Title: Unslain Dragons
Author: Trixie
Email: scullymulder1121@hotmail.com
Category: Ehhh. . . . That would be an. . . AR, I believe. Scully/Other,
Scully/Mulder.
Archive: Yea, sure anywhere, just keep name & email attached.
Summary: Eww. . . I hate these. . . In fact. . . nope. . . no summary.
Scully does stuff. . . . so does Mulder. . . and someone else. There.
Disclaimer: Me no own. Og own. No. Chris own. Good Chris. Chris give
good show. Me watch show. Show no come back for months. Need more show.
*(See what a lack of New X-Files episodes has DONE to my poor
brain????)*
Author's Notes: Warning. This contains something that some *may* say is
out of character for Scully. At first it was done soley based on a bet,
but then. . . well after I read it, I realized it isn't that far out
there. This story contains descriptions of SEX, consentual, between a
man and a woman, as well as two women. If that offends you, BAIL OUT
NOW. I thank you for your time. If not. . . On with it! And please, I
love feedback! :-)



Unslain Dragons

I wipe my eyes for perhaps the fifth time in the last twenty minutes,
willing myself not to cry, willing myself not to break down. Not yet.
Not until I'm inside. I sit in my little apartment. Home. The scents and
feels of Dana Scully are everywhere. And yet there are no sounds. No
noise. No noise, save the noise in my head.

Mulder. I need Mulder.

Standing, I quickly make my way back out the door I'd just entered.

~~~~

Dana Scully walks slowly down the hall of her partner's apartment
complex. She stares, long and hard at the 42 hung on his door. She turns
away, then, internally chastising herself, takes out her key and opens
the door. If he *was* actually asleep like he'd promised her today after
work he would be, she didn't want to wake him.

The apartment was dark and quiet. This was not necessarily anything
outside the norm for Mulder's apartment. However, this dark and quiet
was. . . ominous. Scully sensed something foreboding in the air.

*You've *really* been hanging out with Mulder too much*, a little voice
in her head mutters.

"Mulder?" she calls softly. "Mulder, it's m--" Her usual refrain freezes
on her tongue at the sight that greets her eyes. Diana Fowly - a very
naked, Diana Fowly - on top of an almost as naked Fox Mulder. They're
kissing. There's passion in that kiss. Intense, longing, carnal passion.
His hands are tangled in her hair, hers clutched tightly around his
upper arms. Scully tells herself not to look. Tells herself it'll just
be worse if she can remember every detail.  "Sorry," she mutters,
spinning on her heel and quickly making her way out of the apartment,
Mulder's  plaintive "Scully, wait!" a distant memory to her ears.

~~~~

I have held my tears back once more. Because if I allow myself to cry
now, I will never stop. I pull to the bar Mulder and I normally frequent
after work. Last place he'd ever think of looking for me without him.

I am not so lost in my shock and upset to believe he wouldn't come after
me. In fact, I'm willing to be he's dressed and banging down the door to
my apartment at this very moment. To say he didn't mean for whatever was
happening to happen. Or that he did, but it didn't mean anything. Or
maybe even to simply apologize I'd found out this way.

We do not have an exclusive arrangement, Mulder and I. In fact, we've
never so much as kissed. Unless you count the incident in his hallway.
The incident. That's all either of us have referred to it as. Months
have gone by, and we've never actually talked about it. Not for lack of
trying, either. But every time we begin to broach the subject, something
- or someone - happens. So it has gone unsaid. Unspoken. Like every
other fucking thing in our lives together. Unspoken love. Unspoken
desire. Unspoken need. I'm so sick of things that are unspoken.

Maybe it wasn't unspoken on his end, a catty little voice in my head
intones. It sounds like Diana. I mentally shoot that voice dead as I sit
heavily on a bar stool, signaling the bar tender for a shot of whiskey.
He sends me an 'are you sure look?' and I give him one of my looks
Mulder's told me could castrate a lesser man than himself.  I'm a Navy
man's daughter, damnit. I can handle my whiskey.  I notice the people
around me. An overweight man, probably dying of prostate cancer at the
other end of the bar, wolfing down peanuts in between sips of beer.  A
woman, to my right, chain smoking cigarettes and muttering something
about 'that little bastard' under her breath when she stops to exhale.
An attractive man a few stools down from me on my left. He is drinking a
club soda, if I'm not mistaken. He looks up and smiles shyly at me. Not
wanting to appear rude, I smile tightly back at him, then focus on my
drink as the bartender serves it.

I do not want company. I hope he understands this and doesn't attempt to
pick me up.

Why today?

The thought floats through my head, unbidden, and I can ignore my pain
no longer. Why the *fuck* did Mulder and Diana have to be thrown in my
face *today*?? Why couldn't it have waited one more fucking day?
Twenty-four more little hours for me to live in self-delusion. For me to
pretend Mulder was as in love with me as I was with him. Just a little
while longer, so that I could cry on his shoulder tonight, let him
comfort me. . . keep the monsters away. Just for tonight.

Why the hell aren't I allowed even that smallest of comforts?

Because I am in hell, that's why. Because my life has become a hell of
my own making.

It is not Mulder's fault. I would never blame Mulder. I have made my own
choices, my own decisions. His only sin is in needing me by his side.
Though if I think about it, I realize that is not his sin. I need him to
need me. His sin is not needing me the way I want him to. The way I need
him.

Sighing at yet another of life's little ironies, I polish off my whiskey
and ask for another. I'm going to be here for awhile.

After my sixth shot, I come to the conclusion that I can't leave him. It
will kill me, seeing him. . . seeing *them* together, but I can't leave
him. We still have truths to find. We have come too far together. Been
too much to each other for me to leave now, simply because he's finally
gotten himself a life.

Damnit, six fucking years and he couldn't wait another *day*?

My eyes shut and the first tear finally slips down my cheek. One thing,
I think to myself. One thing without the other, I could've handled
without falling apart. But not this. Not this on top of what's already
happened.

"Excuse me, but could I buy you a drink?"

I lift my weary head up, eyes focusing on the attractive man to my left,
now on the stool directly next to mine.

"You can, but don't expect to get anything from it," I inform him
sullenly, signaling the bartender for yet another drink.

He smiles, a smile that tries to be boyish, but in my opinion turns out
to merely be sleazy. "That's okay. All I really want is maybe some
conversation."

"I said don't expect to get anything," I tell him in a voice I know is
monotone and bored. I don't care. I merely want to be left alone so I
can get blind, stinking drunk and maybe forget today ever happened.

Fat chance, but it's what I'd *like* to do.

His smile falters only slightly as he takes another sip of his club
soda. I turn to the right, noticing the chain smoking woman eyeing us,
then going back to her own drink. Shaking my head slightly, deciding to
ignore everyone and everything around me, I down my seventh shot.

"Don't you think it might be a good idea to take it a little easy on
that stuff?" Sleazy asks me, that damn toothy smile still on his face. I
hate toothy smiles.

"Don't you think it might be a good idea to mind your own business?" I
reply, my voice still monotone, my eyes focused on the empty shot
glasses in front of me, lined up neatly, meticulously on the bar.

"Maybe I want to make you my business," he informs me in a tone that
makes an unpleasant chill run up and down my spine.

"Maybe I'm this close to pulling out my gun and shooting you because
I've had a really bad day," I say calmly, my voice never wavering, my
eyes never meeting his.

He laughs. When I don't join him, his face becomes serious, I see out of
my peripheral vision. "You're not serious," he half states, half asks.

I look up at him, my eyes dead, all the pain, anguish and rage I've
accumulated in the last six years there, naked, open. "Try me."

He almost falls off his stool in his clumsy attempt to get away from me
as fast as he can. I chuckle humorlessly at this after he's gone, taking
another long drink of my latest shot. The bartender no longer requires
my signal. He merely brings me another as soon as I've finished one.

"That was pretty good," the chain smoker to my right murmurs.

I turn to see she's also moved closer, only a single stool between us
now. "What was?" I ask, knowing what she means, but feeling the need to
mess with her mind.  I think I have been spending too much time with
Mulder, after all. In fact, maybe it's a good thing this all happened.
Maybe. . . . . Maybe one day if I keep this up, I'll start believing it
myself.

No chance Scully. You've always been a shitty liar.

"The way you got rid of Sleaze Bag," she clarifies, arching an elegant
brow upward, indicating the door with her cigarette. "He'd tried the
same maneuver with me earlier. I threatened to shoot him, but fell flat
when I realized I'd lost my gun a few hours ago." She smiles, and it's a
cold, dead thing. Not unlike the smile I will most likely give Mulder
the next time I see him. I will try to be reassuring, I will try to be
his partner, just as I have always been, but I fear it will just seem
cold, and dead.

"You got a permit for that weapon you used to have?" I question
teasingly, taking a small sip out of my latest shot. Somewhere in the
back of my mind something's reminding me I don't drink that often, and
I'm on number ten.

"I left it in my other pants," she says in a sardonic voice, staring at
herself in the mirror. My gaze meets hers, and for a moment, before she
connects with my eyes, I see a self hatred directed at herself that
takes my breath away. I hadn't thought anyone could loathe themselves
more then my Mulder.

But he isn't mine, Is he? Not really. He's hers. Diana's. Probably
always has been, since the day she left him. Left him like all the
others. I've never left him. Not by my own choice. And where the hell
has it gotten me? I have his trust. And his loyalty. Things he gives to
no one else. And still, it isn't enough.

Bill always did say I could be a greedy little bitch.

Bill. . . .

"Original," I tell her, my lips curving ever so slightly in the mirror.
Hers curve slightly in response as she takes another drag.

I think she mutters something along the lines of 'I learned from the
Master,' but I can't be sure. She grounds out her cigarette and turns to
face me. "What's your name?" she asks brusquely.

I raise an eyebrow at her tone, then smile a little. "Melissa," I answer
without hesitation.

She sends me a smile that lets me know she doesn't believe me for a
second. "Vanessa," she offers, holding a hand out.

Eyeing it for a moment, warily, I offer my own hand. "Nice to meet you,"
I pause significantly, "Vanessa," I say, voice sugary, letting her know
that I know too.

Vanessa downs her drink - vodka on the rocks, I believe - and turns to
me. "You wanna get out of here.  . . Missy," she says, her tone more
amused then it should be, as far as I know.

"Sounds good," I answer, one part of me - my heart and soul, I think -
knowing what I'm about to do is stupid, and irresponsible, not to
mention just plain wrong. But the rest of me - the hurt, angry part of
me - sees absolutely nothing wrong in this. Vanessa is obviously in a
lot of pain. Maybe I can help her. Maybe she can help me.

Maybe it *is* possible for two total strangers to help each other.

~~~~

We find our way to a hotel. Not a motel, as I'd first suspected, but a
hotel. I drove. She told me where to turn. I asked her if she was
familiar with DC. She said she was and she wasn't. That it was
complicated, but that she knew the best hotels in just about every
state. She was silent after that, and I allowed her to be. God knows if
she'd started prying into my life the 'do not enter' signs would go up
fast and furious.

"This is nice," I say in my 'let's pretend to be normal' voice.

Vanessa nods. "Yes," she agrees slowly. "The weather's been lovely," she
continues in a condescending tone of voice, "and you look lovely in that
shade of green," she finishes grandly, indicating my deep forest green
blazer.

I smile slightly. "What, you mean this old thing?" I demure beautifully.

She smiles - this one no less dangerous then the first, but less cold.
Not at all dead.  "Have we covered all the topics of small talk? We
didn't miss anything, did we?"

I tilt my head to the side, considering. "How was your day?" I finally
ask, doing my best impression of a fifties housewife as I peel off my
blazer and hang it carefully over the back of a nearby chair.

Sneering, Vanessa follows suit, taking off a dark purple leather jacket.
"Eventful. Heart wrenching. Cleansing, quickly turning into horribly
nightmarish. And yours?" she snaps brightly.

Lifting a single brow at her tone, I shrug. "The same. With the
exception of the Cleansing part. Haven't experienced that in months."

Nodding, she walks toward me - stalks toward me? - and does a small
circle around my personal space, eyeing me the entire time. It is
incredibly disconcerting. "So. . . . Miss," she says, and I swear she's
suppressing laughter, "you ever done anything like this before?"

"Anything like," my voice squeaks slightly on the last word, "what?"

Chuckling derisively, her breath feathering the back of my neck, she
answers snidely, "well, I guess that answers that."

I swallow. "Not in almost fifteen years," I finally manage to croak out.
"College," I mumble, hoping she'll leave it at that.

She doesn't, and, deep down inside, I hadn't really believed she would.
She reminds me of Mulder. That thought process ends *now*, I command
myself. No comparing this woman to Mulder. It's just. . . not allowed.
"College," she repeats. "Experimentation?" she asks.

I lick my lips. "Lost bet," I reply, finally looking her in the eye. "It
was either fuck my roommate, or walk out onto the quad naked." I shrug.
"Private humiliation was preferable to public."

That smile comes out again. I'm beginning to hate that smile. In fact, I
wish I could make her smile like a normal human being. I bet it could
light the room up. "If you found sex with another woman humiliating, why
the hell are you here now?" she asks in a low, deadly voice.

I am not afraid, though perhaps I should be. "It wasn't the sex with
another woman that I found humiliating," I began, enunciating each word
precisely. "It was the fact that I was forced to be subservient to her
that rankled." I shrug a little. "All part of the bet," I mumble.

Her hand moves so fast I almost miss it until she has the back of my
neck in an iron grip. She pulls my face close to hers, barely an inch
apart. Her eyes are alive now, spitting fire and righteous anger. "Do
*not* be ashamed because of what others have made you do," she warns in
a low, intense voice. "It kills your soul."

Swallowing, I say a prayer for this woman's soul - somehow, I believe
she could use it.  "My soul isn't in danger of dying because I'm ashamed
of anything," I inform her in my best 'FBI Woman' tone. "My soul is in
danger of dying due to lack of nourishment," I add, laughing somewhat
bitterly. I know why my soul is in danger of dying. It isn't because
I've seen too many horrors, though I have. And it isn't because I've
outrun too many monsters, even though I have. My soul is in danger of
dying because my heart is broken.

"I can relate," she bites out. "I've been starving for decades." She
releases me and pulls out a cigarette. Placing it between her lips, she
raises her lighter.

I silently raise an eyebrow, indicating the sign to the left of her
head. "No smoking room."

She gives me the most sardonic little smile around her cigarette a
second before she lights it. Taking a long drag, she exhales right in my
face. Feeling my ire rise, I snatch it from her hand and drop it to the
carpet, grounding it out beneath my heel, already making a mental note
to give extra money at the front desk when I check out of here.
"Cigarette smoke makes me sick," I bite out. "If you want to smoke, hang
over the balcony."

Raising both eyebrows at me, she slowly removes her entire pack of
cigarettes and tosses them onto the table. "Happy?" she bites out.

"Delirious," I answer in the same tone. Maybe this wasn't such a good
idea. Hell, I know it wasn't a good idea. It was a stupid idea. I should
get the hell out of here. I should grab my coat and purse, walk out that
door and head straight home. The mental image of Mulder with Diana - her
legs straddling his hips, his fingers tangled in her hair, their mouths
fused together - stops me cold.

"Thinking about leaving?" she asks me in a taunting voice. "Little Red
Riding Hood want to go running off to Grandma's house?" She sneers at
me. "Well too bad. The Big Bad Wolf wants to play."

I don't know what gets me more. Her comparing me to Little Red Riding
Hood, or her assertion that she's the Big Bad Wolf. Honey, if you like,
I can introduce you to him. You might even like his brand. "Actually, I
was considering taking out my cell phone and calling the Huntsman. But
then I remembered I don't need one. This Red Riding Hood comes with a
228 Sig Sauer in her picnic basket."

That damn smile, one more time. "You wouldn't shoot an unarmed woman,
would you?" she asks, doing a damsel in distress voice I hadn't thought
her capable of. Definitely dangerous.

In answer, I wrap one arm around her neck, the other around her waist. I
pull her to me, kissing her, hard. My tongue invades her mouth. No
hesitation. Hesitation will cause me to head straight out that door. She
resists for only a moment before wrapping her arms around me likewise -
one around my neck, the other around my waist. I feel her kiss me back,
her mouth almost abrasive as her tongue duels with mine. Before I can
utter a protest her hands are between us, finding the buttons on my
white silk blouse and ripping them, sending them flying around the room.
I gasp a little, and she pulls me against her, crushing me to her, and
for just a second I wonder if she's having the same no hesitations fight
inside her own head.

She bites my lip, hard enough to draw blood.

"What the hell?" I mutter, trying to move away from her, finding it
harder then I'd suspected it would be.

"Just a little love bite," she assures me acidly, tongue darting out to
lave the wound. "Won't happen again unless you want it to," she
promises, her hands running up my ribcage to my breasts, cupping them
through my white satin bra.

I let out a small moan when her thumbs brush over my nipples. Smiling
against my mouth as she moves in for another onslaught, she repeats the
motion, harder this time. I feel myself letting go - of the shame, of
the fear, of the pain, of everything. It probably won't last much longer
then the next hour, but. . . for now.  . . I am letting go.

Pulling the spaghetti strap shell out of her mini-skirt, I move away
from her long enough to pull it over her head, tossing it aside. I'm
almost surprised to see she isn't wearing a bra. Nice chest, I think to
myself. I'd kill for her breasts. Leaning down, I take a nipple into my
mouth, sucking gently, letting my teeth graze over the tip. She lets out
a moan, running her hands up my back to my hair, then down again,
pulling my shirt off as she does. My hands immediately move to the clasp
on my bra, undoing it and letting it slide down my arms as well. Half
naked, I push her until she falls backward on the bed. I unzip my
conservative skirt and let it fall to the ground, pantyhose and panties
quickly following.

She merely hikes her skirt up to her waist and spreads her legs just far
enough for me to see she isn't wearing a damn thing underneath it. God I
wish I could do that. But it'd be just my luck I'd end up having to
strip down to my underwear due to some viral something or other and
Mulder would end up seeing me without any on.

And not the way I want him to, either.

Once more pushing that annoying man from my head, I kneel on the edge of
the bed, leaning between her legs to place my mouth over her breast
again. My tongue darts out and I swirl it around her aureole, pulling
her nipple into my mouth and sucking, hard, causing her to arch off the
bed and moan. Her hands are in my hair then, urging my head down. I obey
wordlessly, wanting to give her whatever she needs, whatever she wants.
My head moves between her legs and I locate her clit, pulling it into my
mouth and sucking lightly. I have performed oral sex on one other woman
in my entire life and I still don't quite understand why so many men
find it to be such a bothersome chore.  I move my tongue down, licking
inside her briefly before returning to her clit. My hands rest lightly
on either side of her hips, my thumbs moving over her pelvic bone
gently, rhythmically, in time with the sucking motion on her clit.

After a few moments, I feel her begin to shudder, whispering - breathing
- a name I know isn't mine. Not even the name I told her. I can't make
it out, but I run my hand between her legs, inserting two fingers inside
of her and moving them in and out slowly, prolonging her orgasm,
hopefully giving her a better thrill, wherever she is. Her breathing is
slow and shallow when she finally relaxes, her head thrown back against
the pillow, eyes shut, body and brow drenched with sweat. I move to her
side, looking at her carefully. Her eyes slowly open and she turns her
head every so slightly, staring at me, as though staring through me.
She blinks, and finally seems to see me.

I raise an eyebrow, my face gentle. "Welcome back," I murmur mildly.

She looks almost embarrassed and I am absolutely thrilled I managed to
embarrass her. "Sorry," she mutters, looking so much like a lost little
girl with a hangover I want to hug her.

"Don't be," I say gently. "We're here - supposedly - to give each other
something we both needed." I shrug a little. "You needed that. Wherever
you were."

She shuts her eyes tightly, but not before I see a sheen of tears.
Tears? From the Chain Smoking She-Bitch? But there they were,
undeniable. "Yea. I did need it. A little more then I'd care to admit,"
she mutters, breathing, bringing herself back under control. She opens
her eyes and I see the facade is firmly back in place. I get the smile
again. "Your turn," she says in the most feral tone of voice I have ever
heard from a woman.

Rolling to my back, I let out an unexpected giggle when her mouth
descends on my throat. "I'm ticklish," I offer as a feeble excuse when
she'd raised her head to give me a look I *know* I've given Mulder more
then once. Taking my answer at face value, she bends her head once more,
running her lips down my chest, over the tops of my breasts, along my
nipples, then underneath my breasts, running her tongue along the tops
of my ribs where that skin meets my breasts. I arch, I moan, I make all
the appropriate sounds. Not that it doesn't feel good. It does. I was
just fooling myself into believing I could really push everything else
away. That I could concentrate fully on this and not see Mulder and
Diana and Bill and. . . . . Hell, if anything, the little sounds I'm
making cause my brain to go into overload. I wonder if Diana makes the
same sounds. I wonder if Mulder ever wonders how I sound, how I feel,
how I taste.

I wonder if he'd even care to know that I wonder about him.

She slips a finger inside me, quickly followed by another. I arch my
hips off the bed. Well, this sure as hell beats masturbating. An almost
hysterical laugh I'm barely able to contain tries to leave my lips at
this thought. So tell me, Agent Scully, after which catastrophe that has
occurred in your life today do *you* feel  your last lingering thread of
sanity snapped?

Her thumb finds my clit and her mouth my nipple as she sucks in time
with the thrusts she's giving me with her fingers. I spread my legs
wider as a third finger enters me, my hips arching off the bed. Her
teeth graze over my nipple and I feel myself close, so close. . . . .
She starts pumping her hand against me, four fingers in now, hard, fast,
insistent. Her mouth still works my nipple, pulling it deep into her
mouth, sucking hard, then letting it go, nibbling. It's too much and I'm
gone, coming hard against her, moaning, no name, knowing I don't have
her real one and not wanting to scream something that wasn't really
hers.

I've had enough lies lately. Lies of omission my partner told me.

Oh, gee Scully, did I forget to mention I was fucking Diana Fowly?
Must've slipped my mind!

I'll slip his mind. . . . .

My breathing begins to return to normal. I'm almost amused I've kept my
internal diatribe up while experiencing one of the most intense orgasms
of my life. It's almost enough to make me switch teams.
Except, damn it, I know I'm hetero-sexual. And I'll be damned if a
member of the opposite sex doesn't own my soul. What's left of it. If he
even wanted it in the first place.

She rolls away from me, onto her back. We lie side by side, an inch
between us on the bed. I stare at the ceiling. A quick glance out of my
peripheral vision tells me she's staring at her pack of cigarettes on
the table. "Go ahead. I doubt the hotel will mind if you have one."

I see the smile again, and I wonder how many more times I'll see it
before she disappears out of my life as quickly as she came into it.
"You didn't mention you were a mind reader," she murmurs derisively, and
I can tell the tone is meant for someone else.

"I didn't realize I was. Maybe I've been hanging around with the wrong
kind of people." Or the right kind. Depending on how you look at it.
"But lately I seem to know exactly what everyone but those closest to me
are thinking."

She raises an eyebrow. "Spooky," she mutters sardonically, rising to get
her cigarettes.

I swallow deeply. Shit. I can't believe I God damn fucking did this. I
know I wanted to find this woman so I could find someone who didn't
remind me in the least of Mulder. The last time. . . . the last time I'd
found someone who reminded me too much of him, and I hadn't been able to
go through with it. But this time? This time I was supposed to be home
free. I had found a fucking woman for Christ's sake. But no. I still
found my Mulder in her eyes. In her perception of herself.

In her demons.

She looks like she needs someone to slay her dragons. I know she won't
let me. I hope she'll let someone.

Mulder, why won't *you* let me slay your dragons? I'm able. I'm willing.
I'm *ready*.

'Vanessa' pulls her clothes on quickly. She looks at me once. I'm still
lying in bed, now propped up on my elbows watching her. "This was fun,"
she says brusquely. "Hope you have a better day then it began."

I smile a little. "Fun. Good word." I lay back against the bed, staring
at the ceiling again. "I hope you have a better life then it began," I
say softly. I don't look up to see her reaction. I don't want to. A few
moments later, I hear the door close gently. My eyes slowly shut and I
feel the tears run down my cheeks. Finally.

It's about fucking time I allowed myself to cry.

~~~~

I don't know how many hours have passed. I know only that it was light
outside when we first arrived, and it is now dark. My tears are
exhausted, though it took some time to do so. I still lie naked on the
bed. I have pulled the blanket down so that my skin is against the
sheet. I can't move. I don't want to move. If I moved, I'd have to get
dressed. If I got dressed, I'd have to leave this room. If I left this
room, I'd go straight to Mulder's. And I don't know what to say to
Mulder right now.

That is if he's even alone.

I *really* don't know what to say to *Diana* and Mulder.

But damnit, I want Mulder. Not the way I've been complaining to myself
about wanting him all day. I want my best friend. I need someone to hold
me for awhile, while I pour my heart out. I need someone to kiss my
forehead and tell me everything's gonna be okay. The truth will save me,
or some bullshit like that.

The truth won't save me. I've accepted that. But I think maybe Mulder
will.

Or at least he could've. If he'd wanted to.

Stop it, Dana. Stop it right now. You're not being fair to him.

Fuck fair with a stick. When has life ever been fair to either one of
us? If I want to bitch and moan in my own head, the parts of me that are
so in love with him they're close to obsession can shut the fuck up
while I do so.

God, Mulder, don't you know how much I need you?

There's a knock at the door. Soft. Tentative. Scared.

Nothing like Mulder's knock. If Mulder thought I were in here, he'd be-

Another knock. Firmer. Stronger. Harder. Almost a pound.

Spooky.

And then. .  . nothing.

Until the handle turns and the door swings open.

I think about covering myself, then realize there's really no point. All
scenarios - if it's Mulder. . . . hell, maybe he'll like what he sees.
If it's 'Vanessa' - she's seen it. If it's some poor maid. . . . well,
she's probably seen better. And worse. A bell hop? Give the poor guy a
cheap thrill.

As soon as the door closes I know that it's Mulder. I can feel the air
in the room change. It's become hotter. . . . more charged. . . . just..
. . more. He slowly walks over to the bed, then away, choosing instead
to sit in the chair at the foot. I do not look at him. I continue to
stare at the ceiling. I have become accustomed to the sight of it. And
damnit if I don't feel tears pricking the backs of my eyes again. So I
decide to go with it. You can do this, Scully, I tell myself. You can
pretend what happened earlier in his apartment - what shattered your
heart into a billion un-fixable little pieces never happened. You can
pretend he's just Mulder, and you're just Scully, and you need to talk to
your partner.

"I got a call today," I say in my normal, unflappable voice.

"From?" he asks, and I can sense a roughness to his voice. . . a rawness
I am not used to hearing.

I ignore it. This is about me, damnit. I need to unload. And I don't
need to hear about his troubles with Diana. "Admiral Louis Johnson. He
informed me that the Crayton was officially declared missing at sea two
days ago." I swallow. "Bill had been assigned to the Crayton five days
previous. It was a two week mission. Apparently, the Admiral had been
unable to get in touch with Tara or Mom. I informed him it was because
they were touring Europe. They had invited me, but with work I couldn't
afford to take two weeks right then. I haven't been able to reach
Charlie yet. Too hard to track him down." I am almost afraid at how
completely dead my voice sounds as I relate only the facts to him.

I jump a little when I feel the bed dip beside me. The next sensation is
the feel of a cool sheet over my body. He's covering me to my shoulders.
The tears come again. He means it to be gentlemanly. He means it to be
respectful, an act of kindness. But it just makes me sadder. I want him
to look. I want him to take advantage of the situation. Of me.
Desperately. But instead he merely places a warm hand against my still
bare shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he whispers in that same voice. "Can I do anything?"

The question is posed so sincerely I almost laugh. He would do anything
for me right now. Anything I asked him to. But I don't want him to do it
because I ask him to. I want him to do it because he wants to. Because
he can't think of doing anything else. I want him to be so consumed in
me he can't remember his own name.

Then I want him to do it again.

But it's not going to happen. I need to accept this. I need to take what
he is offering - a shoulder to cry on. Unconditional friendship. And
having Fox Mulder for a friend is nothing to sniff at. Especially when
part of the deal is his total trust.

Rather then answer his question, I merely allow my face to crumple, a
tear to fall as I turn myself toward him. He takes the sign and lays
down on the bed, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me against him as
he strokes his hand up and down my back over the sheet he's already
tucking around me. I bury my face against his chest and sob. Sob like I
haven't since I was a child. I sob for me, I sob for him. For Bill, for
Melissa, for Emily. I sob for the horrors I have seen over the last six
years, for the horrors I know are to come.

And I sob for the death of hope. The death of hope I had nurtured for so
long. Hope for something more.

"It's okay, Scully," he whispers against my head. "Everything's gonna be
okay. Eventually."

His words only cause me to sob harder as my hands find his leather
jacket, digging into it, clutching it tightly.  One of his hands move up
my back to my hair, his fingers tangling in it. My entire body tenses
and I feel almost physically ill. Oh, God, I'm wrong. I can't pretend like
it never happened when I relive every second of it because he touches me
a particular way. I rear away from him before I can stop myself, flying
off the bed, the sheet hitting the floor. I don't care. I'm beyond
caring.

"I have to take a shower," I mutter numbly, almost running from the
room, ignoring the questions and concern I hear pouring out of his
mouth. I have to go. I have to get away.

The hot water over my skin is good. It burns and takes away everything
else. Again, I have no concept of time in here. I only know that it
seems like forever and not nearly long enough. I wrap a small hotel
towel around my body and slowly re-enter the room. Mulder is sitting in
the chair again, staring down at the carpet. I approach him, giving him
my 'what are you seeing, Mulder?' look.

Reaching down, he picks up a cigarette, barely smoked, ground into the
carpet. "Not a Morley, I hope," he quips mildly.

I smile thinly, refusing to dignify his words with a response. He shoots
up out of the chair as I turn my back to him, his fingers finding and
tightening on my wrist. "Scully, wait," he whispers.

I spin around to face him, my face angry, my eyes shooting sparks.
"What?" I snap. "What is it, Mulder?"

He stares into my eyes for a full minute before answering. "I'm sorry
about your brother," he finally mumbles in an almost broken voice.

If I wasn't so angry and hurt, I might pick up on the fact that he was
dying inside. Instead, I chuckle derisively, having picked up something
from my previous companion. "Thanks for your sympathies, Mulder, but you
can save them. They do me more harm than good."

His eyes widen and I see the hurt I've caused, but I can't stop myself.
I snatch my wrist away from his hold almost violently, my lower lip
trembling slightly. "Why the hell can't you see what's in front of your
face, Mulder?!" I practically scream at him. "Why is it that all you can
ever see are the Phoebe's, and the Bambi's, and the Diana's of the
world?!" My entire body shaking, I realize I've given too much away. I
realize it too late. For I see that look in his eyes. Mulder's inside my
head. Mulder knows what I'm thinking.

Mulder's holding my heart in his hands. My heart which stopped beating
almost a minute ago.

"Scully?" he questions in the softest voice I have ever heard him use. I
do not know if this is good or bad. I do not know if this means what I
desperately want it to mean, need it to mean, or whether it's simply the
shock, the absolute revulsion of having his partner in love with him. He
reaches out a hand and snags my wrist again. His grip is tight,
desperate, almost painful. Then ever so slowly, he turns my wrist in his
hand, rubbing his thumb along my pulse.

Thump.

A tentative, wary beat. Too good to be true don't believe it can't be
been so long it'll never happen trust no one.

His eyes bore into mine as he raises my hand, placing a soft, reverent
kiss to my inner wrist, just over my thundering pulse.

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

Rapid fire beats. You were sent to spy on me I want to trust you
territorial the only one I trust iced tea shut down old times hear me I
am here dangerous purpose Wouldn't change a day the truth will save you
I was lost you saved me made me a whole person.

His eyes focus on mine as his mouth plays over my wrist. I am falling
into that gaze, losing myself inside it. He moves forward, so fast I
barely catch it before his mouth is on mine. It's slow and soft,
thorough and breathtaking, this first real kiss of ours.

My heart beats faster then I think good for my health as his hands move
down my back to the towel, shoving it off my body. Somehow, my hands
have found his shoulders, and I find them now pushing his jacket from
his body, running over his chest to the hem of his t-shirt, pulling that
up and over his head as well. Breaking the kiss is well worth the feel
of his skin against mine. He leans down, kissing me again, softly,
chastely. His hands move along my sides to my hips, his fingertips
brushing over my skin as they move back up my ribs, one of his hands
finding and cupping my left breast. God, it's like his hands were made to
hold my breasts.

"Scully," he whispers raggedly against my jaw, feathering a series of
soft kisses along the side of my neck. "Scully."

I have never heard a more beautiful sound than my name, coming from his
lips, in that tone of voice. I run my hands down to the fly on his
jeans, feeling the bulge of his erection there. I rub my palm against
him softly, delighting in the groan he muffles against my shoulder. I
quickly undo the button and zipper, my hands pushing both jeans and
boxers to the ground. My hands come between us again as I grasp his
erection, stroking it with slow, even moves. I stand on my toes to kiss
him, my tongue running into his mouth, swirling around his teeth and
lips. My free hand moves to the back of his head, pulling him closer to
me, deepening the kiss, kissing him harder.

He does not disappoint as, obviously tiring of this position, he reaches
both hands underneath me, lifting me off the floor. I wrap my legs
around his waist as he backs me against the wall. My arms go over his
shoulders, my fingers digging into his upper back for support. His head
dips and he pulls one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking and nibbling
roughly, not enough to hurt, but so much that it's almost too intense.

Almost.

I move myself against him, thrusting my pelvis against his. "Mulder," I
half moan, half purr.

He does not have to be prompted twice, my Mulder. His hands lift me by
the hips a little and he slips inside me, thrusting all the way in one
long, slow, fluid motion. I arch my neck, my back moving away from the
wall slightly as I let out the groan to end all groans. He feels so
good. I've wanted this for so long. Needed it longer. Needed him longer
than I've even known him. "Mulder," I moan again, willing him to know
damn well I didn't just need someone, that I needed him. That I've
always needed him.

"Hold on tight, Scully," he whispers into my ear, placing a kiss just
below it, against the side of my neck as he moves inside me, pulling
almost all the way out, then slamming back inside, hard. The laugh I'd
been about to release at his words froze in my throat and came out
sounding more like a feral growl.

"Jesus Mulder," I mutter a second before he does it again and I dissolve
into a series of moans.

"Too hard?" he whispers into my ear, stopping when he's almost all the
way out of me again. I somehow manage to shake my head, and he slams
into me again. My legs tighten around him, along with the rest of my
body. I lean my head against his shoulder, kissing whatever skin I can
reach as he starts moving in fast, hard little strokes. At the angle
we're at, every time he moves, his pelvis brushes over my clit. I'm
close to screaming.

And then, just when I think there's nothing he could possibly do to make
me come any harder then I'm about to - he runs his lips up the side of
my neck. He places the softest, gentlest of kisses against the shell of
my ear. And he whispers, "I love you, Scully."

And I am gone. Every cliché about sex known to man or woman. The eagle
has landed, the wave has crested, the fireworks have ignited. I feel him
pump into me harder, faster, and it prolongs my orgasm as I feel his
body tense. He whispers my name like a prayer, over and over, his mouth
finding and biting down on my shoulder, muffling his own groan of
release.

After he's had time to breathe, to recover himself, Mulder moves with
me, still holding me tightly against him as he carries me to the bed. He
falls onto his back, me landing on top of him as though I weighed
nothing. He then rolls to his side, his arm still holding me to him
tightly. I keep one leg draped over his thigh, my arms around him. "I
know," I say simply.

He shakes his head. "No, you don't. At least you didn't. You believed
something that wasn't true, Scully. That's why I came here, why I
tracked you down. To set you straight."

I give him that look I'd sworn to myself earlier I'd cut down on. "Set
me straight on what? Are you trying to tell me you haven't been fucking
Fowley?"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you," he says in a voice so
honest, so sincere, I have no choice but to believe him.

"All right," I say slowly. "So what did I walk in on this morning?"

"I slept," he says slowly. "I slept deeply. So deeply I didn't even hear
her come in."

"And she what. . . stripped you both naked and laid down on top of
you?" I ask, knowing my skeptic-ness is showing, and unable to stop it.

"No," he says slowly. "I was already naked. I like to sleep that way."

The twinkle in his eye. . . the almost boyish grin on his face. . . I
believe him. I tell him so. I kiss him, because I can. I have that
right. I lay my head against his shoulder and look around this room. And
I thought other days of my life were strange. This one. . . This one
takes the cake.

"Hey Mulder," I murmur casually.

"Hmm?" he asks sleepily.

I smile. "I love you, too."

I feel his heart beat a little faster beneath my ear and my smile
widens.

Maybe we'll both be able to sleep soundly tonight.

At the very least, I hope to have a dream where I'm allowed to slay a
few dragons.

~~~~

End