Title:          Revenge
Author:         Lovesfox
E-mail:         Lovesfox@rogers.com  (Feed me, please)
Web site:       http://www.geocities.com/kim_djd/index.html
Rating:         NC-17 (violence, consensual M/S sex and strong 
                language)
Category:       Implied UST then MSR, Angst, Story/X-File
Classification: XRA
Spoilers:       Not really, but up to mid-S7
Archive:        As long as my name and everything stays attached
Summary:        An old case of Mulder's resurfaces seeking revenge

Disclaimer:     Alas, not mine.  They belong to Chris Carter and 
                1013 Productions

Dedication:     To true friendship, through thick and thin. 
                Thanks,T.

Warning:        This story contains some scenes of violence, a 
                rape attempt, implied character death, references 
                to incest, and graphic sex.




Revenge Part 20 of 29
by Lovesfox



Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Thursday
3:20 am

Sounds slipped through his unconsciousness, dragging him from his 
peaceful sleep.

Mulder's eyes popped open, and he blinked rapidly in the moonlit 
room, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what had awoken him this 
time.  The last time had been because Scully was not there.  He had 
found her of course, in the kitchen.  Oh boy had he found her.  He 
imagined he could still taste chocolate, strawberries and Scully on 
his tongue.

His question was answered before he could move, by a low moan coming 
from Scully.  He turned on his side to face her, going up on his 
elbow, already knowing what he would see.

She was in the throes of a nightmare, her head thrashing weakly on 
her pillow, one hand flailing at the air, the other fisted tightly 
and clutched to her throat.  She moaned again, and then said in a 
voice that quavered, sounding so unlike her that he winced, 

"Please...no...don't."

Obviously this nightmare was a lot stronger, or more frightening, 
then the one she had experienced the night before.  During that one, 
she had only mumbled and moaned for a few minutes, without waking. 
It had been over almost as soon as it had started, for he had been 
awake at the time.  She had not even mentioned it in the morning, 
and he was sure she did not even remember it.

Her head stilled on the pillow, facing him now, and he could see the 
tears leaking from her closed lids.  His heart twisted, and though 
he wanted to gather her in his arms, he did not touch her, afraid he 
would only deepen her fear within the nightmare.  "Scully," he 
called softly.  "Scully, it's me, you're okay.  You're home and 
you're safe."

Scully's only reaction was to begin tossing about, her legs kicking 
the covers free, and both arms now flailing in the air.  She was 
panting and gasping, the tears still flowing.

He tried again, speaking a little louder this time.  "Scully, it's 
Mulder.  You're safe, everything is all right."  

Forgetting his intention not to touch her until she had woken up, he 
reached out and gently grasped the wrist of the arm closest to him, 
stopping it from its thrashing motion in the air.

Screaming, "Don't touch me!" she exploded into violence, her other 
hand, fisted again, swinging in his direction, her body twisting and 
turning as if she were trying to escape, legs getting in on the 
action as well, now that they were unencumbered by blankets.  

The fist connected soundly with his chest, drawing a pained and 
surprised, "Oof!" from his lips, and one of her legs somehow caught 
him on the shin.  He let go of her captured wrist and she 
immediately scrambled up the bed to huddle against the headboard, 
arms hugging her legs to her chest.

Mulder eased into a sitting position, still on his side of the bed, 
and giving her lots of clearance space if she should move again.  
His heart was pounding, the adrenalin flowing through his body.  
"Sc..." his mouth was dry, and he swallowed thickly before trying 
again.  "Scully?"

Her eyes popped open, darting around the darkened room, and he 
could hear her harsh breathing.  He moved slowly and carefully, 
keeping his eyes on her face, leaning over to reach for the lamp on 
his side of the bed.  He turned it on, and straightened, watching 
as she blinked a few times at the introduction of the low light.  

A moment later her head turned towards him and it seemed like her 
eyes focused, and she saw him. Then her shoulders slumped slightly 
and she croaked out, "Mulder?"

"Yeah, baby, it's me," he said softly, and her face crumpled.  

Seconds later she was in his arms, which closed tightly around her, 
crying into his chest.  He rocked her much as he had earlier on the 
couch, feeling the trembles running through her body, and rubbed her 
tee shirt clad back in easy, slow strokes.   It was his tee shirt 
again, it seemed that they had become her favorite nightwear.

His own back was starting to ache, so he gently eased them down 
onto the bed.  This put him on his side with her facing him and 
still cradled in his arms.  Her crying had ceased, the occasional 
sniffle or sigh all that remained.  He continued to rub her back, 
his hand slipping into her hair every once in a while to wind 
through the tangled strands.

A muffled, "Damn it," reached his ears, and he pulled back to try 
and see her face.  

When he moved, she did as well, rolling onto her back, effectively 
forcing his arms from around her, although one remained draped over 
her belly. Then one of her hands came up to wipe her cheeks and 
eyes, hiding her face from his view.

"What is it?" he asked softly, and lifted his hand from her stomach 
to gently pull her hand away from her face.  He squeezed the hand he 
held, and felt slightly better when she returned the squeeze.  He 
lowered their clasped hands and rested them high on her belly, and 
studied her face.  

Her skin was red and blotchy, her eyes puffy from her crying jag, 
and she looked pissed off at the same time.  

It made him want to smile despite his concern for her, but he 
controlled the urge, afraid she would take it the wrong way.

"I hate...I hate this!" she muttered, only briefly meeting his eyes 
before focusing hers on some point above his shoulder.  "I hate that 
he can do this to me, can make me...can make me so scared!"  Her 
voice rose on the end, and then she bit her lip, as if holding more 
words back.

'He' had to be Elliot Andercott, this particular nightmare brought 
on by seeing his face on the television, but Mulder did not mention 
him.  

"Hey," he said softly, releasing her hand to lift his so that he 
could stroke her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes flicked to his and 
then skittered away again. "It's only natural to have nightmares 
about what happened to you.  It was a very traumatic and frightening 
experience, and you still really haven't dealt with it fully."  He 
had an instant to wish he could call those last words back, knowing 
she probably wasn't ready to or didn't want to hear them, but it 
was too late.

"What do you mean I haven't dealt with it?" she demanded, and this 
time there was a hint of anger in her tone.  "I told you what 
happened, and about my dreams, didn't I?"

He could feel the tension in her entire body, and she radiated 
that anger and discomfort as well.  Yet she did not try and pull 
away from him, for which he was thankful.  He hoped that despite 
how she was feeling, she was still managing to draw some measure of 
comfort from both his presence and their contact.  

"Some, yes," he conceded.  "But I think you need to talk about it 
more, and maybe not to me just yet.  Keeping it all bottled up 
inside like this isn't healthy.  You need to let it all out and I 
think this appointment with Karen Kossoff gives you the perfect 
opportunity.  As well there's the fact that she's impartial, and 
she won't react like I do, which is probably exactly what you 
need."

"Hmmm," was her only reply, and he was unsure as to whether it 
meant she agreed with him, or was trying not to tell him to go to 
hell. 

She then she rolled onto her side, presenting him with her back.

Apparently the conversation was over.

Mulder sighed quietly and rolled onto his back to stretch his arm 
out and turn off the lamp before rolling back onto his side to 
spoon loosely around her body.  She did not protest, so he settled 
his hand on her hip and lowered his head onto his pillow.  "Good 
night, Scully," he whispered.  "Love you."

Again she made no move to get away from him, but nor did she try 
to move closer.  She wiggled slightly to get more comfortable, 
exhaled loudly, and finally murmured back, "Love you, too Mulder."  

He wasn't quite sure what to make of the tone he heard in her 
voice.  Resentment, or perhaps resignation.

In a few minutes her breathing was slow and even, signifying her 
return to sleep.

He lay there in the dark for a very long time, listening to her 
breathe.  Eventually his eyes grew heavy and he let them close.

If she had any more nightmares that night, they did not disturb 
his slumber.

***

Thursday
11:00 am

Scully tossed her book aside with disgust, hearing the small thud 
it made as it hit the floor.  Although she was not looking at him 
directly, she was aware of Mulder halting his perusal of the 
latest issue of the Gunmen's paper, which had apparently been 
sitting outside her door this morning along with her usual daily 
paper, and staring at her for a moment.

He made no comment and resumed reading.  Coward, she sneered in 
her head.  She had been hoping he would say something, so she 
could...damn it, what the hell was wrong with her?  Why did she 
want to pick a fight with Mulder? 

With a huff of breath to show her pique, she shoved herself off 
the couch and stalked over to the window to peer outside at the 
street below.  She was unaware that her entire posture radiated 
her discomfit; her shoulders tense, arms crossed tightly over 
her chest, jaw set.

She felt edgy and restless.  Had since she had woken up just 
after seven to an empty bed.  She had heard Mulder in the 
kitchen, and had not wanted to join him.  So she had lain there 
trying to go back to sleep, but her mind had been too busy replaying 
her nightmares of the night before.  The others had not been as 
strong as the first one, when she had woken Mulder up, but they had 
been frightening enough that the remainder of the night had been 
passed in brief nap-like spurts.

Which probably partly accounted for her present mood, she mused.  
As for the rest, it obviously stemmed from her thoughts of yesterday 
evening, about feeling cooped up, and a little overwhelmed by 
Mulder's continued presence.  She loved the man, desperately and 
deeply, but it was difficult to be around for long periods of time.

Like days on end, the nasty voice in her head remarked.  

Scully pushed the thought away, and with a deep, hopefully calming 
breath, tried to get her mind on a more pleasant track.  Yet despite 
her wish to focus on the memory of their midnight snack, on 
strawberries and chocolate and the taste of Mulder, on making love 
with Mulder in her kitchen, she instead flashed back to their 
conversation after her nightmare that had woken them both.  Or, 
more specifically, Mulder's thoughts on the matter of her ordeal 
with Elliot Andercott.

She hadn't dealt with it?  What the hell did he mean by that?  
What more did he want?  She had told him what had happened with 
Elliot.  

Maybe not word for word, or describing every waking moment, but she 
had shared what was necessary.  He didn't need to know every little 
detail, like how the man had been turned on by her struggles as he 
tried to rape her, or that he had watched her shower and dress.  
They were things that would only hurt him, and more than likely 
cause him further guilt, as if he didn't already have a large enough 
burden where that was considered.

And as to her keeping things bottled up, talk about the pot calling 
the kettle black.  Mulder was the King of close-mouthed ness.  She 
was forced to grit her teeth to hold back an expletive as a picture 
of Diana Fowley, a prime example of his failure to share, filled her 
head.  

She was still almost completely in the dark as to Mulder's 
relationship with that woman.  She knew it was terrible to think ill 
of the dead, but she could not help it.  She had never liked Diana, 
nor put much faith in her while she was alive, and bitterly resented 
whatever relationship the woman might have had with Mulder in the 
past now that she was gone.  She still harbored residual resentment 
for the way Mulder had automatically believed Diana and disregarded 
her, the person he had professed on many occasions to be the only 
one he trusted, and her feelings and the information she had 
gathered before the incident at El Rico Air Force Base.

She almost turned around right there and then and demanded that 
Mulder tell her about Diana, as she had wanted to so many times 
before.  But again she held back, not sure if she was ready to hear 
it, or if she was ready to listen to Mulder put her off once again.  
So she remained standing and glaring out the window, the occasional 
page snapping or turning of Mulder's paper the only sounds in the 
room. 

Her mind wandered again, back to earlier in the morning, after she 
had showered and dressed and gone to the kitchen to find that Mulder 
had actually cleaned up the mess they had left after their impromptu 
lovemaking.  

Mulder had seemed to sense she was feeling anti-social, and after 
a brief good morning, had left the room to get showered and dressed 
himself.  While he was busy, she had poured herself a cup of coffee 
from the pot he had brewed and made some toast.  Her plan had been 
to eat while reading the morning paper, but she had been unable to 
locate it.  So she had eaten and sipped her coffee while staring 
into space, waiting for Mulder to finish and tell her where he had 
hidden the paper.  

It had to have been him; the daily delivery of her paper was 
precise and without fail, always at her door by 5 am.  She was 
also certain he had hidden it because it there was an article or 
articles about Elliot Andercott, his natural instinct to protect 
her in the forefront yet again.  

She had been correct on both counts.  Once she had confronted him, 
fresh from the shower and smelling unbelievably sexy, the pleasure 
from which she had derived pushed firmly from her mind, he had 
sighed and retrieved the paper from under the couch where he had 
stashed it.  Elliot had not been in the headlines, but there had 
been a rather prominent picture with accompanying article on the 
third page.

She had been aware of Mulder, hovering at the door to the kitchen, 
while she had forced herself to read the paper calmly and show no 
outward sign of reaction.  After a few minutes of this, he had 
sighed and left, presumably to get dressed, for when he had 
returned about ten minutes later, he was clad in jeans and a 
sweatshirt.  

The chair had scraped noisily as he pulled it away from the table 
and then he was sitting across from her, watching with steady 
regard as she scanned the last few pages of the paper.

She had lingered deliberately, Scully could admit now, knowing it 
would irk him to no end.  Which it had, for when she had finally 
raised her head to meet his gaze, he had been tight-lipped and close 
to glaring.  

He had started without preamble, discussing what he thought they 
should do if they were to encounter Elliot Andercott.  To her ears 
it sounded like he was trying to wrap her in cotton and play the 
hero, while she was sure to his ears he sounded perfectly rational 
and logical.

She had mentioned the fact that he seemed to be disregarding the 
fact that she was fully capable of taking care of herself and he had 
had the nerve to say that she hadn't been able to a few weeks ago.  

It had been a very low blow, and left her steaming.  He was lucky 
she had cleared the table, or he would have been sporting a bruise 
from her coffee cup.  

She had declared quite hotly that it had been an unexpected attack, 
and the man had used chloroform, and that she would now be on alert 
for any similar situations.  

He had conceded that point, barely, and still argued that he did not 
want her to confront the man if she were to encounter him.  He had 
then added that of course he would be with her 24 hours a day, and 
that it would be unlikely that Elliot would get past him to get to 
her.  She had known any further words from her would have been ugly 
ones, so she had merely nodded her agreement and left the kitchen.

Scully forced herself to relax her shoulders, which had gone tense 
as she replayed the morning, and decided she desperately needed some 
air.  Turning around, she saw that Mulder was watching her again, 
his face a blank, but frustration and sadness apparent in his eyes.  

She sighed, a tiny bit of her anger dissipating, and said, "I'm 
going to go for a walk.  Would you like to join me?"  

As if he would have let her go without attempting to go with her, 
or follow her at the very least.

She could see by the look on his face he did not want them to go 
outside, but her own look was equally determined.  

He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and replied, "Yes, I would."  

She watched as he rose from the couch in a graceful, panther-like 
movement and leaned down to pick his gun up from the coffee table.  
He tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, making sure his 
sweatshirt hid it from casual observers, and went to get his boots.  

She joined him at the door, slipped into her running shoes and 
grabbed a light jacket.  

He did the same and after locking the door securely behind them, 
they made their way outside to take a walk.

***

12:15 pm

Mulder trailed slightly behind Scully as they walked up the front 
path to her apartment building.  He could see that she was no longer 
tense as she had been before their walk, when she had seemed ready 
to jump down his throat.  Her gait was no longer a stomp, but more 
her natural, easy stride, her arms swinging loosely, shoulders 
relaxed.  She was still very quiet though, having spoken no more 
then ten words during the entire walk through her neighborhood, and 
most of those had been monosyllabic replies to questions he had 
posed.

He sighed quietly to himself, hating that he had not been able to 
shake her out of this mood she had been in since she had risen out 
of bed.  He had been a little put out himself earlier, but had 
managed to push the feeling aside, not wanting to be at odds with 
her when they had to be together out of necessity.  He didn't mean 
that he didn't want to be there with her, now that they had finally 
admitted their love for each other; it was the only place he wanted 
to be now.  

It was just he could not, would not leave her alone, nor let her go 
anywhere without him either, even though they both probably needed 
some space, some time apart.

Scully had seemed so... He tried to find a better word, one that 
was not quite as harsh, and failed.  He continued his thought.  
Scully had seemed so bitchy this morning; he had found himself 
glancing surreptitiously at the calendar on the wall over the 
table.  

He was fairly certain Scully was unaware he charted her monthly 
cycles, because she would probably kick his ass if she did, telling 
him he was a sexist pig in the process.  It had taken a moment, but 
he had figured out it was not that time of the month, and the reason 
for her bitchiness had to be due to something else entirely.

Things had clicked more into place as she had read the article on 
Elliot Andercott that had been in the newspaper.  The one he had 
hidden under the sofa, hoping she wouldn't miss it.  It had been 
a foolish hope, for he had watched these past mornings as without 
fail, Scully read the entire paper while enjoying a leisurely cup 
of coffee.  

Her face had gone pale as she read, paler than it had been when 
she had first gotten up, and her lips had been tight, even as he 
knew she was pretending everything was fine.  She had taken her 
time reading the remainder of the paper, stalling deliberately, 
an obvious 
attempt to avoid a discussion they had both put off for far too 
long.  

He had let it anger him, and he knew his words about how they 
should deal with Elliot Andercott if he showed up had come out 
wrong.  

Scully had responded with spirit at first, and then had surprised 
him by agreeing with him before leaving the room.  He had left her 
alone after that, staying close but not underfoot.

And had been enormously relieved when she had asked him to join her 
for a walk, even if her invitation had been lacking somewhat in 
sincerity.   

It had been almost painfully apparent she would have preferred to 
go alone, but Scully was too wise to jeopardize herself that way.  
At least it had saved him from having to insist on accompanying 
her, there was no way in hell he would have let her go without him.

Mulder shook his head slightly, pushing his thoughts aside, and let 
himself lag a bit further behind her as they neared her apartment 
door.  

His eyes naturally fell to her ass, to where it was beautifully 
encased in yet another pair of faded jeans, swaying enticingly from 
side to side.  He decided that her jeans were his next favorite 
Scully-wear, his most favorite being when she wore absolutely 
nothing at all.

He felt eyes on him, and glanced up to see Scully looking over her 
shoulder at him as she unlocked her door.  She had caught him in the 
act of staring at her ass.  He tried a sheepish smile, shrugging his 
shoulders a little in an 'aw, shucks' manner, but Scully did not 
react, other than to turn back to finish her task.  

She pushed the door open and walked in, and he stepped lively to get 
inside just in case she decided to slam the door on him while he was 
still in the hallway.

She didn't though, and when he stepped over the threshold, her hand 
was suddenly in the collar of his jacket, yanking him in.  

The door did slam shut then, but he was on the right side of it. The 
next thing he knew his back was thudding against its hard wood 
surface, all the air rushing out of his lungs with the impact.  

Scully's body was pressing into his before he could draw his next 
breath, both hands now gripping his collar, her face inches from 
his.  He had a second to ponder that she had to be standing up on 
her tiptoes and then her lips were on his.

Her tongue stabbed inside his mouth, aggressive and hungry, and just 
as he was about to suck on her tongue in reaction, her mouth left 
his and slid along his jaw to his ear.  She bit his lobe with 
surprising force, and he grunted, feeling a surge of lust go 
straight to his groin.  She spoke, and her breath was hot, her words 
almost panted.  

"Did you like what you saw?" she asked, and punctuated her question 
with another stab of her tongue, this time directly in his ear.

He was instantly and immediately hard.  His hands, which had been 
dangling uselessly at his sides, lifted to grasp her hips and haul 
her lower body more firmly into his.  "I liked very much," he said, 
and thrust his own hips upward, pushing his hardness into her soft 
lower belly.

She moaned, her hands leaving his jacket to slide down his chest, 
pushing at his arms so that his hands fell again to his sides.  
She also dropped down from her toes, her lips and teeth worrying his 
Adam's apple. She shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it somewhere 
behind them, and then her busy fingers were plucking at the buttons 
of his jeans.  Not even waiting to shove them at least partway down, 
one hand burrowed inside his now open fly and brushed aside his 
boxer-briefs, grasping his erection firmly, squeezing rhythmically.

"Scuh..." He grunted an approximation of her name and thrust again, 
hands coming up to wind into her hair and lift her head.  He mashed 
his lips down on hers and angled his head to deepen the kiss, his 
tongue now the aggressor, swooping inside, running over her teeth 
and gums, the roof of her mouth.

She squeezed his cock once more and then her hands left his jeans.  

He moaned his disappointment into her mouth and then became aware of 
her movements.  

She was struggling to get her own jeans off, one elbow poking him in 
his gut in her haste.  

He released her lips and untangled his hands from her hair to help 
her push her jeans off her hips, yanking her panties down with them. 

"Shoes," she gasped, and jiggled a little as she toed her runners 
off.  

They finally managed to get her jeans and panties down to her 
ankles, and with two kicks of her legs they were off.  His hands 
went to the hem of her turtleneck, a gray ribbed one that molded to 
her figure, to shove it up to give him access to her breasts, while 
her hands had returned to the waistband of his jeans and were 
pushing them and his underwear down.  

She stopped when they hit his thighs, arching her back and hissing 
his name, for his fingers had nimbly unhooked her bra and his lips 
had descended to suck on one hard nipple. 

Arching her back also thrust her lower body against his, and she 
ground herself into him.  Mulder could feel her wetness, and his 
cock twitched in response.  They moved at the same time, his mouth 
releasing her nipple and his hands going to her hips and lifting her 
upwards, Scully raising one leg to hook around his.  His cock jabbed 
at her entrance, but he was not centered properly.  

Grunting in frustration, he spun them around until her back was 
against the door, propping her up with one muscled thigh, and moved 
his hands to cup her behind, tilting her pelvis up and towards him.  
She wrapped her legs around his waist, positioning herself perfectly,
and Mulder pushed his cock inside, sheathing himself to the hilt.  

They both moaned at the contact and began to move, thrusting 
eagerly, almost frantically.  Scully's hands were around his 
shoulders, her mouth was at his neck, and over the sounds of his 
harsh breaths, he could feel her lips moving against his skin, hear 
her mumbling.  

"Love you, God so much, sorry for being a bitch, oh that feels so 
good, Mulder, love you."

The words went straight to his heart, and his groin, and he began 
to thrust harder, his hands kneading her ass.  His own face was in 
her hair, and he managed to get his lips next to her ear.  

"Don't be sorry...I understand."  He had to stop for a second as 
her inner muscles gripped him like a vice in reaction to his words.  
"I know...you like your privacy...and I'm not the easiest...person 
to live with.  I just...I can't...I won't let him...hurt you ever 
again."  He paused again, his mouth opening wide in a rictus of 
pleasure as she gripped him yet again.  "Love you Scully...so much
...scares me how much."

He felt her begin to tremble, and then she was coming, her hips 
bucking, screaming his name in long, drawn out syllables.  He 
could feel her inner walls, clamping down on his cock, milking him, 
and he exploded, his hands tightening so hard on her ass that he 
was sure there would be bruises the next day, his head arching back 
to grunt out, "Scuh-leeeee..." 

A few more jerking thrusts, and then he was slumping into her, 
his forehead resting on hers, their panting breaths mingling 
together.  

Her hands swept down his arms, and she slowly eased the grip of her 
thighs, letting her legs fall weakly to the floor.  He shifted his 
hands from her rear to her hips, not squeezing, just resting them 
there. From his stance above her he was looking down, and he could 
see her sock-clad feet between his much larger, still booted ones, 
and he realized he was still almost fully dressed, with his jeans 
and briefs bunched at his thighs.  They hadn't even gotten his 
jacket off.  

He could not remember ever being so excited to get inside a woman 
before in his life that he had remained dressed while...he decided 
making love was not the correct term for what had just occurred.  
They had fucked each other, plain and simple, and it had been 
fantastic.  He was glad his first time for something this raw and 
primal had been with Scully.

Scully wobbled in his loose grasp, and let out a feminine little 
giggle. "I...wow, that was intense," she said, and he lifted his 
head to see her blushing.  "I've never..."

Her words trailed off, and as he mentally finished her sentence, 
he felt a surge of something like pride at her words.  It had been 
a first for her too.  "Me neither," he said, and was rewarded by a 
blinding smile.  "That was intense," he agreed.  "And incredible."

She nodded, and then ducked her head shyly.  He moved one hand up 
to lift her chin, bringing her eyes back to his.  "What is it?" he 
asked softly.

Her eyes were such a deep shade of blue, he almost thought he 
could drown in them.  They went liquid, filling with tears, and his 
heart stuttered briefly.  Did she regret it; was she ashamed of what 
they had done?  "What?" he asked again, more urgently.

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears and smiled a little 
tremulously.  "I'm so sorry, Mulder, for being such a bitch.  I 
know you just want to protect me..."

He moved his other hand up to her face as well, cupping it between 
his palms, holding her gaze.  "Scully, you don't have to apologize 
for anything, I told you that, and I meant it.  This is a difficult 
situation for both of us, and maybe we should talk some more about 
how we should handle it.  We're both pretty private people, and I 
don't know a whole lot about your past, but my one experience with 
actually living with someone, with actually sharing a home together, 
did not go very well.  There's bound to be some ups and downs, and 
we'll just have to learn how to get by them."

He could feel her whole body relax, and watched her heave out a 
sigh of relief.  He could also see the question in her eyes, about 
who he had shared a home with, but she did not ask it.  It was a 
subject they would have to discuss one day, and even though he 
thought she might be ready to do so, he wasn't just yet.  

Instead, she raised herself on her tiptoes once more and brushed a 
kiss over his lips.  "Thank you," she whispered against them.

"There's nothing to thank me for, Scully," he returned, and dropped 
a kiss on her nose.  "Let's go get cleaned up, huh?" he asked next, 
and she nodded.  He stepped back and saw her eyes go down his body, 
pausing at his groin, then again at his jeans and briefs bunched at 
his thighs, and then finally sliding down to his feet, still shod 
in boots. 
 
She blushed again, and he laughed uproariously.  "Now she's thinking 
about my clothes," he teased, and laughed some more when she smacked 
him on the arm.  

She bent to retrieve her jeans and panties while he pulled his 
own clothes back up, leaving the fly of his jeans undone for now.  
He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it in the closet and then 
kicked off his boots, nudging them out of the way.  He mused to 
himself that she had him pretty well house-trained.  

If it were his place, the boots stayed wherever he took them off, 
and he was lucky if his jacket made it to the arm of his couch 
instead of the floor.

Scully surprised him by slipping her free hand into his, and he 
gave it a squeeze as she tugged him down the hallway towards her 
bedroom.  

He stopped her just before she went into the bathroom, and bent to 
give her a hard but brief kiss on the lips.  "You can be mad at me 
anytime you want, Scully," he told her, and was delighted when she 
blushed yet again.  "As long as we get to make up like that," he 
added, jerking a thumb in the direction of the front door.

"You've got yourself a deal," she responded, and then stuck her 
tongue out impishly.

"Ooohhh," he said.  "Tease." He flicked a finger down her nose 
and continued, "I'll need some recovery time though.  Give me about
...oh, say five minutes?"

"In your dreams!" she retorted with a grin.  "Now, shoo."  She made 
a waving gesture with both hands, indicating she wanted him to leave.

"And your dreams too, I hope!" he called over his shoulder as he 
obeyed her request.  He heard her faint reply of 'always' from 
inside her bedroom, where he shucked his jeans and briefs, laying 
the jeans on the bed and tossing the briefs in the hamper.  His 
stomach growled then, reminding him they had not yet had lunch, and 
he decided to surprise her with his one other specialty.  Pancakes.  
She really hadn't had a proper breakfast, and he loved pancakes 
any time of day, so what the hell.  

That decided, he fished out a pair of boxers and slipped them on, 
dragging a pair of track pants over top before heading to the 
kitchen.  The bathroom door was partially shut and he called out 
as he passed it, "I'll make us some lunch, okay?"

Over the sounds of running water he heard her say, "Sounds great.  
I'll be there shortly."

"No rush," he called back, and whistled his way down the hall.

***

1:00 pm

Scully lifted the hand towel from the corner of the sink and patted 
her face dry before hanging the damp terrycloth on the towel bar 
to the right of the sink.  One last look in the mirror revealed her 
disheveled hair.  She fluffed her fingers through it several times 
before realizing it was just going to get messed again when she 
changed out of her turtleneck into a more comfortable sweatshirt.  

Sans bra, which was currently unhooked and hanging open beneath 
said turtleneck.  She smiled in remembrance of Mulder's busy, agile 
fingers opening it in the blink of an eye.

Turning away from the mirror, she scooped her discarded jeans and 
panties off the floor before heading out of the bathroom, flicking 
the light off as she went, and into her bedroom to change.  The 
panties went into the hamper, and the jeans were tossed onto the 
bed, falling partially on top of Mulder's pair.  She paused in 
mid-swivel, about to retrieve a fresh pair of panties, and admired 
the picture their mingled clothes made lying on her neatly made 
bed.  

There was something so elementally...homey about it.  Suffusing her 
with warmth and happiness, feelings so at odds with her earlier 
behavior and attitude.  

A wave of shame washed over her.  She had been such a bitch.

Scully frowned as she thought the words, knowing they were 
entirely true.  Mechanically she moved over to the bureau, dug 
through her lingerie drawer for a pair of cotton Jockey For Hers 
and slipped them on before searching another drawer for a pair of 
tights.  Her favorite ones, faded and worn, were neatly folded on 
top.  Pulling them on, she mused that she had definitely acted 
like a bitch, taking out her fears and frustrations on the handiest 
target - Mulder.  He had remained amazingly unflappable, although 
there had been signs of his own anger; the tightness of his facial 
features, the slightly harsh tone in his voice.

At least their walk, if it could be called theirs, for she had 
kept herself just ahead of Mulder at all times, striding briskly to 
remain so, had helped her to think, and to unload some of that 
bitchiness.  

She frowned anew as she recalled that she had for all intents and 
purposes, virtually ignored him, responding to his repeated attempts 
at conversation with only the barest of answers.

Scully continued thinking while stripping off her turtleneck and 
bra, putting both into the hamper before opening one of the drawers 
that now belonged to Mulder and taking out his beloved Knicks 
jersey.  She eased it over her head and smoothed the material over 
her hips and rear, smiling a little as she saw that the hem reached 
to mid-thigh on her.  

The smile widened as she recalled how the walk had ended.  Reaching 
her apartment door and starting to unlock it, she had been about to 
ask Mulder if he wanted to order a pizza so they could sit down and 
talk like reasonable adults, looking over her shoulder to do so, 
when she had caught him leering at her ass.  The look in his eyes 
had rapidly turned any lingering feelings of anger into lust, 
shooting straight to her groin.

She had grabbed him the moment he walked into the door, pushing him 
back into it and had her way with him.  A faint blush graced her 
cheeks yet again as she thought about how he had still been fully 
clothed, and she herself had removed only those clothes covering her 
lower half.  She had felt wanton, and wild, desperate for his mouth 
anywhere on her, and for his cock to be buried deep inside her.  

She had never done anything like it before in her life.

God, it had been fantastic.

Her heart was thumping a little faster, her mouth was dry, and she 
could feel the blood pulsing through her veins.  She had never 
realized how deprived her life had been, both emotionally and 
sexually.  It saddened her some to think that it had taken a 
madman's sick plan of revenge for her to see what had been before 
her very eyes, what she had denied to herself for so long.  

With a shaky breath Scully pushed her thoughts aside and decided it 
was time to rejoin Mulder, recalling he had mentioned something 
about making lunch.  At those words, her stomach growled loudly, and 
rubbing it with one hand, she headed to the kitchen to see what 
masterpiece he had created.

Upon entering the kitchen, she saw that he had set the table, with 
placemats and matching cloth napkins, and her pretty china plates.  
The china had been part of her hope chest, or as Bill had often 
teased, her hopeless chest.  Mulder had obviously been digging 
through her cupboards, for they had been on the top shelf of the 
corner cupboard, tucked away out of sight and memory.

Mulder turned from the stove and smiled, his hair adorably tousled, 
a dishtowel slung over one shoulder.  She watched his hazel eyes 
widen as he took in the fact that she wore his jersey, and 
unconsciously took a deep breath when they lingered on her breasts.  

He moved closer to her, and now his eyes were at half-mast, giving 
him a sensual look.  He lifted one hand, his index finger coming out 
to trace the air above the KNICKS emblazoned on the front of the 
shirt.  

"I like how the 'k' and the 's' kind of curve to the sides," he 
said huskily.  "It never looks like that on me."

Good Lord, what that man could do to her with a look or a gesture.  
Her nipples had hardened the moment he brought his hand close to 
her, and when she exhaled the breath she had been holding, it 
sounded loud in her ears.  "Mulder..." she tried to say sternly, 
and was surprised at how husky her voice sounded.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding contrite in the least.  He then 
cleared his throat and straightened to his full height, taking the 
towel from his shoulder to drape over one arm, like a waiter in a 
fancy restaurant.  "If Madam would have a seat, lunch will be 
served," he said next, quite formally.

It still amazed her how quickly he could swing from one persona to 
the next, despite having been witness to it on many occasion over 
their years as partners.  From a man seemingly bent on seduction, 
to a more humorous side, posing as a waiter.  

Scully felt herself relax, and with a smile and a nod, sat in the 
chair he had indicated.  

He moved forward as she did and pushed in her seat.  He next 
removed the napkin from the plate in front of her, snapping it 
in the air theatrically, before placing it delicately on her lap.  
Removing her plate, he turned and went back to the stove.

Scully watched the muscles in his back rippling beneath his 
sweatshirt as he moved, apparently sliding something from the 
deep fryer, the edge of which she could just make out when he 
shifted, to her plate.  

A moment later he was turning, holding her plate up high so she 
could not see its contents, and then he was at her side. He 
presented her plate with a flourish, bowing slightly at the 
waist, and she looked down to see a pancake shaped like a flying 
saucer on its china surface.

Her laughter snorted out, unladylike and loud, and she brought her 
hands up to muffle the sound, her shoulders shaking.  Every time she 
thought she had herself in control, she would see the pancake and 
start anew.  Finally, her cheeks red and tears pooled in her eyes, 
she managed to stop the almost hysterical laughter, the occasional 
giggle escaping.  She was aware of Mulder still standing beside her, 
totally silent, and was suddenly afraid she had offended him with 
her reaction.

She looked up, hiccupping, to see him watching her, the tiniest 
of smiles just creasing his lips and an indefinable light in his 
beautiful eyes.  "Mulder?" she asked, her chest suddenly tight.

"You have the most incredible laugh," he said, his voice low and 
gravelly.  "I don't know what I love more, the sound of it, or how 
it changes your entire face.  Your eyes sparkle, and turn the most 
amazing shade of blue I have ever seen, and you...you just glow."

The pressure within her chest eased, and a soft 'ohhh' sound 
escaped her lips.  

Before she could say anything, he started talking again.  "I lie 
awake sometimes at night, thinking of ways to make you laugh.  I 
would say things, and do things, just to see if I could.  Mostly you 
just smiled, or gave a polite laugh, but every once in a while, I 
would be rewarded by outright laughter.  Laughter that made my 
insides feel like I had swallowed a swarm of butterflies, and that 
made me want to kiss you until you were breathless."

"Is..." she had to stop to swallow, her mouth dry again.  "Is that 
how you feel now?" she asked.

He nodded once, and she was out of her chair in a flash, hands going 
up to his neck to yank his head down, her lips latching onto his.  
She made the kiss as passionate as she could, trying to convey the 
feelings his words had left her with as best she could without words 
of her own.  Her hands wound themselves into his hair, and she could 
feel his hard body all along hers and his hands at her hips, 
squeezing gently.

She finally had to come up for air, and pulled her lips away slowly, 
regretfully, opening her eyes to study his face, seeing his eyes 
open as well.  They smiled at each other, and Scully felt it 
necessary to whisper.  

"Mulder, that was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to 
me."  His smile widened, and she continued, no longer whispering, 
but instead shifting her eyes shyly away from his.  "I always 
thought my laugh was too loud, kind of brassy, and I hated how it 
seemed to draw attention to me.  I felt like people stared at me 
because it was so awful."

"If women stared at you, it was probably because they were jealous 
that you had such a wonderful laugh, and well men, they stare at you 
all the time, and it ain't because of your laugh," Mulder said, and 
she could tell he was being perfectly serious.

"Men don't stare at me!" she exclaimed, slapping at his chest.

The sound he made could only be described as somewhat like a 
donkey's bray.  "Scully..." he said finally, shaking his head.  He 
pushed her towards her seat, and she let herself sink back onto the 
wood of the chair, watching as he continued to shake his head while 
staring at her.  "That's another thing I love about you.  You are so 
totally unaware of the impact you have on members of both the sexes."

At that, she snorted, one eyebrow arching upwards.  "What?  Are 
you crazy?"

He smirked, waggling both his eyebrows up and down and said, 
"Scully, that's a debate for another day.  We are talking about you 
and how beautiful you are."  

He held up a finger then, an indication he would continue in a 
moment, and grabbed the other plate off the table, turning back to 
the stove.  He returned the plate to its spot, laden with a stack of 
pancakes, and then turned again to grab the bottle of maple syrup he 
must have gotten out of her fridge earlier.  He plunked the bottle 
onto the table and then sat down across from her.  With a jut of his 
chin at her own plate, he said, "It's getting cold."

He watched as she buttered her flying saucer pancake, and then 
poured syrup on it, before doing the same to his stack.  He lifted 
his fork and knife in his hands and began to cut into the pancakes, 
and then started where he had left off in the conversation.  "I'm 
lucky sometimes that I don't have to beat the men off of you with a 
baseball bat.  And there have been more than a few times where I 
have seen other ladies checking you out too."

"You have not!" she blustered, hands holding her utensils poised in 
mid-cut, staring at him with her mouth agape.

Mulder looked at her solemnly, although his eyes were twinkling a 
little, and held up his hand like he was swearing on a bible.  
"Scout's honor," he intoned.

"I thought you were an Indian Guide?" she smirked, shaking her 
head.  She was pretty sure he had made all that stuff up to try and 
make her laugh again.  She was aware she was a reasonably attractive 
woman, had caught the occasional admiring glance from someone other 
than Mulder, but definitely not to the extent he spoke of.

"Close enough," he responded with a grin.  Then his face sobered.  
"Scully, I am not kidding.  You are incredibly, amazingly 
beautiful.  And it's refreshing too, because you don't think you 
are, and people stare at you all the time. On cases, in restaurants, 
hell half the agents at the Bureau stop dead in their tracks when 
you pass by.  I've even seen Skinner himself giving you the eye."  

He took a healthy bite of pancakes, chewing enthusiastically, while 
she still stared at him, completely stunned.  He swallowed, and then 
said, "And Scully, your laugh is not brassy, or too loud.  It is 
absolutely perfect."

Her cheeks had gone red as he told her these things, and even redder 
still when he had mentioned their boss.  Skinner checking her out?  
She was both flattered and embarrassed as hell.  How in the world 
was she going to look him in the eye tomorrow when they went to see 
him after her meeting with Karen Kossoff?  

It took a moment for Mulder's last sentence to kick in, and then 
that same 'ohhh' sound left her mouth.  "Mulder, thank you," was all 
she could finally say.  "For what you said and," gesturing at her 
pancake, "for this, for making me laugh, for putting up with me this 
last little while, for everything."

"No thanks are needed, Scully," he returned.  "Ever.  But you're 
welcome, anyway.  Now eat up, you need some food to build up your 
energy."

"My energy?  For what?" she asked, smiling a little foolishly, 
feeling like she was walking on a cloud.

He lifted one eyebrow at her.  "Do you really have to ask, 
Scully?" Mulder replied.

Damn her fair complexion.

She blushed again.

***

end Part 20 of 29