Category:  Slash
Pairing:  Mulder/Pendrell
Rating:  NC-17 (for sexual situations)
Spoilers:  None
Disclaimer:  Don't own 'em. Chris Carter does.
Archive:  Nowhere, thank you.
Feedback:  All comments except for "Eww!  Why do you write this
stuff?!" are welcome.

NOTE:  This is **schmoop** with wittle drips of angst and some sex. 
No intellectual or socially redeeming value is claimed.

THANKS:  To my darling mousie pals! This fic is presented with great
gratitude and love to my Zoot from whom all good things spawn. 
(Especially melty s'mores and hamster hocks.)  There but for the grace
of my friends...


=========
SWIMMING LESSONS
by DBKate, 1999
dbkate@yahoo.com
=========

I think it all started the day that Agent Edwards muttered the word
"kiss-ass."

No, I -know- that was the day it started.

The little lazy weasel bastard was in the soup again and this time I
refused to cover for him. Yes, all my data was there, and yes, I had
backups for all the information he'd somehow "lost," and yes, I could
have it on Skinner's desk by five p.m. that evening.

I had no problem with any of this, but Edwards didn't seem to
appreciate my efficiency as much as the SAC did.

"Kiss-ass," he muttered again, before stalking away.

Now, I'd honestly never thought of myself in terms of being a -good-
agent or even an ambitious one.  I was just a scientist doing my job,
and lucky enough to get paid good money to do something I loved. 
Without spending most of my time scrambling for grants or hoping that
some university might one day deign to grant me tenure.

I was very happy in my little corner of the lab and I supposed it
showed.

Maybe it showed a little too much.

I'll admit his words stung.  They stung even more since I knew my only
crime was doing my job and doing it well.  With a sigh, I finished my
report for Skinner and gave it to Shirley to bring it downstairs.

Put on my trenchcoat, forced my briefcase shut and left the office,
feeling all the sense of accomplishment that an ant must feel while
carrying his very own speck of dirt.

No, in reality, it was probably a hell of a lot less.

======

I hadn't been to the Bureau gym in over a year.

It was too much of a beauty pageant for the green boys, many of whom
had about as much a need for a workout as I had for another chemistry
class.  But, no ... they had to show off and simultaneously make sure
that the ordinary shlubs like me need not apply.

Accordingly, I kept my daily workouts confined to a morning run around
the local school yard, a hundred sit-ups with my feet stuff under the
couch and a hundred pushups that were actually fifty I'd given extra
credit to.

But Edwards' words were still bothering me even after I'd taken my
usual morning run.  I took another one during lunch, even imagining
his face underneath my feet with every pounding step, but that didn't
help much either.  I debated for a few moments and then decided that a
long swim might exhaust me enough to say to hell with him.

Found my old Quantico swim trunks stuffed into some corner drawer,
grabbed a lab towel and headed to the gym.  Late.  I'd hoped that the
pretty boys would have left by then, headed off to their wonderful,
exciting night lives and left me to enjoy a swim in peace.

Luckily, I was right.

I'm not much of a swimmer, but I get by.  I tried to remember if the
pool was heated and an experimental dip of my toe confirmed my hope. 

Warm as bath water.  With a smile I dove in, not exactly watching my
form.  Of course I had no form to watch, but anything better than a
belly flop was fine with me.

It felt like heaven, and I did a few lazy laps before challenging
myself to try something a bit more ambitious.  Gave it a bit of a
push,  no doubt sending up an unruly splash, but who cared?  No one
was watching; I was alone.  Or so I thought.

When I finally became breathless, I grasped the wall blindly and
pulled myself to a stop.

Opened my eyes, only to be greeted by a set of toes.  Blinking, I
followed the toes up to a set of slim legs, a torso and then a
familiar face.

It was Fox Mulder.  Looking every inch the pretty boy.

"Nice form there, Agent Pendrell," he said cheerily and without
warning, he dove in over my head.

"Oh.  Hello, uh, um . . . " I said and winced away from a splash that
barely materialized.  He'd sliced the water like a pro a good four
feet away from me and completed two stealthy laps before even coming
up for a decent gulp of air.  Took it, went underwater and completed
another entire lap before rising for more.

Came to a stop next to me and gave me an inscrutable look. Pushed wet
hair out from his eyes and smiled.  "You know, I used to be able to do
that without getting an earful of water," he said, shaking his head to
one side.  He tapped his ear lightly at first and then with more
force, trying to dislodge the fluid from the other.

I nodded, and then, shook my head when he started to really pound on
his ear.  "Oh, don't do that," I said, wincing.  "There's a much
easier and safer way to do it."

He raised an eyebrow at me.  "There is?"

I nodded.  "A drop or two of hot tap water in the canal. Breaks the
pressure and you can just tilt the water out."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes," I said, feeling Old Reliable, that miserable blush fill my
cheeks.  "Scientific fact."

He graced me with a wry grin.  "Well, who am I to argue with science?"
he said, before pushing off and starting another lap.  He stopped
mid-lane and motioned for me to follow.  "Come on, water's fine."

I felt the damned blush grow hotter.  "I was, uh... just..."

"Oh, come on," he groused good naturedly.  "A couple of laps."

With a sigh, I shrugged.  "Sure," I said dejectedly, and swam out
feeling like a crippled horse swimming alongside a seal.

We reached the opposite wall, turned and finished the lap.  I puffed
to a stop and saw Mulder already standing on the wall ledge and
peering at me with apologetic eyes.  "I'm sorry," he said quietly. 
"You wanted to swim alone didn't you?"

I gaped at him for a moment, and then remembered my manners.  "No," I
protested.  "I'm just ... just... " I stumbled.

"Just?"

I took another deep breath.  "I just wish Agent Edwards was here so I
could hold him under until he burbles "uncle," I grumbled, climbing up
onto the ledge next to Mulder.

Received a small, knowing smile.  "Ah.  Working off some frustration."
 He nodded sympathetically.  "I feel your pain.  If it wasn't for
frustration, I'd probably be in much worse shape."

I had to chuckle at this.  "Yeah."  I patted my stomach.  "As you can
see, I'm content more often than not."

A small shake of his head.  "Not really."  I received a long,
appraising glance and felt myself turn red from hair to toenails,
completely surprised that the water didn't start boiling around me. 
"You're in better shape than Hollis," he said lightly.

"Hollis?  Hollis is retiring in two weeks," I replied indignantly.

Got an impish grin in reply.  "Okay," Mulder said appealingly, his
eyes twinkling.  "_Much_ better shape than Hollis.  All right?"

I shrugged, but had to laugh. Again.  "All right," I agreed.

Mulder pushed off from the ledge and began what must have been the
best back float I'd ever seen.  "So," he said, barely sinking down
past his earlobes.  "What did Edwards do?"

I felt the annoyance rush back, but not as hotly.  "It's what Edwards
doesn't do," I replied huffily.  Without warning, I went into a long,
barely conscious spiel of complaints against my coworker, saying aloud
all the things that had frustrated me for so long but that I never
dared to express to anyone.  Ever.

Edwards was sloppy, inconsiderate, rude and lazy.  A bad worker, a
worse office companion, and a mean husband who treated his wife with
open contempt.  He didn't like me, I didn't like him, and I wished
they'd transfer him to Fingerprints before I'd do something stupid,
like stick a spore culture in his lunch.

I rattled on, as Mulder slowly floated by me, nodding occasionally.  I
finally ran out of complaints and suddenly, I felt foolish in the
silence that followed.

Like an idiot foolish.  "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder," I said. "I
shouldn't have..."

"Edwards is an ass," he replied casually, without acknowledging my
apology.  "Did you know that he nearly fucked up one of my cases?"

I perked up at this.  "No kidding," I breathed.  "He did?"

Mulder nodded solemnly.  "Luckily, I found another lab tech to
straighten it out and I was able to finish the job."

"Who?" I asked, my curiosity burning.

Mulder took a short dive under and came up next to the ladder.  He
began to climb, and on the third rung, looked back.

"You," he said, before going onto the deck and snagging his towel as I
stood with my mouth hanging wide open.

The tiny grin appeared.  "So, thanks for the advice," he said,
pointing to his ear.  "And thanks for the good work.  You saved the
day, Agent Pendrell.  Probably a couple of lives along with it."

And as I watched him leave the gym, a wave of accomplishment filled
me, the likes of which I hadn't felt in a very long time. No longer
the ant, I was suddenly king of the world.

Or, at the very least, king of the pool.

With a happy howl, I took a huge belly dive off of the standing ledge
and splashed away to my heart's content.

========

I'm not sure how many times Mulder and I met for a late swim before it
developed into a sort of weekly ritual.  A bull session in the early
morning hours, and I'd always leave feeling great, refreshed in both
body and mind.

Mulder was an excellent listener, and I became a better talker than
I'd ever imagined I could be.  He also straightened out my crooked
stroke, gently, taking care not to hurt my feelings.

"It's _nearly_ perfect," he'd say over and over.  "Just a leee-tle bit
less lower leg and..."

"A lot.  You mean a lot."

"No, no, no.  A little.  When I say a little, I mean a little."

"I'm kicking half the water out of the pool.  Just say "a lot."  All
right?  Just say it."

"No," he'd refuse adamantly.  "If it's too much you won't get it
either.  You have to trust me."

And with that, he'd demonstrate and I'd be left watching him trying to
imitate my only *slightly* less than perfect kick, patiently
explaining while I stared at him. Skeptically.

He finally gave up, rolling his eyes.  "You know," he said, somewhat
darkly.  "All you scientists get that same look when you don't believe
me."

I blinked.  "All of -us- scientists?"

He sighed.  "Well, since you and Scully are the only scientists I
know, I'll change that both."  A slight scowl.  "But the look *is* the
same."

"I'm sorry," I said plaintively. I felt a flush of guilt crawl its way
up from my gut.  Mulder had been nothing but patient and friendly with
me, and I'd been nothing but my usual, oh-so-attractive whining self. 
"I really am."

No response.

Great.  I took the short swim to the pool's edge where Mulder was
standing still looking miffed.  I stood beside him, and after a moment
of silence, I nudged him.

Again, no response.

I nudged him again, this time a bit harder.  "Come on," I said, trying
out my entire repertoire of small, hopeful smiles.

A tiny flicker of amusement, quickly fought down.

Another nudge coupled with an innocent look. "Come on, Coach.  How am
I ever going to be ready for the big meet if you won't help me out
here?"

This was greeted with a dramatic rolling of eyes, but a warm smile
soon followed.  "Okay," he replied. Sweetly.  "But instead of leg
kicks, I think the next lesson is *How To Save Yourself From Drowning*."

I grinned and took the bait.  "Okay, Coach.  How do I save myself from
drowning?"

A feral grin.  "Beats the hell out of me," he replied, and I soon
found myself being dunked.

I rose, gasping for air and laughing.  I returned the favor, and he
sportingly went under even though he probably could have escaped quite
easily.

He rose, guffawed, and I went under again, as big bubbles of laughter
rose to the surface.  Under he went, twice more, before we finally
stopped.

"Enough," he gasped, his laughter echoing through the gym. "Uncle,
uncle."

Weakly, I treaded water in front of him, still laughing.  "Uncle," I
agreed and without thinking, I suddenly did the stupidest, and
smartest, thing I'd ever done in my life.

I pushed the hair from his eyes, cupped his cheek and beamed at him.

Now, this was meant as an innocent gesture.  Pure impulsive affection,
nothing more.  The same sort of impulse that children have to hug each
other after a particularly happy romp or game.  It only took two
seconds and it was over.

It only took one second afterwards to realize what I'd done.

I knew very well that men don't show affection with embraces or gentle
touches.  A good punch in the shoulder, or a hearty back slap is more
likely, the harder the better.  Unless you're dying on a battlefield,
and you'd _better_ be dying, you are out of luck.  Anything else was
completely unacceptable and highly suspect to the worst, and least
innocent, of assumptions.

For a good ten seconds, I stared at him, unable to breathe.

His response?  A flicker of confusion, then bemused understanding. 
With a warm smile, he reached up and ruffled my hair in return. 
Kindly.  Innocently.

I nearly drowned with relief.

He took a short dive under and surfaced by the ladder.  Gracefully
climbed out and grabbed his towel, while I slowly, shakily, made my
way back to the wall.

I heard him speak to me, but didn't look up to see his face.  "See you
tomorrow at work, Mark Spitz.  I have a whole bag of goodies just
waiting for your expert opinion."

"Yeah.  Sure.  No problem," I replied weakly.  "See you tomorrow."

I heard him pad away and when the door finally slammed shut, I allowed
myself to do what I should have done the first day I saw him dive in
over my head.

Let myself sink underneath the water, while smacking myself all the
way down to the pool floor.

==========

I was over most of my mortification by the next morning, but still
felt myself flush bright red when Mulder walked into the lab that
afternoon with his "bag of goodies."

Which consisted of a bloodstained rope, a sample of vomitus and one
human fingernail.

Goodies, indeed.

I took the evidence without blinking.  I'd seen worse, and the
revulsion was always tempered by the fact that a thorough examination
would give us a good chance of saving any future victims from a
similar fate.

He stood for a moment in front of the lab table, looking as if he had
something to say, but was afraid to say it.

I felt myself flush again, but decided to help him out.  "Any special
instructions?" I asked, pointing to the bag.

He quickly shook his head. "Oh, no.  The usual." He hesitated.
"Whatever the _usual_ is."

At that I had to smile.  "Well, first I get my Magic Eight Ball out,"
I said with mock-seriousness.  "And then my divining rod..."

"Har, har."

I glanced up and saw the same bemused, affectionate look he'd bestowed
upon me the evening before.  My face really began to burn, and I
feigned a cough to conceal what I could.  Which wasn't very much.

"Will there be anything else, Agent Mulder?" I asked, as crisply and
professionally as I could.

"No," he replied in the same manner.  Another hesitation.  "Except..."

"Except?"

"Except," he continued slowly.  "Except that Godzilla is invading a
small town in Virginia this evening and I wondered if you'd care to
join me in viewing him.  It's a purely scientific expedition, of
course."

I looked up and peered at him.  Unfortunately, it was a skeptical
look, but this time I didn't have a choice.  "Godzilla?" I asked,
resisting the urge to reach out and check him for a fever.  "_The_
Godzilla?  You know, Mulder..."

He held up his hand and grinned.  "The world's last drive-in theater
is closing next week and it happens to be in a small town not too far
from here.  I was going anyway, and I thought you might get a kick out
of the place.  It's showing all the movies it showed the first week it
opened in, what 1959? '61?"

"Oh. Yeah." I breathed a short sigh of relief.  Okay, he wasn't crazy.
 Or I wasn't crazy.  Whichever.  "Yeah, sure. That sounds like fun."

Looking back, it actually _did_ sound like fun.  I'd heard of
drive-ins, but had never seen one in person and this would probably be
the last chance I'd ever get.

"Great," he beamed.  "I'll stop down here at seven-thirty. First
showing is at nine."

I nodded and he turned to leave with a light step.  Turned back and
smiled.

"And be sure to remind me to stop and get the drinks and popcorn on
the way there.  Or it'll be a real no-frills sort of date."

I laughed.  Weakly.  "Got it."

He shut the door behind him and I sagged back onto my stool, wondering
exactly what he meant and wondering if I wouldn't be quite happy if
he'd meant it in the least innocent way possible.

=======

========



"SWIMMING LESSONS"

by DBKate 2/3

dbkate@yahoo.com

All disclaimers in Part One

=========

Godzilla was onto his fifth carload of train passengers when the sound
went dead.



Mulder grumbled, hit the sound box on the dashboard, turned to me and
shrugged helplessly.  "I guess we know why this place is closing."

I chuckled, then nodded at the looming screen.  "Well, it's not for
lack of good seats."



For a while, we watched the screen in companionable silence.  Traded
sodas and gave each other occasional glances ... mine shy and his
thoughtful.

As if seeing me for the very first time.

I heard the popcorn bag rustle.  "You know, I remember going to
drive-ins in the seventies, with my family.  Some awful Disney dreck
was always on the menu, when what I really wanted to see was "Don't
Look in The Basement."  Couldn't though, because of my sister.  She
was about half my age."

I nodded.  Listening to his voice, which sounded far off ... distant
and soft.

Hypnotic.

Heard him take a sip of soda.  "We'd get to sit up front Sam and I,
fighting over who'd get to sit behind the wheel.  My parents would be
sitting in the back, silent, never even yelling at us as we fought. 
Even when we got louder than the movie itself.  They ... just didn't
seem to notice.  Or care."

I listened to his voice waver, and I watched as the monster took
another lumbering, silent step toward the sea.

"After ... after..."

A stumble.  A near fall, but he struggled onward.

" ... after a while I refused to go anymore.  Until I started dating. 
God, was it that long ago I was dating?  I guess it was."

I nodded sympathetically, and continued to listen.

"It was so great back then.  I hate to say it, it's the worst cliche
in the book, but God it was good.  The car would be filled with this
... this electricity you couldn't quite define.  I was never sure how
far I'd get, or what would happen, but it seemed like anything could
happen."

"The whole thing was amazing.  This warm body in the seat next to you,
willingly trapped in there with you, in this cocoon of leather and
cushions, with warm air blowing over you in the winter, or taking in
that fresh air in the summer, and you'd feel so alone and safe.  The
outside world would literally disappear, and after a while you'd want
them so badly, you'd be ready to promise them anything if they'd just
let you touch them.  Kiss them."

I nodded, my mouth turning slightly dry.  I picked up my soda, but the
cup was empty.

"It wasn't even about fucking them, no, it was all about just being
there with this other person, wrapping yourselves up within them and
wanting them, but at the same being unable to have them.  Only being
able to reach certain spots as you kissed them."

I shifted in my seat, trying like hell to concentrate on the screen,
but Mulder's voice was so soft, so wistful, I could see nothing.

I could only hear him.

"Only being able to slide a hand just so far up their shirt, or
between their legs, touching them through their jeans, kissing each
other the entire time, barely able to come up for air.  You'd be
drowning in kisses and frustration and it would be better than
anything you'd ever dreamed of."

I finally looked away from the screen, but still, I couldn't see much.
Just an outline of his leg ... his hand.

Saw five slim, beautiful fingers, brushing lightly against the leather.

"It would get so hot in there and, the windows would fog and steam and
you'd feel even safer, more daring.  You still couldn't get anywhere,
but you'd both be wild by then, almost coming in your pants, but still
... still you'd be so far off.

I shut my eyes and tried to swallow.  Tried to think of math problems
and gory things.  Tried not to listen, but it was impossible.

Tried to ignore the fingers that had crept onto my leg, brushing
carelessly against the fabric of my pants.

"Sometimes you'd make it to the back seat, or you'd get inventive, and
get your mouth around something besides their lips.  But, you'd miss
them, miss the sweetness, and so it would start all over again."

The hand crept upwards and I turned to face him. Tried to say
something coherent, sensible, but my mouth had turned so dry, I
couldn't speak.	It was ... impossible.  Impossible to do anything but
stare into those bright eyes and do exactly what I'd wanted to do,
probably from the very beginning.

Which was lean in toward him, turn my mouth up to his and make my
offer.

He took it without hesitation.

The first kiss was sweet and slow and addicting, his tongue just
barely brushing mine, with tiny nips of his teeth along my lower lip.

I moaned into his mouth and tried to pull him closer.

Heard the creak of leather and felt him fumble with the armrest,
shoving it back as to get closer.  His arms tightened around me, his
tongue went deeper, and I felt the heat go straight down my spine.	

A moment later, we were making out, frantic and frustrated, like
teenagers on a first date.	There wasn't enough of him exposed and I
wanted more.  More of his lips, his neck ... everything. I wanted him
naked and splayed out before me, like a banquet, but all I could get
to were his edges, those tiny tastes of him that only made me hungrier.

He was breathing hard, coming up for air, kissing my cheeks and
eyelids, nipping my lips and chin before going back for another kiss. 
His hands started roving and my cock leapt when I felt him rake my
chest through my shirt.  A thumbnail against my nipple, warm fingers
at my waistband, and his tongue was refusing to be still.

We bumped noses and chins and teeth without even caring.  My ankle hit
the dashboard twice and I know he must have whacked his head on
something, but I heard no complaint.  I was harder and hotter than I'd
been in a very long time. When I reached down between his legs, just
for a quick stroke upwards, his desperate moan was almost enough to
send me straight over the edge.

It was like dying.

And it made me feel more alive than I had in a very long time.

A few more kisses, and suddenly, the car became very dark.  Much to
our surprise, the movie had ended.  I glanced at the dashboard clock
and was shocked to discover that we'd been at it for nearly forty
minutes.

It had felt like two.

Gasping for air, I pulled away, and tried to regain some semblance of
composure.  Glanced at Mulder and wondered if I looked anywhere near
as beautifully rumpled.  He was all swollen lips and mussed hair, with
a damp trail along his cheeks and neck, one side of which was showing
the unmistakable beginnings of a hickey.  His shirt was wrinkled and
hiked up over his pants, which were doing nothing to hide the obvious
state he was still in.

I turned away quickly if only to avoid ambushing him again.

"Well..." he said slowly. Still breathless.

"Well..." I replied.  Still a doof.

"Godzilla, is... over," he said, pointing at the black screen.

I nodded.  "Yeah, it's... over."

He patted his jacket for the car keys.  "Guess, we should go before,
um..."

"Yes.  Before, uh..." I agreed.

Mulder began to feel around for the car keys on the seat.  Heard him
make a frustrated noise and watched as he bent over to search the car
floor.  "Damn it."

I glanced down to help him search, and finally, I saw them. In my lap.
 Felt myself blush as I picked them up and handed them to him.  They
were still warm.

"Thanks," he muttered and when he put them in the ignition, I felt a
sudden terror that the car wouldn't start.  That we'd be stuck there
overnight, in that tiny car, just me and him and then we'd...

The engine turned over on the first try.

And, for some reason, I was bitterly disappointed.

As we circled out of the theater and onto the highway, he glanced over
at me.  Shyly.  Curiously, as if gauging my mood.  "Great way to watch
a movie, huh?"

I nodded.  Somewhat desperately.  "Yeah.  It was an... experience, all
right."

"Yeah, it was," he replied quietly and those were the last words
either one of us spoke for the entire ride back.  He dropped me off at
home and gave me a tight smile and a small wave as I got out.

I returned them in kind.  Neither one of us saying a word.

He waited until I was inside before leaving, and I stumbled past the
kitchen, straight into the bedroom where I threw myself down, face
first, into the bed.  Fought the urge to yell into the pillow, tried
to fight the urge to jerk myself off until I saw stars, but in the
end, I failed on both counts.

And it wasn't until three hours, five muffled screams and two orgasms
later that I finally drifted into the worst, least satisfying, sleep
I'd ever known.

========

The next morning I trudged into Bureau Headquarters like a man heading
toward his own execution, wishing that the Hong Kong Chicken flu could
be self-administered and I could take a legitimate two weeks off.

I walked into the lab, heart pounding, not knowing exactly what I'd
been expecting, what I'd been dreading, but in reality, nothing had
changed.  There was my desk, behind it hung my lab coat, my in-box was
full of work and I was alone.  There were no small notes from Mulder,
no E-mails, no voice mail messages... nothing.

The fear disappeared, and the disappointment nearly choked me.

How pathetic.  There I was, terrified that my life had turned upside
down overnight, when it was obvious that nothing would ever change.  I
was a lone idiot, doomed to remain that way as I winced and stuttered
my way through life.  Alone.

The thought of it nearly pissed me off enough to hurl my Dexter coffee
cup against a nearby wall, but, as always, I thought better of it.

How pathetic.

I began to work, gloomily making my way through various files and
slides and pointedly ignoring my co-workers who were already taking
snide bets if I'd gotten another brush off from Agent Scully at some
point the night before.

Little did they know that the _real_ story was even better.


Burying myself in my work helped the time pass, and it was way past
the quitting hour when I finally got up and allowed myself a good
stretch.  Wandered over to the window, stuffed my hands in my pockets
and shrugged at my own reflection.  It was stupid, insane even, to be
angry or disappointed in Mulder for not bouncing down to see me after
a midnight grope at a drive-in showing of "Godzilla" for Christ's sake.

I mean, what exactly had I been expecting?  A whirlwind courtship, a
proposal and two gay pride parades later we'd be naming our first kid?

The thought of everlasting love springing from something so ridiculous
made me laugh in spite of it all, and I'd just made up my mind to stop
moping and pack up for the night when I heard a soft voice behind me.

"Hey."

I whirled around, with my heart feeling like it was going to pound
right out of my chest.  It was Mulder and he looked...

Awful.  As if he'd been run over by something much larger and much,
much meaner.  He was bruised, badly on his left temple and a trickle
of blood from a split lower lip was just starting to dry on his
T-shirt.  A ripped leather jacket and mud-covered jeans completed his
miserable ensemble.

At first, all I could do was gape at him.  Shocked.  "What happened?"
I asked immediately retreating into my rarely used "special-agent"
mode.  I ran a quick hand over his arms, feeling for swelling or
broken bones.  "Do you need medical attention?"

He shook his head.  Laughed weakly.  "No, no.  It looks a lot worse
than it is.  I just danced with the wrong side of a perp's SUV, that's
all."

"In that case, you should be in the emergency room," I insisted, but
he shook his head.

"No.  This is the emergency room I need right now," he said
imploringly.  He handed me a test tube filled with what appeared to be
blood.  "I need this analyzed.  Now.  Please.  It's important, more
important than I can explain."

I hesitated, but one look at his face convinced me to relent.  "All
right," I said, going behind my desk and pulling out a fresh tray and
slide kit.  "But after this is done, I'm taking a look at those
bruises.  No arguments."

He nodded.  Smiled, albeit painfully.  "No arguments."

An hour later, the world's fastest blood analysis was complete.  I
handed him the results and the paperwork he needed take it to the next
step which was the more complex DNA testing, something the Sci-Crime
lab was not equipped to handle.

I grabbed his arm and before he could even start to protest, he was
dragged into the supply room and forced to sit.  I scuttled through
the overcrowded shelves and grabbed some alcohol and sterile gauze,
cotton swabs and a case of Band-Aids.  Dropped half of my armload onto
the floor, ignored Mulder's soft laugh, and started to look him over.

In college I'd been a volunteer paramedic with dreams of medical
school, but was lucky enough to have a much wiser professor steer me
in a less stressful, more rewarding direction.  But, I still knew
enough about treating minor lacerations and bruises to be of some use.

I was just in the middle of examining his eyes for signs of head
trauma, when I felt the back of his fingers lightly brush against my
cheek.  Then it was just the tips, circling past my chin, trembling as
they explored.

I felt my body tense, and if there was ever a speed record for
heartbeats per minute, I certainly would have shattered it.  "We
probably shouldn't," I gasped miserably as he traced the outline of my
lips with his thumb .  "I mean right here or, I mean..."

He shook his head, his expression a beautiful mixture of exhaustion,
bemusement, sadness and desire.  "No, we probably shouldn't," he
replied, before leaning in and brushing his lips against mine.  He
pulled back, contemplated the terror and yearning that I knew must
have been radiating from me and simply smiled.  "But I can't resist."

So, there it was.  He couldn't resist.

And who was I to argue?

At first, I tried to be very gentle, mindful of his bruises and
scrapes, but he wasn't having any of it.  Soon, I was tasting the
slight copper sting of blood, mingling with his kisses, ones I
remembered very clearly from the night before.  I made sure he didn't
hit his head this time, keeping my fingers entwined in his hair as I
kissed him, shielding him from the shelves and walls that were
suddenly too many and too close.

He whispered my name again and again, a soft mantra against my lips.

I could hardly stand, but refused to let myself fall. I let him hold
me up and we swayed together.  I babbled mindlessly between kisses;
asked him if he knew what he was doing to me, how insane he was
driving me, how much I wanted him and he answered with more kisses and
the occasional harsh caress, but no words.

A few minutes later I began to get the deranged idea of falling to my
knees and trying an amateurish attempt at taking him right there in
the storage area, but his arms refused to loosen their grip around my
waist.  He was reading my mind, the smart bastard, and my frustration
began to reach intense, unprecedented levels.

I wanted him, I couldn't have him, and I was going to lose either my
sanity or my job or both if I didn't have him soon.  Then my life
would be destroyed, I'd be reduced to drink, and become an even more
pathetic excuse for a human being than the one I was already shaping
up to be.	Not only that, but I was probably going to ruin my best pair
of pants right then and there, just adding to all the rest of my
multiplying humiliations.

But, before all this could happen, Mulder pulled away.  Like I said, I
think he can read minds.  "Shhh," he whispered.  Kissed me again, very
softly, and held me against him,  rocking me gently.  "I know, I know.
 But not here.  It can be so much better if we take our time somewhere
else.  Safer too."

I cursed softly under my breath, but I had to agree.  F.B.I.
Headquarters wasn't exactly the most discreet place to carry on an
affair. In fact, it was a stupid enough of an idea to get us both
booted out.  For good.

I pulled away and nodded. Desperately hoping he saw the disappointment
and frustration in my eyes.

He did.  "Tomorrow," he whispered.  He rose and leaned down to kiss my
cheek.  "Tomorrow."

Yeah, tomorrow.  The sun will come out tomorrow, bet your bottom
dollar tomorrow, there'll be sun.  Jesus, I never hated that word as
much as I did at that moment.  But, I kept my dismay in check.  I
*was* an adult after all.

Wasn't I?

"Tomorrow," I agreed.  With a sigh, I picked up a Band-Aid, opened it
and carefully placed it over one of his knuckle lacerations. 
Considered it for a moment, and then brought it to my lips for a soft
kiss.

Looked up to see him beam at me.  With something wonderful shining in
his eyes.

Received another gentle kiss, and he was gone.  I stared for a moment
at the gray walls, wondering if they could talk, exactly what they
would say, but I forced those thoughts from my mind.  He'd promised me
tomorrow.  No more, no less, but still...

He'd promised me tomorrow.

========

The next day, our tomorrow, came and went without any sign of him.

I hadn't expected anything that morning, still felt confident by late
that afternoon, started to wonder a little bit by seven p.m., and
became utterly miserable at the exact stroke of midnight, that dark
moment when our tomorrow had officially ended.

I can't remember ever feeling so bad.  There was a dizzy sense of rage
and frustration, bordered on by tears for most of the hours following
midnight.  I'd been stood up and wonder of wonders, this time I was
actually surprised by it.  I drove home on empty roads, not seeing a
blessed thing, but somehow, I arrived in one piece.

Turned on the TV and clicked the remote blindly, watching everything
and nothing at once.

I didn't sleep, couldn't think... I just _was._  The hours ticked by
so slowly I wondered if I hadn't dreamed the entire scenario up, from
Edwards' insults on down, but the ache in my heart would flare every
few moments and I'd have to force the miserable reality down once again.

The dawn that rose that morning was the most heartbroken one I'd known
in a long time.

So, numb from lack of sleep, numb from rejection, I decided to follow
my father's old advice.

"When lost, go back to the beginning."

My dad always gave us good advice and even though he hadn't lived long
enough to see us grow up, I think that wherever he was he knew that
he'd done the best he could.

I slowly got up and gathered my briefcase.  I hadn't gotten undressed
from the previous day of work, so I just grabbed a clean shirt and a
razor, deciding that I really didn't give a shit how I looked on that
particular day.  Saw my swim trunks still hanging from the dry rack,
and thought for a moment before deciding  to take them with me as well.

A swim would probably wake me up. The pool had showers and I could
shave there.

And the chlorine might just be a good enough of an explanation for the
redness in my eyes.

Besides, it was a Saturday.  A lot of agents worked six days a week,
so my presence wouldn't be commented on as unusual.  Maybe I could get
away with a story about a late night and a few too many along the way.
Maybe.

When I arrived, I went straight to the empty gym.  It wasn't that I
gave a crap about anything that morning, but I found the barrenness of
it comforting nonetheless.  I changed, grabbed a towel and went
poolside.  Dove in without hesitation and swam effortlessly, not
looking back.

I did lap after lap, not caring, just letting the water rush over me
and wash away my sadness.  It was a little bit like flying, and my
stroke was stronger than it had ever been.  I'd finished nearly seven
laps before I finally became breathless, a new record.  Grasped the
wall blindly and pulled myself to a stop.

Opened my eyes, only to be greeted by a pair of shoes.  Blinking, I
followed the shoes up to a set of slim legs, a torso and then a
familiar face.

It was Mulder.  Looking like he'd been straight to hell and back.

"Nice form there, Bri," he whispered.

A huge lump formed in my throat at the sight of him.  He looked worse
than he had the night he'd stumbled into my lab after his close
encounter with that SUV.  I blinked, took a deep breath, but still
found it impossible to speak.

He crouched down and his gaze was fixed somewhere past me.  "It
appears that I have," he began hoarsely, "a really skewed sense of
perspective.  When I'm feeling good, feeling lucky, I sort of figure
I'd be able to take down a few perps, a few conspiracies and still get
home in time for a much happier reality.  That's my real tragedy, you
know.  My eternal optimism."

With a sigh, he pulled out his cell phone, or the mangled metal and
wires that constituted what was left of his cell phone and held it up.
 "I tried to call," he said.  "I did.  But, it was D.U.T."

"D.U.T.?" I asked, feeling my anger and disappointment melt.  I don't
why or how, but it did and deep in my heart, I was glad for it.

"Dead Under the Tire," he said miserably.  "It went downhill from
there."

I nodded, and we simply stared at one another for a long moment, each
one trying to read the other's eyes.  His were filled with lost hope,
a certainty that he'd fucked up again, and tired resignation.

He rose stiffly and gave me a tight smile.  "I'm serious though.  Your
stroke has improved.  It's as good as any I've seen."

"Well," I said quietly.  "I have a great Coach.  If it wasn't for him,
I'd still be foundering around, feeling like a fool every minute."  I
peered up at him.  Imploringly.  "And if he'd be willing to stick
around, even if just for today, I think that would make me very happy."

His eyes went wide.  Disbelieving.  "Are you sure?" he breathed.

"Yeah, I'm sure.  At least I think I'm sure," I replied with a shrug.
And a smile.  "I mean, I probably shouldn't, but you know the saying."

"No," he said.  "What saying?"

"Sometimes, you just can't resist," I said, and dove under the water. 
Surfaced by the ladder and pulled myself out.  I grabbed a towel, took
a quick look around and walked over to Mulder.  Took his hand and
squeezed it gently.

"I'll be by my car in ten minutes," I whispered, enjoying the
incredulous look on his face.  "It's Saturday, and I think I need a
day off.  How about you?"

He nodded.  Somewhat dazed.  "I definitely need a day off."

"Good," I replied crisply.  "See you in ten."  I shot him a warning
glance.  "And I mean ten."

Received a tiny grin.  A happy one.  "Yes, Coach.  In ten."

===========
The drive back to my apartment took the usual twenty minutes.

Mine and Mulder's trip from the car to my apartment took less than
two.  I dragged him in after me, heart pounding.  Kissed him in the
elevator, just once.  Kissed him behind the apartment door after
shutting it, maybe more than once.

Pulled him by the hand into the bathroom, turned on the shower and
helped him undress, throwing his tattered and ripped clothing to the
floor.  Guided him into the shower with trembling hands.  Somehow got
undressed as well, and followed.

The spray was perfect -- steaming hot and strong.  Forced myself to go
slow at first, with tiny kisses along his neck and shoulders.  Grabbed
the soap, and gently washed some of the traces of dirt and blood that
still dotted his face.  Kissed him again, harder, our bodies skin to
skin, growing dizzy as I did so.  Heard him moan into my mouth, felt
his arousal against my thigh, and I did exactly what I'd wanted to do
in that supply room.

Which was slide down his smooth body, take him into my mouth and
swallow him whole.

I heard a short, sharp draw of breath, a low protest, but it was only
a moment before he gave in.  Only another moment before I tasted his
orgasm, hot and wonderful sliding down my throat.  I drew away,
carefully...with a very odd and arousing sense of pride.

A feeling of joy.

Mulder knelt and I watched the water bead, then trickle down from his
forehead, over his cheeks and lips.  He took me into his arms, and my
mouth beneath his. Kissed me deeply, exploring... tasting, and I felt
his hand close over me, slick with water and soap.  Gasped as he slid
his fingers along me, wonderfully tight, moving fast, his teeth still
nipping at my lips and chin.

I think I lasted about ten seconds longer than he did.

Afterwards, I leaned against him, breathing hard.  Shivered as the hot
water started to run out, and he rose, a bit shakily, extending a hand
to me, helping me get up and out of the stall.  We took turns drying
each other off, and I got my first good look at him.  He was...

Perfect.  Bruises and cuts and gun wounds not withstanding.

For a brief second I was torn between embarrassment over my own not
exactly perfect physique, and an overwhelming pride that I'd won, for
the first time in my life, something so incredible.  Something so rare
and beautiful.  Both inside and out.

Desire flushed through me once again, but I could see that he was
exhausted.  It had been a hell of a night for him and the one thing
that he really needed was sleep.  I led him into the bedroom, turned
down the covers and he was in and dozing before I even had a chance to
crawl in beside him.  Kissed him gently before pulling the blankets
over us both and curled up against him, with my back against his
stomach and his arm around my waist.  His warmth was intoxicating,
better than drugs, and before I knew it, I was out cold.

Out cold and having wonderful, floating dreams.

It was hours later when I finally awoke to a nuzzling, nibbling
sensation along the back of my neck.  A wandering hand was stroking my
thigh, then tentatively grazing along my stomach and backside.  I bit
my lip and shut my eyes tightly, trying to force myself to relax and
enjoy it, but when the hand reached between my legs and began to
explore, caressing wantonly, it was all over.

I rolled over and pounced, surprising him.  Kissed him greedily and
greatly enjoyed the sleepy taste of him.  Heard him chuckle softly as
I explored the parts I'd missed the previous times, but the laughter
soon turned into different sorts of sounds as I took a nipple between
my teeth and worried it gently, shimmied down his body to nip a thigh,
scooted up again to lick the inside of his elbow.  He was long and
tall and beautiful and I was going to enjoy every inch that separated
us.

I'd just finished with an earlobe and was about to move to his kneecap
when I felt myself being flipped over by a very tall, very aroused
Mulder.

"Enough," he growled against my cheek.  "Your turn."

"Yes sir," I replied, with a tiny smile.  He *was* the senior agent
after all.

His movements were more deliberate, slower, and I realized that I
could probably have learned a thing or two from him, if my brain would
have stopped melting at any point along the way.  But, no such luck. 
In about two minutes I was a gasping, begging shell of a rational
human being, pleading with him to stop, but to hurry while he was
stopping and to please, please, please not let me go.

He ignored me, thank the lord, and continued along his studied path as
I thrashed and cried out beneath him.  He seemed much more interested
in the parts of me that were being a bit more eloquent, like my cock,
which was rock hard and starting to drip.  Felt his tongue flick the
wetness away and I don't remember very much after that except his
eyes, which were watching me continuously as he swallowed me down whole.

They were bright and shining with an emotion that I didn't have the
necessary time or will to contemplate because I was coming very, very
hard.  Saw stars, I think, or my retinas simply rebelled as they were
deprived of blood along with any other unnecessary parts of my
anatomy.  Shut my eyes and enjoyed the warm, floating feeling that
enveloped me, so much like the relaxing comfort I'd been taking in our
swimming lessons for the weeks prior.

I recovered slowly, and opened my eyes to tender kisses along my
bottom lip.  Saw those same very bright, very beautiful eyes peer into
mine, simply watching.  The happiness I felt at the sight of them was
ridiculous in its scope, breathtaking and terrifying in its magnitude.
 I was the happiest idiot who'd ever been born and boy, would I run
all the way to Mexico howling with fear if only I had the strength to
get up and find what was left of my brain.  And my heart.

The Tin Man, the Lion and that damned Scarecrow had it easy, let me
tell you.

But Mulder didn't seem to notice.  He was busy contemplating my hair,
commenting on all the colors he could see in individual strands, and
asking me about a tiny scar on my knuckle, one received in a manner
that was long forgotten.  Kissed me a few times more, in a scattered
pattern, in any place I believe he felt needed or wanted to be kissed.

He didn't miss a single one.

I returned the kisses languidly, then turned him over and made love to
him again, making sure I was taking my time.  Making it last. 
Learning my lessons.

When we were finally done, both of us sticky and sated, we fell
asleep, entwined with his legs wrapped tightly around mine, and his
body curled warmly against my back.  We slept late into the next
morning, not moving from that position.

Mulder rose first.  I could feel him carefully disentangle himself and
heard him pad to the bathroom.  Didn't open my eyes, not really
wanting to see the sun just yet, but I finally turned around when I
felt his hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently.

He was already dressed and my mouth went dry at the sight.

"I'm due back downtown to help book my perp," he said softly.  "I
really have to go."

I nodded.  Coughed, tried to find my voice and nodded again, wishing
there actually was a rule book or lesson manual for this sort of
thing.  What the hell was I supposed to say?  Thanks for the great
day, see ya at work, and oh, by the way, I'm so insane about you now,
would you mind very much if I just followed you around like a sick
puppy for the rest of my life?  You'll hardly notice that I'm there. 
Honest.  I mean, nobody else ever does.

But, I just nodded tightly and tried like hell not to let the
desperation show.  Not too badly anyway.  Tried hard not to be too
pathetic.

However, as always, he surprised me.  "Tonight," he whispered, bending
down to kiss my forehead.  "Tonight, if you'd like to join me,  I have
something I'd like to show you."

Still filled with fear, nearly crippled with doubts, I nodded again.
"What?"I asked. Hoping against hope.

Felt him nibble on my ear and I shivered at the touch.  "The
backstroke," he whispered.  "I think you're ready for it.  And then
you can practice again later with me.  After dinner. I have a
waterbed, you know."

Heard his soft laugh, and I gaped at him as he rose to leave.  He
quickly kissed me again, and I lay back too stunned to move.

The backstroke.  He was going to teach me the backstroke.  God, how
much I had learned, how much he'd taught me already, I thought dizzily.

And with any luck, there would be so much more.

Finis