Title: New Year's Slowly
Author: diehard
Rating: R for the most part/NC-17 at the finish
Classification: Vignettes/MSR, Humor (hopefully),
Alternate Universe...starting after 'The Ghosts Who
Stole Christmas' in S6---let's take a different turn
from there and ignore S7 through 9.
Spoilers: Everything through the aforementioned
S6 Christmas ep, and my story, 'Christmas Beginning'.
Keywords: A look at what could happen once
all the cards are on the table.
Summary: After letting the cat out of the bag,
Mulder and Scully spend the week between
Christmas and New Year's together.

Feedback: alvaradomccain@earthlink.net

beta by the lovely sallie

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December 26th, Ê8:00 A.M.

Mulder wakes slowly--dreams dissolving--recall seeping
in. His body remembers warmth--skin, her skin--the
way she smells, tastes. He can still hear her whisper in his ear,
feel the soft scrape of her lips on the side of his neck. He flings
his arm across the bed to recapture her, but all he gets
is a snarl of sheets, and that catapults him into the
daylight world.

Startled, he's sitting up before he knows it, scanning
the room. Their clothes are no longer strewn at the foot of
the bed, they're folded neatly instead on the dresser.
He breathes, realizing Scully hasn't fled, and allows himself
the luxury of believing his lifetime losing streak is really over.

Easing out of bed and with his usual early-morning graceless
grace, he half stumbles into the bathroom. ÊSwirling around 
some mouthwash, he spits, splashes water on his face, and 
reaches over for the towel when he gets a good look at the 
smiling stranger in the mirror.

"You're one lucky bastard," he tells his reflection.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After pulling on some boxers, he makes his way through the
apartment following the sound of her voice into the kitchen.
Leaning against the counter, her back to him, Scully's 
on her cel. Her hair's a sexy mess, and she's snagged one
of his blue dress shirts to wear. He sincerely hopes s
he's naked underneath. The whole tableau is fodder 
for the Mulder erotikon, up until he's able to make out 
the conversation.

Kersh. ÊScully's on the phone with Kersh.

Slipping behind her, he wraps his arms around her waist
and stoops to rest his chin on the crown of her head. He
loves it when she leans back into his solid warmth, reaching
back with one arm to grab onto his hip. Closing his eyes,
listening intently, all he can make out is an impatient baritone
on the other end. Instinct tells him to get ready for what
the A.D. must be dishing out, the jerk-off assignment,
the plunge back into what constitutes real life in their
universe.

He gets a shock, courtesy of the love of his life.

"Yes sir, I realize I'm still on vacation until the second.
But Agent Mulder called me at my mother's." She's let
a weary tone into her voice. "Apparently he has a
bronchial infection, a fairly severe one. I'd put him on
the phone, but he can hardly speak."

A brief pause. Ê"I was planning on quarantining him here
and treating him myself with a course of antivirals. It would
avoid spreading possible contagion to others, and frankly,
be more cost efficient than another hospitalization."

Another pause. "I expect he'll be out of commission for
about a week, less if he's lucky. Of course, I'll keep you
apprised if there's any significant change in his condition....
Thank you sir." ÊShe hits the end button, and sets the cel
on the formica with a flourish.

"Eavesdropper," she teases.

He slowly turns her around, holding her firmly by
the shoulder, Ê"Who are you, and what have you done
with my partner?"

She tries to compose her features into a mask of innocence,
but the combination of curiosity and utter admiration on
his face puts a halt to her effort.

"What?" She flashes him a full-wattage grin, then lets
her lips settle into a familiar, inscrutable smile.

"Scully, you lied to a superior."

"And you find that shocking?" she replies dryly.
"Besides, it's not a total fabrication. I'm placing you in
quarantine until you make good."

"Make good?" he parrots.

"Yes, Mulder, make good. I seem to remember
someone saying something last night about rocking my
world." Ê

"So this is about payback, then?"

"Damn straight," Êshe insists, slipping out from under
his grasp. Strolling over to the refrigerator, she opens
the door and begins to rummage around for provisions,
checking expiration dates.

"Seriously, Mulder, when was the last time you took a
vacation? This way, we avoid the hassle of a request...."
She's smiling to herself as she inspects the larder--
today's act of personal rebellion was long overdue,
tattoo aside. This is how it feels to have a life,
she tells herself. "Oh, my God, you actually have food in
here that was purchased in recent memory....Fresh eggs? Ê
....Tomatoes?....Coffee?"

Just as he was ready to toss out a witty rejoinder
and end this harassment, he catches a glimpse of
luscious, pale haunch as she bends over to check
something on a lower shelf. ÊNothing but glorious,
unadorned flesh. ÊNude Scully underneath crisp cotton
has short-circuited any interest in repartee.
He's hungry, all right. ÊWith his hand slowly stroking
his own hardening flesh, he begin to advance. There's
a promise from last night he needs to take care of.

She's oblivious to this impending change in plan,
so she keeps loading up with ingredients for
an impressive breakfast. Her back's still to him, so
she doesn't see him closing the gap, licking at
his lower lip.

"Jesus, there's English muffins....This is unbelievable....
How 'bout scrambled eggs?....Or an omelette?....
Nothing, no response. Ê"Mulder....Any thoughts here? ....
Mulder?"

In a flash, he's on her like wrinkles on a cheap suit,
scooping up the items she gathered and unceremoniously
shoving them back in the fridge. Slamming the door shut
with one foot, he proceeds to scoop her up, devouring
her mouth in a ravenous kiss.

Before she can string together a sentence, he's
got her sitting on the counter, and he's still kissing
her, kissing away any coherent thought, anything
other than desire--potent and raw. Parting her
legs with one hand the other traces a rolling tide,
long and slow up her thigh, until he feels her
warm, wet, cleft--feels her twist against where he
caresses her with his fingertips.

He eases away from her lips, just for a moment,
to whisper in her ear. Ê"Hungry?"

"You have no idea," she breathes.

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December 28, Ê2:00 PM

While she hasn't yet danced with the devil by the pale 
moonlight, Scully's proven she's not faint of heart. 
She's mashed her fair share of monsters, cut into cadavers,
put a bullet in her partner without batting an eyelash, and
pulled her weapon on Skinner, amongst other things.

In short, she's got balls.

So why is she standing with a suitcase in one hand,
and an overnighter slung over her shoulder in front of her
partner's--now her lover's--front door in a silent paroxysm
of panic?

It may have something to do with the fact that now she
has to put up or shut up, after having the brilliant idea
that they needed to shop for more food, and oh yes,
bring some of her things over.

'Mulder, as much as I love being half-naked in
your apartment, wouldn't you like to have a selection
of clothes to rip off me? I've only got what I had on
Christmas Day....' Ê

He had them both dressed and on the way to her place
in a heartbeat. Once they got there, she changed in a hurry,
and packed like she was taking a long, long, trip.

She loves him more than she loves the simple answer,
deeper than the deepest end of the ocean, and now she's
terrified that this act will somehow jinx what happened
between them. Ê

Or worse, turn it into something ordinary.

Scully never worried about this happening with any of the
other men in her life. There was never any reason to.
No other man ever caused the kind of white-hot combustion,
this unbelievable want, or elicited her absolute devotion. Ê
But then, none of them ever followed her, like Orpheus,
into the frozen bowels of the earth to rescue her from death.

And then there's the stars--none of them ever hung 
the stars for her.

Breathing in and breathing out, she reaches into her jacket
pocket for her keys, opens the door and walks in. It looks like
Mulder's still downstairs, and Scully assumes he's still looking
for a parking space, or getting groceries out of the trunk.

She hears the echo of her footfalls, the click of her heels as she
painstakingly puts one foot in front of the other. She gingerly
places the luggage on the floor.

It's done, she's done it.

The world didn't end, she tells herself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Still standing in his foyer, she starts talking to the empty air.
"The world didn't end," she says, at first barely a whisper,
then again, loud enough to hear the words echo around her.
Maybe it's a chant, maybe it's a charm, because Mulder's
coming up behind her now.

She hears him and turns. Snatching the bags from him, she
haphazardly plops them on the floor. Launching herself
into him like a heat seeking missile, she flings her arms
around his neck and plants a good one on him.

For his part, he's both amused and starting to get horny, but has
no intention of asking why his organized, circumspect, beautiful
partner just attacked him in his foyer, ignoring the obvious need
to put away perishables, unpack, settle in.

"Were you expecting the end of days, Scully? You're not the
first good Catholic girl to fall from grace with a unbeliever.
Personally, I think my heathenish ways agree with you."

Pulling away just enough to get a good look at her, she's
smiling triumphantly, and he revels in the heat of her body
as she stays wrapped around him. He blinks slowly, and
something about seeing her so unguarded, makes
him well up.

She starts to say something, but he's too quick. He stoops
to kiss her, but this time it's with a tenderness and a longing
that knocks the wind out of her. Falling into him, they list
to the side, where unfortunately, Mulder's leg gets tangled
in bags of food.

It does not end well, and she's the last man standing.

Sprawled over spilled cans and containers of food,
he's landed on his ass. ÊHe took a hit to his noggin from
a rolling jar of pesto, the back of his head thudded against
some romaine, a broken box of pasta's strewn across
his chest, and he looks a little rattled. Not enough, however,
to betray his inherent XY chromosomal desire to say
something cool and salvage his rep.

"Tagliatelle me, Scully." ÊHe drapes his arm over his eyes.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She's checked his pupils, his reflexes and ascertained
that he's got a knot forming on the side of his head.

"It looks like you might have a light concussion."
It's a good thing you're sleeping with your doctor,
she says to herself.

He starts absentmindedly rubbing at the swelling
on his head, "The least you could do is kiss it
and make it better."

She surprises him by doing just that, repeatedly.

"So that means..." ÊHe's feeling giddy or lightheaded,
he's not sure which. He's fairly sure it has nothing to do
with the bump on his head.

"It means I'm going to have to monitor you for
the next 24 hours." For once, she's looking forward
to playing nursemaid.

"I see..." ÊA realization hits, and his eyes light up
with expectation.

"You do, do you? I'll have to keep you up all night...
well, most of night, we'll get to sleep on and off....
You know the drill."

"That I do....You know, Scully, that bump on my head's
feeling better."

"Is that your medical opinion, Mulder?....That's hardly scientific."

"I'm serious...but there's a problem."

"Really, what's that?" ÊNot that she doesn't see what
coming---sees it coming and wholeheartedly approves.

Pointing to his temple, "It hurts there, too."

Cutting him a look, she leans in and presses her lips
to the spot.

"Ah...that's better....Oh wait..." ÊHe places his index
finger to the corner of his mouth.

Never one to skirt her obligation to give care,
she makes sure every inch of his lower lip gets
the proper administration of what is obviously
the new wonder drug.

"Scully?"

"Yes, Mulder."

"All night?"

"All night."

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6 AM, December 31st.

Thin gray light seeps through the icy sheen on the window,
trickling slowly across the bedroom, onto the bed. ÊScully
opens her eyes and lets the beginning of another day settle in. Ê
Still not ready to get up, the heavy weight of blankets cocoons
her, their warmth irresistible. She remembers feeling him slip
out of her arms a little while ago and pressing a feather-light
kiss to the crown of her head. Hearing drawers slide open,
she guessed he was throwing on some clothes for some reason.
Normally, she'd want to know why he's up, but these aren't
normal circumstances--she sated and lazy--thanks to Mulder.
She lets her eyelids slip shut, and pulls the bedding closer,
when she feels his heavy weight slide next to her.

He's fully dressed, boots and jacket, and she can feel
the cold creep through the layers, and she starts to shiver.
He's been outside already, and he smells of the cold,
of the outdoors.

"Mulder," she groans.

He moves in even closer, and she can feel his cool lips
against her ear, "I knew you were awake. Get dressed,
I want to show you something."

"Be a nice FBI man, hmmm? ÊGo away and I'll get up
in a little while."

He starts nuzzling the side of her neck, until he can hear
her laugh. "Get dressed," he croons, making it sound
like seduction.

Slowly stirring, she starts to peel away bedding and get up,
and he stands up to help her. The sight of her pale skin painted
by the dawn, makes him forget for a minute that he's
a man with a plan.

"I'm up now."

"Right."

"You wanted me out of bed, remember?"

He's back on track, "Right...that's right. C'mon, throw on
some clothes, I'll be in the kitchen." Ê

As he lopes out of her sight, she yells after him, "Do you
mind telling me what you're up to?"

"What," he yells back, "and ruin the magic?"


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Piling on the layers, making sure she'll stay warm enough,
she's ready. It's still fairly dark in the rest of the apartment,
and he hasn't turned on any of the lights. He's waiting for her
by the sink, arms folded across his chest. His face lights up
when he sees her, and it's a look different from any Scully
recognizes. This is a schoolboy's face--his delight,
total and completely transparent.

All of a sudden, she's not sorry he's got her up.

"You ready?" He holds out his hand.

"Ready as I'll ever be,'' weaving her fingers through his.

This is where it gets interesting. He guides her to the window
next to the back door, lets go and holds up both hands to motion
her to just stand still. ÊPulling it open, he climbs out onto the fire
escape, and gestures for her to join him. ÊGingerly easing over
the sill, Scully follows, feeling curious as hell.

"Mulder..."

Holding a finger to his lips, he just shakes his head and turns
and starts climbing up the cast iron ladder.

She's done stranger things, followed him into stranger places
just because he asked, so she decides to start her ascent
behind him. Five flights later, she's scrambling onto the roof,
with a firm grip on his outstretched arm. Neither one of them's
said a word, but once she standing beside him, he takes
her hand again and walks her to a spot on the east side
of the building.

There, on the horizon, stippled lavender and gold,
is a sunrise that stuns her with its burnished clarity. But there's
more--Mulder points to the three quarter moon, still coin-round
and silver in the sky. It's not day yet, no longer night--it's like them--
an unlikely pairing--yet somehow, a blessing. She has no words
to thank him, so she does the only thing she can think of, placing
his hand across her chest.

He starts to speak, finally. Ê"I used to come up here when
you were sick." Ê

"You mean when I was dying."

"Yes...I came up here and prayed."

That last word is shocking, coming from him. They keep
watching the sun pull against the sky, the disc start to
dissolve, and she presses down harder against Êthe back
of his hand. Feeling the rise and fall of life within her, 
he goes on, his voice unbearably soft.

"I asked God to heal you, to give you a miracle."

"He did, Mulder. I'm here, you helped make that possible."

"I asked for something else...my own miracle."

Scully knows losing his sister is a wound that must be healed,
miracle or not. ÊThey have each other now, but the things that
bind them together still cast their shadows.

"We'll keep looking for Samantha, no matter what..."

He smiles to himself, to the new day, " I know....That's not what
I meant....I asked for something selfish."

He turns to her, and she knows what he prayed for. Ê

Kissing him, she wraps his body around his--dawn becomes
day, and an ordinary miracle is complete.


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8 PM, New Year's Eve

They're in agreement. Ê The new year will be rung in by them
without any contamination by Dick Clark, or his countdown.
Furthermore, any attempt to 'party like it's 1999,' will be met
with severe repercussions.

Pretending to watch a movie, they're fitted to each other on
his old sofa, like parts of a puzzle. He's sitting in the middle,
with his legs spread wide, feet up on the coffee table. Scully's
nestled between the generous vee, mimicking him. Some noir
plot unfolds as Mulder hands travel slowly up her arms,
across her shoulder blades. She lets her head loll forward,
as he works on the pressure points with his thumbs. Blue images
flicker on the screen--celluloid heroes searching for the truth
in a world of random violence and deceit.

"How come you're so chipper?" she queries.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Well, less than fifteen minutes ago, A.D. Kersh called."

"I seem to recall that, yes. I also seem to remember that
your vacation's ending a day early, that he didn't care if I
wasn't 100%, as long as I was ambulatory; and that we'd be
flying tomorrow morning to Manitou, Minnesota, where the
average temperature this time of year is 35 below."

"You forgot to mention the best part," Êshe sighs as he hits
just the right spot with exactly the right amount of pressure. Ê
"We get to conduct a farm to farm check on fertilizer purchases
in a three county area....So, Êwe're on the same page, then."

"So it would appear."

"By the way, your massage technique is excellent."

"I live to serve."

They've got no complaints. Seven days, and it's been
intense, revelatory, celebratory and moving. And tomorrow,
they go back to the world they know, but now,
it's a larger one.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"You haven't answered my question."

"I am 'chipper,' Scully, because my plan to sequester
you succeeded brilliantly."

"Your plan?"

"Is there an echo in here? Yes, I sequestered you...
hied thee away...absconded with one fair maiden."

"Maiden?"

"Yes, the beautiful maiden who pined away for the
love of her life, until the moment of their joining
came to pass."

The quiet of the apartment is punctured by someone's
unladylike snort. "Lofty, aren't we? Delusional, too,
it would seem. It was my idea, Mulder. I put you
on sick leave."

"That's the beauty of it, I got you to do all the work."

"Well, I've got some work for you," All of a sudden,
her voice low and throaty. "It involves you, me
and your bathtub. Ê

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He's lit the fat, white candle he's kept under the sink
in case of emergencies, and placed it on the sink.
Long shadows flicker, and the two of them stand face
to face, slowly undressing one another. No words are
necessary, as their hands trail against exposed flesh.
The bathroom door is closed, the tub is full, and steam fills
the room--circles them, shrouding their nakedness.
The shower has seen its fair share of activity, but
tonight they want to be islands in a faraway sea

They climb in, and thankfully, this old relic has plenty
of room. It sat unused by Mulder for eons, but they have
other plans for it now. Italian bath salts scent the water,
and the two of them ease into the hot water and face
each other. Wrapping his arms and legs around her,
he captures her, draws her close.

Before and after each time his lips meet hers, he keeps
saying her name--he can't help himself. The sound of
her name echoing around them surges through his body
and each kiss grows deeper, more urgent. Somewhere
in his mind he tells himself that he's lost, that he doesn't care.
You're my tether, Scully, he thinks. It's not a conscious
thought anymore, it's knowledge in the body.

She slides toward him, her tongue caressing his, her hand
reaching under the water to stroke him somewhere else.
He comes alive in her hand, solid and real. She has never
known anything so real.

He stops kissing her only to bring his head to her breast,
closing his mouth over a nipple. She cries out, and cradling
his hand over hers, together they guide him between her folds.
Sliding into her--slowly, so slowly--the water makes them
buoyant, motion easy, they become a tide rolling in and out.

She's leaning on him, rocking back and forth, and he takes
his hand to swirl his thumb on her clit. Vapor rises from the tub,
the water swirls and splashes up and around them, and soon
she feels it building---in him, in herself. It's pushing, pushing
for release, the way the earth itself is born in the sea.
Soon, she bursts apart and he's right behind her, pulsing,
shaking, calling her name again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Time passes, how much, neither of them could say.
The water's now comfortably warm, and they're lying still,
almost as if they were in bed. Mulder's on the bottom, and she's
snug against his chest, her head tucked into the crook of his neck.
The candle's burned low, and they float in silence toward tomorrow,
without a compass, without hesitation.

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