A Familiar Heart
Chapter Twelve


They were half inside the back door when she
snapped out of the miasma of drugged passion. 
Snatching her hand from Mulder's, she drew back
from the light.  "Wait a minute." Hands in fists,
she inwardly lamented the loss of his warmth.  He
looked as though a man desperate - for what, she
didn't know.  But she *did* know one thing: she
was not going to quail under his command, and it
was best he know that from the beginning.  "What
did you say?"

His lips pinched, as if he'd said too much.  His
words had been muffled and terse, and she knew he
was lying when he said, "Scully, we gotta talk."

"About what?" It was a foolish question, and she
knew it.  They had *plenty* to discuss, but there
was time for all that.  Mulder looked like a man
who's legs had been cut out from under him.  He
swayed in the doorway, his face pale in the blare
of the kitchen lights.  She softened her tone,
sensing his anxiety.  "What's wrong?"

Mulder's jaw firmed up, and he shut the kitchen
door with a huff of exasperation.  "We have to
get married," he stated, as if his decision was
carved in granite.

"Get married?"  She felt Mulder's nervousness
pervade her bones, and her legs felt like jelly. 
"You're not serious."

"Of course I am." He ran a shaky hand through his
tousled hair as his feet did a little shuffle on
the scratchy wood of the porch.  "You have to
agree with me, Scully.  You have to."

Okay, something was definitely amiss.  Yes,
they'd just shared one heck of a kiss.  One for
the record books, she had to admit.  He'd felt so
good to her empty arms, like she'd found the
other half of herself once again.  And yes,
they'd had intimate relations with one another
without benefit of any other knowledge of each
other's pasts or futures...

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt.  Mulder
looked at her differently, his gaze traveling
down her chest to her belly.  Gulping, he half-
turned, hunching over.  In the light from the
moon, she could still see his arousal bulge the
front of his pants, and she knew he was trying
his best to maintain control of the situation.

But apparently, this was one situation neither of
them had control over.  Never had, never would.

"Oh."

It was all she could think to say, and Mulder
sighed, closing his eyes.  "Yes, oh."

She bit her lip, but not from dismay.  Actually,
back there in the living room, she'd come to
terms with the possibility of pregnancy.  Though
it wasn't the best thing that could happen to
either of them, it wouldn't be the worst.  She
didn't care anymore.  A baby would be welcome -
to her, anyway.  And from Mulder's reaction to
the realization, he was willing to accept
responsibility and do the right thing.  It was
obvious from his stance he didn't want to push
her into anything; after all, he'd backed down
almost immediately from outright insistence.

"Mulder, it's too early to tell," she pointed out
with an indulgent smile.  "Besides, I don't
expect you to marry me."

"God damn it," he muttered, lost in his own
thoughts.  "I should have thought of this
earlier."

"Mulder, I'm *not* pregnant!"  She lowered her
voice and moved closer, laying a hand on his arm. 
"Listen to me."

He jerked his head around, squinting.  "What do
you mean, you're not pregnant?  You just said it
was too early to tell."

Now she knew what was behind all this anxiety. 
He felt trapped.  It was the oldest trick in the
world, and she pulled her hand away as if burned. 
"We only... did it once, Mulder.  The odds
against pregnancy are tremendous."  Burrowing in
on herself, she turned away, sadness permeating
her.  "I don't expect marriage, even if I am
pregnant.  And I mean it."  She grabbed the door
knob, wanting to get as far away as possible from
the situation - from *him*.  What was just
minutes ago glorious communion had turned
suddenly sour and sordid.  She wanted no part of
it.

But she was halted by a pair of familiar arms,
two trembling limbs encircling her from behind. 
His mouth moved over her hair.  "Scully, wait."

Twisting in his embrace, she tried to get away,
her chest expanding with the too-close feel of
his arms.  God, would it start again?  Please,
no.  This was not a moment for one of her
seizures.  "Let me go, Mulder."

"No!" he whispered fiercely, his arms tightening,
his fingers curling around her hands.  She had no
choice but to keep still or she'd find herself
bruised.  It had been hard enough hiding the
sprained ankle - she didn't need faint smudges on
her wrists.  "It's not what you think."

Taking slow, deep breaths, she forced herself to
calm.  "You don't know what I think."  And he
never would, if she could manage it.  All her
thoughts of a sweet, lasting relationship would
be buried forever.

"You think I'm unhappy about a baby.  I'm not."

His words penetrated, but still she wasn't
convinced.  "I saw your face, Mulder.  That
wasn't happiness.  That was fear.  I'm not about
to trap you into marriage.  Please, let me go." 
Before I break down into tears and give in to the
nausea rising in my throat.

She felt Mulder's heart racing against her back. 
"No, I won't." His shaky words rumbled through
her.  "Not until you listen to me."

Sighing, she knew she had to relent, at least
temporarily.  "Okay."  Hanging her head, she
moved her hands under his sweaty palms; he eased
his hold, but didn't release her fully.  "Talk."

"Will you at least look at me?"

"Don't push your luck."  If she turned, she was
liable to slap him.  He was such an idiot. *She*
was such an idiot for letting herself hope.

"You're right, Scully.  That was fear."  Quickly,
his head dipped to her neck.  "But it wasn't the
kind of fear you think it was."

She snorted.  "Fear is fear, Mulder.  I know it
when I see it."

"No it isn't.  Scully, this was the worse fear
I'd ever known in my life.  I've faced down guns
and men who wouldn't blink twice at carving my
guts up." He paused as if he wanted to apologize
for his crudeness, then he plunged ahead.  "When
I realized I might have made you pregnant, I
wanted to throw you over my shoulder and find the
nearest priest, minister or judge.  I had a way
to hold on to you."

He what?  "Mulder, are you saying you *want* me
to be pregnant?"

"Would I be a horrible person if I said yes?"  At
her attempt to turn in his arms, he held fast. 
"No, listen.  I can't do this if I'm looking at
you."

"A minute ago, you asked me to look at you," she
pointed out.

"That was a minute ago.  This is now.  I have an
awful feeling I'm about to spill my guts to you,
and the carnage will be messy, to say the least."

"Okay," she chuckled, her mind easing slowly. 
"But why in the world would you want this?  You
barely know me.  I hardly know *you*.  This is
not the best way to start..." She trailed off,
realizing they'd already begun on an even more
uneven footing, back in the cabin.

"I don't care.  From the moment I saw you again,
Scully, I wanted you.  You were every shred of
decency I'd lost in Hong Kong.  Everything good
and fine.  You made me feel human again."  He let
go of her wrists, his hands drifting lower to
spread over her abdomen.  She jumped at the touch
with a slight hiss, then relaxed at the gentle
pressure of his fingers.  "This... *this* would
have given you to me, Scully.  And the second I
tried to rush you into a decision, I knew I'd
made a mistake. *That's* what scared me.  That
you would have found a way to say no.  And you
did, didn't you?"

The disappointment in his voice made her chest
ache, and she rushed to say, "Only because I
didn't want to trap you into anything."  At last,
she turned, taking his sorrowful face in her
hands.  His eyes were a portrait of sadness, the
pain at what he thought he could never have,
would never *deserve* etching fine lines in his
brow.  Smoothing away his torment, she whispered,
"We seem to have made a mess of this once again,
haven't we?"

His chapped lips cracked into a slow grin.  "I
never made a mess of anything until I met you."

She smiled in return, seeing his confidence
return by degrees.  "Neither did I.  Some
romance, huh?"

"Think we can do better?"

"Definitely."  She raised on her toes, her mouth
a scant inch from his.

"Dana!"

And she groaned, dropping her hands and her
lustful intentions.  Mulder did the same,
brushing his forehead against hers as he growled,
"Is there any place in this town that *doesn't*
currently have one of your relatives watching our
every move?"

She pulled away, a playful smile gracing her
lips.  "Well... Mom did tell Melissa on the phone
that she and Dad were going to a dinner and a
movie.  I figure we have at least another couple
of hours before they get home."

The light in Mulder's eyes flared to a hot, needy
glow.  At that moment, the kitchen door swung
open.

"C'mon, you two.  Melvin's gonna show us the
mambo.  Then we're going to hit a dance hall."

Scully looked up at Mulder; she saw the same
thought on his face.  Amidst Charlie's surprised,
"Hey!" they ran off the porch and around the
house, hand in hand.

"How many blocks to your house?" Mulder said,
tugging her up the driveway.

"Two," she said breathlessly, slightly limping,
her ankle picking a bad time to act up.  "We can
make it in ten if we walk fast."

In answer, Mulder picked her up in his arms,
ignoring her squeak of protest.  His smile
threatened to turn her into a quivering, clinging
female.  God, she was hopeless.  Not her usual
self at all.

"We can make it in five if I run.  Just point me
in the right direction."

Did she care?  Hell, no.  One arm around his
neck, she turned his chin with the other hand,
wordless in her demand for him to get going.

"Got it," he said.  "Hold on, Scully."

Her laughter echoed down the lamplit street;
Melissa was right after all.  It felt good to be
swept off her feet.

Damned good.


**********


They were both shivering by the time they made it
to the Scully house.  Groaning, he set her down
on the porch and doubled over, gasping for
breath.  He still wasn't in tiptop shape, but he
didn't want her to know.

"I'm okay," he said, shrugging off her concern. 
"I'm just cold."

Scully opened the unlocked door, pulling him into
the dark, warm house.  "You're not.  We should
have gotten our coats."  She moved away, only to 
come back with a throw from the couch, which she
draped across his shoulders.  "You're freezing,
Mulder."

"S-so are you."  Damn.  Another gallant effort
shot to hell.  His legs were trembling, and he
allowed her to guide him to the couch.

"True.  But I wasn't..." She moved away to the
smoldering fire, where she added a couple of
logs.

Her hesitance pricked at his brain.  He hadn't
allowed himself to think much on her sudden
turnabout this morning, cheerfully basking in her
favor like a damned schoolboy smiled upon by his
first crush.  Now, his mind started working.  Why
*had* she come to the station with Charlie? 
Realization made him cringe.

"He told you, didn't he?"

"Who told me what?"  She didn't turn around.

"Charlie, that's who.  He told you the whole
story, didn't he?  About Chang, about me.  How
they had to put me in a straightjacket for two
weeks while I screamed my head off for a fix?
About how I couldn't even tie my God damned
shoelaces for two months without wanting to throw
up?"

"Oh my God," she breathed, facing him at last.

He fell silent, dropping his head.  He'd said too
much.  Her revulsion shimmered in the air between
them, and he couldn't face it.  He should have
known it wasn't his charming personality that
drew her to him at last.

"Yes, Charlie told me," she whispered, tears
choking her voice.  "But I never realized just
how bad it was until now."

Great.  He'd *really* come off looking like a
weak, sympathy-inspiring fool.  And sympathy was
*not* what he wanted from her.  "Forget it.  I
have."  He huddled under the blanket, wishing she
would just leave him alone.  "Go to bed, Scully."

In answer, she walked to the couch, where she sat
next to him, pulling on the blanket.  "Give,
Mulder.  I'm cold."  Her voice had lost its sad
quality; he blinked at her stern statement.  "You
heard me, sailor.  Share the blanket."

Amazed at her resilience, he stared at her,
sitting up so she could pull on the blanket. 
After a few moments of fluffing and tucking, she
had them both enveloped in warmth, her head
resting on his shoulder.  "You can share anything
else with me that you want, you know," she said
softly, her hand curling around his arm.

Tired of fighting, he propped his chin on her
hair, staring into the growing fire.  "I don't
think you wanna hear it," he said softly.  "And I
don't know if I can tell you anything else." 
Please don't make me, he added silently.  I don't
have the strength to re-live it all over again.

"All right," she said, snuggling closer.  Her
warmth began to seep into his cold bones, and he
relaxed, listening to her continue, "Would you
like to hear my story?"

Her halting statement brought to mind Charlie's
warning when he first arrived.  She'd been a POW,
he'd said.  It still tore at him, the way he'd
treated her in Utah.  Coupled with the certain
horrible time she'd spent as a prisoner, he was
humbled by the way she offered her own
experiences as a cathartic balm.  If he was sure
she was just doing it to make him feel better,
he'd absolutely refuse to let her speak.  But
something in her voice spoke of her own need to
release her demons of war, and he found himself
whispering into her hair.

"Only if you really want to tell me."

"I do."

Under the blanket, his hand reached for hers, his
fingers entwining with her small ones to hold on. 
His silent gesture made her sigh, and she began,
"They treated us well at first... the Japanese, I
mean.  We had adequate food and shelter, and the
hospital for the prisoners wasn't that bad.  We
could get supplies fairly easily, and lots of the
soldiers we treated survived."

"Where were you captured?"

"Manila.  It was early in the war, only a couple
of months after Pearl Harbor."

The Philippines.  He closed his eyes, tamping
down his own sadness at the geography of their
combined sadness.  "I remember hearing about it,"
he said, hedging over the location.  "But I
didn't get very much news.  Only what I needed to
know."

Nodding, she said, "The Army retreated to Bataan
and MacArthur declared Manila an open city.  Then
the Japanese moved in and took us away.  It was
no big deal, really.  Like I said, we were
treated well.  Actually, there were a few times I
thought we'd be released in exchange for Japanese
POW's.  Rumors always went around about the
possibility.  After the second or third time, I
stopped getting my hopes up."

"But apparently their kindness didn't last," he
prompted, eager to hear the rest of her story.

"No.  In '43, Konishi moved in to take control of
all the camps.  Until then, they'd been run by
Japanese civilian administrators.  First thing he
did was halve the camp, cutting off the south end
to the prisoners."

"Why would he do that?"

She stiffened a bit at his side, and he knew the
worst was yet to come.  "We didn't really know at
the time, and we didn't ask.  But then, prisoners
started disappearing from the Infirmary.  The
guards always said they'd died overnight - but
these were the least injured men that went
missing.  They couldn't have died."

"Are you sure they weren't traded for other
POW's?"  It was a stupid question, one spoken as
more of a balm than out of curiosity.  She knew
as well as he did that the Japanese were not
famous for their treatment of POW's, nor for
their release, even in an exchange.  The fact
that she and the other nurses had spent years as
prisoners was proof.  That the Nips hung on to
women for so long was telling; no way would they
stoop to trade men who had no value.

Her huff fluttered over his heart, and she raised
her head to look him in the eye.  "Nice try,
Mulder."

She was so beautiful she nearly took his breath
away.  "What?"

"You know as well as I the Japanese weren't so
accommodating."

He brushed the hair from her face with his free
hand.  "No, they weren't," he murmured.  "I was
trying to distract you. Truth is, I don't need to
hear the rest of your story."  He dropped a kiss
to her cheek, which twitched under his lips.

"Maybe I need to tell it," she replied with a
catch in her voice.

He pulled away, serious as he said, "Then tell
me."  He kept his hand on her face, his gaze
steady on hers.

"There was a doctor - Zama.  He was like a ghost,
just fading in and out of the camp.  The guards
started whispering about what he was doing at the
south end.  The other nurses were terrified of
him, but I made it my business to learn Japanese. 
Well, enough so I could understand what was going
on."

Her begging at the cabin came back to him, her
explanation now telling him that the guttural
Japanese words were something she'd mastered in
the camp.  But what she'd said weren't common
words of friendly conversation.

"Douzo" - "Please". Along with others he now
remembered as frantic.  "Iie" - "No".  "Teiryuu"
- "Stop".

Then, when he was moving within her, a change. 
One spoken in English as well as Japanese:

"Hai" - "Yes".

He wanted to beg her now to stop; the way he'd
treated her at the cabin was inexcusable.  But
she kept on, not seeing the way he tried to stop
her with the shake of his head.  Eyes almost
blank now, she had disassociated herself from
what was to come next, and he couldn't make her
snap out of it.

"Scully, I'm sorry -"

"He was taking them, to a building at the south
end of the camp.  At first, you wouldn't hear
anything.  I guess they were careful not to let
anyone hear.  Then, when it looked like the war
was going sour for them, they didn't care
anymore.  They began to starve us... and we began
to hear screams from the south end.  Every day
and every night.  Zama was torturing those men. 
I never saw what he was doing, but I knew he was
doing some sort of experiments on them.

"I couldn't stand it anymore.  I kept standing up
to Zama and the guards, trying to sneak back
there to see what he was doing.  The other nurses
told me I was crazy, that I shouldn't interfere. 
But it wasn't just what Zama was doing - he and
Konishi were slowly killing all of us.  And no
one stood up to them."

Except for her.  He could see her now, dressed in
rags, her defiant blue eyes daring the Japanese
to strike her down.  God, had they beat her? 
"Scully."  He wanted her to stop; she had to
stop.  He didn't know if he could bear to listen
any longer.  "Scully."  He shook her gently, but
she didn't respond, her lips moving still.

"They hit me," she said, her face crumpling.  But
her cheeks were dry, the tears damming up in her
eyes.  "Slapped me down, but I kept getting back
up, demanding more food, more medicine.  I wanted
to know where those men had disappeared to - but
they wouldn't tell me.  Then they put me in the
hole."

Mulder's breath hitched at that.  He knew what
'the hole' was - anyone who'd ever lived through
war knew that every POW camp, every prison, had
some form of solitary.  A clapboard shack, a cell
separated from the other prisoners, or... quite
literally, a hole dug in the ground.  No, they
wouldn't have done that to her.

"It was dark and dirty and so small.  The first
time wasn't bad at all, but I got so hot in
there, even though the ground was cool.  They
only kept me in there an hour - piece of cake, I
thought."

"Scully, stop.  Please," he begged, but she
didn't listen.

"Then the next time, it was for a bit longer. 
Then longer still.  It got to where I was in
there for hours, maybe even a whole day.  I don't
remember - all I know is, it suffocated me.  The
dirt choked me, and I had to sit with my legs
tucked close to me because it was so small in
there.  God..." Her voice finally broke, and she
laid her head on his chest, her hands going to
his waist to hold on.  "I can't stand close
places anymore, Mulder.  I can't stand to be
confined.  Even my damn coat suffocates me."

The image of her on the train platform, her coat
flapping the wind, fell into place, like the
others in his mind.  Scully fighting against the
ropes in the cabin, rushing out of the small
foyer when he'd first arrived, he and Charlie
sandwiching her, her struggling against his arms
on Melissa's back porch - shit.

"That's enough." He shook her gently, then
carefully took her in his arms.  "Enough,
Scully," he said hoarsely, breathing a deep sigh
of relief when he felt her relax against him.

Soft, hiccuping, sobs slowly faded as the minutes
passed.  "It's you," she said.  "It always has
been.  I just didn't know it until now."


**********


She didn't know how long she cried.  Really, she
hadn't expected the renewed anger and devastation
to re-surface; she thought she'd cried it all out
with Charlie in Honolulu.  She wondered if she
was becoming one of those women who lost it to
tears at the drop of a hat.  Sniffling, she
decided she didn't like that at all.  But in the
next thought, she knew she had no choice in the
matter.  Emotional distress was a fact of life;
Melissa had been right - sometimes she just had
to let go.

It was fate that all this had happened with
Mulder.  He wasn't her angel, he never had been. 
But he *was* her rescuer, by a strength of will
and determination that meant more to her than
dropping from the sky to brave gunfire.  He would
have walked away from her, would have spared her
more hurt.  And she would have let him, if not
for Charlie.  Just this morning, she realized. 
What a difference a day made.

Her tears gone, she lifted her face from the
softness of his sweater, her hand cupping his
jaw.  "Kiss me," she whispered, eager to seal the
release of their common demons to the four winds.

He looked at her with warm, dark eyes, but he
began to shake his head.  "Scully, I don't think
that's a good idea."

He hadn't finished the denial before she'd
reached up and touched her mouth to his.  He went
still, his arms becoming rigid around her.  Oh,
no, she thought.  You're not going to get all
sensible on me, Mulder.  Bringing her other hand
up to trap his face, she opened his lips with
hers, deepening the kiss.  Still, he held back,
though he groaned deep down, a low rumble that
incited her to seduction.

Pulling away a hair's breadth, she said into his
wet lips, "I want you," before returning to her
wanton exploration of his mouth.  "Take me to
bed."

Suddenly, she found herself drawn away. 
"Scully," he said, his fierce eyes searching her
face, his cheeks taut with desire.  "I know -
back in the cabin - that I didn't -"

"That's okay," she said, halting his apology with
her fingertips.  "We can start over."

Taking her hand in his, he kissed her palm before
replying, "Will you at least let me say I'm
sorry?"

"You said it already." She returned the favor,
curling her hand around his to brush her lips
over his knuckles.

It sounded more like a squeak than a question. 
"I did?"

"Yeah.  Back at Uncle Mike's."  She sidled closer
to him, drawn to the light stubble on his face. 
"Now, where were we?"

Mulder let her nuzzle his jaw for a moment, then
jerked away again with a soft, half-hearted sigh. 
"We can't do this.  I won't take the chance.  We
talked about this already."

Drifting up slightly from the fog of hazy
passion, she realized he was referring to their
earlier misunderstanding about pregnancy.  "But
you said -"

"I know what I said," he growled, his hands
clasping her waist to keep her still.  "And I
meant it.  But it's foolish to take another
chance."  If possible, his face became more
sensual, his voice more like velvet as he
murmured, "But I can help you."

Confused, she asked, "Help me?  Help me what?" 
The only way he could help her was to make love
to her.  She wanted it, she needed the completion
he stole from her in Utah.  And she wanted him to
be there with her, to take her to the heights
with him.

In answer, Mulder fitted both hands under her
bottom, and gently lifted her to stand.  "Take
your clothes off," he gently requested.  He stood
as well, the blanket caught in his hand.  He
wrapped it around her like a curtain, his gaze
hopeful that she'd not protest.

Biting her lip, her mind raced with facts. 
Charlie had gone out with her sister and the
others, and her parents were sure to be another
hour.  And making out on the couch, while not
ideal, was something she wanted very much. 
Slowly, her gaze holding his, she began to
disrobe, reaching for the buttons of her blouse.

He watched her every move, from the way the silk
slid off her shoulders to the removal of her
slacks and shoes.  Her bra came next, and she
felt her nipples pucker in the cool semi-
darkness.  When she reached for her garter belt,
Mulder said, "Hold the blanket," licking his lips
as his gaze lifted from its perusal of her
breasts.

She did as he asked, shaking with nerves.  He
dropped to his knees before her, and her eyes
drifted shut.  A the first touch of his fingers
on her skin, she jumped and shifted on her feet,
and he murmured soothing nonsense until she
quieted.  One by one, he rolled her stockings
down her legs, his fingers leaving little
goosebumps as they trailed along her inner
thighs.  His breath was hot and heavy on her
abdomen, and she swayed closer.  He caught her
hips and made quick work of the garter belt and
panties before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to
the patch of curls at the junction of her thighs. 
She almost squealed, and he chuckled, rising to
pull his sweater and undershirt over his head in
one move.

Sitting back down, he reached out a hand. 
"C'mere.  I want to feel you against me."

The blanket settling over them like a tent, she
straddled his hips, fists full of scratchy wool
going around his neck.

"Warm?" he asked, his fingers caressing her
waist, his liquid gaze steady on hers.

"Mmm," she nodded, arching into his touch, her
breasts skimming his chest.

He made a sound deep in his throat, one of
longing, and she gave him what he silently asked
for, leaning down to press kisses to his brow,
his face, his lips.  The crackling of the fire
mixed with their sighs, and she began to move
against the rough nap of his pants.  His hands
urged her on, kneading the soft flesh of her
backside.  She felt the hardness of his erection
under the cool, tight buttons... felt her own
body become warm and slick above it, and she
moaned, wanting more.

She let go of one corner of the blanket, and it
slid down, letting in a rush of cooler air.  But
she paid it no mind, stealing a hand between them
to loose his buttons.  Mulder pulled away from
her kiss, saying, "No, don't."

"I want to," she insisted, working furiously. In
seconds, she'd peeled open the fly of his pants.
His erection, trapped inside his boxers, pushed
up under the press of her small hand and he
hissed, his hips practically shoving her off. 
"That's far enough," he demanded in a gruff
voice, pulling her back until his cotton-covered
flesh was trapped between the heat of their lower
bodies.  "I can't come inside you, Scully," he
said, as if in pain, his head falling back to the
couch.

She nipped at his neck, understanding, even
though she didn't like his decision.  "I know,"
she whispered.  "But you have to let me help you,
too."  Her near-virginal body didn't know exactly
how, but she was willing to try - *very* willing. 
"Just tell me what to do."

"Just..." he faltered, one of his hands stealing
around to take hers from its slow slide up and
down his length, "just don't touch me yet, okay? 
Later.  I promise."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"  Frustration
made her squirm on his lap, but she was soon
rewarded by a familiar touch, one she dimly
remembered.

God.

"Just move, anyway you feel like."  Mulder
smiled, one warm finger feeling its way inside
her.

"Oh," she gasped, surprised at the sharp point of
pleasure that soared up from where he was
touching her.  The blanket fell from her limp
fingers to pool around her spread legs, and she
gave in to the urge to circle against his hand.

"That's it," he ground out, rubbing her in some
spot, the same place he'd found before, but never
had he done this.  It was heavenly, and she moved
up on her knees, striving to get closer. 
Mulder's other hand splayed on her back and he
held her up to his mouth.

"God!" she cried out, at the first wet touch of
his mouth on her breast.  What was he doing to
her?  He suckled, he played with his tongue, even
his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin.  "What
are you doing?"

"Helping you," he said against her skin.

"Like *that*?"

"Like that."  He moved to the other breast,
whispering, "Think of it as the mambo."  She felt
him grin against the underside of her breast.

"I don't think that's what Melvin had in - oh!"
 She was lost to him now, her hands gripping the
back of the couch behind his head, as she rode
his hand.  "Some mambo," she sighed, rewarded by
his chuckle.

"I like it."

Good Lord, so did she.  This was a dance unlike
any other, much better than the Lindy, or the
waltz... "Oh... oh!"  Suddenly, she knew it was
coming, whatever it was.

Reaching... reaching for the unknown... it was so
good... there, *there* it was!  Her buttocks
clenched, the muscles of her legs trembled as she
spasmed around his fingers, her head dropping to
touch his, her mouth open on a low, keening cry
against his damp hair.  Still, he kept it up,
slowly bringing her down from the pinnacle, his
mouth leaving her breast to fasten on to her numb
lips.

As she settled into his lap, he drank deeply of
her cries, his lips stealing them like drops of
cleansing rain.  She gave this to him, and much
more, telling him with her kiss of what she'd
come to realize.

This man, this complicated, tormented, sometimes
arrogant man... had stolen her heart.  In just a
few short days.  He had become her angel, pulling
her from the dark void to live again.

Sighing against her mouth, he let her slide away,
tucking her against him to breathe, "You okay?"

A harsh, cool voice answered, piercing the
contentment that surrounded them.

"She'd better be, you son-of-a-bitch."

She stiffened, recognizing in an instant who
mouthed those angry words.

Charlie.


End Chapter Twelve