Spoilers: Milagro (if some of the lines seem a bit familiar, it's 'cause the writers stole 'em from me...just kidding!) Rating: NC17 Mulder held her close to him, not caring as the blood on her shirt seeped into his. Unable to rest, her frightened hands clawed his back, still ready to fight or flee. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, sobs welled up in her throat. Scully wept unreservedly, openly, allowing all her emotions to flow. She could do nothing but cling to him, cling to the silent comfort he so willingly gave as the stream of tears threatened to sweep her away. He pulled her gently to her feet, and, unable to support herself, she leaned all her weight into his strong arms. He half led, half carried her to his couch, and sat down with her still in his embrace. "Shh, shh, it's okay, Scully," he whispered tenderly, "I'm here." She nodded into his chest, and another sob escaped her. She tried to halt the river of tears, but they only surged forth with renewed devotion. His capable arms encircled her protectively, wrapping her in strengthening solace. He breathed softly into her ear, "I'll never let anything happen to you, I promise." Again she nodded into the soft material of his shirt. She finally met his eyes, and saw in them a depth of compassion and pain that made her own heart ache. "How can one person feel such empathy towards another?" she wondered. Then his lips were brushing her forehead, and the sensation took her breath away. For one eternal moment, she felt safer than she ever had. He lay his head down upon the cool softness of her hair, breathing in the faintest hint of honey shampoo. He rocked her back and forth, calming her as he would a frightened child. "Scully," he murmured into the velvety smoothness of her hair, "I'm going to call and have Padgett picked up. After everything we've seen, they ought to have no trouble locking him up." The protective circle around her tiny form lost an arm as he dialed the Bureau with his one free hand. He spoke to the dispatcher, giving her the address of his apartment building. He kept the call short, knowing that Scully needed all the attention he could give. Death, he knew, always upset her. After her father had passed away, Mulder had greeted her with a gentle hug every morning. Following her kidnapping my Duane Barry and later Donnie Pfaster, she had been almost inconsolable until he soothed her teas with a kiss on the cheek. His touch and his words always helped her more than any counseling ever could. Her skin missed him as he broke their embrace. She leaned against him, tilting her head to look up into those mahogany orbs that reminded her of the cocker spaniel she'd had growing up. He stared into her eyes, into her, and said in a voice both commanding and compassionate, "We need to get you cleaned up." Her legs were weak, and she could hardly stand. She circled her arms around his neck and laid her head upon his shoulder. He lifted her easily from the floor-she seemed light as a feather-and with very little effort carried her into the bathroom. The muscles in his arms relaxed, and she slid along his body to the floor; her skin thrilling at the contact. She sat weakly on the toilet lid. Mulder let the water run in the sink until it was pleasantly warm, and then took a clean washcloth from the shelf above the basin. He stared into her eyes as he washed the blood from her face; those eyes kept her sane. He wiped the last red smear from her ivory cheek, and noticed a fugitive tear running like liquid shimmer down her face. He brushed it away softly with his thumb, and she smiled every so slightly. The blood on her shirt caught his attention. "Scully, um, are you gonna" he said awkwardly, growing slightly red in the face as he gestured to the buttons on her stained blouse. As close as the two of them were sometimes, he didn't want to violate her personal space. She kept her eyes cast down, avoiding his face as her own burned in embarrassment. She dropped the bloody fabric onto the tile floor and eyed it with disdain; maybe she should just burn it, burn the memory of that man, of his hands inside her flesh, the feel of his powerful hands pulling at her heart...She shivered reflexively, for the thought made her flesh crawl. He kept his eyes dutifully trained on the blood on her chest, not letting them wander to the lace-trimmed black bra and the milky flesh beneath. Not that he didn't want to starebut in her fragile emotional state, it wouldn't be the best idea. Through the fabric of the towel he could feel her heart beating, and it seemed to race beneath his hands. As the last of the sanguine fluid swirled down the drain, she looked at him and said shakily, "Can I spend the night here? I don't want to be alone." These words were the first she had spoken since "The Stranger" had plunged his icy hands into her chest. She shuddered again, and this time Mulder put his arms around her. Her skin felt cold and it broke out in goose-flesh. "Of course. You didn't need to ask. I'll take the couch." "No, that's okay. I've slept on that couch so many times that it's like my own bed." She stood, her legs a little stronger than before, but still to weak to support her. Mulder was at her side in an instant. "I'll get you one of my shirts," he told her. He led her to his worn-out sofa, dusted off a few sunflower seeds (the ones that always escaped his dust-buster), and went to scour his closet for a clean shirt. The phone by his bed began to ring, and he picked it up with a "hello" he so rarely got to use. "Agent Mulder," said a husky voice on the other end of the line. "Padgett is dead. We found his body in the basement of your building..." The voice trailed off, as if the speaker was confused. Mulder heard a deep breath being drawn before the other person continued. "His heart...it was torn out of his chest, but there are no incisions or lacerations, just like the others...only he was holding it himself, like he'd ripped out his own heart. Creepy." "Yeah, we run into a lot of 'creepy' stiff in our line of work," Mulder said dryly. "Hey, uh, did you ever watch 'Star Trek' as a kid?" asked the officer. Mulder held back an indignant scoff. Real aliens were nothing like those portrayed on the small screen, and they hardly ever spoke English. "I'm familiar with the basic concept, but I never became a Trekkie, no." "Well, you know Scottie and those transporter things? It looked to me like his hear was beamed straight out of his chest." "Uh, okay...I guess that could be one explanation. Listen, I'm going to be unavailable until tomorrow; I think I need a good night's rest. My partner's a little shaken up, so she'll be turning in early, too. If anything new comes up, call me in the morning. Good night." "Live long and prosper," said the Trekkie, and Mulder heard the blissful click as the man hung up. He sighed. "Jeez, if any of those guys ever say a real alien, the asylum would need a lot more straight jackets." He rose from the bed, going to his closet to resume the hunt for an unstained shirt. By the time he returned with the garment in hand, she was already fast asleep. He smiled down at her; she looked so peaceful, so lovely, like a sleeping angel. As though wrapping a Christmas gift, he slipped the shirt onto her bare shoulders, buttoned it up, and lay a blanket over her. He tucked it carefully around the curves of her body, making sure that no part of her would be cold that night. She smiled in her sleep as he kissed her cheek. "Good night, Scully," he said softly. "Sweet dreams." x x x x x x x x x x Something in the dark pulled Scully awake. Drifting in the pleasant haze of semi-consciousness, she rose from her temporary bed. As her senses awakened, she realized she was standing in the middle of somewhere foreign yet familiar: Mulder's living room. A strange feeling came over her just then, one she had had many times before, but never this strongly. Silent as a cat, she strolled the familiar path to Mulder's room. She eased the door open; it creaked all too loudly, yet he didn't stir. She gazed at him admiringly. The light from the moon danced in his hair, making it glow with a celestial glory. Indecision shaking her fragile confidence, she paused in the doorway. She drew deep breaths into her lungs and trembled with the erratic quiver of her confused heart. Doubt assailed her mind, casting shadows on decisions once thought to be solid. Before fright could make her flee, rebellious certainty forced her within. She smiled, but not knowing she smiled, and stepped closer, one foot after the other. "Breath," she ordered herself. "Just breathe." Now she stood so close she could have touched him, but she didn't. Every emotion within her grew, waves of doubt eroding the chalk cliffs of her heart. As the feelings of uncertainty gained strength, so too did the faceless masses telling her to go to him, free herself from her own gates of restraint. She moved in restless crescents around the bed, waiting for a decision to come to her. Scully slipped in beside him under the satiny sheets. Mulder awoke instantly at the presence of another person in his bed. He knew at once that Scully was beside him, so he did nothing. He kept his eyes closed, trying to fall back asleep. "She just needs to be close to someone right now," he thought sleepily. She swallowed thickly, and an annoying voice inside her kept repeating, "Get out. Run before you get hurt." But louder and more insistent came the words, "Love him." "Mulder," she whispered into the cloak of darkness. The moonlight glowed heaven-white on his muscular torso. In this illumination he looked like a Greek god born out of marble, living stone too perfect to tarnish with her caress; nevertheless, she was struck by the urge. A shaky hand reached to touch his shoulder. Her fingers shook in the air for a moment, trembling almost uncontrollably. But then it steadied and rested upon the warm coolness of his skin. When he did not move, she leaned her head onto his chest. "I know you can't hear me now," she said softly, her voice choked with tears, "and I think it's best that way. I would never be able to say this to you if you were awake. Even asleep it's hard, but I have to do it. I can't keep it to myself anymore." She swallowed thickly past the lump in her throat, tight with unshed tears, tears that had dwelt in her heart for far too long. A few of the droplets leaked out and spilled onto his chest, and she wiped them away with a touch of her hand. Unbeknownst to her, his skin tingled at her touch. "I-I love you, Mulder. I always have." She jumped as Mulder's arm came up around her, hugging her body close. Surprised and delighted, she looked up into his face and saw him smiling. The glow of the moon danced with the tears in his eyes as he stared back at her. A frightened yet determined breath stilled in her throat. She could not breathe, but she liked it. Scully clenched her hands together tightly beneath the sheets, willing herself not to run. She could see a response forming within him, and her whole body stood motionless, trapped in the fa�ade of calm before the cyclone. His reply didn't manifest in words; rather, her lips were greeted by the soft touch of his. This single kiss, given in utter silence and utter truth, communicated more than words ever could, and she felt herself melting into him. Scully sighed into his mouth, hardly daring to believe that this wasn't some marvelous dream. A strange feeling of warmth washed over her and nestled itself deep into her heart, setting her skin ablaze with pleasure. Her blood sang in her veins. Her mind grew hazy, calm, filled with rapture at this seductive gesture. Though not wanting to, she broke the sweet ecstasy of the kiss. Her liquid-sapphire eyes scanned his face from temples to chin, as though she wanted to memorize every inch of it. His chestnut eyes peered joyfully out from beneath eyebrows arched in smiling curves. Deep within the chocolate swirls of his eyes surged more emotions than could be named, perhaps some for which names didn't exist. She could fall into those eyes forever, and she wanted to. Then his lips were on hers again, this time more hungry than before. His tongue darted into her open mouth to duel with her own. Hands free at last to do what they wished pulled her close, pressing their bodies together, merging them into one. His soft lips drifted to her cheek, to her neck, to her ear. He nipped affectionately at the lobe, then soothed the sensual sting by suckling on the flesh for a moment. The words were so inadequate, so trivial, yet they cried out to be said: "I love you, too." She wasn't quite sure if he had uttered them aloud or merely felt them, but the message struck her middle C of consciousness square and resonant. Then his teeth pulled softly at the skin of her neck, and again the wonderful feeling of anonymous euphoria washed over her. One hand ran up her spine to tangle in her hair; the pinpricks of pain sent sparks of electricity all the way down to her toes. The other affectionately pushed her lower body into his. Mulder's boxers now felt uncomfortably tight and his sudden erection pressed into her stomach, making her legs turn jelly with pleasure. His wandering fingers left trails of cold fire, and she craved more of his touch. One arm supported her back, lowering her down onto the soft mattress. He looked down longingly at her, like a traveler returning home at last. Mulder couldn't believe how beautiful she looked in the moonlight. A goddess, an angel, a celestial being who had stolen his heart. She was divine, enchanting. Fatally, stunningly irresistible. Hair the color of morning's fire, skin like ivory, eyes that sparkled with the brilliance of a thousand oceans. He half expected her to vanish before him, to return to the gilded cloud from which she had come. Mulder was happy, for the first time in his life, and yet terrified that this marvelous creature would sprout wings and fly off. Perhaps this was love: fear, joy, completion, and a voice whispering in his ear, "You are right where you are meant to be." His hands lightly caressed her long legs; her nerves tingled in pleasure. Slowly, sensuously, his deft fingers unbutton her shirt, his shirt, revealing again her lacey black bra. This time he let his eyes travel where they wished, hungrily taking in every inch of her skin. Her stomach was flat and toned, with just the faintest hints of toned muscularity above the waistline of her pants. He could see the outlines of her ribs clearly in the moonlight. He traced a path up from her bellybutton, setting every sense to glowing as heat pooled between her legs. The muscles in her stomach jumped and skittered under his hands. His gaze fell upon her breasts, concealed in the delicate raven material. Practiced fingers made short work of the front clasp, and he let the cups fall away from the supple flesh. She sat up for a moment so that he could slip the shirt and bra off onto the floor, then returned to her recumbent position. Her nipples tightened, and she felt her cheeks grow warm under the weight of his stare. "Dana, you are so beautiful," he sighed. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, uncertain, before he took one nipple firmly in his grasp and massaged it for a moment. Her heart thumped within her chest, and she felt certain that he could feel her pulse. He took each nipple into his mouth, teasing the tips with his tongue. She gasped in delight, fisting her hands briefly in his hair before stroking the smooth strands with her fingertips. Then Mulder's kisses traveled up her chest, along her collarbone, up her throat. His lips tenderly trailed along her jawline, before again beginning their descent along her body. He undid the button on her pants, sliding them slowly down her legs and onto the floor. Fingers lightly stroked her skin, and she let out a moan as he touched a particularly sensitive spot behind her knee. His lips followed the same path, before finally encountering the barrier of her panties, made of that same black lace. Again he hesitated, unsure, timid. "Go ahead," she coaxed gently. >Ache, pang, prick, twinge. How ironic the Victorian vocabulary of behavioral pathology now so perfectly described the palpitations of her own desire.< Mulder kissed her stomach, then let his mouth slide down to her hip. His teeth brushed against the bone, and she crooned encouragement to him. He nipped at the flesh there, and slid down the gossamer garment, letting it join the growing pile of clothing on the floor. He lowered his face to the nest of curls, placing an open-mouthed kiss on her center. She lay before him, naked, exposed, but still longing. The satiny sheets had long since been pushed to the foot of the bed as he sought to uncover the curves of her body. Even as the chill of the night had seeped into her skin, she had felt herself become warm-no, ablaze-with arousal. The scent of sex filled his nostrils, and his boxers now barely contained his erection. "Mulder" she gasped. He moved to stare directly down into her hungry eyes. His need, his longing, were reflected back upon him in their depths. He was overcome by one urge: to love her until the morning birds sang their sweet hymns. He pushed an errant strand of titian hair behind her ear and kissed her powerfully on the lips. Scully embraced him and kissed him back, unreserved. Free. "Make love to me, Mulder," she whispered, running her hands along his chest and caressing the firm muscles before pulling his neck down, her mouth melting with his in another passionate kiss. Her touch was a benediction. Quickly he slid down his boxers, allowing his erection to spring free. Scully spread her legs wide and welcoming, and he entered her with slow precision, not wanting to hurt her tiny form. Inch by sinful inch he entered, until he was buried to the hilt. She gasped at the feel of him inside her, so incredible. "Oh, Mulder," she moaned, unable to utter anything else. A slow tear glided down her cheek and onto the pillow. He looked into her eyes, concerned "Am I hurting you? Should I stop?" "Oh, oh God, no. Don't stop...this feels...oh, this feels wonderful," she said, her voice sultry as her body writhed in unspeakable ecstasy. He kissed her again and began a slow pumping motion. He put all his weight onto his elbows, gaining a more favorable perch. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, driving him in deep. Scully met each thrust with her own counterthrust. Her breathing became fast, stressed, and she barely managed to contain her moans of pleasure. His body began to move of its own volition, and their forms moved in perfect symphony. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and his mind centered on one thought and one thought alone: to please her as she had never been pleased before. He plunged himself into her again and again, watching her reactions to each thrust. Deep within her burning eyes, he saw a new spark, and knew she was close. A weighty groan confirmed this, and he doubled his efforts. His muscles burned as he moved harder and faster than before. "Oh, Mulder, I think I'm going to..." "Let it go, Scully. Come for me," he gasped, wanting nothing more than to bring her to orgasm. "MUL-DER!" she cried as the pressure within her was released. Her walls vibrated around him, and he felt himself overcome with ecstasy. Her orgasm tipped him over the edge and he came inside her with a cry of joy. She gasped as his warmth spread within her, and then her body when still, quiet. He kissed her tiredly on the forehead, brushing away a few clumps of sweaty hair. His pulse gradually faded to its normal rhythm, and he felt a tiny bit of strength return to his body. He pulled the blankets up around them and snuggled in close to her, feeling their clammy bodies stick together. She put her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and the gentle wind of his breath. The rise and fall of his chest was like the rocking of her childhood cradle; the motion soothed her into a state of relaxation beyond anything she could consciously recall. His arms formed a protective circle around her, and she let herself be swept away by the feeling of love within her heart. Still, she didn't want to fall asleep. She didn't want to wake up alone on the couch, wake up to the realization that this night had been yet another sweet fantasy. As though he sensed this, Mulder whispered into her ear, "Let the Sandman come, Scully, I'll be here when you wake up." She nodded into his chest. As she drifted off into the comfortable haze of slumber, she heard him say softly, "Can I dream about you?" "Yes," she answered. "As long as I can dream about you."
