Scenes, a short series by beduini

Rating:  NC-17

Category:  MSR

Summary:  This is a series of short stand-alone vignettes or scenes 
that collectively depict progress in the relationship.

Spoilers:  You all know about it by now.

Archive:  Ask me first.

Disclaimer:  Legally, the X-Files and its characters are the property 
of Twentieth Century Fox, blah blah blah.  I'm not making any money 
off of them, blah blah blah.


Scenes
by beduini

Scene I: A Good Man

They sat side by side on his leather sofa, leaning forward over a 
dozen eight by ten color photographs spread out on the coffee table 
before them.  Color photographs in graphic detail, of various 
bloodied body parts that had once belonged to several young, 
attractive and alive young women.

This was not a new scene.

It was past midnight, and they had been over every photo in detail 
eleven times but were no farther along than they'd been when they'd 
started.

She turned her scrutinizing blue eyes from the photos to look at 
him.  His face was lined with fatigue and frustration as he worried 
his lower lip between his teeth, shaking his head.

"It has to be here, Scully.  We just aren't seeing it."

Closing her eyes, she rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder, 
her stiff neck giving away it's secret with several soft pops.  
"Maybe we'd see it if we took a break from it."  Her voice was low 
and rough from overtiredness.

He ducked his head and let out a breath of air.  When he raised it 
again he gazed purposefully at her, his eyes red and weary.  They 
told her that he wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, even for a few hours.

Her eyes were full of empathy and concern for him.  "When was the 
last time you slept, Mulder?"

He dug his palms into his eye sockets, feeling the grit.  "I got a 
few hours early this morning."

Letting out a long breath, she kept her eyes on his face.  He was 
not one to cut immediately to the larger issue.  "And the night 
before?"

Dropping his hands down limply between his knees, he blinked at the 
photographs.  They were still the same images as the last eleven 
times.  The same frozen, late-January landscape, the same 
dismembered remains.

"Mulder, you need to get some sleep."

"I can't do that.  I know the answer is in here.  I just..." his 
voice trailed off as he shuffled the photographs in his hand.

She closed her eyes, exhaled and dropped her chin down to her chest.  
He was so stubborn.  It was something that inspired both admiration 
and frustration in her.  But his passion for getting to the heart of 
a matter was something that never failed to hold her in awe.  He 
would forego any physiological need, any obstacle in his path, just 
to gain the knowledge he sought.

He was a good man.

An honorable man.

A brilliant, beautifully extraordinary, ordinary man.

"It has to be here," he said again as he flipped through the 
photos, his shoulders slumped and his voice softer.

She studied his profile for a long moment, then reached out, gently 
clasping his chin between her thumb and forefinger.  Turning his 
face toward her, she looked into his eyes.  His countenance was both 
tired and determined, but when his eyes met hers his expression 
crumpled slightly.  She saw his desperation to solve the puzzle, to 
prevent the killer from taking one more victim.

Such a good man. 

She was not one to make uneconomical tactile gestures - the Scully 
family had always relied more on expressions and subtext than overt 
physical demonstrations.  Early on in their partnership she and 
Mulder had silently established the guidelines that they would work 
within.  They were partners, and they became friends.

However, more and more often she'd found herself bending those lines 
a little, along with Mulder, as the lines between their working 
relationship and their personal relationship slowly shifted.  Like 
now...they were working, but with no more than a look and a few 
words he could quickly fill her to capacity with love and fierce 
protectiveness.  Without hesitation, she laid her hand against his 
cheek, her thumb gently running over his cheekbone.

Mulder sighed, closed his eyes briefly then looked back at her, 
silently thanking her for her understanding.  It was such a tender 
look.  A vulnerable look.  Something within her encouraged her to 
bend the lines a little farther and she leaned in, brushing her lips 
against his softly in reply.

It wasn't like they had never kissed, after all.  It wasn't 
something they did frequently or had even done repeatedly.  But it 
wasn't anything new, either.

His eyes raised up toward hers briefly, then closed, his entire body 
holding still.  He pressed back against her lips, relaxed a moment, 
turned his head slightly and pressed against them again, encouraging 
her to continue, to not pull away.

She did not pull away.  She returned his gentle kiss with another.

His hand came up to cup the back of her head gently, the pads of his 
fingers flexing against the soft silk of her hair.  It was soft and 
sweet, neither deepening their kisses beyond the easy touching of 
lips.  Their movements were small, sliding tenderly against one 
another.  

She cradled his face between her palms as if she were holding the 
most priceless of possessions, and when she finally pulled back, she 
looked up at him with wide, loving eyes.  Then she let out a long, 
slow breath and closed her eyes as she leaned back into the sofa, 
letting her fingers slide softly down the side of his face.

He sighed in agreement.  He was tired and frustrated with the lack 
of progress on their current case.  He wanted to lay down, to forget 
about the atrocities of other men and delve into her.  To explore 
every millimeter of her mouth with his tongue, to push her down into 
the sofa with his body and grind against her with the familiar fire 
that he felt starting to burn in his groin.  To immerse himself in 
the heat and the sensation of something good and clean and honest. 

But this was not the time, he understood.  As tired as he was, he 
would probably just embarrass himself.  He kept himself in check as 
he always did when his body responded to Scully, refusing to add 
fuel to the fire, allowing himself to give in return only what she 
was offering, nothing more.  But it was lovely, what she offered, 
and he accepted it without question or hesitation.  Simply because 
she had offered, which he recognized was no small gesture on her 
part.

Along with his acceptance of the situation and the warmth and the 
pleasure of her touch he felt himself relaxing, falling into a hazy 
fugue.  He realized grudgingly that he was beyond exhaustion, and 
Scully probably knew that he would give in with the right kind of 
encouragement.  Her hands were already gently guiding his cheek to 
rest against her shoulder and his legs folded up reflexively at the 
end of the sofa as she softly raked her fingers through his hair.

"Get some rest, Mulder.  We'll work some more in a little while.  
The photos and I aren't going anywhere," she said quietly as his 
eyes blinked open.

He was silent a moment.  "That wasn't a goodnight kiss?" he asked, 
tilting his head up so that he could see her face.

She looked down into his eyes with a slight smile.  "No."

He closed his eyes and smiled, feeling ridiculously warm and content 
for a man with a heinous crime to solve.  "You weren't expecting me 
to transform into a prince, were you?"

She wasn't going to tell him that she already thought of him as a 
modern-day prince.  A frustrating, noble, flawed, charming, real-
life prince with a nose that was too large and yet perfect for his 
beautiful face and a long, hard physique that showcased his 
impeccable taste in clothes, although he appeared to never give it a 
second thought.  But she did.  Yes, his ego would certainly run away 
with that admission.   Instead, she replied as seriously as she 
could.  "No.  A pumpkin, maybe."

"It's well after midnight, Cinderella."

"I'm aware of that."

He was silent for a while, and she thought perhaps he was drifting 
off to sleep, when he opened his eyes again.  "You may have to 
kiss me awake if I happen to fall asleep."

She raised an eyebrow.  "I'll keep that in mind."  Not that she 
would mind in the least.  She leaned down until her face was just 
inches above his, staring into his eyes, and spoke with a tone that 
brooked no argument.  "Close your eyes."

He shut his eyes again, burrowing his face into her neck as he 
curled a large hand around her waist.  "Just for a few minutes, and 
then we'll go over the photos again, 'K?" he mumbled, his breath 
warm against her neck while his body grew heavier.  It wasn't an 
uncomfortable heaviness, and she found that she was quite content.

"Ok," she replied indulgently.  His breathing deepened as she 
continued to stroke his hair, exhaling a soft sigh of exhaustion and 
relief.

Such a good man.

Her movements slowed, and laying her head back against the back of 
the sofa, she closed her eyes.

Just for a few minutes.


beduini2@yahoo.com

Scene II: Impulses

He sprinted down the long corridor clutching a sheet of white memo 
paper, his tie flapping against his chest as the bottom of his wool 
coat fanned out behind him.  Past the elevators...to the stairwell 
that led to the parking garage.  She preferred the stairs.  She'd 
take every extra chance to burn a few more calories that she could 
get, she'd said on more than one occasion.

Inside the stairwell, he took the steps two at a time.  He slipped 
once, catching his heel on the edge of the landing at the second 
level, but kept on going.

She might already be in the car, he thought.  She may already be 
gone....then it would be too late.

He increased his speed, forcing himself to keep a steady pace.  Just 
like running, he thought.  Establish a rhythm and adjust the pace in 
accordance to that rhythm...chasing down suspects not withstanding, 
he didn't make it a habit of running in Bruno Maglis and a wool 
overcoat, though.

Near to the bottom he caught sight of her, a flash of auburn and tan 
rounding the next corner.

"Scully!"

When he made the turn he stopped short, her small hand bracing 
against his chest just before he was about to slam into her.  She 
stood facing him on the landing just above the door to the lowest 
level, a leather case hanging by a strap slung over her shoulder and 
her face turned up toward his in curious anticipation.  Her eyes 
glittered as they met his...she was as happy to see him as he was to 
see her.

He smiled, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.  
They stood there for a few moments, silently looking at each other.  
Perhaps it was due to the adrenaline still coursing through him, or 
it might have been from the feeling of relief that came from 
catching her before she left after thinking he wouldn't see her at 
all.  Whatever the reason, he impulsively reached out and pulled her 
into his arms, the piece of paper still in his hand.

She clutched his shoulders as he hugged her, drawing in a deep 
breath.  He was still breathing hard and she deduced that something 
must have set him off to send him barreling down the stairs looking 
for her, garnering such an emotional reaction.

"Mulder?" she asked with worry, her voice muffled as her face was 
pressed partially into his chest.

She felt his chest rumble softly as he chuckled.  As he pulled back, 
she could see he was smiling.  His empty hand rose up and brushed 
against her cheek, and their eyes met.  His was not a look of 
distress, and she relaxed.  

He gazed at her a moment longer, then without a word he bent down, 
covering her mouth with his.  

His impulsive kiss was more demanding than any of the previous 
kisses he'd ever shared with her.  Hotter than the two-second, open-
mouthed 'happy birthday' kiss he'd planted on her when he bid her a 
good night and left her nearly boneless at the door to her motel 
room in Los Angeles three weeks ago.  Now he moved his lips 
passionately over hers and her hands rose up his back to slip into 
his hair, pressing him closer.

This was the way she'd always hoped Mulder would kiss her - with the 
same passion and determination that she saw him pour into his work 
every day.  She parted her lips and his tongue brushed against hers 
tentatively, both of them whimpering at the brief taste.  They tried 
it again, then again, then the lack of oxygen combined with the 
shock and the sudden realization of their actions broke the kiss.  

He buried his face in the place between her neck and shoulder, 
breathing heavily, temporarily drunk on sudden immersion in the 
taste and the feel and the scent of her. 

"Four days, Scully."  He said softly.  His arms tightened around her 
and she pressed her face into the middle of his chest, wrapping her 
arms around his waist.

"Almost five.  I thought you'd already left for the night," she 
said, her velvety voice nearly an octave higher than usual as she 
breathed in his warm, comforting smell.

"I was upstairs looking for you," he replied.

"I was downstairs looking for you," she answered.  Her small frame 
began to shake with silent laughter at the irony.

He joined her laughter, resting his chin on top of her head after 
she turned it to the side so that she could breathe easier.

"We've got to break up the monotony of too many days in succession 
working on differing aspects of the same case.  Uncle Sam is going 
to have a coronary when the cell phone bill comes in," he said at 
last, with a sigh and a wry smile.

She lifted her head from his chest and looked into his happy, warm, 
drowsy eyes.  He spoke of work matters but the subtext was much more 
personal.  Something huge had just happened in their relationship.  
Her eyes were wide and shining as she blinked up at him.  "Does it 
have anything to do with that piece of paper you're holding in your 
hand?"

He grinned sheepishly at the mention of the forgotten item and 
brought his hand around to show her the paper.  It was her note to 
him, left on his desk just before leaving for the night and wishing 
him a good evening.  He crumpled the paper in his hand and shoved it 
in the pocket of his overcoat.  "No, but I'm sure I could scare up 
something out in the field that might need attention from the both 
of us..."

They stared at each other, still breathing hard from the first kiss, 
and he leaned down, intending to kiss her again.  But the sound of a 
door opening as someone entered the stairwell several floors above 
them caused them to break their embrace and take a half step back.  
They looked at each other, remembering who they were and where they 
were, and Mulder motioned to the garage door, both of them 
descending from the landing and out of the stairwell.

He walked her to her car, his arm slung around her shoulders.

"Wish your Mother a happy birthday for me," he said as she turned 
to face him, taking her hand and lacing his fingers between hers.

She nodded, then sighed.  "I didn't get as far as I'd hoped today so 
I'll most likely be in the lab all day tomorrow as well."

He nodded, biting the corner of his lip.  "Well..."  The air between 
them was still charged.  He looked down at their hands, letting hers 
go.  "I suppose you're already late for the dinner." 
 
She gave him a tight-lipped smile of regret.  "'fraid so."

He reached up and pulled the strap of her leather case farther up 
her shoulder, ran his hand down her arm and let out a long, loud, 
dramatic breath.  Looking away a moment, he paused, then turned back 
to her.  Her gaze was directed at the ground and when she looked 
back up at him, he was watching her, his eyes dark.  

"Go out with me tomorrow night," he entreated, sotto voce as he 
wrapped his fingers lightly around hers once again.

Taking a deep, hitching breath, she looked at him with wide-eyed 
surprise.  First he slips her the tongue, and now Mulder was 
proposing that they go on a date after seven years of working 
together day in and day out?  She was unable to process the thought 
any further.  His face was expectant as he waited for her reply.  
"Where?" she asked at last.

He beamed with relief.  He had been half expecting her to turn him 
down.  "Anywhere.  Where would you like to go?  Dinner?  Theater?  
Mud wrestling?"  She let out a snort, and he laughed along with her.  
"Whatever you feel like, Scully."  He let go of her hand and ran a 
finger under the lapel of her camel coat.  "I just want to spend 
some time with you."

He could see her mind working as he watched her face, turning over 
the request and looking for the best response.  She was still 
dwelling on the fact that he, Mulder, had slipped her the tongue.  
Had moved right into the sexual arena without warning, and her pulse 
was still racing in the aftermath.  She drew in a long breath to 
slow it down, stood straighter and turned her face up so that she 
was looking at him through half-closed eyelids.  

"Surprise me," she replied, with a smirk at her own impetuousness.  
She knew he'd be surprised by her answer.  She also knew that he 
would not choose the mud-wrestling option.

Mulder was surprised at her response.  He grinned with delight.  
"Alright.  It's a..."

"...date."  She finished for him.

He looked at her a moment, smiling.  "Right."  

They stared at each other, then simultaneously broke into soft 
laughter at the improbability of the notion.  It had only been one 
kiss, but that singular kiss carried a lot of weight, trampling any 
argument that could be raised about their partnership or their 
friendship.  They were still partners and friends, but now they were 
something else as well.  Something that had always been a part of 
the equation.  It didn't have a name or an adjective that could be 
applied to accurately describe what it was at this point, but it 
still existed, and now they had both acknowledged it.

Scully's face grew solemn as her mind considered the levity of their 
actions.  Mulder studied her face, his own expression turning 
serious.  He knew Dana Scully pretty well, and he knew that she had 
experienced moments of 'leaping before looking' in the past, moments 
that had some serious, lasting effects on her.  He knew how 
important their partnership and their relationship were to her.  
"Look, Scully, I'm not suggesting that we..."

She closed her eyes briefly, drawing in a deep breath.  "I know, 
Mulder."  

He saw her face soften and her cheeks grow pink as she glanced down, 
and he thought that she looked so incredibly beautiful at that 
moment.  This time, it was she who reached out and took his hand, 
tugging on it gently before looking up at him.  

"We both could stand to get out into the world and try to have fun 
for a few hours."

A slow smile crept across his face and he nodded.  They were still 
on the same page, and he had waited a long time to get there.  He 
was determined to make it work.  "Then there's only one condition,"  
he said, playing with her fingers.  She raised her eyebrow in 
question, and he smiled.  "No suits, alright?  Strictly non-working 
attire."  She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.  She was 
probably expecting baseball, he mused.  It was too cold in March for 
baseball.  "Trust me, okay?"

She smiled, her eyes warm and glowing.  "Always."  They looked at 
each other a moment longer, then she took a breath, opening her 
mouth to speak.

"You're going to be late," he said, anticipating her next statement 
and gesturing toward her car as he took a step back.  "Call me when 
you get home."

She nodded, then turned to unlock her car door.  She gave him a look 
of affection before climbing inside, and he stood by as she pulled 
out of her parking space, offering a brief wave as she drove past.

He stood alone in the middle of the parking garage, smiling to 
himself, then turned to head back to the stairwell.  Shoving his 
hands in his pockets, he encountered the balled up note from Scully 
that had propelled him toward the garage in the first place.  He 
tossed the paper ball into the air and caught it a few times, and 
was about to free-throw it into the trashcan next to the stairwell 
door, then paused.  With a smile, he stuffed the paper ball back 
into his pocket and threw open the stairwell door, sprinting up the 
stairs two at a time.


beduini2@yahoo.com

Yeah, I REALLY liked that camel coat!  I had to use it.

Scene III: Expectations

"I can't believe you never told me this."  He blinked at her dark 
profile, silhouetted against the dim light filtering in through the 
tempered glass of the passenger window.  "How long have you felt 
this way?"  He felt as if his own stomach had taken up residence 
somewhere around his feet.

She looked at him a long moment, her light eyes barely visible as 
her chest rose and fell with several breaths.  "A while," she said, 
finally.

"Wh.." he paused, shaking his head slightly.  When he spoke again, 
his voice was softer and gentler than before.  "Are you alright?  
Has there been a change in...is it your health?"

She looked down at her hands laying in her lap, swallowing.  "No.  
I'm still cancer-free."

Laying his head back against the seat's headrest, he closed his eyes 
and let out a breath of relief.  It did little to resolve the 
building tension surrounding them, however.  They were both silent, 
Mulder staring out the windshield through slit eyes, and Scully 
staring down into her lap, her chin against her chest.  

After a long, uncomfortable silence, he sat up and let out a deep 
sigh, turning the key in the ignition and starting the car.

She exhaled slowly and looked up at him.  "Mulder..." she reached 
out and placed her hand on top of his forearm, wanting him to 
understand.

He killed the engine and dropped his hand back to his lap abruptly.  
She moved her hand away and he turned in his seat to face her, his 
eyes dark and his expression a mixture of hurt and confusion.

"Obviously you don't feel the same way," she said flatly, pursing 
her lips and looking away.

"No Scully, I don't feel the same way.  I HAVE hope for the future."  
His words were clipped, spoken with the same tone he used when 
presenting a case.

"That's not what I meant."

He continued.  "When I wake up every morning I look forward to the 
day ahead of me.  I look forward to going to work...to you 
challenging my theories and making me work to prove them.  To 
finding the answer to something that nobody else could find because 
nobody bothered to ask the right question."  He paused, looking out 
the window a moment before turning back toward her.

She was looking at him like she looked at a specimen under a 
microscope.  "You know, Mulder, you're just like Charlie Brown."

He scoffed.  "Charlie Brown?  What, a perpetual loser?"

"No.  You're perpetually optimistic, approaching that line every 
time, knowing that every single time you've gone for the field goal 
the ball was pulled out from under you, yet you still keep going for 
the field goal." 

He gave her a look that told her how ridiculous he thought her 
analogy was.  "First you compare me to Ahab in Moby Dick, then I'm a 
pumpkin, and now I'm Charlie Brown.  Nice to know you think about me 
in such a flattering way, Scully."

She stared at him, nonplussed.  "You ARE like Charlie Brown, Mulder.  
Only instead of a football it's the truth.  And instead of Lucy 
pulling the ball out from under you it's Cancerman, or the Justice 
Department, or an ultimatum you won't be able to refuse..." she 
paused, her voice becoming softer.  "Don't you ever get tired of 
having that ball pulled out from under you?"  

He nodded.  "Yes, I do.  But there are things I still want to do, to 
find..." he paused again, biting the corner of his lip as he looked 
at her.  "I had hoped that you would be a part of that.  But now you 
tell me that you don't have any hope for the future and I wonder 
why the Hell you bother to show up to work every day if that's how 
you feel."  There was a hint of anger in his voice by the time he 
was finished.

She took a deep breath and held it, then let it out slowly, and he 
looked, unseeing, out his side window.  She didn't look at him when 
she spoke, her voice low.  "I didn't say I don't have hope, Mulder.  
I said I don't have any expectations regarding the future."

He looked at her, his eyes dark and penetrating.  "Isn't that 
essentially the same thing?"

She shook her head.  "Not at all." 

"It still translates the same," he replied, looking back out the 
window.

She shifted in her seat, turning so that she was facing him.  
"Mulder, I'm sure I don't have to remind you of all of the things 
that we've seen and done in the last seven years," she spoke slowly 
and carefully, her vulnerability on the subject evident as he turned 
his head to look at her.  "All of the things...all of the people 
that we've lost.  All of the times that we've nearly lost our 
own lives."  She looked at him and he looked away, averting his 
eyes, and her voice developed a harder edge.  "Every day I thank God 
that we're still here, that we've both made it this far.  Every day 
I know that one day, perhaps today, or tomorrow, or next week...one 
of us might not be as lucky."  She looked back down at her hands, 
swallowing and taking a deep, shaky breath.  "I can't afford to have 
any expectations, Mulder."

He was silent a moment, considering her words.  Then, without 
looking at her, asked softly, "why do you stay, Scully?  If you've 
felt this way for a while, why haven't you quit?"  He looked up at 
her, his eyes sad and unfaltering.  He offered her a gentle, 
heartbreaking smile.  "You've had other offers, offers that would 
take you places safer than this."

She held his gaze, looking at him for a long time, her eyes large 
and black in the darkness.  He understood that his was not a valid 
question, that it was ridiculous that he would even ask such a thing 
at this late point in their partnership, after all that they had 
seen and shared.  'Who else in the world could I trust to look after 
you,' her eyes asked as they stared into his, although she didn't 
give voice to that thought.  Finally, she responded with conviction, 
"I am where I want to be."

He blinked at her and she slid across the seat, closer to him.  She 
looked down a moment, gathering her thoughts.  "Mulder, some time 
ago I realized that I was never going to have the kind of life that 
people traditionally expect to have when they get to be our age.  I 
can't sit back in a routine forty-hour-a-week job, blissfully 
ignorant to the things going on in the world around me just to 
collect a paycheck to pay the mortgage."  She looked up at him.  
"Climbing into the SUV after an eight-hour day to fight all of the 
other under-challenged and over-stressed people my age also on their 
way home for a parking spot at the organic food store."  A smile 
began playing at the corners of his mouth at the image she created 
and she took his hand, her eyes shining.  "I don't expect anything 
else than what I've already got from the life I have now, Mulder.  I 
have hopes, yes, but no expectations."

He looked at her with raised eyebrows.  "I thought you wanted all of 
that.  A normal life."  

She let out a soft snort.  "I used to think I did.  Maybe I did want 
it at one point in my life.  But I consider everything that I know 
now and everything I'd have to give up in order to have that and I'm 
not willing to give anything up.  I've made my decision, whatever 
may happen."

He looked down at her hand on top of his in his lap and wove his 
fingers through hers.  She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and he met 
her gaze, his eyes warm and glowing as he smiled a quiet, closed-
lipped smile.  The words she spoke were something he never would ask 
from her, no matter how much he wanted and needed to have her with 
him.  It had so often been implied, and he had wanted it so much 
that sometimes he believed that the commitment on her part had been 
made.

But she was making that commitment now...to stay with him and the X 
Files indefinitely.  And it wasn't just about the job, he 
understood, it was about everything...their work, their quests, 
their partnership, their friendship and whatever else it was that 
they were becoming as well.  They had crossed a line, gone beyond 
the boundaries of what they had once been.  She was committing to 
all of it, assuring him that she was invested for the duration.

It gave him hope for the future as much as it broke his heart to 
hear that she'd abandoned her own expectations for the benefit of 
the greater good.  He was certain that the two of them together were 
the greater good, although they were not normal in the traditional 
sense.  But perhaps they could carve out a little place just for 
themselves.  Take what they'd shared and learned and build on it, 
turn it into something that was uniquely theirs.

"If you have no expectations, then tell me what you hope for, 
Scully," he said tenderly, still holding her hand.

She raised her head, drew in a deep breath and released it.  Her 
eyes flashed and her voice was firm, full of conviction.  "I think 
you know.  To see justice served to those responsible for my 
sister's death, and for my abduction and my cancer."  She paused a 
moment.  "And for Emily."  Mulder drew in a sharp breath, and she 
looked at him, her gaze becoming softer, more tender.  She held his
eyes for a moment, then looked back down.

There was a long moment of silence between them.  "Anything else?"  
Mulder asked, his voice a little lower and rougher with emotion than 
everyday conversation as he looked at her.

She smiled to herself.  "Yes."  Her voice dropped to nearly a 
whisper.  "There are other things.  Personal things."  She still did 
not meet his gaze as she drew in a shaky breath.

He studied her expression, nodding slightly, then looked out the 
side window again, gathering his thoughts.  "Anything I might want 
to know about?" he asked, turning back toward her to watch her 
face, keeping his voice neutral.  His eyes, however, told a 
different story.

She looked at him, a secretive smile beginning to appear as she 
pulled her hand away from his.  She knew that he already knew the 
answer to that question.  "Maybe."

A slow grin appeared on his face.  "Maybe?  What kind of answer is 
'maybe'?"

Her smile grew broader.  "It's the only kind of answer you're going 
to get right now."

He laughed softly.  He knew that pushing the issue wasn't going to 
get him anywhere, even if they both knew that he already knew the 
answer.  Glancing at his watch, he let out a sigh.  "You still want 
to try to catch that movie?" 

She looked down a moment, then back up at him.  "I think I'd like to 
go home.  The dinner was excellent, as was the company, but it's 
been a long week."

He nodded, with a slight smile at her compliment.  It had been a 
long week.  He reached over and turned the keys in the ignition, and 
glancing back over his shoulder, pulled the car away from the curb 
and into the street.

The restaurant wasn't far from Scully's apartment, and they passed 
the ride over in a comfortable silence.  Mulder pulled into a space 
near the front of her building and looked over at her, his hand 
poised near the keys hanging in the ignition.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to come in tonight," Scully 
said softly without looking at him.  

He watched her with a mixture of relief and disappointment, and 
nodded slightly.  They were going to take this slow.  After all, it 
took seven years for them to reach this point.  She looked at him, 
her gratitude showing in her eyes, and he put a hand on her arm as 
she reached for the door handle.

"Wait," he said, throwing on the parking brake and stepping out of 
the car, leaving the engine running.  He crossed behind the car and 
came up to the passenger side, opening her door and holding his hand 
out for her.  She raised an eyebrow at him as she placed her hand in 
his, and he grinned as he helped her out of the car, shutting the 
door behind her.

She licked her lips nervously and offered a tight-lipped smile as 
they stood facing each other.  "This was nice," he said, slightly 
shifting from foot to foot as he looked down at her.

She nodded, taking a deep breath of cold night air and rocking back 
on her heels as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her wool 
overcoat.  "Thanks for dinner, Mulder."

She looked up into his eyes, and he looked back at her, his eyes 
darting between her eyes and her lips.  She glanced at his mouth, 
then back into his eyes.  Reaching out, he tucked a strand of hair 
behind her ear.  "I...I want you know how much it means to me.  What 
you said earlier about being where you want to be."

She closed her eyes a moment, then looked down at her feet.  "I 
know, Mulder."

He looked down, taking a deep breath.  "I know you don't have any 
expectations, which is probably the most logical way to approach 
this considering..." he stopped, looking into her eyes as she raised 
her face to look into his.  "I just...I want you to know that I 
haven't ruled out the other option, either.  Maybe not the boring 
job and the organic food store part, but the rest of it..." he 
shrugged, looking away.  "Who knows?  Maybe someday..."

When he looked back at her she was watching him with wide-eyed 
bewilderment, her breathing quick and shallow.  She let out of huff 
and smiled, tears forming in her eyes.  "We'll see what happens."

He smiled ruefully.  "No expectations."

She sniffed back the threatening tears and pulled a hand out of her 
pocket, wrapping it tightly around his wrist.  "No expectations."

He bit his lip and released it.  "But we can hope."

She nodded, sniffling again, her eyes bright.  "Exactly."

Their eyes met and they both smiled, understanding each other 
implicitly.  He cradled her face in his hands and slowly leaned 
forward as she leaned toward him, their lips pressing together 
softly.  They shared several soft kisses before she placed her hands 
on his shoulders and he turned his head to the side, opening his 
mouth and tracing her lips lightly with the tip of his tongue.

He pulled back slightly as if asking permission and their eyes met, 
exchanging a confirmation before their lips joined again.  She 
opened her mouth to him and slowly they began to taste each other, 
exploring teeth and textures, the inside of her cheek, the roof of 
his mouth, erotic and unhurried.  Her hands slid around his back to 
hold him tighter and he held her close as their kiss grew more 
passionate, more demanding, tongues dancing and teeth clashing.

She was making little guttural noises of satisfaction that went 
straight to his groin and he forced himself to pull back and break 
the kiss before his hands got him into trouble by going places they 
hadn't been invited.  He didn't know that that would have been his 
passport inside, causing her to abandon her previous conviction for 
the heat of the moment with only one well-placed palm.

She was disappointed, he noticed with satisfaction when he looked 
into her eyes, his face still close enough to feel her quick panting 
against his lips.

"Goodnight, Scully," he said, closing his eyes against his own 
arousal.  She was silent, and when he opened his eyes she was 
looking at him with a desire that made his knees weak.

She pulled back and let her arms drop to her sides.  "Goodnight, 
Mulder," she replied after a long moment and several more quick 
breaths.

He took a step back and she straightened her shoulders, turning and 
walking toward the door of her apartment building.  After a few 
steps she stopped and turned back to look at him.  "That was one,"  
she said with an enigmatic smile.

He shook his head.  "One what?" he asked with a smile that mirrored 
hers.

"One of the things I'd hoped for," she replied, ran her eyes over 
him flirtatiously, then turned and walked away.

He fell back against the car, as if his legs were no longer able to 
support his weight.  "Anything else I should know about?" he called 
out to her, and she stopped, turning halfway to face him once again.

She looked thoughtful.  "Lots of things," she replied, her face 
cracking into a mischievous smile.  He smiled in return, watching 
her until she reached the door, turned and looked at him once more, 
then disappeared inside.

Mulder stepped around the car and climbed inside.  But instead of 
driving away, he killed the engine and sat in the car, unable to 
stop himself from grinning from ear to ear at the steering wheel.  A 
light appearing above him caught his attention, and he turned toward 
the lighted window, catching sight of her looking out at him.  Three 
seconds later his cellphone trilled.

"Tell me you changed your mind and you want me to come inside," he 
said in lieu of a greeting.

She made a small noise that he recognized as a laugh.  "Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you feel about dogs?"

"Big slobbery dogs or small yappy dogs?" he asked, looking at her 
silhouette in the window.

"I don't know..." she said, settling herself into the wooden rocking 
chair she'd pulled over to the window and tucking a foot underneath 
her.  "How about a medium-sized dog, like a Border Collie or a 
Spaniel, or maybe a small German Shepherd?"

He was silent for a few moments.  "Is that another one, Scully?"

She paused before responding.  "Yeah."

"I'll bet if we combined our lists we'd knock off quite a few 
duplications."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes what?"

"I asked you how you felt about having a dog."

"Would I get to pick the name?  Something other than an obscure 
literary figure, like Rex or King."

"That's redundant.  Rex and King mean the same thing."

"Snoopy?"

"Mulderrrr."

He smiled, seeing her in his mind, rolling her eyes impatiently like 
she always did when he teased her.  "The answer is yes, Scully."

She didn't reply, but he knew she was smiling just the same.  He 
reached over and turned the keys in the ignition, pumping the gas 
pedal a few times for effect as the engine gunned to life.  
"Goodnight, Scully."

"Goodnight Charlie Brown."  She replied warmly, hearing his soft 
chuckle as she pushed the 'end' button on her phone and held it 
against her chest with a smile.


beduini2@yahoo.com

Scene IV: Worth Doing Well

The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, a burst of color overhead as 
her feet pounded a steady rhythm against the sidewalk along the 
Tidal Basin.  She'd been drawn to them since the day they first 
started blooming, and now she was able to enjoy them at her leisure, 
a slight smile crossing her face as she passed under the first tree.  
The morning was crisp and clear, the dew still clinging to the 
blossoms, which were the reason she'd chosen to run this route 
through the city in the first place.  But her mind immediately 
resumed its internal dialogue, focusing on more serious subjects 
than pink petals and Springtime.

Anything worth doing is worth doing well.

Worth doing well.

Worth doing well.

She turned the phrase over again and again, using it to keep time 
with each contact her body made with the unforgiving pavement.  
Breathing the words in and out in cadence.

Worth doing well.

Worth doing well.

It was a cliché, a throwaway phrase that people used at will to 
encourage productivity or incite a sense of responsibility.  A 
mother's phrase.  HER mother's phrase.

Worth doing well.

Worth doing well.

Her mother didn't know she would take it to heart though, or that 
her daughter would be pounding the asphalt in her cross-trainers 
with the rhythm of the syllables bouncing around inside of her head.  
They had been talking about Easter, although it was still weeks 
away, and Dana had discreetly chided her mother for consistently 
taking on too many church and social obligations during Easter week.  
Her mother had responded with the phrase, and it had stuck.

It could be worse.  It could be that "All Star" song you heard 
everywhere these days, or "It's A Small World."  God forbid.  That's 
something you didn't even want to suggest out of the fear that the 
mere suggestion was enough to implant the tune firmly in your mind.  
But this phrase stuck, and there was a reason.

Mulder.  She'd been considering her relationship with Mulder when 
her mother had called.

Worth doing well.

Worth doing well.

They were in a relationship that they had reached via back alleys 
and side roads.  It was a direct result from the years of trust and 
intimacy they'd developed through working closely together, evolving 
from friendship into something more.  They shared deep feelings for 
one another and a history that no one else could even begin to 
understand.  But they didn't ever intend for it to become more than 
a working relationship.  They didn't nurture and feed it.  In fact, 
they spent a lot of energy avoiding it.  It bloomed, anyway - a side 
benefit of what they already were.  A flower growing up through the 
dark cracks in the asphalt.

Worth doing well.

Worth doing well.

Did she expect that it could continue along in the same way it had 
developed, untended and pushed aside?  Did he?  Relationships were 
hard work.  The number of Venus and Mars books, articles on 
communication and intimacy workshops available these days were a 
testament to that fact.  It had been a long time since she'd been in 
a relationship with a man, but she remembered the effort that had 
gone into it.  There had to be a lot of communication to avoid 
misinterpretations and hurt feelings.

She and Mulder had put a lot of work into their partnership, but 
much of their communication was done cryptically via subtext, and 
even then they avoided any talk of feelings whenever possible.  
Still, they'd managed to convey the extent of their commitment.  Did 
they really think that they could just add physical intimacy to the 
equation without an adjustment in the way they communicated with 
each other?

They hadn't had sex, of course.  They'd shared a few passionate 
kisses, and there was one time about a week ago when Mulder had been 
over at her apartment on the pretense of picking up a file that 
she'd taken home with her.  They'd ended up having a late dinner, 
then when they were cleaning up the kitchen afterward things got a 
little out of hand.  Nothing but kissing and a little touching, 
really, but enough of an indication regarding their physical desires 
to put an end to any doubts either of them might have had about what 
the other wanted out of their fledgling intimacy.  They hadn't 
pushed it any further though, and Mulder had gone home with a wild 
look in his eyes shortly thereafter.  She'd hopped in the shower and 
spent a good hour with the shower massage before calling it a night.

The next day, other than a spark and a flash in their eyes when they 
said 'good morning', there was no indication that anything out of 
the everyday ordinariness had transpired.  It was comforting to know 
that they could still get down to business as usual.  And that was 
how it had been ever since.

Business as usual.

They flirted, of course.  More blatantly than ever, but still 
innocuous and never in front of anyone else.  And they touched more.  
Nothing overt, just small gestures.  A gentle brush over an arm, or 
the squeeze of a hand or a shoulder.  And looks.  They had the 
market cornered when it came to unspoken communication through eye 
contact.

She enjoyed the tease.  It had been her secret pleasure for years.  
It was both cerebral and titillating, just bordering on the edge of 
the possibility.  She was comfortable within that context, able to 
control her responses yet challenged by his.  Not that she didn't 
enjoy the physiological responses brought on by the more overt 
actions like kissing and touching - but those were more difficult 
for her to control.  That was a different matter altogether, and the 
lack of control was something she didn't allow often.  In fact, the 
last time she'd given away her control there had been grave 
consequences and she'd vowed never to act so irrationally again.

But Mulder...she could see herself letting go with him.  She'd done 
it many times in their professional relationship, and she trusted 
him.  In fact, she had grown into the idea that he was the only 
person she could see herself with.  He was bigger and stronger but 
he would never hurt her, although sexually in the heat of passion 
she suspected he might take her right up to the edge if she were 
willing.  She could be free to act as she wanted, and yet with just 
one word, back in control.

She knew this, but in the past she'd never really allowed herself to 
think about it directly in such detail.  Up until a week ago, the 
idea had always been an abstract one.  A mere potentiality.  Present 
but not seriously considered.  But now...sex with Mulder.

Actual sex.

With Mulder.

Not the idea or the fantasy, not the desire.  The reality.  The 
reality of the situation was; a commitment was exchanged and the 
intention had been laid out...she and Mulder had begun a physically 
intimate relationship and they were going to make love.  Have sex.  
Fuck.  No, not that.  Okay, truthfully - yes, that, too.  All of the 
above.  Soon.

Not someday.  Soon.

She realized that she'd been running with an enormous grin on her 
face and she stopped, bending at the waist and sucking in air as her 
body compensated for the break in rhythm.  Her face felt hot and she 
was sure it was an obvious shade of red.  Looking up, she noticed 
that she was only a few yards away from the bench where she'd met 
with Mulder years ago after they'd been separated and reassigned to 
different areas within the Bureau.  She slowly made her way over to 
the bench, grateful that there were few people milling around for a 
Saturday, probably due to the early hour.

She stretched a little, using the bench, then sat, looking out over 
the Tidal Basin.  She wasn't far from work, she could stop by there 
even if it was out of her way.  Mulder was probably already there, 
doing God knows what he does at all hours of the day and night.  
Scaring up another field trip, maybe, or cross-referencing the 
files.

Anything worth doing is worth doing well.

She should put more effort into the relationship.  Admittedly, 
Mulder had done more initiating than she had of late.  She was an 
equal partner in this - maybe it was time for her to invest more of 
herself into it.  She pulled one knee up to her chest and rested her 
chin on it, looking out at the water.  They both wanted the same 
thing.  Now they both knew it.

God, sex.

How long had it been?  How long will they draw it out before they 
actually do it?  Maybe she should just go over to the office and 
invite Mulder to come over later and bring his overnight bag.  This 
thought and the expression she imagined on his face brought out 
another grin and she sat that way for a while, looking out over the 
Tidal Basin.

Lost in a jumble of 'what-if's' and 'maybe-it's-time-I', she felt a 
gentle caress across the back of her neck and looked up to her right 
to see Mulder grinning down at her, dressed in a T-shirt and jogging 
shorts and breathing hard from his exertion.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said, bending over to stretch but 
still looking at her.

"Hey," she said with a slight smile.  "I was just going to go over 
to the office to look for you."  She thanked God that whatever color 
was left on her face would be attributed to the exercise and not her 
current train of thought.

"I'm going back there after I finish my run," he said, shifting his 
weight from his left leg to the right leg.  A fine sheen of 
perspiration was appearing on his forehead and he wiped it with the 
sleeve of his sweat-soaked T-shirt.  "You don't usually take this 
route, do you?"

"No.  I wanted to see the cherry blossoms."

He looked over at the nearest tree, his mouth twisted into a toothy 
grin while he bounced up and down on his heels.  "Beautiful."  He 
turned back toward her.  "So that's why you weren't answering your 
phone."

She raised an eyebrow, pulling her other leg up on the bench and 
hugging both against her chest.  "You called me this morning?  
What's up?"

He shrugged, still bouncing up and down.  "No reason.  Just, 
uh...wondering if you were going to be busy later."  He averted his 
eyes from hers and she read the subtext clearly.  Perhaps they both 
had reached the same conclusion this morning.

She kept her face blank, taking her time while pretending to be 
thinking about her non-existent plans instead of the possibility of 
sex that very evening.  "I don't think I have anything planned," she 
replied in a non-committal tone, just in case he pulled a couple of 
plane tickets and an X File out of the air.  Like she'd refuse him, 
anyway.

He stopped bouncing and moved over to the bench, sitting down next 
to her.  He looked out at the water, resting his elbows on his knees 
and sucking on his lower lip.  She was beginning to think she had 
played it too well and he was backing off when turned his head and 
looked at her, his eyes warm and a smile playing on his moist lips.  
"Keeping your options open, Scully?"

She stared at him.  He knew exactly what she had been doing.  
Bastard.  She ought to invent a pre-planned appointment, just to get 
even.  But she'd already decided to make the effort, so she bit back 
her retort, gave him a withering glare and leaned back on the bench.  
"Alright, Mulder, as you already know, except for a few loads of 
laundry my whole weekend is open.  Tell me what's on your mind."

He smiled over his shoulder at her fondly, his eyes running over her 
quickly before turning his face back toward the water.  He shrugged, 
then looked at her again, still grinning.  "I just thought I'd offer 
you dinner since you fed me the last time."

She studied him a moment.  "Just dinner?"

He looked at her, his smile fading and his eyes growing serious.  
There were multiple levels on which he could address that question, 
and choosing the right one was important.  She met his gaze full-on.  
After a long moment, he deadpanned, "Maybe you should taste my 
cooking before you ask that question."

She kept her eyes on his and felt her breathing quicken as they 
continued to look at each other.  He'd chosen the light, safe 
response, but the looks said otherwise.  So they both felt it was 
time that they moved things ahead.  The truth be told, she'd 
probably known Mulder had been ready for a while now and he was just 
waiting for her to catch up to him.  Staring out across the water 
she slowly leaned forward until she was sitting the same way that he 
was, her elbows on her knees, their shoulders brushing.  After a 
long pause she turned her head toward him until their faces were 
mere inches apart.  

"What time?" she asked.

His response was nearly a croak, and an octave lower than usual at 
that.  "Seven."

She nodded slightly, then slowly leaned in and gently pressed her 
lips against his.  "I wouldn't miss it," she said softly, nudging 
his nose with hers, then pulled back with a smile.

He grinned, cleared his throat and leaned back on the bench, looking 
out at the water once again.  After a few moments of silence, he 
asked flirtatiously, "so, tell me what's on your mind, Scully."

She stood and gave him THE look, shaking out her leg muscles then 
leaning forward and grabbing her ankles.  He was an intelligent man, 
she had no doubt he'd figure it out.

"Oooooo..." he said suggestively, not one hundred percent joking.  
He'd figured it out.  Watching her go through her warm-up, he said 
seriously, "I take it you won't be stopping by the office now.  Are 
you gonna run all the way home?"

"I ran all the way here," she replied without looking up.

"Why don't you let me drive you?  My car's parked over on Maine."  
His gaze was blatantly direct.

She shook her head, standing up straight and beginning to jog in 
place.  She needed time to psyche herself up for this.  "It's less 
than three miles, Mulder.  I started this, now I'm gonna finish it."

He smiled at her, leisurely crossing his arms in front of him.  "If 
it's worth doing..."

"...it's worth doing well."  She finished for him, stopping in her 
tracks with a look of surprise on her face.  How he managed to come 
up with these things at precisely the right time never failed to 
amaze her.  "Where the hell did that come from?"

He grinned with the satisfaction that always came from throwing her 
off balance.  "Dean Woodforde, my second-year college advisor.  It 
just popped into my head."  He shrugged.

She shook her head.  She wouldn't admit it to him, but sometimes she 
was inclined to wonder about the possibilities of a psychic 
connection.  "My mother said that to me last night."

"What is it, the Scully motto?"

She looked at him a moment, and began jogging in place again.  "It 
is now," she replied, suddenly full of nervous energy, then turned 
and jogged off the way she came, pounding out the familiar rhythm 
and looking up with renewed interest at the cherry blossoms as she 
passed underneath each tree.

Worth doing well.

Worth doing well.

A few moments later he fell into stride beside her and she glanced 
up at him.  He was looking up at the trees just as she had done, his 
mouth hanging open as his eyes took in the splendor of the delicate 
pink petals.  His face was like a child's - full of hope and wonder.

Oh, he was definitely worth it.

"Bring your appetite," he said without looking at her just before 
they parted company at Seventeenth Street.

'My appetite,' she thought with an inward smile, turning and jogging 
in place to watch him continue down the street, graceful and lithe.  
'My appetite will be bringing me.'


beduini2@yahoo.com

Scene V: Anticipation

He'd had a good hour since the plane took off from National to think 
about it, and it all came down to one thing.  He should have stayed 
out of the office.

The flight attendant leaned over with a condescending smile, flipped 
the plastic latch on the seatback in front of him and released the 
tray table.  As it hit his knees he clenched his teeth not out of 
pain, but out of frustration, cursing whatever cosmic force it was 
that decided it was his turn to take it in the ass today.

He'd nearly passed on going in to work this morning, anticipating 
the dinner he'd promised his partner that evening.  It wasn't so 
much the dinner as it was what he hoped would come afterward, for he 
was a man with an ulterior motive.  An ulterior motive shared by 
two, he suspected from the signals he'd received from Scully earlier 
that morning.

Ultimately, it was the anticipation of that ulterior motive that 
compelled him into the office.  He was seeking a temporary 
distraction from the part of his brain (the lower one) that kept 
suggesting that he just go over to her apartment, drag her into the 
bedroom and forego the cooking and cleaning altogether.

But she deserved better.  They both did.  Not that his cooking and 
his apartment, clean or otherwise, symbolized the crowning pinnacle 
of their relationship, but he wasn't a hundred percent sure that she 
was even ready to allow him into her body, or if she was slowly 
opening herself up to more possibilities.  He was a fairly patient 
man...more possibilities with Scully weren't what he was 
anticipating, but it was still a good thing.

In the end he did get a reprieve from the anticipation, delivered by 
a bald and bespectacled Assistant Director just dropping off a file 
for him to take a look at on Monday morning.  "This came in the 
pouch from the Miami office this morning.  It's got your name 
written all over it," he'd said as he handed him the file.

He wasn't going to open the file.  He was going to leave it on his 
desk until Monday, busy himself with a few small, mindless projects 
then head off to Trader Joe's for a couple of pre-made gourmet 
salads and some cheese and wine.  The rest he could get along with 
the multi-purpose cleaner and paper towels at the supermarket.

Three new labels and a couple of cross-references later, his 
curiosity got the better of him, and he took a peek.

Then he decided it would be worth a quick perusal before he headed 
out the door.  Just so that he wouldn't wonder all weekend what that 
file that was sitting on his desk was about.

After half a dozen phone calls it was four o'clock and he was 
telephoning Scully to apologize for the late notice, telling her to 
pack for warm weather and meet him at the airport in an hour.

She hadn't said much since she arrived, crisp and polished in her 
trademark black suit and heels.  She'd asked where they were going 
and asked to see the file, settling down into a preformed plastic 
terminal seat next to him while he cracked his way through a small 
pile of sunflower seeds, waiting for their flight to be called.  

He noted with some discontentment that for all outward appearances, 
she seemed to be unaffected by the change in plans.  Perhaps she 
hadn't been anticipating the evening's activities the same we he 
had.  The thought was enough to set his nerves on edge, his jaw 
clenching and his legs bouncing over the balls of his feet while his 
face remained laconic.

Their flight was full and since they were flying at the last minute 
they were relegated to standby.  They were told by the schedule-
minded flight attendant to find any two available seats, and after 
the flight had taken off they would try to move people around so 
that they could sit together.  Scully got the first seat, on the 
aisle near the back, and Mulder was a couple of rows behind her.  

Once they were in the air, at Mulder's insistence the flight 
attendant had congenially asked the smarmy man in the seat next to 
Scully if he would mind moving so that they could sit together.  But 
the man refused with an oily grin, claiming that sitting on the 
aisle gave him vertigo.

Mulder could think of several things to give the man besides 
vertigo, but he returned to his seat two rows back in silence, 
stealing a glance at his partner as he fastened his safety belt.  
She had her legs crossed away from the greasy man and she'd put on 
her glasses, her face turned to the side enough for him to see a bit 
of her profile beyond the curve of her hair.  As she read, she 
reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, smoothing it down 
with her fingers.

Vertigo my ass, he thought.

His backup plan was shot to hell, because he really wanted to spend 
some time with Scully in lieu of their broken date.  He wanted to 
talk.  The subject was incidental.  He wanted to look into her eyes 
and watch the emotion flicker across her face as she processed his 
responses.  He wanted to see her eyes flash as she responded back.  
He wanted to watch the way her tongue darted out to the corner of 
her mouth just before she was about to challenge him.

He wanted her all to himself, at least for a few hours, and he 
didn't want to share.

With this thought came the awareness that as he had been staring 
intently at his pretty partner, someone had been staring at him, and 
he turned his head to the left to meet two large, black, almond-
shaped eyes sizing him up.

He smiled self-consciously.  "Hi."

"She's too pretty for you," the child replied in a matter-of-fact 
voice.

"What?" Mulder asked, thrown off-balance by the child's directness.

"That woman with the red hair.  You've been staring at her."

He regarded the child, no more than twelve years old.  She wore 
sneakers, jeans and a T-shirt that said 'Tanglewood' and across her 
lap was a music book that looked like a pen had exploded across it.

"No I wasn't," he said defensively, settling into his chair.

The girl gave him a narrow-eyed look that said, 'yeah, right' and 
turned back to her music, her straight, blunt-cut black hair falling 
forward and obscuring her face.

"Hey, can you read that?" he asked, changing the subject as he 
pointed to the book in her lap.

The girl looked up at him again, blinking.  "Don't you know who I 
am?" she asked, indignant.

"No.  Should I?"

She sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing at him again.  "I'm 
Kimberly Toomornsoontorn," she replied with self-importance.

"Oh."  He said, quickly scanning his memory for a clue to why he 
should give a rat's ass about the name Kimberly Toomornsoontorn.  He 
drew a blank, and quickly deduced from the T-shirt and the book that 
it had something to do with music.  

Classical.  Scully's arena.

"Nice to meet you, Kimberly," he replied.  "I'm Fox Mulder."

She rolled her eyes with an ambivalence that he found almost 
offensive, turning back to the music and tuning him out.  The 
fingers on her left hand were moving rapidly, fingering out some 
difficult passage, and he sighed, pulling the in-flight magazine out 
of the pouch in front of him and flipping through to the list of 
complimentary beverages.

After noting with disgust the fact that the airline served Coke, not 
Pepsi, he stood, moving over to stand in the aisle beside Scully.

"So what do you think, Scully?" he asked, looming over her.

She closed the file and looked up at him.  "Well, I don't deny that 
there's something unusual about the way the bodies were arranged, 
although I'd say that whoever took the time to place them that way 
is very much of this world."

Mulder had to step to the side to allow a flight attendant to pass 
and she offered him a polite smile.  "I anticipated that response.  
That's why I made a point to note that the bodies were placed 
exactly sixteen meters apart, perfectly parallel to each other and 
the limbs..."  The flight attendant returned and he moved aside once 
again.  "...at exact angles that seem to be without reason until 
viewed..."

He looked over his shoulder to see a second flight attendant 
standing behind him pushing a beverage cart with an impatient smile. 
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to take your seat until we've 
completed the beverage service,"  she said with a saccharine 
sweetness.

Scully raised her eyebrows at him, mouthed "we'll talk later" and he 
returned to his seat without getting to finish his sentence.

Thanks to turbulence and an overly thirsty crowd of passengers, that 
had been an hour ago, and now he sat with a Diet Coke filled to the 
brim balanced precariously on the tray table resting at an unsafe 
angle on his knees.  He was hesitant to move or pick up the glass 
lest the soda spill over and run down the table in an icy river 
flowing direct into his crotch.

The flight attendant had moved on down the aisle with her beverage 
cart and Miss Kimberly Toomornsoontorn was sawing away on an 
imaginary violin, her eyes closed in concentration as her right 
elbow repeatedly jabbed him in the arm on the down bow.  Each impact 
to his arm resounded in smaller jolts throughout his body, causing 
the soda to jiggle along the edges of the glass while he gripped the 
armrest in a futile attempt to remain still.

"Do you mind?" he'd asked the girl with more than a little edge in 
his voice, but she was too engrossed to hear him, or perhaps she was 
simply ignoring him.

Scully was politely trying to extract herself from a conversation 
with Mr. Vertigo on her right.  Mulder had been watching them since 
he was relegated back to his seat for the beverage service, and the 
man was undoubtedly trying to get her telephone number, impervious 
to the fact that she was obviously with someone else.  She had 
turned away from him several times, hoping he'd get the hint, but 
the man was blind to her subtle gestures.  Mulder wondered how Mr. 
Vertigo would react if he knew the hot little redhead he was trying 
to hit on carried a Sig Sauer stuffed in the side pocket of her 
carry-on.

It was times like this, when for whatever reason he was forced to be 
an observer to his partner's experience, that he would be struck by 
the unfair advantage that he had over her by simply being male.  It 
was criminal, the things that Scully had to endure as a woman.  
They'd be involved in an investigation, completely immersed in what 
they were doing, and an in a matter of seconds she could be totally 
discounted, reduced to nothing more than a stereotype by just one 
narrow-minded individual.  It didn't matter to them that she was 
intelligent, capable, patient, selfless and non-judgmental.  The 
fact that she was so pretty only made it worse.

She became a woman.

An object.

A cunt.

It made his temper flare to think about the labels pinned on her.  
Assertiveness made her a bitch.  Professionalism made her cold.  No 
one who knew her could ever think such a thing.  Not if they really 
knew her.  But she'd have something to say about that line of 
defense.  Every woman has dealt with gender-based prejudice, she'd 
argue.  She accepted the labels stoically, rarely allowing him to 
see how much it bothered her when the issue of her gender came up.  
Giving credence to it would only make it a larger issue.  She was an 
agent, and a damn fine agent at that.  She was his partner.  His 
equal in every sense of the word, and in some circumstances, his 
superior.

And yet, wasn't it he who had spent the better part of the day in 
anticipation of getting into her pants?  What made him any different 
than the other mindless pricks out for the same thing?  He'd always 
thought she was hot.  Alone in the darkness of his apartment he 
wasn't above jerking off while he replayed images of her, both real 
and imagined, in his mind.

He'd never reduced her to nothing more than her gender, though.  For 
him, Scully's mind and her loyalty were her most attractive assets.  
She knew how he felt about her.  He was completely devoted to her, 
and he was aware that she was devoted to him as well.  Despite his 
carnal impulses, she was his friend above all else, and the only 
woman or person in the world he could see himself spending the rest 
of his life with, both professionally and personally.

He smiled inwardly at the mental image that thought created, and 
without warning the plane hit an air pocket and bounced twice, 
spilling the soda over the brim of the glass, the nearly frozen 
liquid hitting him between the legs at a record pace.  He yelped, 
jumping up but restrained by the seatbelt, and dumping the rest of 
the glass, ice and all, over the front of his pants.

To her credit, Scully managed to keep a straight face, looking over 
her shoulder and meeting his frustrated glance with wide-eyed 
concern as he muttered "sonofabitch" under his breath, dabbing 
ineffectively at the enormous wet spot with the cocktail napkin the 
airline provided with the packet of complimentary peanuts.

He unlatched his seatbelt, covered his wet spot with the in-flight 
magazine and made his way down the aisle, pushing past the beverage 
cart and the saccharine flight attendant to get to the lavatories at 
the back of the plane.  Both were occupied, of course, and another 
flight attendant moving soda cans in and out of drawers in the back 
looked up in surprise at his succinct, beautifully elocuted, "Fuck!"

"Would you like some towels, Sir?" she asked, noticing the evidence 
of his dilemma despite the cover of the magazine and keeping a safe 
distance while handing him a stack of paper towels that probably 
wouldn't do any good as the frigid liquid was now completely soaked 
into the fabric and his skin.

He wiped at the spot, anyway, and looked up in time to see Scully 
approaching, file in hand.

"Mulder," she said in her mildly scolding tone of voice, giving him 
the 'what the Hell did you do now?' look.

"Shut up," he said crankily.

Then one of the lavatory doors opened, and a rather portly man 
stepped out just as the saccharine flight attendant returned with 
the beverage cart, forcing them to step back against the emergency 
exit to allow the portly gentleman enough room to pass by the cart 
and into the aisle.  The cold air seeping in from the cracks around 
the door irritated his wet spot, making him shiver while he imagined 
his manhood shriveling into oblivion in his pants as he pressed the 
paper towels against himself for added protection.  It was not the 
direction he'd hoped it would be going that evening.

"Excuse me," the beverage cart maven said without sincerity as she 
pushed the cart past them.  Scully looked at Mulder with empathy, 
noticing his shivering and rubbing his arm ineffectively, although 
it felt good to him, anyway.  By the time the beverage cart was out 
of the way and the path was clear, the lavatory was once again 
occupied.

"Sonofa...!" Mulder muttered, raising his hand, then running it 
through his hair in frustration.  "Unnnnh!"

"Mulder."  Scully's voice was calm, and she waited until he directed 
his attention her way.  "What was it you were saying about the 
photographs?  Something about the angle of the limbs?"  

Mulder sighed, rolled the soiled paper towels into a ball and tossed 
them along with the magazine into a slot in the kitchenette or 
whatever you called it that looked like it was meant for trash.  
Reaching for the file, he opened it, moving behind her so that he 
could look over her shoulder.  

"Okay, if you look at the placement of the bodies and the exact 
angle of the limbs from the ground, on first glance it appears to be 
methodical, ritualistic."  He pointed at several photos from the 
crime scene.  "However, if you were to view the scene from above, 
say, twenty or thirty feet, you'd see that the killer didn't 
position the bodies in a ritualistic way, but was in fact using them 
to form symbols."

She looked up at him.  "What kind of symbols?"

"You tell me."  He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, 
unfolded it and handed it to her.  "I was working on it at the 
airport while I was waiting for you.  Does that look anything like 
the symbols you saw on your spacecraft?"

Her eyes grew wide as she stared at him, and neither of them noticed 
that their conversation was beginning to draw curious glances from 
the flight attendants and the passengers seated nearby.  "I'm...not 
sure," she said in a tremulous voice, looking at the paper he had 
handed her.  "I don't think so.  I'd have to compare it to the 
photographs I took of the craft, but these symbols appear to be more 
square, like Russian, or Greek, maybe."

As she looked back up into his face, out of the corner of her eye 
she saw the flight attendants staring at them in horror, the 
gruesome murder scene photographs clearly visible in their hands.  
Mulder followed her line of vision and they glanced at each other.  
Scully rolled her eyes just as the lavatory door behind her was 
thrown open, knocking her into her partner and scattering the crime 
scene photos to the floor.

"Sorry," an angelic voice chimed from below as Miss Kimberly 
Toomornsoontorn turned her beatific smile toward Scully as she 
passed.  Mulder helped Scully pick up the photos and straighten 
herself, glaring down the aisle at the girl.  Biting his lip, he 
looked at the empty lavatory, and on impulse stepped inside, pulling 
his partner in with him.

"Mulder!" she objected as he threw the lock.  There was barely 
enough room for the both of them to stand in the confined space.

"You were saying?" he said, his eyes blazing and letting her know 
her that he'd had all he could take in one day of others outside of 
their intimate circle of two.

She looked back at him in commiseration and they both became aware 
at the same time of the less than fresh aroma of the disinfectant 
and other odors confined within the airtight compartment.  Scully 
let out a huff and closed her eyes in defeat.  Her head fell forward 
against his chest and he placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing 
gently.

"I hate airplanes," she said weakly.

"This evening hasn't exactly turned out the way I originally 
envisioned," he said apologetically, and she caught her breath, 
letting it out through soft, resigned laughter.  His expression grew 
slowly into a smile and he laughed along with her at the 
circumstances.

Lifting her face up to his, she looked into his eyes with a slight 
smile and sighed.  "No, it hasn't."

He saw regret and acceptance in her eyes and he felt the 
overpowering need to make it up to her somehow.  Not because she 
expected it, but because she didn't.  Because she never did.  

"Scully..."

"I know, Mulder."  She stopped him, before he could respond or offer 
her a raincheck.  She took a deep breath.  "This is what we do.  
It's fine."

He dropped his hand and took a slow breath, studying her.  He 
understood what she wasn't saying.  They were touching back on a 
previous conversation weeks ago about expectations and how she 
didn't have any.  It made him angrier now than it did then, because 
she should have expectations.  She had the right to - they both did.  
They weren't strangers, and they weren't two people who merely 
worked together.  They were...he still hadn't found an adequate word 
to describe exactly what they were to each other.

They were partners.

"Yes, Scully, it's what WE do," he replied sharply.  "WE being the 
operative word.  As in, you and me."

She shifted her stance a bit, moving back what little amount she 
could to create more room, until her back side was pressed against 
the sink.  "Yeah...so?"

"We had plans tonight, Scully," he continued, his voice a bit 
softer as he clasped his hand around her arm.  "I don't want to 
forget about it just because a case came up.  I will make it up to 
you."

"Mulder, I don't expect..."

"I know.  You don't expect.  But you should.  I want you to."  She 
let out an impatient huff and he put his other hand on her cheek.  
"I didn't get involved in a relationship with you so that I'd have 
something to do between cases, or because it was the convenient 
thing to do.  The truth is, it's not convenient.  You're my partner 
and my closest friend and I should run the other way in order to 
protect that at all costs."  A slight smile played on her lips.  
They both knew it was against his nature to run from any challenge.

His voice dropped to nearly a whisper.  "But you're also the person 
I most want to be with, Scully.  The first one I think about in the 
morning and the last one I think about before I go to sleep.  And I 
think that distinction carries a fair amount of responsibility with 
it...like the right to expect things from me.  Things like...keeping 
promises." 

She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked back up at him openly. 
"I know you will, Mulder.  Not because I expect it, but because it's 
part of who you are."  He took a deep breath, looking at her 
intensely, and she continued.  "Maybe I do expect things from you, 
Mulder.  I expect you to behave in accordance to what I know of you. 
That's why I can't be upset when you cancel a dinner or show up at 
my door at three-thirty in the morning.  Your work is your driving 
force, the source of your passion.  It always has been, as long as 
I've known you.  And I accept that fact."

"But you are every bit as important to me now, Scully.  Things 
change."

There was a silent pause.  "You're important to me, too," she said 
softly, laying her hands on his chest.  "That's why I've been 
hesitant to allow this relationship to move ahead too quickly.  We 
can't separate ourselves from the work and there's too much at stake 
to rush into it without considering all of the consequences.  But 
I've always known that the work had to be our first consideration."

He looked at her a moment, trying to read her expression.  "Are you 
saying that you're not sorry that this case came up today?"

She smiled, slightly embarrassed.  "Not for the reason you think.  
I've reached some decisions, Mulder, and I think you'll be happy 
with what I've decided."  She looked up briefly, a spark in her 
eyes, and he smiled in understanding.  "But I'd be lying if I said 
that I'm not as curious as you are about the meaning behind the 
placement of those bodies out there on the beach."

He grinned, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and 
her arms slid around his waist as she buried her face into his 
chest, inhaling his scent deep into her lungs.  Their embrace went 
on for a long while and he rubbed his hand up and down her lower 
back lightly, thinking about all of the things he would do and tell 
her without the distraction of a case when they finally got back 
home.

Then again, she'd said that they can't separate themselves from the 
work.  So maybe they shouldn't keep it separate.  Maybe they should 
grab whatever moment they could and make the most of it.  As long as 
they kept private matters...well, private.

Her fingers were kneading his flesh like a contented cat and his 
touch became more deliberate, seeking to arouse.  She responded with 
a contented hum and the atmosphere grew thick...sensual.  They were 
now completely open about the future of their relationship and 
weren't masking their desire from each other anymore.  As the 
pattern of their breathing changed, Scully nuzzled her nose into his 
neck, pressing her lips against his skin.  Her tongue flicked out 
for a brief taste, causing him to groan before she pulled back 
slightly to look up at him.

Her eyes were large and dark, glowing warmly and despite his wet 
trousers he felt himself growing very, very aroused.  He leaned down 
and kissed her, not caring if she felt his erection pressing against 
her stomach as he stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue.  

"You wanna join the Mile High Club, Scully?" he whispered into her 
ear, his voice low and deadly serious.

"Mmmmm...not in this fragrant lavatory," was her muffled reply, and 
he chuckled softly, turning her chin up with his index finger so 
that he could kiss her again.  Fragrant lavatory or not, she was 
more than receptive to his lips and tongue.

If there had been just a little more room, and if the lights hadn't 
flickered along with the announcement to return seat backs and tray 
table to their full, upright and locked position, Mulder would have 
effectively changed her mind.  He was beginning to learn what would 
garner a response and how she would react.  But a flight attendant 
was tapping on the door, asking them to take their seats and Scully 
was looking at him with anticipation as to how he planned to 
continue.

"Your pants are wet," she said with a mischievous smile, looking 
down at his trousers.

"Not the right kind of wet, unfortunately," he growled.

"People are going to talk about us when we step out of here."

"People have been talking about us for years.  You wanna make it a 
valid conversation?"  

She let out a breath and closed her eyes.  "God, yes.  But you owe 
me dinner first."

"That's the very least I can do for you.  Excuse me a second."  He 
turned his back to her to adjust himself more comfortably in his 
pants, then reached over to open the door.  "Trade seats with me, 
okay?"

"Why?"

"Just...humor me.  Please."

"Okay."

"You first."  He slid the door open and she stepped out, walking 
down the aisle in her most professional manner even though he was 
using her as a human shield.  Mulder heard Miss Toomornsoontorn 
speak to Scully as she took his place, pulling the SkyMall magazine 
out of the seat pocket and laying it down on the seat so that she 
wouldn't get wet.

"Do YOU know who I am?" the girl asked as Scully fastened her 
seatbelt.

Mulder sat in Scully's seat and glanced at her over his shoulder, 
seeing her give the girl a beautiful smile.

"Are you Kimberly Toomornsoontorn?" Scully asked in the voice she 
reserved specially for children.

"Yes, I am."  The girl's voice was smug and delighted.

"I'm a big fan of yours, Kimberly.  My name is Dana."

Kimberly giggled, oozing charm that had been suspiciously absent 
until that moment.  "Thank you, Dana."

There was a pause, then Mulder heard, "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Who?" Scully asked.

"That man with the big nose.  You were in the bathroom with him for 
a really long time."

Mulder glanced over his shoulder again, and Scully looked up to meet 
his gaze.  "We prefer the word 'partner'."

He grinned and she smiled at him, her eyebrows raised.

Turning back, he glanced to his right at Mr. Vertigo, who had 
witnessed the exchange, looked pointedly at his soiled trousers and 
glared at him.  He derived a huge amount of satisfaction out of that 
one look and caustically offered the man a wide, toothy grin, 
shrugging.

"Twelve-year old violin prodigies give me vertigo."  He turned away 
from the man's scowl and settled back into his seat, smiling in 
anticipation of his future.

All things considered, his future was looking pretty damn good.


beduini2@yahoo.com

Scene VI: New Era 

The dinner had been consumed, the table was cleared and the dishes 
cleaned and put away.  Mulder was in the kitchen finishing the last 
of the cleanup while she stood in his living room, staring unseeing 
at a framed print on the wall.

Seven years together and it all came down to this one night, she 
thought ruefully.  Everything seemed to be taking on a warped 
significance - inside jokes, catch phrases, past mistakes, emotional 
revelations.  It was as if their entire history had been condensed 
into a few moments that they revisited like a time capsule, opened 
for re-examination and reflection in the new era.

After tonight, it would be a new era.  They would be connected in 
every way that two separate, thinking individuals could be 
connected, even though they had been growing toward that goal, and 
in many ways had already been living as one for a very long time.

As he wiped the water drops off of the countertop with a dish towel 
Mulder's thoughts were not on the evening ahead nor on their 
collective past, but a reflection on the past hour.  When he had 
heard her familiar tap on his door he was both relieved and 
petrified that the moment had arrived at last, a moment which he had 
anticipated for a very long while.  

They hadn't spoken of their intentions since they stepped off of the 
airplane in Miami for their last case, eight days ago.  When they 
returned from Miami on Wednesday they'd gone about their usual 
routine - filling out forms, writing reports and talking about 
insignificant, safe things like the news and weather.

Perhaps it was their last chance at being considered 'single,' or 
merely the calm before the storm, but they both knew what to expect 
when Friday afternoon rolled around and he'd said, "How does 
tomorrow night sound?"

She had agreed to the date and showed up on time, backlit with a 
soft glow from the hallway as she stood in the doorway to his 
apartment, looking up at him with warm eyes.  He glanced down with a 
gleam, taking in her casual, comfortable cotton shirt and trousers 
and pausing on the overnight bag slung over her left shoulder.  She 
ran her eyes over his black pullover and jeans, met his eyes again 
then confidently stepped inside.

No suits, he'd said once - was it actually their first date?  Of 
course, suits weren't appropriate attire for a Saturday night dinner 
at home, but the idea of leaving work attire at work had stuck in 
both of their minds as significant, regardless.

As he shut the door behind him she moved into the living room, 
dropping her bag to the floor near the sofa.  Sliding off her coat, 
she crossed the room to hang it on the coat rack while he shifted 
from foot to foot, watching with amusement as she staked her claim 
literally in his apartment and metaphorically in his personal life.  
She turned toward him, and rolling up the sleeves on her blouse with 
an eyebrow raised and a spark in her eye, asked, "So what are we 
having for dinner?"

A slight smile formed on his face as he held her eyes for a moment.  
"Hungry?"

"Yes, Mulder, I am," she said, matter-of-factly.  The double 
meaning was understood by both.

He grinned and walked into the kitchen, pulling on the oven door and 
stepping back slightly as steam rose out of the opening.  "How does 
chicken grab you?"

She had followed him in to the kitchen, and peering into the oven, 
inhaled deeply.  "It smells really good, actually."

He looked at her with mock offense.  "Don't sound so surprised, 
Scully.  I can follow a recipe."

"I'm sure you can, Mulder.  I see you even peeled carrots and 
potatoes."  She looked again.  "And whole cloves of garlic."

"You don't like garlic?"

She looked back at him, her eyebrow raised as if to intimate the 
obvious, and he nodded.  "If you don't care for my chicken you can 
run down to Jack in the Box and get one of those sourdough burgers 
that you pretend not to like, minus the onions, of course.  Maybe if 
you're lucky they'll throw in one of those millennium antennae balls 
if they have any left.  I am going to be having chicken, garlic and 
all, so it's your call."

Either way she would be tasting garlic all night and she looked down 
with a smile of defeat.  He grinned, stepping around her to the 
range top and pulling the lid off of a sauce pan, condensation 
dripping off of the lid.  "Look, I opened a jar a spaghetti sauce, 
too."

"Mmmmm," she hummed with a fair amount of sarcasm as she joined him 
in front of the stove.

She was standing very close and he leaned in closer, briefly running 
his eyes over her in a very predatory way.  "Still hungry?"

"You bet."  She smiled slightly, looking into his eyes as he moved 
closer still.  "You?"

"Starving," he nearly whispered, his mouth hovering above hers and 
his eyes holding her gaze.  As his lips met hers she opened her 
mouth to him and closed her eyes.  They kissed slowly, leisurely 
changing angles before he pulled back, licking his lips and his eyes 
gleaming.

"I just need to set the table and then we can eat," he said, already 
moving away to retrieve the dinnerware from the far cabinet as she 
caught her breath.  She crossed her arms and leaned against the 
countertop, watching him in all of his domestic bliss.  "Silverware 
is in that drawer there, Scully."

With her help they set the table and Mulder poured the wine and 
served dinner, giving her extra cloves of garlic with a grin, which 
she separated into a pile on the edge of her plate with her fork.  
She complimented his culinary skill on her first bite, then they 
both fell silent as they enjoyed their meal.

With the silence came contemplation, and eventually tension began to 
build as they each considered the evening and what they were about 
to begin.  Their eyes met momentarily from time to time, but quickly 
retreated back to the safety of their dinner plates.

Mulder had been surprised at her apparent ease with the situation 
when she'd arrived.  She seemed confident and carefree, unlike 
himself.  Riddled with inner turmoil, he was excited but nervous as 
hell.  This night was a milestone, an event of great import that he 
had both anticipated and fantasized about for longer than he would 
ever admit to her.  Not just an event, but a beginning.  It was a 
night that they would both remember long into the future and 
performance anxiety was no small factor.

Unbeknown to him, she had been sitting there thinking the exact same 
thing.

He was only halfway through his meal with he felt he'd had enough 
inner turmoil, laid down his fork with deliberate slowness and 
looked at her.  "Tell me I'm not the only one on pins and needles 
here."

She wiped her mouth, inhaled slowly and without looking back at him, 
said, "you're not."

His shoulders dropped and he let out a breath of relief.  "Good."  
Pausing, he gathered his thoughts.  "We haven't talked much about 
our personal histories as far as relationships are concerned.  What 
we do know is...sketchy...to say the least.  Whatever you're 
expecting, Scully..." she raised an eyebrow and he quickly added "or 
not expecting...I'd just like to say that it's been...a 
while...since I've been in this situation."

She swallowed, her face serious as she looked at him.  "How long?"

He hesitated, biting his lower lip.  "1994."

Her surprise showed before she could mask it, and she looked down at 
her plate.  He studied her moment, uncertain at first, then 
understanding why she had been surprised.  "You thought Diana and 
I..." he looked away and letting the rest of the sentence die.

She was silent, pausing before looking back up at him.  "Not 
absolutely.  I wondered about it but there wasn't any solid evidence 
to suggest that you had resumed your personal relationship with her.  
It was just..." she paused, looking back down at her plate.  "I 
don't know what it was.  Jealousy, maybe.  Insecurity."

A slow grin appeared on his face and she shifted in her seat.  
"Jealousy?"

She avoided his eyes as long as she could, then looked back up, her 
lips pursed.  "This isn't any great revelation, Mulder."

His smile slowly faded and his eyes grew serious.  Nodding slightly, 
he looked down.  "No, I guess not."  He smiled again, wistfully, 
looking back at her.  "I could have been more forthcoming about the 
situation.  I guess I needed some kind of confirmation that you felt 
something more than just friendly concern."

She held his gaze a long moment.  She realized that she had felt the 
same way on more than one occasion, and looked away, taking another 
deep breath.  "I guess we're both guilty of that."

Mulder picked up his wine glass and studied it.  He took a sip, put 
the glass down and looked at her again.  "How long?"

She didn't return his look, staring at her potatoes instead.  "Not 
so long."

He could feel his stomach begin to churn as his mind cataloged the 
familiar list of possibilities, noting with unease that there could 
be men that he didn't even know about on that list.  "Padgett?"

She shook her head.  "No.  I didn't lie to you about that."

"Was there..." he paused, changing his mind and deciding not to ask, 
running farther down the list.  He drew a breath, knowing he'd found 
the one, and sat back in his seat.  "Jerse."

She didn't reply, but from the look on her face, she didn't need to.  
It had been a difficult time for the both of them and they'd never 
really talked about it.  Time and an effort by both parties to be 
more open helped, but it was still an uneasy subject to broach.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence before he spoke again, his 
voice soft and even.  "I've never understood why you did it.  I kept 
coming back to that conversation about why I never got you a desk."

She drew in a deep breath and held it.  "I didn't plan it.  At 
least, not consciously.  Maybe subconsciously, I don't know..."  her 
voice trailed off, and she looked down at her lap.  "I needed to 
feel...important...wanted.  It had been so long since anyone had 
looked at me the way...he did, and you were going on and on about 
how I was just a watchdog, merely assigned to the job..." she 
paused.

"I didn't say that."

She raised her head and looked him in the eye and he closed his eyes 
to her penetrating stare.  "Alright, maybe I did bring up the fact 
that you were assigned.  But anyway, you said it wasn't about me."

She let out a soft snort.  "At that time, I believed it wasn't."  
She drew in another deep breath and looked at him, this time without 
the attitude.  "I've always had this rebellious streak, Mulder, and 
when I reach my limit on tolerance I lash out without considering 
the consequences."  His eyes registered his understanding.  "In 
retrospect, I think I wanted to hurt you."

"It worked," he said shortly.  Chewing on the inside of his cheek 
with his brow furrowed he stood and carried his plate over to the 
sink.

She looked down, closing her eyes to his pained expression.  "I'm 
sorry," she said softly.

He turned and faced her, crossing his arms and leaning against the 
counter.  "I'm sorry too, Scully.  I didn't realize that you felt 
that way until you were ready to quit following the bombing in 
Dallas.  I should have told you a long time ago how important you 
are to me.  I had my head so far up my ass that I couldn't see what 
you were feeling."

She closed her eyes briefly, then looked down.  Taking a fortifying 
breath, she raised her eyes back to his.  "What was she to you, 
Mulder?  Diana Fowley...I know you had feelings for her, but you've 
never told me who she was to you."

He drew in a breath.  He'd avoided the issue long enough but that 
didn't mean he was prepared to deal with it.  Scully had come clean 
about Jerse, though, and he owed it to her to tell her the truth, 
especially since she'd asked.  

"She was someone I loved once, someone I continued to care about."  
Scully kept her eyes on him, waiting.  "We were alike.  We thought 
alike, believed in the same things, had similar goals.  We just had 
different ideas about how to achieve those goals."

She looked down, a shaky breath giving her away.  He walked over and 
crouched down in front of her, taking hold of her hands.

"She wasn't a part of me the way you are, Scully.  When I was with 
Diana it was like a confirmation of my thoughts and beliefs.  There 
was comfort in that, but it wasn't fulfilling.  We worked well 
together, but there was always something missing.  Something I never 
would have realized if it weren't for you."  She looked into his 
eyes, and he smiled, his voice growing softer.  "YOU fill in the 
missing parts.  YOU make me reach for the answers to all of the 
questions, not just the ones that I consider important.  YOU bring 
the entire picture into focus."

Scully looked down again, smiling, then back into his eyes.  "You do 
the same for me."  He grinned, and she gave his hands a quick 
squeeze.  "We've both had relationships with people we worked with 
that didn't turn out so well.  It's no wonder we've avoided this for 
so long."

He was silent a moment.  "You're talking about you and Willis."

She drew in a breath, letting it out slowly.  "Jack and I weren't 
alike, he was more like my father."  She paused.  "My father was 
disappointed in my decision to go into law enforcement instead of 
medicine, and I think I turned to Jack for that approval."

Mulder studied her face, looking for and not finding the answer to 
the question he wanted to ask, so he asked.  

"So what happened?"

She sighed.  "I welcomed his guidance at first.  As I became more 
confident in my decision and my ability as an agent I began to 
resent him for it.  He wanted to mentor me and I wanted my 
independence."

He nodded, remembering a very young and very cocky Dana Scully 
standing in his office in her full five-foot-three-inch youthful 
arrogance declaring, "the answers are there, you just have to know 
where to look."

The answer for him, of course, WAS Dana Scully.  "Some things never 
change," he said with a grin, and she smiled.

"Some things you have to grow in to."  Her eyes were warm as she 
reached out and brushed the hair off of his forehead, cupping his 
cheek and running her thumb lightly over his cheekbone.

They looked at each other in understanding, and he kissed her lips 
softly.  "Well..." 

Standing, he picked up the remaining dishes off of the table.  "Why 
don't you make yourself comfortable, Scully.  I'll take care of the 
dishes and join you in a few minutes."

He began running water and moving dishes around on the counter and 
she wandered into the living room, looking at small things as if it 
was the first time she'd ever been there.  She never really had 
looked at Mulder's things other than in passing, even though she'd 
been in his apartment dozens of times over the years.  It was 
different now, though.  She wasn't here for work, or because she was 
checking up on him as a concerned friend.

She was here to stay the night.  They were going to make love.

It was what she wanted, but she still had a fair amount of 
apprehension.  Would she be adequate enough for him?  She wasn't an 
overly demonstrative or uninhibited lover.  She wasn't frigid, 
either.  But as Mulder's lover, would she be able to satisfy him?  
She didn't know much about his preferences, but from what 
indications she did have she was already shorter and less endowed in 
the bustline than his previous choice in lovers.

Not that such things were terribly important when you considered the 
bigger picture, but she was feeling off-balance enough to let it 
tilt the scale even farther.

Her thoughts ran away with her as she stood in the center of his 
living room, and she sensed, rather than felt Mulder's presence 
behind her.  His breathing was different - the cadence was much 
quicker, shallower.  He was inhaling and exhaling through his mouth 
and it sounded almost as if he was afraid to breathe, and she felt 
her own breathing quickening in the same way.

It was time.

Her partner and her best friend.  Mulder.  She wanted him.  God, she 
wanted him.  Every nerve in her body was on alert waiting for the 
feel of his hands on her body.  He would be gentle but she knew it 
wouldn't be a casual or friendly touch.  It would be the touch of a 
lover.

Mulder's touch.  

He was charged like a live wire.  Here he was with Scully, about to 
make love.  The answering machine was turned on, the cell phone was 
turned off.  No more interruptions.  If it's worth doing, it's worth 
doing well.  And oh, was it worth it.

He knew from her stillness and the quickening of her breath that she 
was nearly as excited as he was.  He stepped forward, and when his 
hands glided along her waist and slid around to her abdomen she let 
the air out of her lungs slowly, covering his hands with her own and 
closing her eyes when he pressed himself against her back side, 
drawing in a deep breath. 

It was new, and it was exciting, but at the same time it was old and 
comfortable.  They knew each other so well, trusted each other with 
their lives and their hearts.  There was heat where their bodies 
touched and she turned her head slightly so that her cheek was 
pressed against his chest.  She could hear his rapid heartbeat and 
feel his short puffs of air against her neck as they gave free reign 
to the feelings of arousal and the inevitability of what was to 
come.  He turned his head to see her face, her closed eyes and 
parted lips, and then rotated his palms under hers so that they 
faced up, linking their fingers together and giving a gentle squeeze 
of reassurance.

Keeping her eyes closed, her lips turned up in a smile at the sweet 
gesture.  She squeezed his hands back in response and he pressed a 
soft kiss against her temple then gently raised their hands up into 
the air, over her head.  He linked her hands together behind his 
neck, feeling her fingers slide through his hair as he let go.  
Then he pressed his face into her hair, inhaling her fragrance as 
his hands slowly but deliberately ran down her arms and her sides, 
barely brushing the edges of her breasts as he returned to her small 
waist.  He had a confident touch, but it wasn't rough.  He pressed 
another kiss to the top of her head, massaging her waist with his 
thumbs before he slid his hands underneath the tail of her shirt and 
let the pads of his fingertips trace small circles on her bare skin.  

She let out a soft giggle and he smiled, turning to see her face 
again.  "Does that tickle?"

She nodded slightly, her fingers gently moving through the hair at 
the back of his head.  "Mmm hmmm.  Don't stop."

Her eyes were still closed when he released the bottom button of her 
shirt, moving up the line until all of the buttons had been freed.  
Letting out a breath of air, she dropped her arms and wrapped them 
around him backwards as best she could, only managing to reach the 
backs of his thighs.  His fingertips skimmed over her abdomen, 
letting the tips of his fingers trace a line up the middle of her 
chest before sliding the flat of his palms gently over her breasts.  
His eyes traveled between her face and his hands.  Her cheeks were 
flushed a light pink and her lips were parted and slightly swollen, 
stained a deep shade of red despite the fact that her lipstick had 
mostly worn off during dinner.  

Scully.  This was his Scully, soft and hard, warm and cool, standing 
in his arms while he touched her freely every where in every way 
he'd always wanted to.  He was growing hard, feeling the tightening 
in his groin with every second that his hands touched her skin.  
Breathing a little faster, he cupped a breast in each palm, letting 
his thumbs rub over the stiff peaks through the cup of her pretty 
lavender bra while she let out another small breath of air, still 
under careful control.

Pressing his lips against the shell of her ear, he slid his hands 
back down her stomach and up to her breasts again, caressing, back 
down again, all the while tracing circles on her skin with the pads 
of his fingers.  

She opened her eyes, watching his hands run over her skin.  He had 
beautiful hands, she thought as she watched him, her breath coming 
faster and shorter.  Long, elegant fingers and sure, strong hands.  
They looked so big and dark against her pale skin and that thought 
further excited her somehow.

On the trip back down her abdomen his hands stopped over the 
waistband of her trousers.  His fingers ran back and forth over the 
skin just above the waistband and she pressed her body back into 
him, feeling the full-effect of his arousal against her lower back.  
He pressed back against her and they both drew in a sharp breath.  
She let her head fall back against his chest and slightly arched her 
back as he moved one palm down the front of her trousers, over her 
thigh and back up the front again while the other hand moved back up 
to her breasts.  His hands moved back to play along the edge of the 
waistband again, then down over her trousers again, and when his 
fingers slid underneath the fabric she broke the silence, whispering 
his name softly as encouragement.

She was quickly losing her ability to think beyond the sensation of 
Mulder's hands and what they were doing to her.  His fingers were 
warm against her abdomen, gently grazing over her skin.  Farther 
down, he traced the lacy elastic of her panties with the pads of his 
fingers as he caressed her hip bone through the material of her 
trousers with the thumb of his other hand.  He slid his fingers 
underneath the elastic, then he pushed farther, beyond the lace to 
the curls underneath.

She opened her mouth and let out a slow breath.  He only paused 
slightly before going even further, running the pad of his middle 
finger over her labia in feather-light touches.  When he pressed 
just a bit more firmly and made contact with her clitoris she 
whispered, "Oh God."

At the breathless sound of her voice he added the pad of his ring 
finger, minutely circling the small bundle of nerves while using his 
index and pinkie fingers to spread the outer folds open wider.  
She drew in a sharp breath at the change in pressure as his fingers 
circled more freely and he encountered the full extend of her 
wetness.

He stopped, taking a breath and whispering a shaky, "Jesus" as the 
reality of her desire for him hit home.  He was touching her 
intimately, as a lover.  Scully.  And she was completely aroused for 
him.  His Scully.

She clutched his arm above her waistband and he slid his hand out of 
her pants, linking her fingers with his sliding them back inside, 
pressing her fingers alongside his on her clitoris.

"Show me how to touch you," he whispered against her ear, his voice 
deep and rough.

Her breathing seemed to double as she paused a moment, then slowly 
began moving her fingers in a gentle, circular motion.  After a few 
moments he took over and she slid her hand out, his other hand 
leaving her hip and grabbing her by the wrist.  He moved her hand up 
to his lips, and she watched in wide-eyed amazement as he took her 
fingers into his mouth, his eyes closing and a low hum emanating 
from his throat.  She felt his tongue swirl over her fingers and a 
new surge of wetness below.

"God, Mulder," she groaned.

"Sweet," he said, licking her fingers once more before moving her 
hand back down and laying it over his forearm once again.

His fingers had never stopped moving against her and he reached up 
and wrapped his other arm around her chest, holding her against him.  
Watching her face again, he slowly pushed the middle and ring 
fingers inside of her, curling his body around hers in order to do 
so.  She reached up and slid her hand over his cheek, turning her 
face and pressing it into his neck, whispering his name once more.

They paused a moment, feeling the intimacy of the moment and 
breathing deeply.  All of this after just a few moments, and it was 
already so overwhelmingly and completely satisfying to be so liberal 
with their responses and their touch.  She let go of his forearm and 
slid her hand between their bodies, her fingertips skimming over the 
length of his erection through the material of his pants until she 
was able to cup him in her palm.  He groaned at the contact, pushing 
rhythmically against her hand as her fingers slid up and down the 
length of him.  He slowly moved his fingers inside of her body to 
the same rhythm and she turned her face up toward the ceiling, her 
eyes clenched shut and her mouth opening and closing a few times 
before she let out a soft groan, whispering "Oh God" once more.

He could smell the heady musk of sex, his arousal combining with 
hers in a powerful aphrodisiac.  It was a scent that could never be 
replicated, and he drew it deep into his lungs, closing his eyes as 
he let the scent wash over him, the taste of her still on his 
tongue.  God, he'd missed this more than anything, for it was 
something that he could never recreate.  He slid his hand out of her 
trousers and laid it against her abdomen, his chest heaving and his 
eyes black and wild.  Groaning softly in frustration at the loss of 
his hand, she turned in his arms and their eyes met briefly before 
he kissed her.

Focused on nothing but sensation, she met his kiss open mouthed and 
hungry.  There was no more pretension, nothing to hide.  She 
urgently pulled on the tail of his pullover, breaking their kiss 
long enough for him to help her slip it over his head.  Their mouths 
rejoined wildly and he pulled her against him, sliding his hands 
under her opened blouse and pushing it off of her shoulders.  
While she rotated her shoulders to release the blouse from her arms 
he worked on the hooks of her bra, popping them open and pushing the 
straps down over her shoulders for her to repeat the process.

When skin met skin chest to chest they both broke their kiss to gasp 
in pleasure.  She reached between them with both hands to release 
the top button on his jeans and he clasped a hand over her wrist, 
hastily pulling her into the bedroom.  Hands and mouths reached for 
any available skin as the remaining clothing was shed and they 
tumbled awkwardly onto the bed, rolling and squirming until Mulder 
was on top of her, hard between her legs and covering her from head 
to foot in warmth.  She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes, her 
body relaxing with satisfaction and he knew without words that she 
was ready.

Nothing could have prepared him for the reality of making love to 
Scully.  His heart would pound when he imagined it, alone in his 
apartment or in a motel room while on assignment.  But when he 
slipped inside of her there was no way he could have known until 
that moment what it felt like to have her quivering underneath him 
and around him as he looked into her eyes, seeing her completely 
open and unguarded.  He had never known that she would whisper 
encouragement in mindless ecstasy while her arms and legs tightened 
around him, or cut into the flesh of his buttocks with her 
fingernails as he whispered "let it happen" into her parted lips.  
He'd never been able to create the feeling of awe and wonder that 
accompanied her release, and when his own release came just after, 
the liquid sensation of her inner walls slowly undulating around him 
as they gradually regained control of their other senses.

She would most remember the sensation and the emotional impression 
of taking Mulder into her body for the first time.  The intense 
pleasure as he entered her, the burning throbbing as they moved 
together, and the uncontrollable need building from the very center 
of her body with every thrust of his pelvis and his impossibly hard 
cock, stimulating the bundle of nerves at her center beyond coherent 
thought.  She vocalized, she remembered, although what was said 
wasn't part of the memory.  She moved and she felt, and his eyes 
were black and brilliant green as he loved her with them as much as 
he did with his body.

She came, and it felt like flying.

And when she opened her eyes, it was Mulder who was flying, his eyes 
closed and his face contorted in ecstasy as he pumped into her until 
he was empty.

They stared into each others' eyes, touched and kissed, explored and 
tasted, and as the sensual took over once more he brought her to 
orgasm again with his tongue and lips, and then again, wealthy with 
his newly gained knowledge of what pleased her most.

He flopped onto his back with a grin, closing his eyes and 
scratching, letting his hand lay loosely on his abdomen.  She rolled 
over onto her stomach, regarding him with exhausted, sated, sleepy 
eyes.

Her voice was slurred as she spoke, the side of her face pressed 
into the pillow.  "Did you have any idea we would be so good at 
this?"

He chuckled, turning his head to look at her.  His eyes were red 
from fatigue, making the irises look even greener in contrast.  "I 
had a pretty strong hunch."

She smiled, closing her eyes, then looked at him again, barely able 
to keep her eyes open.  "You know, I love you."

"I know, you told me.  Although, it's good to hear even when you're 
not screaming it in orgasm."

She smiled broader, blinking her heavy lids.  "Shuddup...I don't 
scream."

He rolled over onto his side, facing her, and brushed the hair back 
from her face.  "No, you don't.  You were beautiful, anyway."

"Mmmm..." she replied, blinking, no longer able to open her eyes.

Mulder watched her, stroking through her hair as her breathing 
became slower and steadier.  Her face softened as the muscles grew 
slack.  "I love you too, Scully," he whispered.

Her eyelids flickered, and the corners of her lips turned up again 
gently.  Scooting closer he enfolded her in his arms, pulling her 
against him so that her head was resting on his chest.  She slid her 
arm up and wrapped her hand around his shoulder with a contented 
sigh, and he closed his eyes, answering with a contented sigh of his 
own.

They slept.


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