From: Jessica Mabe Date: Thu, 03 Jun 1999 17:01:30 -0700 Subject: Anniversary (1/3) by Jess TITLE: Anniversary (1/3) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never were. DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know. SPOILER WARNING: A couple, up to the end of season six, but only one concrete reference, and that one aired here in 1997, so I think we're safe! RATING: NC-17 big time CONTENT WARNING: take a guess, if it's NC-17 CLASSIFICATION: MSR, lots of Scully angst SUMMARY: Scully reaches a turning point in her relationship with Mulder. Watching the frizzle of the neon hotel sign reflected in a puddle outside her window, Scully noted that in typical lamb-like fashion, the last of softly soggy March was now four days away. She shouldn't have cared, she knew, but this would be the second anniversary. The first had not been so bad, but with everything that had happened since, she expected to spend this one nearly catatonic with disappointment. From the hallway, Mulder's key turned in the door and he let himself in. He was sheepish, and she sighed. "No luck?" she said. "The guy at the desk said I had a better chance of getting God out here tonight than the air-conditioner repair man. It's just for one night, Scully. We'll be back home tomorrow." She nodded, the watery pink writing shimmering and reflecting through the glass. Her own hands were tinted in the light; her face must be too. Like blushing without knowing. "Ok, then we might as well get ready for bed." She felt, rather than heard him approach. He stood behind her for a moment, his warm breath ruffling the hair on the top of her head. "What are you looking at?" Shrugging, she gestured slightly to the parking lot. "It's still raining." He placed one hand in the small of her back, as if he were going to move her, though there was nowhere to go. "I know this has been a tough case, Scully. You did a great job. I'm going to say as much in the report." "Thanks. But you did all the detective work, as usual. And you were right, as usual." He was silent for a moment. "Maybe," he said. "But I couldn't have proved it without you." "I'm tired of being the proof-gatherer," she told him, whining a bit. "I want to be right, just once." She could sense the smile that accompanied his hand as it rubbed up under the edge of her shirt and pushed at the bones in her back. "You're right more than you give yourself credit for. Though it usually involves weird religious phenomena." Leaning into the massage, she nodded. "You're so closed-minded." He laughed and moved to rub her shoulders. "And you're too eager to believe." "Ain't that the truth," she said. "Scully, come to bed." It wasn't said in the mock-sexy voice he had used as Rob Petrie, but was kindly, paternal Ahab. She nodded. "Go take your shower. I'll be in bed before you're out." His hands rested on her shoulders for a moment before he moved away. Listening to the sound of water running from the bathroom, she scrubbed her teeth viciously at the hotel sink. She was being foolish and ungrateful. When she spit out the toothpaste, it was pink with blood. She slid into her side of the bed and turned away from the empty space where he would be, feeling the cold of the motel sheets sinking into her weary extremities. Mulder arrived warm and muggy from the shower, turning out the light and practically leaping in next to her. She readied her body for him to tickle or prod, but nothing happened. Rolling over to mimic her position, he merely whispered: "Goodnight." "Goodnight," she said, only half-grateful. "It'll be all right tomorrow," he murmured and she wondered what he meant. "I know." She chose her own interpretation. He slid one hand across to rest on her hip, covering it. She felt the fingers grow heavy with sleep. Typical Mulder, she thought. Holding her from a foot away. The next morning in Skinner's office, she tried to concentrate through her encroaching sadness. She watched Skinner's bald head and pictured the smoothness of the skin there as he gave their report a final read-through. Bald men had always fascinated her, though not sexually. They seemed so authoritarian, so paternal. Skinner flipped to the last page and tapped it thoughtfully. The routine was so familiar, she could practically time it to the minute. He closed the cover and looked up, removing his glasses. "Agent Scully, do you concur with Agent Mulder's conclusions?" What could she say to that? She hadn't even read the report he had so carefully put together. Gee, Sir, I've been preoccupied with the idea that my partner may never actually make his move. Somehow she didn't think that would go down well with Skinner. "I do, Sir." Skinner's brows rose and he watched her carefully. When she did not elaborate or counter her statement, he moved on. "Good work, from both of you. I don't know what the higher-ups will make of this, but I'm satisfied with your performance." "Thank you, Sir." That was from Mulder, pleased to be noticed. "Particularly Agent Scully, in that regard. I know this case must have been very difficult for you, Agent." It wasn't the damn case, she wanted to shout. She was a professional. Dead children were awful, but she dealt with it, moved on. Dead hopes, those were something else entirely. "Just doing my job," she said tiredly and regretted it when he looked at her with concern. "Perhaps you would benefit from a few day's vacation, Agent Scully." She looked quickly to Mulder, thinking he would bail her out, but he nodded. "Thank you," she said. "That would be helpful." Time alone. Time to ponder the inevitable passing of another March. Just what she needed, indeed. Outside, Mulder shepherded her through the hallway to the elevator, as if he were afraid she would just wander off into some side office and sit down at someone else's desk. "What will you do with your vacation?" he asked, genuinely concerned. Go to Graceland, she felt like saying. Hang out with the King. "I was thinking I might visit my mother." She pondered the opening elevator doors. The world of the basement lay just beyond them. Slightly strange, like Narnia. "Your mother could calm anyone's nerves." "I'm not nervous," she said, and opened the office door. He stopped and touched her shoulder, holding her back without strength. "We can talk about it, if you like." "About what?" She was being cruel. "Whatever. Whatever's bothering you." She shook her head. "Mulder, you couldn't fix what's bothering me if you had every tool in a Reticulan's arsenal." He looked as if he couldn't decide whether to smile or cry. "You sure about that, Scully? I know people who can get just about anything, even the weirdest Reticulan devices." Giving in for a moment, she leaned back and let his body catch her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his head on hers. "They couldn't fix it either. Especially them." She felt him smile. "I won't tell Frohicke you said that." "Good. I'd hate to burn the little troll. He's so useful in a pinch. Mulder?" She straightened up, freeing herself from him. "Do you think it'd be ok to start my vacation now?" He was back to his normal self, sauntering over to the desk and flopping down in the chair. "Absolutely." Her mother was pleased to see her, she could tell, but confused. They had spent the night before sitting in the living room with a massive box of pretzels and, God help her, wine coolers. She had never pegged her mother as someone to drink with, but it had been fun. Giggly, girlish fun. Mel Gibson movies brought out a side to Margaret Scully that had previously been hidden from her children. Especially nude shots of Mel Gibson's tush. Scully had relaxed until it was time to go to sleep, back in the narrow single bed she had used as a child. There she felt unbearably alone, aware of the passing of so much time and all the unfulfilled promises she had made to herself when she was young. By morning, she had shaken off some of the depression and restrengthened her resolve. She wanted to talk to her mother, really talk about Mulder with her for the first time. They sat in the kitchen, Scully with a steel mixing bowl balanced between her knees. Her mother was shelling peas from her garden. My God, Scully thought, shelling peas. It was the sort of thing her mother did and it both comforted her and mystified her, like watching Muslims kneel in prayer. Scully took a handful of fresh peas and savored them, delighting in the earthy taste. Her mother sighed. "They're not popcorn, Dana. Save some for dinner." It was almost like being a girl again. Except for the empty feel of the old house and the endless, shivering ache in her chest. "You might as well tell me what's bothering you and get it over with," her mother said, not unkindly. "I know you want to get back to your life in Washington." Scully sighed and crossed her arms. "Maybe I like it here." "It's Fox, isn't it? Otherwise you'd be anxious to get back." Mothers were useless when it came to living in complete denial. They pierced it like a shiny pin through a balloon. "Of course it is." Margaret smiled. "It always is anymore, Dana. It's no use pretending otherwise. What's he done?" She watched another row of bright green peas tumble into the bowl. "That's just it. He hasn't done anything." "Ah," her mother said. "Maybe I'm selfish. I mean," she stabbed a pea with her finger and brought it, crushed, to her mouth, "I should be grateful. We have a wonderful relationship. He's said he loves me and I know he meant it? it's just?" she tapered off, out of steam. Margaret opened another pod and pushed the peas into Scully's waiting hand. "It's just?" she prompted. "I guess I'm tired of idealized love and The Truth and absolute devotion. I want something? normal. I want him to come over to my apartment with a romantic movie, a bottle of cheap wine and only one thing on his mind, do you know what I mean?" She sounded whiney, even to herself. Her mother hesitated with another pea pod and smiled. "Fox will probably never do that," she said. "I know," Scully answered, miserable. "I told you it was selfish." "I didn't say it was. I just think you're setting yourself up for disappointment. Besides, Dana, I never pictured you as someone who felt candlelit dinners and a dozen red roses were all that romantic. I thought you wanted the bigger picture." "I did," she said. "I can't explain it to you." That, she knew, was an understatement. There was no one she could explain it to, no one else who understood the significance of the end of March. "I just have this need that he can't fulfill?" "Especially if he doesn't know about it," her mother added. "Yes? there's that. But, I just know what it'll be like, when it finally happens. There'll be a case and we'll be in danger and everything will be falling down around us and he'll grab me and kiss me and it will be this magnificent grand sweeping thing? but? but he hasn't ever asked what my favorite color is, or when I had my first kiss, or whether I'm closer to Bill or to Charlie?" she stopped, flustered. Margaret shelled the last pea. She looked around the kitchen, thoughtfully. "Have I ever told you about the time when you were kidnapped?" Scully brushed her hair back and sighed. "Of course. I know he was the only one who believed I would come back." "No, no. Not then." Her mother seemed to be looking for something. Scully realized it might be the courage to say what she was thinking. "Mom," she said gently, "it's ok." "Dana, when you were returned to us? you were very ill. You? you were catatonic. They thought there might be brain damage. And then there was your Living Will. We? we had to make a decision?" "Oh Mom," she said, and took her mother's hand. "Melissa and I both felt that you had chosen what you wanted when you signed the will. But Fox wasn't so sure. He thought you wanted to live, if there was any hope at all. He thought if we disconnected you from the life support, you would give up, thinking we'd abandoned you." "Typical Mulder," she smiled, "making up my mind for me." Her mother shook her head. "You're missing the point, Dana. Men like Fox, men like your father? they aren't able to operate in the cliches we use to identify true emotions. They flounder if you set them up next to the average teenage boy. But if you set aside what you think you need, you'll find that they have already found the essence of what's true. Like that night in the hospital, when he wouldn't agree to abandon you. Had you really been gone, Dana, he would have pulled the plug himself. But he cut through the bureaucracy and the bullshit to see the you that we were missing, the one who wanted to come back. No one else could have seen it. And if you wait for him to be average, I'm afraid you will be waiting for a very long time." Margaret stroked her daughter's cheek tenderly. "Few woman could be worthy of that sort of love, Dana. I think you are. I know I was, or at least your father thought so." "I said it was selfish," Scully whispered, moved almost to tears, but unable to shake the conviction that somehow she deserved something more than Heroes of the Superbowl. "Well, Dana," her mother said briskly, sitting back. "If you really want that, there are plenty of young man hanging out in bars?" "Mom," she said, hurt. "Oh, I know, I know." Margaret sighed. "It's hard to love someone extraordinary. But I will give you the same advice that my mother gave me when I married your father." "If you say 'lie back and think of England', Mom, I'm way past you." "Stop being flippant. This is an important point to learn. Sometimes, we have to make our own happiness, instead of waiting for someone else to read our minds and do it for us. And that is the extent of my motherly advice, except that if it does happen for you, and you are thinking of England, it's time to seek help." In bed that night, listening to the rain fall on the sidewalk outside, Scully had a revelation. Perhaps it was because it was after midnight, and the day had finally come. Or perhaps it was the talk with her mother, she wasn't sure. But she knew now what she had been missing all along, ever since that night two years before. She had been waiting for something that was already there. And in waiting, she had grown complacent, uninvolved in her own destiny. But by the time she had finally fallen asleep, lulled with thoughts of clothes and conversations yet to take place, a plan had taken shape. End part 1 of 3 TITLE: Anniversary (2/3) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com She was giddy all day, preparing, watching the sky viciously for signs of the clouds' retreat, feeling the sticky Washington heat slowly dissipate with the end of the day. By six o'clock that evening she had steeled herself and controlled the euphoria. Everything was ready, even her mind, and that was an astonishing thing in and of itself. Outside the rain had cleared at last, leaving the street sparkling and slightly steamy. Checking her hair one last time in the mirror, she saw herself as he would see her, and was pleased. The taxi came promptly, for once, ferrying her through the crowded streets, pearl-gray in the liquid evening light. The rows of street lamps looked to her overwhelmed eye like a gleaming string of jewels. She tried to calm herself and was rebuffed by her own aching excitement. By the time she reached Mulder's door and asked the taxi driver to wait, her heart was pounding in wild rhythm to the revving of the waiting engine. When he answered the door, she saw his eyes widen to take her in. "Hey Scully. I thought you were still at your mom's." She slipped past him in a mist of scent and a sophisticated chiffon evening scarf she had borrowed from her mother. If she were a cartoon character, she thought, little red kisses would follow in her wake. "Nope, I have a date." "You have a date?" She heard the question in his voice, the shock. She merely nodded, as if it were no big deal. "Oh," he said. "Who with? Do I know him?" She nodded again, picking up something from his desk and fiddling with it. No big deal. "He's at the Bureau." Mulder was shifty with jealousy, moving possessively behind her. "Is it Agent Greene?" She laughed lightly. "Oh for God's sake, Mulder." "Agent Franklin over in Special Crimes." "Give up, Mulder. You're so far off." "Give me a hint." He was trying to be nice about it, but his voice was raw with disappointment. She couldn't let him suffer, not yet. "Alright?" She turned to face him for the first time, suddenly very aware of the skintight black dress with the skinny little straps and the built-in push-up bra. "He's completely inappropriately dressed." He stood there staring at her, trying to process the riddle. His mouth opened once and then shut quickly and she knew he knew. "What should he be wearing?" She smiled. "Something to go with this dress and dinner reservations for two at Umberto's in half an hour." He swallowed. "Umberto's? Really?" Nodding, she slid within inches of him, touching his hand with her hip. "Really." "Ok," he murmured and she knew she had him. He moved to his bedroom, turning around several times to look at her. "Fifteen minutes," she called after him and heard him grunt. The apartment was quiet for a moment, before she heard the rustling of clothes being changed. He emerged, immaculate as if he had spent hours tying his tie. She had seen the suit once before at a Bureau dinner, but somehow it seemed less special then, less sleek and seal-like. There was a burnished, brushed quality to his skin and hair. He looked wonderful. She cleared her throat. "Ready?" she said. "I'm not sure," he smiled, "but I think I must be from the way you're looking at me." She stared, shocked at his brazen tone. "And just how am I looking at you, Agent Mulder?" "The same way I'm looking at you, Agent Scully. As if you were molded out of hot fudge." Blushing violently, she clutched her purse to her chest. He was not gaining the upper hand here. "The taxi is waiting," she said, "and you know what happens if you let hot fudge sit out." "It gets hard?" he teased gently, closing the distance between them. She could practically reach out and grab a handful of pheromones. "No," she said, turning to the door. "It gets cold." Mulder was fidgeting, shifting around in his chair. She knew he was going to ask her, but she wasn't going to tell. Not yet. Not when rich food was ordered and the dark red wine was poured and Mulder had loosened the tie slightly, giving him a rakishly sexy look. He leaned forward and picked at a dinner roll. "So what are we celebrating, Scully?" "What makes you think we're celebrating anything, Mulder?" She took a long sip of her wine, rolling it over her tongue. Good stuff. "I don't know?" he stretched his hand out and stroked her arm, once, obviously just for the smooth feel of it. "The fact that you're wearing that little scrap of black something?" "Maybe I just wanted a nice night out." Mulder sloshed the wine in his glass thoughtfully. She could feel his inability to process this. "Stop fighting it," she told him and he looked up sharply. "We're just out having a pleasant time. Don't worry." He grinned. "God, you are psychic." "Yeah, yeah and I'm never going to die. Moving on." She leaned forward and propped her hands on her elbows, forgoing polite restaurant behavior in order to give him an eyeful. He was definitely interested, looking more than once from cleavage to eyes, teasing. "So, Mulder, I want to know everything about you tonight. Everything." "I thought you already did, Scully," he said, sipping the wine, not taking the bait. She shook her head and threw out a more tempting line. "I want to hear about your first time." He actually choked on his drink. "You're kidding, right?" "No," she said. "I want to know all about it. How old were you? Who was it with? Was it wonderful?" He sighed. "Nineteen." She raised an eyebrow before she could stop herself. "See, I knew you'd react like that. I was shy." "I guess so." "She was another student. She was drunk. I wasn't. Enough said, I think." "Do you want to hear about mine?" Scully said, running a finger along his hand. She noticed the shiver, but pretended she didn't. "Sure. How old were you? Thirty-three?" "Thirteen." He let out a long breath. "Good God, Scully." "He was my first cousin. It was in the back seat of his Buick LaSabre at the Red River Carnival in Oregon." "I? I don't believe you. You're only saying that to make me feel less inadequate." "No really. It really was." Mulder leaned back as the waiter brought two steaming plates of pasta. "Any good, Scully?" "What, my first time?" The waiter's face remained neutral. "Yep." "Yes," she said, winding a long string of spaghetti around her fork. "It was. Next question." Mulder was laughing, actually laughing and leaning back in his seat with one arm still on the table. Between them lay the ruins of a slice of cake, two espressos and six years of brick and mortar. "So then I heard the sirens." "Sirens?" "Fire trucks. My friends had built this big bonfire on the beach. We had to ride back on the pumper truck." "Jesus. So I take it he didn't have his way with you?" "It wasn't Backdraft, if that's what you're asking." She sighed happily. Mulder was relaxed, easy, his dark eyes full of mirth or desire or both, she wasn't sure and didn't care. He leaned across the table and was suddenly serious. "Scully, I have one last question before we get out of here." "Anything," she said, reckless. "How does this night end?" She swallowed. "With a revelation, Mulder. With the truth." He stared at her, unsure. "Will I like this truth, Dr. Scully? Or will I be wounded by it?" She brought one hand to her lips and kissed his fingertips. He sucked in a breath. "A little of both, maybe more wounded than happy," she said honestly and his face paled slightly. "Maybe I should just stay at the restaurant. I'm not feeling at all wounded yet." Scully maneuvered under the table and gently stepped on his toes. "There," she said. "Now let's go back to my place." In the taxi, his insecurities began to overwhelm them. He had developed a sudden need to touch her, to prolong the easy foreplay of the dinner, now that they were moving closer to her territory. Taking one end of the chiffon scarf between his fingers, he unwound it from her shoulders and neck. It's slick silkiness sliding over her skin left her breathless and weak. He wound it around his hands, binding himself at the wrists. "This is a beautiful thing, Scully. I don't remember ever having seen it before." "When was the last time you were in my closet, Mulder?" He smiled. "What else do you have hidden there?" She looked down at her shoes and brushed the carpet with her toes. "Mulder, I'm more afraid that I've ever been on any of our cases." He let the chiffon unwind, falling in a little puddle in his lap. For a moment she thought he was angry, but he lifted the scarf and carefully wound it around her shoulders again, leaning in so close she could smell the last light gasps of aftershave from the morning. Then he kissed the side of her neck. Not a small, friendly kiss, but a lingering press of his lips and the very tip of his tongue. She felt her entire body flush. "Will you still be there after you've said it?" he asked, his face inches from hers. She could sense the driver watching them. "In my apartment? Yes." "No, silly. With me. Will you still be with me?" "Yes. If you still want me to be." He leaned back in the taxi and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he stared at her intensely. "Scully, even if you told me you were a Reticulan/flukeman clone spawned from the sperm of old C.G.B. himself, I would still want you around. Maybe I wouldn't let you baby-sit my kids, but I'd still want you around." She smiled sadly. "I'm not sure how reassured I am by that." At her apartment she let them both in wordlessly. His tension had infused her, filled her to breaking. "Would you like some more wine?" He shook his head and rubbed his arms briskly. "Jesus, Scully, why is it so cold in here?" She remembered and felt like smacking herself. "I thought we could build a fire. I meant for us to have a fire." She was on the verge of tears. This was not what she'd wanted. Not this overwhelming fear. How could she have risked so much? Mulder just nodded and opened the glass fireplace doors. She busied herself pouring two glasses of ice water, listening to him crumple the newspaper and stack on the kindling. There was something comforting in watching his efforts, reminding her of her father kneeling in front of their fireplace at home, coaxing the subtle blaze. Mulder straightened up and took the glass from her. She felt stronger, more sure. It would be all right. "Sit down," she said and waited till he had settled into the couch, carefully staying to one side. "Still cold?" she asked. He shrugged. "Not really." He seemed to be debating something, taking a sip of his water then setting it aside. She saw his mind shift, felt it as surely as if he had told her. "Come here, Scully." He motioned to the space just beyond his knees. Standing in front of him, she held her breath until he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. "Whatever it is, Scully," he murmured into her belly, "I want you to know that tonight has been?" He pushed back and looked up at her. It was an odd sensation, looking down at Mulder's dark eyes instead of up into them. "I know, Mulder. It was supposed to be? whatever it has been." He smiled and let go. She sat down next to him, awkward and heavy, as if she were moving through water. Lifting her glass of water, she smiled wearily. "I'd like to propose a toast." He was wary, but lifted his glass. "To Eddie Van Blundht." Mulder's eyes widened and the glass froze two inches from his mouth. "To who?" "Humor me, Mulder." He nodded and reluctantly clinked his glass with hers. The water left a chilled trail down her burning throat. Now she was committed. It would all be over soon. "Mulder, do you know what today is?" He seemed to think about it for a moment and then shook his head, cautious. "Should I?" "Not really. It was only significant to me." He waited, swirling the ice idly in his glass. "Two years ago, on the last day in March, you came to my door with a bottle of wine." End part 2 of 3 TITLE: Anniversary (3/3) AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com He looked up, startled. She knew he was searching his memory and coming up empty. He started to speak, but she held her hand up. "I thought it was a bit odd, but at the same time, I guess I'd wanted you to do something like that for? I don't know, maybe from the moment I met you. You were always so unapproachable to me, too lovely and frightening and intense. I was convinced that you could never see me in the way I saw you, but there you were, kind of goofy and silly in that leather jacket I've always liked so much. So I let you in. I poured us the wine and you built a fire, just like you just did. I remember being indescribably nervous: it was such uncertain territory. I wanted to believe I knew why you were there, but it was you, Mulder. It could have meant anything. You said we never talked. I agreed, and so it began. You didn't talk at all. I guess that should have clued me in." She thought he might smile at that, but his head stayed down, staring at his shoes, silent. It was crushing him to hear this, so she kept going. "I talked? well, we drank the entire bottle of wine. I got silly? drunk, actually. But not from three glasses of cheap vino. From you, from you listening to me. I told you that story about my senior prom. Then you were suddenly so serious. You asked me if I regretted my life, if I would do anything differently. I have no idea what I said, but then you scooted over on the couch and I realized that you were about to kiss me. God, Mulder, I remember a million things went through my head in that moment, most of them involving fear and lust and need and? and when I could just feel you in the air around me? you opened the door. Remember now?" He nodded, bitter and miserable. "I know you were embarrassed and confused. I wanted to talk about it then? I should have, looking back on it. But that's just it, Mulder. We don't talk. We never have. And as time went by it just seemed less and less likely that we ever would. I don't know how hard that was for you. I can only say how difficult it became for me. I just wanted? I just wanted the you I thought I had for that one moment to come back and finish it. The disappointment I felt was terrible, debilitating. God, if I didn't talk to you before, I absolutely couldn't do it after. And I started to feel? let down. I know that Eddie was a stupid little prick trying to get into my pants, but at least he tried?" Mulder's head had sunk to the point of contact with his chest. She took pity on him and touched his arm. "This is the painful part. It does get better." He looked up, but didn't meet her gaze. "Does it?" He was unreadable. She wasn't sure if he wanted the relief any longer. "It does. Look, all of this was my fault. I began to construct little fantasies, little dreams, where you would come over again, with flowers and wine and that same naked need. I created this alternate you who didn't spend his time obsessing over his sister, who didn't see our partnership as paramount but who saw us, as in? us. At least, that's what I thought I was doing. And most of the time, it worked. I could have my fantasy Mulder and the real one at the same time. But when this day rolled around, I found myself thinking about how little of the fantasy bled into reality. How, as much as I knew you cared for me, I was still sitting alone in my apartment on a Saturday night. And then when Diana came back? I began to get angry. That's why the time you tried to kiss me in the hallway wasn't worth an effort to repeat. Because you were desperate. I wanted you to be sure that's what you wanted, not just sure you'd do anything to make me stay." He leaned back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. She could see he was battling not to cry. "Mulder," she whispered and slid closer to him, "it's almost over." Looking over at her, he sighed and tried to smile. It nearly broke her heart. "Here's the thing. You wanted to know what was wrong. And I said you couldn't do anything to fix it. I know that sounds crazy, Mulder, because in your mind I bet you've already come up with several ways to fix it." He nodded, slightly. "But it had to be me. Last night, lying here alone again, waiting for the rain to stop, I realized something important. All this time I had been waiting for you to come seduce me and? well, for God's sake Mulder, I must have been the stupidest, blindest woman on earth." She saw him return to her, just a bit. "What was it when you came to get me in Antarctica, if not seduction? Why did you buy me that keychain, Mulder, if it wasn't to win me? And the haunted house on Christmas Eve? And the baseball game? All of it was you, trying to push your way through to me and there I was, unable to see unless it was dropped in my lap, literally. The real you was doing these things for me, Mulder, that take my breath away now, but I was so blinded by the storybook, by the expectations? And while I was sitting around, waiting for Prince Charming to arrive in his Bureau-issue Ford Taurus, I forgot that you must also be waiting, wondering why I never seemed to see what you were trying to say. I knew you loved me. I knew that if I came to you, you would take me. But what I didn't understand was how much you were willing to risk for me. I'm not talking about your life or your job, Mulder, I'm talking about your pride. And I'm so sorry for making you try so hard. That's what tonight was for. To give something back to you, if you still want it." He was silent for a moment, watching her. "Mulder?" "Scully, I don't know what to say." It was not the answer she had expected. Maybe she had gone too far, assumed too much. Maybe she had hurt him too badly. "I'm so sorry I've disappointed you." It was so Mulder, so typical. She sighed and turned his face to hers, forcing him to look at her. "I'm trying to apologize to you. You didn't do anything wrong. Stop kicking yourself." He shook his head, moving her hand away with his own. "I let you feel like that for what, now? two years? Jesus, Scully, how could you even stand to look at me tonight? You wore that dress and bought that dinner and? it was seduction, Scully. It wouldn't have been so hard for me to do?" She tried to stop him, but he was standing now, fuming at himself. "?And I've ignored you, I've ditched you? I didn't listen when you warned me about Diana. Scully, you have to know. I kissed her. I mean, I let her kiss me. After I knew about her. She kissed me and I didn't stop her, I grabbed her and tried to save her. I thought of taking her with me to the site before I even called you. If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead with the others. Or on the run with Diana and C.G. fucking B?" Scully sighed and stood up to face him. "Mulder," she said softly, "shut-up." He stopped, mouth open. "I've been too hard on you, and deep down you know it. I didn't bring you here tonight for a self-flagellation session, though I suppose I should have expected one." She smiled at him and he actually lightened, a bit. "I brought you here to see if you loved me enough to withstand this and to tell you what was in my heart. I don't care if you kissed Skinner, I just want to be with you tonight." He stared at her. "Really?" "Really." Still he stood two feet away, not moving. "Scully, do you know the sexiest thing that I've seen all night?" She shook her head. "You standing here, right now, telling me honestly what you want for the first time since we've known each other." That provoked another smile. "Mulder, you haven't seen what I'm not wearing under this thing, so I don't think you're ready to make that judgement." And then he was there, inches from her, against her, his hands on her face. She knew he was finally going to kiss her, without stopping, without excuses, without morphing into some sorry little pudgy kid. He stroked her cheek for just a moment and then bent down toward her. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, but she was still unprepared for him. His kiss was not gentle, or sweet. There was no simple brushing of his lips on hers. He attacked her, devoured her, plunged into her and held her. She felt his tongue touch hers and her body turned to suspended liquid. Twisting her face to meet him, she grasped frantically at his waist, feeling the movement of his body, the intensity of him. This was kissing Mulder, not Eddie Van Blundht. There was no hesitation now, and she could feel his erection pressed tight against her stomach like a challenge. He was moving her, pressing her backwards, needing to feel her completely and unable to achieve it standing up. They reached the couch and sank into it like diving into cool water. He pulled frantically at her lips, nipping her tongue with his sharp teeth. She pulled away from his mouth and kissed his neck, practically licking him. He groaned. "God, Scully," he whispered, making her name in invocation. She pushed his jacket off and let him pull away the scarf. When he bent his face to kiss the skin above the edge of her dress, she was nearly lost in the sensation of it. She concentrated, she had to, on the buttons on his shirt. They taunted her, dancing above her while Mulder straightened his arms to look down at her, to take her in. One by one, she opened them, drawing her arms around his torso to warm herself with him. She felt him push her legs apart, felt her own dress slide slowly up her thighs and it was so unbelievably sexy she could hardly stand it. Suddenly she knew why people made love in front of mirrors. He lowered his groin and she waited breathless until they met. Then he gave one experimental dry grind against her and the sensation shot straight from her crotch to cover her whole body. "Oh my God," she whispered and felt strangely like she wasn't taking anyone's name in vain, but instead was offering a prayer of thanks. Mulder lowered himself to kiss her again, still grinding. She fumbled with her shoes, toeing them off onto the floor, desperate to put her feet in the crease behind his knees. She needed leverage, needed him deeper, harder than he was against her. She wanted to feel all of him. "Scully," he whispered. "Take off that dress. I want to touch you." Her stomach dropped to her knees. "Yes Sir," she answered and sat up, watching his face as she reached around to unzip it. He was staring at her intently, his breath coming in short gasps. She could see him pressing against his trousers and it was undeniably erotic, like watching someone masturbate. The zipper reached its base and she slipped the dress over her shoulders, wiggled it past her hips and then she was lying beneath him in nothing but her underwear and thigh-high stockings. His lips parted and he stayed there, hovering. Again, she thought he might weep. "You are?" he shook his head, sighing in frustration. "My damn Oxford education gave me no words to describe this, Scully. I am truly speechless." "Could've fooled me," she smiled and lifted her hands above her head, stretching. He lowered himself to her left breast and flicked the nipple with the tip of his tongue. She whimpered and he sucked gently. Gentle wasn't what she wanted any longer. She pushed his head down and whispered. "Nibble." He smiled around her, looking up into her eyes. "Nibble," he answered and bit down slightly. She moaned and reached for his arms. Shifting, he licked and bit at her breast. Her body seemed to hum beneath him, she could smell her own musky scent. "Suck," she said. Looking at her again, he was actually grinning a very Mulderish grin. She smiled back. "Where?" he whispered and she shuddered with the possibilities. "Everywhere." His face turned a peculiar shade of pink, one she was sure she had never seen before, and he reached down to the edges of her underwear. She knew at that moment, without even thinking, that she was going to finally believe in this the moment his tongue touched her body. He dragged her underwear slowly down her legs, leaving a slightly damp trail wherever they met skin. Feeling completely exposed, despite the fact that she was still wearing her stockings, she had to force herself to keep her legs open. Staring with the sort of reverence she knew he usually reserved for alien autopsies, he parted her and ran his thumbs along the smooth sides of her lips. She groaned. "Mulder." He didn't even bother to look at her, he knew she wasn't calling his name so much as blessing his way. "Scully," he said, and he was sliding one finger into her so slowly she could actually feel the gentle scrape of his nail. When she looked at him, his face was flushed and his chest heaved, but he was still in control. She realized she could hardly wait to change that. Her body shivered around him. Sliding out, he used the accumulated moisture to slip slickly along her, wetting her down. She moaned when he reached her clit and touched it directly. She was so sensitized, it felt almost painful. "Mulder," she said, desperate, "your mouth. Your mouth?" "Yes." It was a statement. He knelt and pressed the tip of his tongue into her. Again, she twitched violently. "Now," she groaned and he complied, flicking the same cat-like tip of his tongue across her clit as she could feel the orgasm building within her stomach and bursting through her body like water from a dam, trickling out through the ends of her toes. "Oh," she told him. "Oh." He sat up, smiling deliriously, lips wet from her body. In that moment, still feeling the shuddering ripples of pleasure in her core, she wanted nothing more than to wrap her body around him like a vise. "Mulder," she moaned, "take off your pants and get inside me now." Laughing, actually laughing, he unbuttoned the wool trousers while she watched him through half-lidded eyes, feeling languorous and warmed. Finally, after a bit of fumbling that in anyone else would have made her giggle, but in Mulder was as sexy as watching him writhe across her, he stood naked at the end of her couch. She had seen him naked before, several times. She had certainly seen him naked in her head more times than she could count. But watching him breathe there in front of her, she was struck by the essential life of him. It poured and radiated off him like heat from a summer road. He was so beautiful it made her feel light-headed. She held out her arms and opened her legs, still dancing inside. "Come to me," she said, and he did, sliding down on top of her and pressing his length against her, slipping back and forth until he was slick with her. Kissing him, she reached down between them and pulled at him, watching his face in delight. "Scully," he breathed and kissed her forehead. "Scully." Still she slid her hand around him, feeling the weight and girth of him, mentally sinking him into her until her body quivered for the lack of him. His face twisted with pleasure and he gasped with each stroke. "In me," she said, and guided him there. "Now you're in me." "I always was," he said and she was overcome with tenderness for him. She could feel him now, pushing in and out gently, rocking her as sweetly as if she were curled in his lap. Her body tensed around him, not with pain but with familiarity. You belong here, it said. I know you. The movement became harder, fiercer. She pressed him closer, kissing him wildly, willing him to finally let go. He pulled away from her mouth and his lips parted. His head lifted, his eyes closed and she could see the control slip from his mind to his body like a ghost just beneath his skin. When he looked down at the point where their bodies joined, she knew he was trying to understand it, to take it all in. "It's me, Mulder," she whispered. "It's me." And then it happened. Without warning, his head slammed back up and he began to pulse into her so rapidly, she could feel him touch the other side of her. It would have been painful, if it weren't so extremely erotic to watch him sliding in and out of self-consciousness. "I'm coming," he warned her, as if she hadn't been waiting for him for years. "Come," she said and felt it as he did. He collapsed onto his elbows, then lowered himself onto her body, nestling her face in his neck. "Scully," he whispered into her ear, soft as breathing, "I think I was just abducted." She smiled and stroked his back, longing to keep him there. "Were you probed?" He giggled, holding back. "Don't make me laugh or we'll ruin this couch." "Don't go," she said, suddenly tinged with melancholy. He kissed her cheek. "Never. I still love you, despite your cruel rejection of my hospital bed confession." Suckling on his shoulder, she barely left the salty skin long enough to murmur. "You knew I loved you, even then." "Scully," he said, "come to bed." And Rob Petrie was lurking there, in cahoots with Ahab. She smiled. End 3 of 3 Author's notes: 1. I said I would never write a story where they dressed up, went out to dinner and came home and had sex. So sue me. 2. Has anyone else noticed in "Small Potatoes" that when Scully gets drunk she sounds just like... Gillian? What does that say, I wonder... ah well, I love 'em both.