TITLE: Different AUTHOR: Eral C CATEGORY: Scully POV, MSR, Fluff DISCLAIMER: I wish they were mine but they're not. In my mind, they belong to Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny with a little help from Chris Carter, 1013 and FOX. SUMMARY: Early morning Scullythoughts. SPOILERS: Slight mentions for Irresistible, Paper Hearts, The End, The Unnatural but not really spoilers as such. Anyway, if you haven't seen those eps by now you probably live under a rock and therefore won't be reading fanfic. FEEDBACK: Yup, all feedback is lovingly fed, watered and joyfully answered. eral_c@hotmail.com Different by Eral C. We're both awake yet we're both pretending that we're sleeping. How typical of us, of our relationship, of our apparent inability to communicate with mere words like most people do. I let out a sigh and his arm tightens around my waist, his fingers lightly tickling my bare stomach. Finally, he speaks, "Go back to sleep. It's early." "I need to go home, get changed." "You meant what you said last night though? That this is different." I feel a lump in my throat at his hesitant tone and I'm saddened by it, ashamed that somehow I have led him to question the things I told him just hours earlier, the declarations I made. "I meant every word. I'm sorry if I made you doubt that." "You didn't. Not really. I knew. Just wanted to be sure, I guess." He loosens his hold on my body but I still feel the grip he has on my heart, the grip he has had on my heart for a long time now. I climb out of bed and pick up my clothes, looking back over my shoulder at him, his bare back smooth in the early light and his eyes fluttering shut. Leaning down, I place a hand on his shoulder and whisper, "Sleep. I'll see you at work." **************************************************************** I drive home thinking of him, of me, of us. Not the us of yesterday or last week but the us of today, of tomorrow, of forever. Last night wasn't the first time we had slept together but it was the first time we had made love. We have had sex before but usually under desperate, miserable circumstances, a desperate yearning for intimacy, for release. Last night was different. Suddenly, it wasn't just sex anymore, it was so much more, I looked into his eyes throughout and I realised that this was what I wanted, that *he* was what I wanted, what I needed, and not on a casual, unspoken basis. Each time before, we have taken what we needed, expressed ourselves with few or no words and each woken alone as the sun crept through the blinds. This time we weren't alone. The first time was a long time ago, after he had arrived just as I was wrestling for my life with Donnie Pfaster, the first time I had really admitted to him -and possibly to myself- how much a case had shaken me. He drove me home and when he asked if I wanted him to come in for awhile, I did my usual and insisted that I was *fine*. I *was* fine...for about two hours, when I finally gave in to the shadows invading my empty bedroom and called him, stopping just short of begging him to come over. I can't remember exactly how the hug turned from comfort to something else entirely but suddenly he was in my bed and I wanted him so much that it hurt. When I woke up, he was gone and we showed up at work three hours later as if nothing had ever happened. I'm home now and I throw off yesterday's clothes, tossing them into a pile before heading slowly towards the shower, strangely reluctant to rid myself of his scent. I turn on the water and stand underneath, closing my eyes and remembering how it had ended up happening again. I left him in the office after the paper hearts case, told him to get some sleep and hoped he heard the unspoken "call me if you need me" as I ran my fingers quickly through his hair. He apparently did. When he called at midnight, I didn't even bother with "hello", I simply answered the phone with "come over if you need to", I knew who it was. That time it wasn't a case of comfort turning into something else, we both knew what we needed without either one of us saying a word. He kissed me and I took him by the hand and led him silently to the bedroom. Again, I woke up alone. I look through my closet and pull out the wine coloured suit. I hardly ever divert from black these days but I feel like something brighter is appropriate for today, something to mark the way I feel without being as obvious as a T-shirt emblazoned with 'I made love to my partner last night!', tempting though that is. Looking back, the third time we slept together was, I think, what drove me into my black suit phase. It was the night our office was burnt out and our lives ripped out from under us. I drove him home and we didn't speak a word all the way, he just leaned against the window and stared at nothing. I touched his arm and it barely even registered, he was completely numb, not even passing comment as I got out of the car and followed him into his apartment. I watched him slump down onto the couch, terrified that this was it, this was the final straw, that I would lose him and the x files and then what would I do? I tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet my gaze and saw nothing, absolutely nothing -a blank look that shook me to my core. I didn't know what else to do so I slid into his lap and kissed him hard, forcing my tongue into his mouth and grinding my hips against his, desperately praying for a reaction. It took him a few seconds to respond but then something seemed to fall into place and he ripped my shirt off and flipped me over, so that I was underneath him. It was quick, angry, rough and he kept his face pressed into the side of my neck as he pounded me into the leather of the couch, never seeing the tears that streamed down my cheeks. That time I left him to wake up alone. I have serious butterflies in my stomach as I drive towards the office, yet I'm smiling -no, grinning- and I can't seem to stop. I may as well be wearing that T-shirt after all, it couldn't be much more obvious. As I pull into a parking space, I sit taking deep breaths, trying to get a grip on these feelings that are making me feel seventeen again. I walk down the hallway and I can see the light coming from under the door, telling me he's here already. I wonder for a second if he's feeling at all like I am or if he is his usual calm self. Swinging open the door, I see him sitting at his desk, his glasses on and a file in his hand. He looks up and the sweetest smile I've ever seen spreads across his face, "Morning, Scully." "Morning, Mulder." I sit down opposite him and, for a moment, we say nothing, we just sit and grin at each other like two fools. Finally, I know I'm blushing under the intensity of his gaze and I look away. He reaches over and takes my hand, stroking my fingers, my knuckles. "You know Scully...I think you might need another lesson or two. I'm not entirely sure you *really* knew what you were doing last night." "Hmmm, you could be right, Mulder. You don't mind giving me a little extra coaching?" "As long as I get the same treatment after every lesson as I got last night..." "Oh, I think that can be arranged." Oh, did I mention that Mulder and I played baseball last night? Hmmm, I know all about baseball now. It's all about the hips, and the hands and so much more than slapping a piece of horse hide with a stick...oh yeah, so much more. END Go on, admit it, you thought it was another post-all things story, right? Had you big time .