getting to be the norm with them. It had given them cause to push it a little further than just a flirt. He'd find himself walking her to her door and standing there in the dim of the hallway, smiling what could be considered the world's goofiest smile. She would smile back just as inanely -- and when he'd lean in she'd stretch up. There would be a kiss, or two. Sweet. Not too gentle -- not too rough. Not exactly open and certainly not closed. Nice...better each time, although truthfully there'd only been a half-dozen of those. But each one was new and heady and lasted just a second longer than the last. They were moving slowly, but it was fine with them; it worked for them. Anticipation had them in one inevitable slide toward one another. That slide tilted abruptly the morning she'd asked him for the one thing he'd been desperate to give her, albeit not in quite the way she requested... * * * "I hurt your feelings when I asked you, didn't I?" He squeezed her gently. "No, Baby. Not exactly. I confess, I would have liked to have given you that first little package with a bit more intimacy than in a jar -- but at the time I understood your reticence, Scully -- really, I did. It wasn't the right time for us. And yet, it had to be the right time for you to conceive." She squeezed him back. "Stop being so damn understanding, Mulder. I would have shot me if I were you--" He shushed her with a soft kiss. "No. If I'd done that I wouldn't be holding you right now, completely saturated with the afterglow of fabulous sex and contemplating another round of it, if I can get my Johnson to cooperate." She huffed a sleepy laugh. "Come on, Johnson... So, you weren't hurt. You weren't disappointed--" He interrupted her without apology. "Well, I wouldn't say I wasn't disappointed, Scully..." * * * That he might conceive a child with her before he actually felt himself within her body giving her his semen the natural way -- it hadn't hurt, but it had disappointed him. So much. If he could ever give her a child he wanted so much to be loving her when it happened -- inside her where he ached to be. He'd never let her know, because she needed to stay optimistic and as relaxed and open to the possibilities of conception, that she could feel. If he'd believed in the idea of jinxing, he'd have said he didn't want to jinx her with negativity, in any form. He'd managed to hang onto that thought through the first process. It hadn't been as easy as he thought it would be, to conjure up the kind of imagery necessary to fill up that damn jar. In his ignorance Mulder had thought all he needed to do was lie back on that uncomfortable sofa, take himself in hand, slap on a little K-Y and think of Scully. It had always worked in the solitary confines of his apartment, or any darkened motel room. But this was different. This time it meant the future life of a child that would belong to him and the woman he loved. This was vital... This was performance anxiety. It seemed to take forever but he managed to complete the task by fighting to think of it only in the way it would feel to be surrounded by her first her tender palm, then her inner softness instead of his lubed-up hand. She'd start by holding him in those small, warm fingers -- cradling him. Reassuring him that this was good and right, this was what she wanted -- what he wanted. Stroking him, now gently and then hard -- peppering his face with tiny, biting kisses and damp licks of her tongue, while her body opened beneath him and her hand was replaced by her feminine heat. He'd slip inside her on a needful sigh and he'd feel himself spinning out of himself -- but she'd ground him in her embrace and the movements they made against each other would last a lifetime...more than enough time -- to fill up his soul -- fill up a small glass jar. * * * "You thought of me?" He stared at her in the dim light of their room, amazement at her question evident in his reply to her. "Well, of course! Who else?" She poked him in the ribs with an elbow. "Well, there were all those magazines -- and those videos... So what did you think about, Mulder? Tell me." He sighed with long-suffering exaggeration, and turned his head on the pillow, pinning her with his gaze. "I thought about what it would feel like the first time we loved for real, Scully -- how wonderful it would be -- how right. I imagined it all, and I came hard, in that stupid little jar...and when it was over I wanted to cry because it was a jar, and not you. But I knew it was only a matter of time, before it would be right for both of us -- at the same place in our respective lives. And if you remember...it was..." * * * "Come over, Mulder. Please." Standing in front of her door he thought about the tone of her voice on the phone, one hour ago. Not exactly sad, but not happy. Weary but also a bit edgy. And Mulder never stopped to think how odd it was that he could know this woman so well -- know her to the point of being able to analyze her very vocal tone -- and yet had never been more intimate with her than a handful of sweet kisses. He'd only been home for a few hours when he decided to call her and make sure she was all right. When he'd left earlier she was dry-eyed but calm, and they both decided they needed a little breathing space to assimilate the reality of the procedure's failure. He'd sat on his sofa in a dark apartment and worried his lower lip with his teeth until it felt as raw as his heart -- and he knew he had to call her and make sure she was okay. So he'd dialed her number -- and she'd whispered into the phone, "Come over, Mulder. Please..." Five minutes later he was on his way. Now he raised a hand and rapped twice; she opened the door so quickly that it was apparent she'd been hovering on the other side. They stared at each other in the soft glow of her foyer. She was barefoot and tousle-haired; pale and red-eyed and wearing jeans with holes in the knees and a sweatshirt that was ripped over one shoulder. He'd never seen her so disreputably dressed. So vulnerable. And more beautiful than when she was perfectly-groomed and expertly made up. He stepped forward and she walked backward and he pushed the door closed with one boot. And when he placed a hand on her cheek it felt cool and tender under his palm. "You've been crying again." He was stating a fact, not asking. She nodded. He sighed in distress and held out his arms. "Oh, Scully...c'mere." And she fit herself into his embrace and pressed her cold cheek into his neck; her arms curled up and into his back and they held onto each other tightly. The seconds stretched out into minutes and neither of them moved, or spoke. Mulder wanted to absorb every drop of her sadness, her worry -- her despair. He clasped her even closer and his words were a breath against her ear. "Scully, I would do anything to make this work out for you. Anything. You know that, don't you?" He felt her nod into his neck. "I refuse to think of no other chance for you -- for us." At the possessive "us," she raised her head and her damp eyes bore into his. "Mulder, I can't ask you to involve yourself any further. It's not fair to you -- to your own emotions. I can't--" He pressed a hand on her lips to silence her. And he shook his head at her, a crooked little smile cast her way. "I'm involved, Scully. I always have been. I got involved the day I pocketed those ova -- hell, even before that! For as long as I have known you I've been involved. When you lost Emily..." Her indrawn breath was a warning but he didn't heed it -- "Scully, when you lost her I wanted nothing more than to find a way to fill you with the ability to bear children. Even back then...my children. I never could tell you. I didn't want to hurt you..." Now it was her turn to cut him off, first with her hand and then the careful press of her mouth against his. Their lips clung for a moment, before she broke away and met his sad gaze. "I'm glad you told me, Mulder. It means so much to me, to know that you cared that way. But I have to face that it's over. Whatever remains between us, it won't be accented with children. Not biologically... I have to accept that." He shook his head again and cupped her face in his hands; held her in place before him. "I told you not to give up on a miracle, Scully. I meant it. You never know what's coming around the corner. What's going to happen a day from now, a week or a month away. That's why life is so damn amazing, even at our darkest moment and our saddest times. You just never know. Maybe we can't have a child of our bodies but what's most important now is the way we feel about each other -- and if that feeling is strong enough to carry us into a future together. I think it is. What about you?" It was a challenge...in his voice, his body language and from his eyes as they bore into hers. She didn't answer him with the words he wanted to hear but the meaning behind those words came across loud and clear, when she rose on tiptoes and her lips brushed his earlobe as she murmured, "Stay with me, Mulder. Stay here, with me." Her request was not a question, and his response was immediate and sure. "Yes. Yes, Scully..." * * * "I was so nervous." Her admission made him smile tenderly and he brushed his nose over her cheek teasingly, leaning in to press a kiss on one exposed breast. "You were perfection. I was a wreck, though. I remember thinking I couldn't possibly give you everything you needed..." She took a turn at kissing the flat male nipple nearest her mouth, and he felt her smile against his chest. "Oh, Mulder...you blew me away. Every fantasy I ever had about us; each one I have told you about, tonight -- none of them could possibly compare to the real thing, that first time -- none of them..." * * * He spent more time in the bathroom than he should have, preparing himself. It wasn't romantic, at least not his idea of romance. Lit candles and soft music, even softer lighting...an inviting bed with the covers pulled back, just asking for the hero to carry his beloved over to it and lay her down gently upon the cool, silky sheets. That was "Romance" -- and that's not the way it happened at all. He'd held her hand as they walked into her bedroom, instead of carrying her. There was a dim light -- coming from the bathroom. They'd paused at the bed and Scully had begun to fuss with the coverlet, eyes not quite meeting his. And he'd mumbled, "Back in a sec," and beat a quick path to the bathroom. Once there he'd splashed water on his face and hastily scrubbed at his teeth with his finger and some of her toothpaste. He stared at his reflection and smoothed his hair, then roughed it up until it stood on end. The thick spikes of hair made him look like a nervous teen. Mostly he'd worried. About disappointing her. About agonizing over what was really the most natural act in the world -- loving a woman. About not lasting long enough with her, to assure she'd enjoy it, and climax before him. He even worried that once in bed, she'd change her mind. He worried about everything but the possibility that the longer he hid out in the bathroom, the more convinced she'd be that he was feeling regret. When he finally came out Scully was sitting on the edge of the bed with her knees together and her bare feet aligned perfectly, still fully dressed, and sporting an expression of nervousness that far out-nerved anything he'd managed to conjure up. She looked like a parochial schoolgirl facing a nun-infested firing squad...and the sight of her suddenly dissipated all of Mulder's worry and own fluttering nerves. She was as jittery about this, as unsure, as he was. And somehow that made everything so much better. In that instant he knew everything would be fine. No, everything would be wonderful. He'd see to it, personally... * * * "Mulder, you were nervous, too? You sure didn't act like it." His fingers stroked over her hair slowly and his chuckle was self-derisive. "Scully, I was a mess. I thought for sure you could tell. I came out of that bathroom scared to death I'd let you down. When I saw you sitting there like a good little Catholic girl, all my nerves vanished into thin air." Her laugh pealed out and the sound of it was sweet to his ears. In between snickers she teased him. "Please don't tell me that was one of your long-held fantasies, Mulder -- bopping a devout woman. My ego is so fragile right now..." Her silliness made them both laugh. It felt wonderful -- laughing in bed on their honeymoon, which was a miracle in itself. He gathered her closer and whispered wickedly to her. "You've discovered my impure little secret, Scully. Thank God you never lost your religion; I don't know what my libido would have done about it." She pushed at his bare shoulder. "Don't talk like that when you're naked. Better yet, don't talk at all..." Her lips covered his and Mulder laughingly kissed her, but his thoughts were several years away, remembering... * * * Her eyes widened when he dropped to his knees in front of her and slipped a hand into the torn denim over one bent knee. The jeans were loose and he could cup the back of her calf, touch her soft skin. Mulder glanced down at her feet and saw her heels still carefully aligned, but at his steady caress he could feel her relax a little. He raised his head and met her uncertain gaze with one as reassuring as he could manage. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his shoulder and her words were a rasp of low sound. "It's been a long time, for me. Years. I'm a little rusty, I think -- no, a lot rusty. Slowly, okay? Slowly." When she looked into his eyes again she must have found what she was looking for, because a blush stained her cheeks and the look of that pink stealing across her face was delightful. He could feel a grin building and his reply was sandpaper- tender. "It's been a while for me as well, Scully. Just as many years. We'll go as slowly as you want. We'll rust together, how's that?" She sighed out a shaky giggle and her gaze melted him even as her words made him smile anew. "You're an utter goof, Mulder..." That was the last sentence she spoke for a long time. Kisses, unlike any they'd shared before. Soft. Deep. Intensely personal -- intimately erotic. Not because he speared her with crazed lips and a demanding tongue, but because when their lips engaged, so did their souls. He could feel it. Feel her, arrowing straight through him. Kissing Scully had been a wonderful bonus these past weeks, but this woman in his arms wasn't his partner. This woman was his lover. And that made all the difference. Slowly. They took each kiss very slowly. Letting the fire of it build and catch alight. No rush, nowhere they had to be -- no hidden agenda other than the introduction of emotions buried much too long. He took much pleasure in undressing her, treating each article of clothing with the same reverence as if removing sensuous silk and gossamer. He lifted her sweatshirt to his face and inhaled the lingering scent of her; when he raised his eyes to hers he saw them glow. He busied himself with the clasp of her bra, carefully unhooking hooks and slipping down straps and pushing aside loose cups...and while his eyes adored the loveliness he revealed he performed the same slow stripping away of the rest of her clothes, until she lay nude before him covered in tiny goosebumps and a body- blush that wouldn't quit. She took what little breath he had clean from him -- and he so wanted to tell her. He also didn't want to add to her already- stretched nerves, so he remained quiet and allowed his eyes and his touch to adore her. He let an index finger wander east and west, then slowly south, her muscles fluttering as he moved it over her skin -- and just before it reached her taut abdomen he paused, leaned into her and pressed one open-mouthed kiss right over her little navel -- then forced himself to sit back on his heels. Taking a deep fortifying breath, Mulder ground out a firm, "My turn, Scully." Her smile was a thing of sweetness, as she bent to her task. Off came his socks, then she snaked his faded jeans down his legs. Face somber with concentration, Scully undressed him as slowly and as carefully as he'd done to her. And if her fingers paused at the waistband of his shorts Mulder would never have teased her for the show of hesitancy. He watched her and the way she stared at him -- at the erection that tented his boxers and peeked out a bit from the opening -- and when she licked her lips he had to clench his muscles to hold in the mad urge to leap upon her and take her, all, everything... She reached out one hand, then two -- and her fingers hooked into the elastic and she tugged a little too hard, but it didn't matter because he was dying to be out, and suddenly he was. Her breathy, "Oh, my..." went a hell of a long way to re- establish his sense of confidence in being a worthy lover. * * * "God, Mulder...the look of you on my bed rendered me just about speechless. It took a supreme amount of willpower not to just attack you." Her smiling confession stained his cheeks pink and he ducked his head into the pillow and muttered at her. "Geez, Scully..." She laughed again and rolled her weight towards him until he was flat on his back -- then she climbed aboard and grinned down into his surprised, pleased face. "Well, it's true. I saw, I wanted... I almost grabbed first." He smirked up at her. "So -- why didn't you? Grab first, that is?" "I was trying to play 'hard-to-get', Husband Mine." He rolled his eyes at her. "Oh, Brother..." * * * In the dim light Scully's body was so much more than he'd ever remembered, the few times he could remember seeing her nude. The moment had a surreal quality about it, as if in his wildest dreams he couldn't imagine she'd be here with him, warm and shy but oh so willing. He lay against propped-up pillows and tugged gently at her hands until she got the message and moved over him, straddling him carefully -- not quite centered on him but for now, close enough. Pink-tinged all over, especially her face -- and he adored it, the knowledge that she was shy. He pressed her hands to his chest and without words told her to touch him, everywhere. And she did. As her hands wandered, her eyes darkened and her breath came in short little purrs, the only sound in the room beyond his own soft groans. Tapered fingertips skimmed over his shoulders and down each arm, curling into his biceps and testing the strength found there. Her hair spilled into her eyes and he missed seeing her changing expression so he lifted a hand and tucked the coppery thickness behind her ear, then left his palm behind her head and rubbed at her nape. When Scully bent down over him in her explorations he found a small breast very close to his face, and by moving just a little he was able to catch it between his lips. When he bit down softly, she shuddered... For Mulder the taste of her skin was only equaled by the incredible feel of her and the knowledge that this time it wasn't a fantasy, this time was real. He kept his mouth busy on her breast, giving her time to accept the way her nipple responded to his teeth, his tongue -- letting her body make all the decisions, have all the control beyond that one vital mouth-to-flesh connection. When she slipped a hand beneath his head and pulled on his neck, Mulder sat up a little and pressed into her harder, taking more of her. He wasn't rough but he wasn't gentle, and it seemed to be exactly what she wanted. He murmured a few rumbling words and heard her breath hitch in her chest, there against his mouth. "Tell me. What you want -- what you feel. Tell..." She clasped him even closer as her ragged whisper filled the scant space between them. "More. More of this. It feels...ohhh...good..." His hands came up to cup her hips and when he re-aligned both their bodies and felt himself straining up, eager to be inside, he managed to grind out his intentions in a voice he didn't even recognize -- and her broken, "Yes," told him she was somehow ready for him...that quickly, that soon. She slipped to the side and lay on her back; held out her arms. Mulder rose up, over her -- and she reached out and pulled him into her body, legs falling apart to encompass him. He blinked at her in delighted surprise at the sudden and silent aggression he sensed had come over her despite her apparent shyness. He let himself sink down upon her and trembled when she folded arms and thighs all around him. Her hand cupped him, guided him -- brought him home. "Oh, Christ..." He was never sure which one of them said it; maybe they both did. Too many sensations to track; they swamped him as her flesh encompassed his. Warm. Wet. Welcoming... He'd never felt anything like it. So good...so perfect. Mulder slipped his arms underneath her shoulderblades and dug his hands into her hair, buried his mouth in her neck and let the feeling pound over him in waves. He couldn't last nearly long enough -- and yet he felt invincible; fought to hang onto it, long enough to give her pleasure. He pulled back his face to stare in happy surprise when after only a few strokes Scully stiffened and her body clenched, hard. Her head rose off the pillow and her teeth nipped into his shoulder as she climaxed, broken moans issuing from her throat that actually burned his ears. He wanted to swallow those sounds and so his mouth grasped at them, at her lips and her tongue -- loving the way they felt as they shuddered against him. Deeper, the move of his body into hers, as he kept their mouths fused tightly together. Her hands curled reflexively into his hips and pushed him down; made him thrust faster -- harder. And breaking the hot kiss and an even hotter silence between them, her throaty rasp in his ear. "Mulder... Now...please..." * * * "When you breathed those words into my ear, Scully... God. I'd never felt anything like what I felt when your voice and what you said pushed me over the edge." His voice was almost reverent with the remembrance of what she'd done to him that first night -- the way she'd loved him. He stroked a palm over her cheek and watched the pink blossom there. Scully's eyes sparkled into his and she swooped down, kissing him deeply, thanking him silently. Their lips clung, their tongues flicked against each other's -- their hearts beat together. Just the way it had happened to them years ago, when William was only a figment of their hopes and a seemingly unattainable dream. When the kiss ended Scully nestled her head under his chin -- a perfect fit, he'd always thought -- and lay upon his chest, reaching for his hands and twining her fingers through his. A small and warm Scully-blanket, Mulder decided, and he pressed his smile into her mussed hair and breathed in her unique scent. A thick contentment had settled over both of them as they rested together, in the wee hours of their second day as man and wife. It was an amazing thing, this life they'd etched for themselves. Somehow they'd overcome obstacles that would have decimated anyone else. Somehow they'd beaten odds that the most erstwhile gambler would have shied away from -- they'd found a way to live, and love -- a way to create a world for them and a beloved child from that world. It was funny. He'd spent way too much time wondering how -- in those early days when he'd returned that first time and she'd been large with their child and stressed to the breaking point with worry and anxiety for not only his safety but that of the unborn William -- how she'd conceived when so many things were against them, none the least of which -- her stolen ova. The even breathing of the woman lying atop him assured Mulder that his bride was asleep, and he decided that was a great idea. Nap a little, maybe wake up in a few hours, and make love again. Slowly and gently, softly -- but hotly. Always, there would be heat even when they'd do nothing more strenuous in bed than doze. Hell, there was heat when they'd been nothing more than friends and partners... With his arms wrapped around Scully, Mulder drifted off, remembering the way they'd held each other, had come down from that first-time high, back before the world went crazy and before they knew of their own extreme possibilities... * * * He'd unraveled in her arms. Had fallen from a very high place and landed hard. He'd climaxed in a fury, felt it streak through him until he was so light-headed he almost blacked out. It had never felt like that. When he'd swelled and burst within Scully she was still clenching at him and Mulder found himself wondering inanely if it was possible to bruise on the inside of a penis... He groaned. "Scully... Oh, baby... Love you, adore you..." He was babbling into her damp hair, barely registering his own words, and she stiffened beneath him as her body responded to the words he'd said. Her hands soothed up and down his back; her legs trembled as they enclosed his hips. Residual twinges from within her still pulled at him, arms clung as her hands moved over him. The silence between them was broken only by their heartbeats...and then she spoke. Whispered, in a tiny and shaky voice, her eyes locked to his. "You love me." It was a statement. He nodded, fighting back the urge to scream it at the top of his lungs. Scully searched his adoring stare, murmuring brokenly, "Love. Me. Oh, Mulder. I love you right back--" The rest of whatever she might have said got swallowed up in the fierce relief of his kiss, his thankful embrace. He'd always known she cared for him; loved him. Now he had the words to fold into his heart -- now he had the knowledge of her body giving itself to him -- and it was more than he'd ever imagined he'd be fortunate enough to receive. He held Scully tightly and kissed her -- letting the loneliness drain from him once and for all-- Well, at least for tonight. -x-x-x-x-x-x- "I never said thank you, did I, Mulder?" "For what?" "For being there for me that night. For making it bearable." "The pleasure was all mine. Well, half mine, anyway." "Don't joke. I'm serious. Having you there made a big difference to me that night." "You'd have managed. You always do." "Yes, I would have. But I didn't have to. And I'm grateful to you for that, whether you like it or not." Silence. "Scully?" "Hmm?" "Did it ever occur to you that it was just as hard for me as it was for you? That I was just as ... as heartbroken as you were? And that I'm just as grateful to you as you are to me?" "What do you mean?" "Our baby, Scully. We lost our baby. I never wanted children, or I never thought I did. But that day when you asked me ... suddenly everything fell into place. And for a few weeks I was the happiest man alive. Until it all came crashing down." "I'm sorry." "It's not your fault." "I know. But I'm still sorry." "It all worked out in the end. We never gave up hoping for a miracle." -x-x-x-x-x-x- EPILOGUE Eventually, it was morning. By unspoken agreement, they stayed in mutual denial until the very last minute. The drapes remained closed against the encroaching daylight, the clock was turned to face the wall. Breakfast consisted of fruit, toast and cold cereal, and was eaten in bed. Afterwards, they made love again. But all good things must end, and the moment finally came for this, as well. They showered and dressed and straightened up the apartment, picking up clothes from where they'd fallen, and putting videos and DVDs back where they belonged. "So. Minneapolis?" Scully asked, as she gave the kitchen table one more swipe with a damp towel. "Yeah," Mulder said. She already knew, but he filled in the details anyway, as much to get his own head back into the world as anything else. "I'll probably be gone a couple of weeks. Liaison crap, yada yadda. You?" "Atlanta," she replied. "More turf battles with the CDC. Some of them think, now that we've found the vaccine and got a couple of production lines going, it's back to business as usual. Monica and I are going to knock some heads together." Finished with the table, she tossed the towel into the sink, then turned to Mulder and slipped her arms around his waist. "I'm going to miss you and Will. Again." "It won't always be like this," Mulder said, trying to reassure himself as much as her. He stroked her back, and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply. "Are you sure?" She drew her head back, and Mulder was relieved to see a faint smile traced the outline of her lips. "Mulder, we wouldn't know what to do with ourselves if there wasn't any trouble in our lives. You, in particular, would go mad. You wouldn't last a week." "Would so." "Would not." "Would so!" Scully laughed, shaking her head, then stretched up on her toes to kiss him. "Whatever you say. Somehow, I don't think we're going to get a chance to find out anytime soon." "Probably not." They stood holding each other for a few minutes, not wanting the moment to end. At last they were disturbed by a knock on the door. Scully sighed. "That must be Monica," she commented. "Duty calls." "Indeed it does." He allowed her out of his embrace, and the two of them walked slowly out into the living room, hand in hand. There was another knock, louder than the first, and this time it was Mulder's turn to sigh as he let go of Scully's hand so she could undo the chain. The door swung open, to reveal Monica, wry and apologetic for having to disturb them. She'd brought two cups of coffee, and after a few awkward words of greeting, she offered one to Scully, who accepted it, then turned to face her husband. "You better get going," he said. "We wouldn't want this to get all mushy." "No, we wouldn't," she agreed. She hesitated, suddenly looking a little self-conscious, then went up on her toes and brushed her lips across his cheek. "Bye, Mulder." Then she was out the door and following Monica down the hall. Mulder turned around to look at the apartment one more time, allowing himself only a moment or two of wistfulness. Then he left, too, pulling the door shut behind him. The honeymoon was over. THE END -x-x-x-x-x- READERS: Please send feedback to Secret- Squirrels@yahoogroups.com. We'd love to know if you enjoyed "Love Among the Ruins." The SECRET SQUIRRELS: Bonetree (http://home.midsouth.rr.com/xffanfic/bonetree/fanfic.html) Brandon D. Ray (http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html) Char Chaffin (http://char.chaffin.com) CindyET (http://cindyet.xfilesfanfiction.com/) David Hearne (http://members.dencity.com/hearne/) Lara Means (http://larameansxf.tripod.com) mimic117 (http://mimic117.freeservers.com/index.html)