Implications 

Author: Ann K 

Rating: NC-17 for explicit sexual situations 

Summary: Scully makes a decision that changes everything in 
her relationship with Mulder, and she struggles to cope with 
the consequences. 

Timeline: Vague, but somewhere in late season six or early seven. 

Feedback always welcomed and appreciated at annhkus@yahoo.com 
For more of my stories, visit my website: 
http://www.geocities.com/annhkus 

An installment in an occasional series. Each story stands alone. 
This is not a work in progress. See author's notes, thanks, etc. 
at the end. 
 
I. 

It was on the flight back from Minnesota that she decided. The 
moment was clear, frighteningly so. Mulder was sprawled in the 
seat next to her, both of them tucked in the back corner of the 
darkened plane. The lights were dim, and she assumed most of the 
other passengers were asleep, judging from the hushed whispers 
which occasionally reached her ears. Mulder was flipping through 
the paperwork from their case, adding a few items to her field 
report. 

In that moment of clarity, she knew she would be risking everything. 
Everything that was important to her: Mulder, her family, her career 
with the Bureau. But then he leaned over to whisper into her ear, 
and she watched as his long fingers wrapped around the sleeve of 
her jacket. She didn't know if he would even go along with it, but, 
in that moment, Scully decided that it was time. Past time, really, 
if she thought about it. She and Mulder were destined to cross the 
line between partners and lovers, and the time was now. 

"I really think we should eliminate that last witness report, 
Scully. We both know that Mr. Jones was not in a rational state 
of mind when he gave that statement." She watched as his lips 
moved, and then she nodded her head absentmindedly. Sure, Mulder. 
Whatever. But, when they crossed the line, that imaginary line 
which had guided their every interaction in the past five years, 
it had to be by the rules. Somehow, in her exhausted brain, it 
made perfect sense. 

If they were about to break all the rules, then they had to create 
new ones. The rules would be their own, separate from the daily 
regimen of their lives with the Bureau. And the rules would have to 
preserve their professional relationship, their search for the 
truth. Sex would potentially ruin everything, and they couldn't 
risk that. 

As the plane began to make its descent into Dulles, she sat very 
still. Mulder was putting papers away into their bag, and fiddling 
with his seat belt. He had no idea that everything was about to 
change. Of course, he would go along with it. She refused to even 
consider the implications if he didn't. She numbly walked a 
half-step behind Mulder as he navigated their way through the 
crowded airport towards the luggage carousel. 

"You okay, Scully?" he asked, as they stood away from the crowd, 
waiting for their bags. "I'm fine," she answered, well aware that 
her legs were trembling, with nerves and excitement. "It's just 
that you have seemed a little preoccupied since we got on the plane. 
Are you okay with the case?" Mulder learned a long time ago never 
to take her responses at face value. 

To be honest, she didn't even remember the case. She only remembered 
the way Mulder had brushed against her as they knelt and looked at 
the victim's body, and the smell of morning coffee on his breath as 
he whispered into her ear at the police station. Every nerve ending 
in her body was on edge, screaming for his attention, and she knew. 

She knew they had to cross the line, or she would break. And then 
nothing would be the same. At least, if they went down in flames 
like this, they would go down together. 

He picked up her small overnight bag just as she spoke. "Meet me 
tomorrow, Mulder." Her voice was small, but confident. "Tomorrow?" 
he asked uncertainly, turning to face her. Mulder was tired, she 
could tell, by the dark shadows under his eyes and the way a lock 
of hair fell over his forehead. She had never wanted him more than 
she did at this moment. "That's Saturday, Scully. Don't you want a 
day away from me?" 

"No," she whispered, and, based on the tone in her voice, she saw 
his eyes widen in surprise. That was a tone she had never used with 
Mulder. It was a sultry, come-hither tone, and she knew he was 
confused. They played their roles very well. Trusted partners, 
good friends. Even Mulder's constant sexual innuendo had a 
friendly banter. The tone she used in her voice was anything but. 

"I can't keep doing this, Mulder. Being your partner, working 
together like this. I need more, and I think that you do, too. I 
want you. I want you to be that something more for me. I need 
you to be." She watched him with a steady gaze, cataloguing each 
subtle expression crossing his face. Confusion, surprise, 
trepidation, uncertainty. "Check your doorstep in the morning," 
she added, tightening her grip on her overnight bag. "And meet 
me at nine o'clock tomorrow evening. If you aren't there, we 
don't mention this again." 

With that, she turned on her heel, and walked towards the sliding 
doors. She needed to get away from Mulder. But what she needed more 
was Mulder, his body, the physical warmth of holding him close to 
her. She couldn't tell him that, though. She didn't trust him 
not to refuse her out of some noble version of sacrifice and 
good intentions. She wanted to tell Mulder that they had both 
lost their nobility a long time ago, when they started working 
together on the X-Files. 

That their sense of right and wrong mattered only to themselves, 
and she was more than willing to twist that to satisfy her 
physical urges. If that was wrong, then she really didn't give 
a damn. But she wanted to tell him that with her body, not 
her voice. And he had to understand. 

Scully blessed her good fortune as a taxi pulled up to meet her 
at the curb, and she could ignore Mulder's perplexed expression, 
and his lanky figure growing smaller as the taxi drove away from 
the airport. 
 
II. 

She paced the small apartment nervously, tucking her hair behind 
her ear for the thousandth time. Checking her watch, Scully forced 
herself to exhale, deeply, and then she smoothed her black slacks 
and adjusted her silk blouse. Ten minutes until everything changed. 
One way or another, the words she had spoken last night were the 
catalyst. Even if Mulder didn't show, even if he refused her 
invitation, she wasn't sure how she could face him in the office 
on Monday and pretend that nothing had changed. Because 
everything had. 

She had been busy that morning. After she got home from the 
airport, she was barely able to sleep, tossing in her bed, and 
finally waking up around seven. She navigated her mental checklist. 
The meeting place had to be neutral, a place they would feel 
comfortable. Someplace anonymous. By eight o'clock, she was standing 
in front of a neat apartment building several blocks from her home. 
She handed the vacancy notice to the manager, for a fully furnished 
studio, and, twenty minutes later, was out the door with two 
keys in her hand. 

Delivering the key to Mulder wasn't as easy. She didn't want to 
see him. Not yet, anyway. She didn't want to answer any questions 
as to what the hell she was up to. She didn't quite know herself, 
and she wanted them to figure it out together. 

So Scully turned off her cell phone, and sat at the end of 
Mulder's street. Mulder walked out of his building a half- 
hour later, basketball in hand, and she took the opportunity 
to slip inside the building. The note she left for him on his 
doorstep was brief, but direct. 

"Meet me at nine o'clock tonight at 120 Louisiana Avenue. 
Apartment D." 

Inside the small envelope, she slipped a gold key, and rushed 
outside before she changed her mind. She spent the afternoon at 
the park, hoping to avoid Mulder if he decided to go to her 
apartment, and, when it was finally dark, she went home and took 
a quick shower. And, now she was here. Waiting her fate. Their 
fate, really, because she instinctively knew they needed this. 
Not just physically, though the urge to take Mulder, for him to 
take her, was primal in its intensity. She needed something to 
make her feel alive, after all the death and evil they confronted 
together. 

But, mostly, she needed him. 

When she heard the key turn in the lock, and watched the door 
open slowly, she unconsciously relaxed, her tense shoulders 
slumping slightly for the first time that day. Whatever they were 
about to do, they were going to do it together. She had turned off 
all the lights in the small studio apartment, so Mulder stood at 
the doorway for some time, letting his eyes adjust to the 
candlelight. He had changed from his basketball game, and wore 
jeans and a black sweater, his hair brushed back from his face, 
and still somewhat damp. He hadn't shaved. He looked rough, 
dangerous, and sinfully appealing.
 
"I'm here," she said, drawing his attention over to the corner 
of the studio, where she sat tucked in a small chair by the window. 
The shades were drawn, but scattered fragments of light still 
entered from the street. Mulder shut the door behind him, with 
a deliberate click, and walked closer to her. She was glad she 
was sitting, because her legs were trembling, and she wanted 
desperately to sound confident, in control. "So you are," 
Mulder finally answered, the first words he had spoken to 
her since the airport, and she watched as his eyes narrowed, 
taking in her blouse, and the way her wavy hair was loose 
around her face. 

"Care to tell me what we are doing here, and why I couldn't 
get in touch with you all day?" 

Who was the man? Surely this wasn't Mulder, her partner, 
her companion just last evening on the flight from Minnesota. 
This man radiated a confident sexuality, an appeal to which 
she already felt herself succumbing. How in the hell had she 
ever resisted him for so long? 

"I think you know what we're doing here, Mulder. I know why 
I am here." Scully stood as she spoke, and walked closer to him, 
until they were separated only by the queen-size bed. "You can 
leave right now if you decide, but, if you stay, then we have 
to abide by the rules. Our rules." 

"Rules?" he repeated, and she saw by the tight line of his jaw 
and the way his eyes were shadowed in the darkness that 
he understood. 

"It stays here. Whatever we do in this room stays in this room, 
and nothing affects our professional relationship. I need this, 
Mulder, and I know that you do, too, but we have to do it the 
right way. Else we are risking too much." With that, she felt as 
if she played her last card. Everything was out on the table, 
and still Mulder watched her, his damned expression impenetrable. 
Her heart was beating in her throat, and she prayed that he didn't 
notice. The silent seconds ticked away in her mind, and she 
clenched her hands against her slacks, refusing to consider the 
idea that he would turn around and walk out the door. 

"You know what you're offering here, Scully? Do you really know? 
Because this changes everything." 

Oh, god. She did know. That was why she mulled over this 
possibility for days, weeks. But, when his hand wrapped around 
her forearm on the plane last night, her last defense crumbled. 
She didn't answer him. Instead, she reached up to the delicate 
row of buttons on her blouse, and slowly began to unbutton 
them. 

And then he spoke, and the delicious anticipation nearly brought 
her to her knees. "Why don't you let me do that?"

 
III. 

He should have gotten more sleep last night, because he had the 
distinct feeling he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. But, 
after he arrived home from the airport, sleep was the last thing 
on his mind. All he could think about was Scully, and her 
proposition. 

There was no other way to describe it. In all their years together, 
he learned her moods, her emotions, the way the slightest lift of 
her eyebrow could speak volumes. But he had never seen the woman 
who stood before him in the airport, offering herself to him, 
telling him that she needed him. 

And he had never seen Scully like she was at this moment, her hands 
frozen on her buttons, her lips slightly parted. It was semi-dark 
in the room, but he could still decipher a faint blush tracing the 
slope of her neck. 

He already had too much invested in Scully emotionally. He knew it, 
and he knew that others were aware of it as well. He worried that 
it could be used against them, could be used to destroy him. 
Investing himself in Scully physically, as her lover, was insanity. 
He knew it. So then why was he standing here, in this unfamiliar 
apartment, his fingers itching to touch Scully's skin? 

Because he never wanted to disappoint her. 

And because Scully was right. He needed this. They both did. He 
was unsure when he was first aware of it, the physical attraction 
between them that was an always-present undercurrent to their 
relationship. He had always been scared to acknowledge it, worried 
about what changes it might bring to the most important relationship 
in his life. Yet here he was. 

"I've never cared much for someone else's rules, Scully," he 
managed, his voice low, as he stepped closer to her, reaching out 
to trace the slender outline of her neck with his fingertips. 
Her skin was hot to the touch, and he felt a rush of arousal 
at the feel of her pulse beneath his hand. She shivered, and 
he wasn't surprised to feel his cock surge in response. 

Scully's set-up had been careful and deliberate. The room reeked 
of physical passion. He vaguely wondered how he could have been 
so blind, how he could have turned away from this woman for so 
many years. If this was how she was offering herself to him, 
in this out-of-the-way apartment, this oasis from their real 
lives, then this was what he would gladly accept. 

"Tell me your rules then, Mulder," Scully whispered, and he 
watched as his fingers bound themselves in her hair, pulling 
the strands tightly around his fingers and bringing her face 
just inches from his own. 

"For tonight," he heard himself say, "I want you to let me 
take you." 

And she nodded. He pulled her even closer to him, and then tasted 
her, licking her lips softly. She tasted of coffee, and a hint 
of liquor. Brandy, he guessed, or cognac, and he imagined Scully 
taking a stuff drink, trying to give herself the courage to 
go through with this. 

She moaned, and he took the opportunity to let his tongue slip 
inside her mouth. Definitely cognac, he realized. He let his hands 
drift from her hair, down to her hips, and began to pull her shirt 
loose from her slacks. All the while, he memorized her taste, 
the poignant taste of so many things that he associated 
with Scully. 

It was her smell, the hair which draped near his shoulders, almost 
engulfing him in her scent. It was heaven. Somehow, he forced 
his lips away, and took a step back, watching her. She was 
breathtaking. Her lips were parted, her face flushed, and her 
eyes were wide, with arousal and desire. Jesus. Whatever rules 
he might be able to make were to be useless. He was lost from 
the moment he walked into the door. 

Desperate to regain control, he walked around Scully, to the 
chair near the window. She turned, watching him go, but said 
nothing. "I want to see you," he said, after he sat down. His 
voice was tightly controlled, just as the way he gripped the 
armrests of the chair illustrated that he was fighting to regain 
the upper hand. Too much was at stake here for the moment to be 
lost. 

Scully said nothing. She watched him carefully, and he worked 
to control his expressions, purposefully keeping his face bland 
and emotionless. He knew her face so well, yet this version, 
this wantonly sexual Scully, was new to him. He savored every 
detail. 

Finally, her hands went back up to her shirt, and she began the 
slow process of slipping buttons through silk. She never took 
her eyes off his face. He let his gaze fall from her eyes, 
and watched as her deliberate fingers unveiled creamy skin, 
inch by inch. Then she pushed the shirt off her shoulders, and 
reached down to unbutton her slacks, stepping out of them in one 
fluid motion. 

He remembered a case some time ago, when they chased their 
suspect through a deserted warehouse. It was hot that day, 
and Scully was dressed in her usual heels. But he sensed her 
only a step behind him, and, after he tackled the guy and 
cuffed him, he knew Scully was there backing him up. But he 
never expected to turn and see her, her Sig drawn, her face 
intent, and fall in love with her all over again. It was 
something in her eyes, the way she watched him. "You okay, 
Mulder?" she had asked. He hadn't been able to answer her. 

And now he couldn't find his words, even if she had spoken. 

Scully was exquisite. Her breasts were barely hidden by black 
lace, and his gaze narrowed as he took in the way her hips 
curved softly into a pair of low-cut lacy briefs.

"Come here," he managed, not wanting this moment to end, but 
needing to feel her next to him. She walked over to him, 
the streetlights sliding across her intent expression, and 
she knelt next to his chair. Oh, Scully, he thought, desperate 
to understand how they had gotten to this point. What are we 
doing here? What game are we playing with each other? 

"Undress me," he said, and he knew by the way her gaze 
darkened that this was exactly what she wanted. 
 
IV. 

"Undress me," he said, and her heart thudded in her chest, and 
she shivered involuntarily. Even all her imagined scenarios 
paled in comparison to the way he looked at her, the closeness 
of his body, and the feel of his skin beneath her hands as 
she fumbled with the snap of his jeans, finally managing to 
lower them to the ground. 

"Do you want to taste me?" he asked. It wasn't a demand, but a 
request, and she was reminded of Mulder's gentle nature, the 
way he easily rested his hand on her lower back, or the way 
he would occasionally open the door for her at work. Even if 
he was creating the rules, he would never force her. 
"This changes everything," he had said, and her mind 
momentarily tried to understand how everything and nothing 
could have changed at the same time. 

But then her hands were moving of their own accord, slipping 
his boxers from his waist, and her rational thoughts escaped 
her. The words in her mouth were replaced by his cock, and 
the deep groan which escaped from his mouth echoed in her 
ears. Mulder, she thought, silently chanting his name over 
and over. Oh, Mulder. He was so hard, and his hands came 
up to grasp her head. Not pushing, but, instead, his 
fingers stroked her hair, and he whispered her name. "Scully," 
and then his head fell backwards against the chair. "What 
are you doing to me?" She had no answer for him. 

Instead, she touched the base of his cock, and slid him in and 
out of her mouth in a slow, deliberate rhythm. They were doing 
this to each other. She lost track of time as she tasted him, 
with deliberate concentration. "Enough," he said suddenly, 
pushing her away, and she got a glimpse of ragged passion before 
his face again slipped into an expressionless mask. 

"Are you sure you want to do this, Scully? This is your last 
chance." She nodded before she even fully comprehended his 
words. She made her peace with this well before Mulder walked 
in the door. 

"I want you, Mulder," and she had never spoken anything so 
true in her life. She stepped away from the chair as he 
stood, reaching down only to step off of his jeans and boxers, 
pulling the sweater up over his head. He was naked, 
breathtakingly so, and she let her gaze travel upwards, 
slowly, until she reached his face. It was amazing, really, 
to see him like this. After everything they had been through 
together, even the times of panic and turmoil when she had 
seen him unclothed, she had never experienced the pleasure 
of this Mulder. 

And then he touched her, unsnapping her bra with a deft hand 
as he reached down towards her panties, slipping his fingers 
inside. There were no more thoughts. There was only Mulder's 
fingers dancing against her wetness, and the sound of harsh 
breathing. His? Hers? She didn't know, and didn't care. 

"I want you," he whispered in her ear. "If this is how it's 
going to be, in this room, then that's what I'll take. I want 
to fuck you, Scully, I want to make love to you." 

Somewhere, the word "love" resonated in her brain, but it was 
lost as Mulder turned her around, pulling her panties towards 
her feet. She was standing next to the wall, and reached out 
with both hands to brace herself. 

Without warning, Mulder yanked the blinds upwards, and, from 
their third-story view, she saw the tops of trees, muted 
streetlights, a cloudless sky, and the reflection of her 
face in the window pane. "I want to watch you, Scully, when 
you come," Mulder whispered, closely in her ear, and then 
he pushed himself inside. 

She felt her control slip away, like water through her hands. 
But she had never had control. Neither of them had. She came 
hard, and threw her head back against him, a scream escaping 
from deep within her. A scream of fulfillment and frustration, 
of ecstasy and agony. She was too lost to notice his orgasm 
seconds later, and the deep cry he emitted against her sweaty 
skin. "I love you," he whispered, but it did not register. 
Nothing registered, except the waves of physical pleasure,
tinged with bittersweet regret. 

Minutes, maybe hours passed. Time was lost in the darkness of 
their haven. Somehow, she ended up on the bed next to him, curled 
against his body, his hands lightly stroking her forehead. "Are 
you okay?" she asked, and she didn't recognize her own voice. 
She thought she heard him laugh before he answered. "I think 
so," he said. "I think we are both okay." 

The sweat had long cooled on her skin, and she shivered. "I've 
got to go," she said, and she felt him tense in surprise. 
Scully wasn't sure where the words came from, but, the longer 
she was there, the more saddened she became. This is what she 
wanted. Mulder. But not like this. Not in this unfamiliar 
apartment, not for only a few hours at a time. But this was 
the choice they both made. 

She slid out of the bed, and quickly pulled on her clothes. 
By the time she turned to face him, she had schooled her 
expression into a neutral, bland one. He was sitting up against 
the headboard, the bedspread draped over his lap. "Mulder, 
I want to see you again," she said. He looked at her curiously, 
and she blushed. Of course she would see him again. He was her 
professional partner and friend. She saw him almost every day. 

"Here," she clarified. "Next Saturday. Will you be here?" 
He was silent for so long, that her legs began to tremble. 

Please say you will, Mulder. I need this, I need you, I need 
you to need me just as much. Please, Mulder. This is all I know 
how to offer you right now. Please don't deny me, not after 
we've seen how good we are for each other. Please, Mulder. 

"Next Saturday," he said, in a solemn tone, and she had a 
perverse echo of "I do" ringing in her ears. Their vow, she 
realized. Saturdays of intimacy, packaged between chasing 
monsters and aliens and fighting for the truth. She nodded, 
and grabbed her bag as she walked to the door, fighting 
back tears. Just as she opened the door, she heard him speak. 

"Scully?" he said, but she refused to turn around. Seconds 
passed, and then he spoke again. "Drive carefully." 

She managed to fight the tears until she reached her car, 
and then slipped behind the wheel, sobbing, unaware of 
Mulder's gaze from the window above, only aware that somehow, 
everything had changed. 

 
FINIS 

Author's notes: I originally started this story with a very 
different idea than the end result. But I am intrigued by 
the concept, and anticipate adding more stories to this series 
when time and real life permit. I do not have a defined 
writing schedule, however, so please read the story as a 
stand-alone piece with the possibility, but not certainty, 
of more later. 

Thanks as always to my wonderfully supportive beta, Kayla, 
who always provides constructive and encouraging feedback. 

Comments welcomed and much appreciated at annhkus@yahoo.com

November, 2002

Implications II: Damned 
 
Author: Ann K 
 
Rating: NC-17, for sexual content, adult situations, bad words, 
and angst 
 
Summary: Mulder and Scully struggle to come to terms with the  
changes in their relationship brought about by one night of 
intimacy. 
 
Timeline: Vague, but somewhere in late season six or early 
seven.  
 
Part of the "Implications" series. The first story can be 
found at http://www.geocities.com/annhkus/Implications. This is 
not a work in progress, but rather an occasional series. See 
author's notes, thanks, etc. at the end. 
 
Feedback welcomed and always appreciated at annhkus@yahoo.com. 
 
 
 
I.  
 
She stared at the clock on the wall, unseeing, unfeeling. The  
seconds that ticked by were gone forever, and she wondered what 
it would take to turn back time. She thought she made her peace 
with this. She thought she could compartmentalize her sexual 
relationship with Mulder. She thought she could keep her personal 
and professional life fully under control and unaffected. She 
thought she could handle the torrent of emotions that were 
unleashed when Mulder ran his fingers through her hair and touched 
her for the first time. 
 
She thought wrong.  
 
"Agent Scully? Will Mulder be joining us this morning?" Skinner's 
voice shook her out of her trance, and she forced herself to her 
feet, meeting his eyes with a confidence she didn't feel. "He's 
on his way, sir. He left a message in the office that he was 
running a little late." 
 
A message. It was the first time she heard Mulder's voice since  
Saturday night, the intimate night they shared together in an  
unfamiliar apartment. The night that everything changed. He 
hadn't called her on Sunday, and she was equally devastated and 
content. She didn't know what to say to him. But she desperately 
needed to hear his voice. 
 
"Scully, it's me. I'm running late this morning. Tell Skinner 
I'll be there as soon as possible." She had listened to the 
brief message over and over, desperately trying to detect a 
subtle inference in his voice, a shade of intimacy beyond what 
they normally shared. But she heard nothing, other than her 
own frustration. 
 
And now she was here, waiting for him. In front of Skinner, for  
god's sakes. She wanted to turn and run, but she forced her feet 
to move, one in front of the other, into Skinner's office. 
Breathe, Dana. Breathe.  

Just as she sat down and Skinner opened the file folder she 
handed to him, Mulder opened the door, walking quietly into the 
room. He nodded quickly at Skinner. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said, 
offering her the slightest hint of a smile before he slid into 
the chair next to her. 
 
Oh, god. She wondered if he planned it like this, if he thought 
that their first meeting after their newly-defined intimate 
relationship would be easier with a third person. He would 
think that. Mulder never faced any conflict between them 
head-on. His strategy was simple. Avoidance, until the elephant 
in the room became so large you couldn't avoid it anymore. 
Hell, she was the one who had to make the first step, to 
bring them across that line they had danced around for years.  
 
She felt the bitterness rise in her throat with her morning coffee  
and tried to focus on Skinner. She refused to look at Mulder. How  
had it come to this, she wondered. Mulder was her best friend and  
her partner, and the one person she needed the most in her life. 
She simply didn't know how to merge that image of Mulder with the 
one from Saturday night, naked, his arms wrapped around her, his 
breath harsh in her ears.  
 
It wasn't easier to see Mulder for the first time with Skinner  
around. It made it all that much harder. She wanted to ask him if  
they were going to be okay. She wanted to know if their night  
together meant as much to him as it did to her. She wanted to hold  
him, to hear him say her name, to have him bring her to some sort 
of stable ground. Because she was sinking fast, and needed a 
lifeline. 
 
"Agent Scully? Are you feeling alright?" Skinner's voice 
was concerned, and he leaned forward over his desk just slightly,  
peering at her. "You look a little pale." 
 
Scully exhaled, and then slowly turned to see Mulder. His face was  
impassive, his hands laced together in his lap. But, as she watched  
him, he blinked once, twice, and she saw it. The concern in his  
eyes, the remorse and the hurt and the love and the passion. Then  
the emotions were gone, as quickly as she saw them. But they were  
there. 
 
Whatever they were doing, they were going to do it together. 
 
"I'm fine, sir. Thank you." Her answer was terse, but 
effective. Skinner resumed his interrogation about their Minnesota 
case, and she took comfort in the warmth of Mulder's arm on the 
chair next to her. She could feel him, just as she felt his hands 
on her face two nights ago, the way he caressed her body with a 
love and tenderness she had never experienced before. 
 
He shifted just slightly, and she knew he felt it, too. 
 
II.  
 
The meeting seemed to last for hours, but, after some time, Scully  
finally felt normal again. She answered Skinner's questions with 
a methodical efficiency, and even managed to argue with Mulder over  
the elimination of their final witness report. When the meeting was  
over, and Skinner excused them both, she stood uncertainly, unsure  
of what to do. 
 
"Scully?" Mulder said, tucking the folders under one arm and 
walking towards her slowly. "I have a noon meeting with BSU about a 
possible case, but, if your schedule is open, perhaps we can have 
lunch." They walked together towards the elevator, the usual Hoover 
building chaos fading silently around them. 
 
"Lunch?" she repeated. Belatedly, she realized she sounded 
like a child. This was a mutual decision, she reminded herself. They 
were adults. This would all be okay. "Lunch sounds good," she 
said, surprising them both. 
 
Mulder rode down with her in the elevator. "I'm sorry I was 
late this morning," he said, as the doors slid slowly opened and 
they stepped into the darkened hallway.  
 
"It's okay," she answered automatically, and then stopped 
as she put the keys into the door. "Actually, it wasn't okay." 
 
Even in the darkened shadows, she could see his surprise.  
 
"It wasn't okay, Mulder, because you and I made a very big 
decision this weekend. Things have changed, and I think it would 
have been of some benefit for you to be here this morning, so we 
could talk about things before we had to meet with Skinner." She 
sounded angry, but she knew she really wasn't. Mulder brought 
up every single emotion in her, so the anger in her voice was 
really a representation of her fear and uncertainty. 
 
"I wasn't trying to avoid you this morning," Mulder said, and  
Scully counted to ten before she turned to look at him. 
 
Ten wasn't enough to prepare her for the way his shadowed eyes  
watched her in the darkness, and the way he leaned against the door  
frame, his body a few inches from her own. 
 
"It sure as hell seemed like it. You didn't call me this 
weekend, and I needed some clue from you as to how we should proceed 
from here. For god's sakes, the last time I see you, you're naked 
in bed, and then you walk into Skinner's office in your Armani, and 
I've got to pretend like everything is normal." Her voice rose as 
she spoke, and she was startled to hear her accusations echo in 
the hallway. 
 
She had known Mulder long enough to know that the clinch of the  
muscles near his jaw meant he was angry, but was fighting the  
impulse to let her know. She wanted him to be angry. She wanted him  
to talk to her. 
 
She wanted to know that he didn't make love to her simply because  
she asked him to do so, that he wanted her just as much as she did  
him. 
 
"Scully," he finally said, his voice dripping ice. "You 
asked me to meet you Saturday night. You asked me to make love 
to you. You said there were rules, that what we did in that 
room stayed in that room. I followed your rules. I did exactly 
what you asked me to do." 
 
Then it was obligation, not love, and she wasn't sure how to 
react to that. 
 
But suddenly his face was directly in front of her own, and his  
fingers lifted her chin up so she could meet his gaze, and she sure  
as hell didn't know how to react. 
 
"This is your game, Scully. I'm following your rules. If you 
want them to change, all you have to do is tell me. But I didn't 
avoid you this morning, and I'm sorry I was late." And then he 
kissed her, and she stopped trying to rationalize the situation. 
 
Instead, she concentrated on the minty taste of his mouth, with the  
slightest hint of coffee. She took his face in her hands, and 
pulled him closer, and vaguely registered his moan. His hair tickled 
her fingers, and his tongue plunged deeper within her mouth, 
possessing her. 
 
He pulled away, reluctantly, and they stood in silence, staring at  
the floor. 
 
"I've got to go to this meeting, Scully," he finally said, stepping 
away from her to turn the keys in the office door. "I need to get a  
few files, though." She didn't move as he walked into the office, 
listening instead to his shoes on the floor, and the familiar 
sound of the file drawer opening. He pulled out a handful of manila  
folders, walking back to the door. 
 
"Maybe lunch today isn't a good idea," he finally said, and she met 
his eyes. "Only because I think you need a little more time. You  
tell me what you want, Scully. I need to know." He reached out 
and squeezed her hand as he walked by, and the elevator doors slid 
shut behind him, and she was alone. 
 
She clung to her Special Agent persona with a certain ferocity. It  
set her apart in the world, and gave her a status in the male- 
dominated environment in which she found herself daily. Other 
agents respected her. She respected herself.  
 
Sleeping with her partner was crossing every line she had ever 
drawn. 
 
Scully wasn't surprised to see Skinner standing in the office door 
later that afternoon, telling her that Mulder had been called off 
to consult on the BSU case immediately. Nor was she surprised to 
find Mulder's message on their office voice mail, simply saying 
he'd see her soon.  
 
She listened to his message repeatedly, restlessly turning a pencil  
in her hands, wondering if the kiss in the hallway could be  
considered outside the rules. 
 
III. 
 
She infuriated him. She pissed him off. There were times that he  
wanted to kill her, or at least throw up his hands in disgust and  
walk away. He also loved her, which seemed to balance out all the  
frustration and anger that Scully seemed to dredge up in him. 
 
He had always loved her. But when he found the key outside of his  
apartment, and walked in to find Scully ready to cross their  
imaginary, but comfortable line, it was the key to more than just a  
strange apartment. That key had unlocked every emotion in both of  
them, and he admitted that he wasn't dealing with it too well.  
Scully was dealing with it even worse. 
 
Mulder shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for his bags to  
arrive on the carousel. It had been an exhausting week, a grueling  
case. Bringing along his personal emotional baggage hadn't helped  
any. He hadn't talked to Scully since Monday, but maybe that was  
just as well. Maybe time away from each other this past week had  
allowed them to put their choice into perspective. There was no  
going back, and he didn't want to. Scully needed to make sure she  
didn't, either.  
 
Now it was 8:15 on a Saturday night, and he had forty-five minutes  
to arrive at the one place he couldn't stop thinking about all 
week. Somewhere over eastern Tennessee, on his flight into 
Dulles, he had decided. He freely admitted that he almost decided 
to put an end to this right now. That Scully simply wasn't ready 
for an intimate relationship with him, and he didn't want to 
jeopardize what they had. He couldn't define what they had. 
He knew it didn't include Scully stripping in front of him, and 
then clutching the curtains as he entered her from behind, her 
voice tremulously calling his name.  
 
That was certainly new ground. 
 
Just as Mulder left the airport, the rain began to fall, and the  
long line of cars on the freeway grew even longer, and it was  
fifteen until nine and he was still several miles away, and he 
began to panic. 
 
The rain was heavy, dropping onto his windshield with a fierce  
delight, the large drops creating a cacophony of sound that  
eventually edged out his thoughts about Scully into a mild state of  
panic. 
 
"Shit," he muttered, slamming on the brakes as the traffic slowed 
to a crawl in front of him. He didn't need this. Tapping his 
fingers incessantly on the steering wheel, he rummaged through his 
bag on the front seat, emerging with his cell phone, hitting the 
memory dial to connect with Scully. He'd tell her he was on the 
way. This was all very simple. 
 
"The caller you are trying to reach is unavailable..." Damn 
it. She knew he was arriving this evening. He left a message at 
work the day before, letting her know he would see her tomorrow. 
He wanted to see her. He had missed her so goddamned much that 
it was almost an ache in his chest. 
 
It was ten after nine by the time he pulled into an empty parking  
spot in front of the apartment building. The rain was impossibly  
heavy now, lacy sheets which blew furiously in the wind. He leaned  
forward, squinting, trying to decipher the lights of the apartment,  
the windshield wipers cutting in front of his vision.  
 
The fourth floor was completely dark. She wasn't here. 
 
He had screwed up. Big time. When Scully first presented her  
proposition, he should have spoken up. Told her that he loved her,  
had always loved her, and things didn't need to be this way. That  
they could have a normal relationship, as normal as a relationship  
with the two of them could be. That one night a week would never be  
enough, that he wanted to be with her forever.  
 
But those simply weren't things that he would ever say, especially 
not to Scully. And now he was sitting alone in the darkness, the 
rain laughing at him from the roof of the car.  
 
He wasn't sure how long he sat there when he saw movement from 
the entranceway, a blur in the rain. Mulder sat up, slowly. The  
streetlights cast a hazy glow, and his heart thudded as the figure  
approached the car. 
 
It was Scully. He wasn't sure when she saw him, or if she recognized 
the car, but she stood motionless on the sidewalk, a small 
umbrella cloaking her in the darkness. The rain ran off her 
trenchcoat in small rivers, but she didn't seem to care. She had 
been crying, but Mulder wasn't sure if it was tears or the rain 
he saw streaming down her face. 
 
They looked at each other, Mulder's windshield wipers providing a  
clear glimpse of Scully's face before the rain covered her again,  
and again, and again.  
 
Mulder got out of the car, picking his way across the flood of 
water near the curb, and stood beside her in the darkness. His 
first thought was that she smelled wonderful. His second thought 
was that he had missed her, even more than he could have imagined. 
"I thought you weren't coming," she began, trembling a little. 
 
"There's nowhere else I'd be," he responded, and then 
took her hand, leading them both inside, out of the rain. 
 
IV. 
 
The apartment was warm when they stepped inside, the rain streaking  
down the windows. The streetlights cast an odd, low smolder across  
the sparse room. He remembered every detail, although it had been a  
week since he had last been here. He chose not to turn on the  
lights.  
 
"Scully," he said, his voice a low whisper. She didn't turn around 
to look at him. He could see her profile illuminated in the 
hazy darkness. "Scully," he tried again, walking up behind her. 
She shivered as his hand went up to her shoulder. "Damn it, 
Scully," he muttered. "You're soaked. You need to put on something 
dry." 
 
His intentions were noble. Before he made love to Scully again, 
they needed to talk, a long conversation about what they wanted 
and where they were headed. It was the kind of conversation they 
had long avoided. But now they were at a point of no return. Such 
were his intentions. Scully turned to look at him, dropping her 
trenchcoat to the floor in a soggy heap, and whatever noble 
intentions he had were gone.  
 
The dress was new, because he sure as hell would have remembered 
her wearing something like this. His instincts told him it was the 
type of dress that Scully never wore. She wore it from him, for 
this evening together. The fabric was damp from the rain, which 
only made it cling to her tighter, the neckline plunging to her 
waist. He stared at her, unable to tear his eyes away from the 
faint outline of her breasts.  
 
"I'm glad you're here." For a moment, Mulder thought the words 
were his, and then he saw Scully's mouth twist into a small 
smile. "I'm glad you're here, Mulder," she repeated, as she 
walked towards him. "Now help me get warm."  
 
Somewhere, in what remained of his rational thoughts, he knew he  
should say no. Not that he didn't want her, but he wanted more 
than just her body right now. He wanted the part of Scully that he 
had  first fallen in love with, her mind, her complex emotions that 
made  her who she was. But he couldn't find the words, and then 
Scully was standing in front of him, her damp hair curling around 
her face, and she lifted his hands to her breasts. 
 
Her hands were shaking, and that was his downfall. 
 
"Christ," he managed, his voice a mixture of pleasure and agony, 
as he touched her. The fabric was cold beneath his fingers, but 
he could feel the warmth of Scully's skin a heartbeat away. He 
let his fingers trace her breasts, and then one hand moved towards 
Scully's neck, reaching to untie the single knot that held her 
dress together.  
 
The dress joined her trenchcoat on the floor, and Mulder let the  
moment stretch on into eternity. Scully was giving him everything,  
standing naked in the darkness, the shadows teasing him with their  
dance across her skin. She was beautiful, and he could think of 
nothing else beyond this moment. 
 
Their lovemaking was desperate, fierce, tinged with the fear that  
Scully felt when she thought he wouldn't come to her, combined 
with his frustration that he couldn't voice the words they both 
needed to hear. Somehow, they stumbled onto the bed, Scully 
pulling off Mulder's clothes, her mouth never leaving his. 
 
He lay on his back and watched as Scully rode him, her hips moving  
with a trademark assurance that marked every moment of her life.  
Scully was always in control. Or at least she wanted to believe she  
was. So Mulder let her have that moment, and he gave himself over 
to  the warmth of being inside her. His hands roamed over her
stomach, stopping to rest on her waist as he felt the tremors build 
inside her, for both of them. 
 
And then he achieved his small victory. Just as Scully began to  
come, her body shivering with so much more than the cold, her eyes  
locked upon his, and he said the words. They weren't just words  
spoken in the passion of the moment. They were the words he'd 
always wanted to say to her, and this time, she would hear them. 
 
"I love you, Scully."  
 
She couldn't stop the movements of her hips, but he knew she 
heard him, by the way her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open 
slightly. Her response was lost in a deep moan, but he swore he 
heard a "me, too" and it was enough. He came hard, every 
frustration of the past week spilling out of his body into 
Scully's warmth.  
 
She collapsed on top of him, her hair falling over his shoulder.  
Neither of them spoke. Perhaps there simply weren't any words for  
the moment. He found his peace in the way Scully's breathing 
slowed as she reluctantly rolled off him, pulling the covers up over 
their bodies, enveloping them both. 
 
"Did you miss me this week?" It was his question, but it could have 
been hers. 
 
"A little," she replied, and he couldn't see her face. She lazily 
ran her fingers down his neck. "Work was quiet without you," she 
added, almost as an afterthought. 
 
Neither of them spoke of their recent confessions, and he found  
there was nothing else to say. He half-expected Scully to leave. 
She  had before, and he wondered if their intimacy was too much 
for her, too raw, leaving her too exposed. But she surprised him, 
as her body became more relaxed in his arms, and her breathing took 
on the steady lull of sleep. 
 
Sleep eluded him for some time. Instead, he watched the shadows, 
and listened as the rain fell, and wondered in which direction they
were headed. There was no answer, only the gentle rise and fall of 
Scully's bare chest, matched by the steady cadence of the rain. 
 
 
FINIS 
 
 
Author's notes: 
 
Thanks as always to my wonderful beta Kayla for her encouragement  
and helpful suggestions.  
 
Read more of my work at http://www.geocities.com/annhkus. Feedback  
and comments are always much appreciated, annhkus@yahoo.com.