The Promised Land
by Mish
mish_rose@yahoo.com
Classification: MSR
Rating: NC-17
Note: Last in the series that began with "So Let it Be
Written."  It's been a while since I completed this,
but I'm putting it up anyway, warts and all. <g> This
also means that I've forgotten who exactly beta-ed
this for me (Aud for sure, *that* much I remember), so
my thanks go out to those who helped.  Please forgive
me for not remembering your names!

Summary: This book has a happy ending.


Prologue



My watch says 9:52 by the time I round the corner on
Scully's block.  I wonder if she's awake; she always
did like to sleep in on Saturday mornings.  My
heartbeat quickens at the thought that maybe I'll
catch her still sleep-warmed and sexy in the ensemble
she greeted me with last night.  I can still feel her
lips parting under mine, her trembling breath mingling
with my own....

"Shit!"  The distracted route my thoughts had taken
come to a screeching halt, as does the car, when I
realize I've passed a parking spot right in front of
her building.  I flip the gears into reverse and give
it the gas, almost creaming the Lexus that tries to
beat me to it.  We're in a stand-off for a few
seconds, until frustration makes me pull out my badge
and wave it through my open window.

He backs off instantly, slowly pulling around me on
the left in search of another spot.  I give him a
satisfied grin; he replies with a thunderous frown and
accelerates.  Tough luck, buddy.  Scully and I have a
date.  Not your typical first date, mind you.  I can
just hear our grandkids now - yes, grandkids, why not?
- "Grandpa, what did you and Grandma do  on your first
date?"

"Well, we pulverized a typewriter with a sledgehammer,
sonny, then fucked liked bunnies."

Nothing like reuniting in the most carnal of ways.

And I mean carnal.  None of this touchy-feely, do-it-
on-a-cloud-while-angels-sing kind of lovemaking.  For
seven years we've waited, the innuendo and flame-
throwing looks building up to this moment.  I know she
wants me.  I know she loves me.  We have the rest of
our lives to play tender and sweet.

We'll be lucky if we can manage to shut her apartment
door first.

All this rushes through my mind while I'm trying to
parallel park.  Not the easiest thing to do, let me
tell you.  In, out, slant, turn, forward, back.  Geez,
I'm getting turned on by the metaphor here.

All right.  I'm in.  Just in time, too.  Another
moment in this car would have killed me.  And I want
to live to see those grandkids, thank you very much.

I knock at Scully's door with a shaky hand.  What if
she doesn't remember me?  Samantha assured me that she
would, but after the past few days, I can't be sure of
anything anymore.  And even if by some miracle she
does remember me, will she want anything to do with
me? *That's* the $64,000 question.

It doesn't matter in which life we're living, I've
done nothing but make Scully miserable.  Okay, we've
had our share of good moments, I'll concede that
point.  But they've been few and far between. 
Actually, in *this* life, I've been one lucky son-of-
a-bitch.  Relatively happy, normal, and blessed with
Samantha's presence.  From what Scully told me last
night, she has, too.  Except for a dead husband.  In
my book, that counts for a pretty shitty life.  Oh,
Scully, glad you have Melissa back, but sorry your
normal life went down the drain with the death of your
soulmate.

She loved him, too.  I may have been totally
insensitive to her feelings for me over the years -
and she had feelings, that I know - but it doesn't
take a rocket scientist to see the anguish his
appearance caused her this morning.  He was the other
half of her, not me.

It will be like starting over with Scully.  I'd better
be on my best behavior.  The thought makes me break
out in a sweat.  I have no experience with behaving. 
Ask my mother, ask Skinner.  Hell, Scully would be the
first to say I have a problem with discipline.

Jesus, I can hear her behind the door.  Rolling my
eyes to the heavens, I say a prayer - please let her
remember me.

The door swings open and Scully stands expressionless
at my stupid grin.  Geez, but she looks like every
Christmas present I ever received, every bit of Easter
candy I made myself sick on, all rolled up into one
colorful package in her cotton-candy colored sweater
and blue jeans.  My eyes roam over her tied-back hair,
crossed arms and sneaker-clad feet before settling on
her face.

Shit, she doesn't remember me.

"Agent Mulder?" she asks, her brow furrowing in
confusion.

I feel my goofy smile melt away.  She extends a hand
in stiff greeting.

"My name is Dana Scully.  We used to sit together at
the FBI...."

The transformation is amazing.  Her eyes light up, a
sheen of tears turning them into blue, mist-covered
pools.

"You little -" The words die in my throat as I take
her hand and pull her into a bear hug.

The embrace is very much like the one we shared last
night, when I realized she could have been gone from
me forever.  Except this reunion is much, much better. 
Last night we had the shadow of unfinished business
hanging over us.  This morning, we have no such
ghosts.  I hope.

"Witch."  I finally finish my admonishment, this time
with lips that are entranced by the shell of her ear.

"What did you call me?" she whispers, her arms
creeping around my waist.

"You heard me, Scully - witch.  I called you a witch." 
I could have called her a dozen or so other things,
equally appropriate.  How dare she scare me like that? 
But I'm not angry, no.  Relieved, yes.  Blissfully
happy, definitely.  Unbelievably turned on?  Damn
right.

Scully stands perfectly still in my arms while I
reacquaint myself with her feel, her smell.  God, I
never noticed before, but she wears the most delicious
perfume.  I'll have to ask her its name.  Later, when
I'm rational enough to remember it.

Enough thinking.  My mind and body are on two
different freeways.  Time to merge into one lane of
traffic.

"Scully, Scully," I murmur, my lips traversing the
delicate arch of her neck, slowly meandering toward my
ultimate goal - her mouth.

"Mul- Mulder," she stammers, stopping my ascent into
heaven with a shaky hand.  Pulling away, I look at her
pale face, and at once realize she's not up for this. 
She's awfully quiet, for one thing.  Aside from the
one attempt at banter a few moments ago - which was
half-hearted at best, I realize in retrospect - she
hasn't joined into our embrace with much enthusiasm. 
She also is determined to avoid my scrutiny, her eyes
not rising above the collar of my sweatshirt.

"Scully, what's wrong?"  My hands settle upon the firm
line of her jaw, forcing her eyes to meet mine.

A fleeting smile, given mostly for my benefit, passes
over her lips.  "Come in, Mulder.  We need a little
privacy."  She nods at a shadow over my shoulder.

I turn to find a familiar elderly face peeking out
from the door across the hall.  "Oh, hello, Mrs.
Pennywell.  How are you this morning?"  The old bat
never did like me; I could tell by the scathing looks
and muffled "Hmphs" every time we saw one another.  I
think she thought Scully was too good for me.  She
always was a smart old bird.

Now she has no idea who I am.  She opens her mouth to
speak, then closes it with a question on her brow. 
Before she can come up with an answer to my shit-
eating grin, Scully pulls me inside and slams the
door.

"That's not very nice, Mulder," she chastises me. 
"You know she has no clue as to who you are."

I give her my best whine.  "I was just having a little
fun...."

Scully turns her back on me and heads for the kitchen. 
Coffee.  I smell coffee.  And I'm on it like a hound
on a scent.  Okay, so we'll have coffee first.  This
adrenaline rush I'm on is not going to last forever.

"Still take it black?" Scully asks, over her shoulder,
while she reaches for mugs.

"Of course.  You still take yours with creamer?"  I
sidle up behind her and my hand reaches for the last
mug in the cabinet, brushing hers, making her stiffen
instantly.  Okay, something's definitely wrong.

Scully skitters away toward the coffeepot, which can't
be more than three feet down the counter.  It may as
well be a mile.  "Yes, of course I do," she replies
quickly, pouring the mugs full, then placing mine on
the counter between us while she tends to hers. 
Message received, Scully.  Loud and clear.  Don't
touch me.

All righty then.  I take the mug and sit my suddenly
weary bones at the kitchen table, wincing at the pop
of my knees.  Since she seems so mesmerized with her
coffee, I decide to do the same, the burning liquid
soothing the tightness of my throat.  Then I see it.

"The Pacers, Scully?"  The blue and white logo is
mocking me from its ceramic home.  An indication of
things to come? 

She sits across from me, eyeing my sarcastic grin with
soft, apologetic eyes.  "Yes, Mulder.  The Pacers. 
Can I help it if I'm a fan?  Well, it looks like I am,
anyway."

This is *not* the way I wanted this day to begin.  A
firm believer in fate, I can't say that I'm encouraged
by the ominous turn of events.  "Of course, you
realize I could never be with a Pacers fan, Scully." 
A lie, haphazardly thrown at her in a fit of
frustration.

She reaches for my hand, her fingers warm from the
coffee cup.  "And I can never be with a Knicks fan,
Mulder.  Guess it isn't meant to be, huh?"  Her words
are layered with meaning; for the life of me, I can't
decipher them.  I used to pick up every nuance that
was Scully so easily.  Every look, every sigh, every
angry tap of her heels in the office.  This time,
she's going to have to explain it to me.

"Oh, we were *definitely* meant to be, Scully."  I
imbue the words with every ounce of feeling I can
muster.  My voice is rough with desire; her eyes
darken at the want and need I feel radiating off  me
in waves.  There is no way she can mistake my
intentions.  Although I'm sure she knows it, I open my
mouth to make my love for her crystal clear.

Before I can utter the first of many declarations, she
clears her throat and asks, "So, tell me, Mulder. 
Tell me everything that happened after... after I...."

"Disappeared?"  I finish for her.  She nods, obviously
having trouble coming to terms with this whole fiasco. 
My feeble attempt at the poetry of love is going to
have to wait.  I can't blame her for wanting to know
the climax of Cancerman's little foray into best-
selling fiction.  In as few words as possible, I
explain Samantha's role in Cancerman's downfall, and
Krycek's role in assuring that Scully would remember
me.  I don't gloss over anything, but I don't
elaborate more than necessary.  After all we've been
through, I just want to move on.  I think she does,
too, because she listens with very few comments or
questions.

We sit in silence for a few moments after the book is
closed on our former lives.  Scully appears to be
taking it well, this abrupt end to what we once were. 
Does she realize that we can now be more than we were? 
God, I hope so.  We have yet to live the final
chapter, the one where the hero and heroine live
happily ever after.

Well, maybe not *happily* ever after.  In our case, I
think we'd settle for just living.  Together,
preferably.

It's time to brave the storm.

"Scully, you never did answer my question."

She looks up from her now empty cup and feigns
innocence.  Ah, Scully, I know you better than that. 
"What question?"

I give her hand a gentle squeeze.  "What's wrong?" 
Although I pretty much have an idea.  Post-traumatic
stress, anxiety, depression.  Any number of the things
usually associated with a major life change.  I guess
you could multiply those disorders by tenfold.  This
is nothing like buying a house, or starting a new job,
or losing a family....

Shit. *Now* I get it.

"Scully -" I begin, but she cuts me off abruptly.

"Mulder, I know you came here looking for me.  For
*us.*  But I don't know if I'm capable of anything
right now.  I don't know what my life is, how we're
supposed to just 'go on.'"  She says this without
taking a breath, then falls silent with a sigh.

"It's Michael, isn't it?"  Tell me no, Scully.  Tell
me yes, Scully.  Damn, now *I* don't know what I want.

She hasn't let go of my hand.  That's a good sign, I
think.  Of course, I have such a grip on hers, I think
we're superglued together.

Scully meets my gaze, a combination of relief and
sadness making her lashes damp with unshed tears. 
"Partly, I guess," she sighs.  "Oh, Mulder, I had him
back.  I touched him.  He was there."

"Scully, you know he was a figment of that old
bastard's imagination."  Stay with me, Scully. 
Where's that rational mind I know and love?

"Yes, I do," she whispers brokenly, dropping her head. 
"My mind knows, Mulder."  She waits a beat, then adds,
"But my heart says otherwise."

My free hand moves to her chin, raising her head.  The
tears are flowing freely now, and I brush them away,
shushing her with nonsensical murmurs.  It breaks my
heart to see her in such misery.

"You said 'partly,' Scully.  What else aren't you
telling me?"

She pulls away from my caresses and sniffles,
regaining her composure by degrees.  "Well... I just
don't know how to handle this, Mulder.  You've always
been the one in this partnership willing to embrace
the unimaginable.  Much as you were joking around last
night about your work 'paying the bills,' I believe
you are still basically the same.  Ready, anxious
even, to give the extreme a chance."  She sighs. 
"Believe it or not, it's always scared me, your
willingness to accept the implausible."

"Scully, it's okay to be scared -"

"No, I don't think you understand, Mulder.  I'm not
scared this time... I'm terrified.  I came to this
morning, fully clothed in my bed.  It took a few
moments, then the memories started bombarding me, one
after the other.  I panicked, couldn't catch my
breath.  Duane Barry, Modell, Michael..."  Her voice
fades on the last word, then picks up angrily. 
"You've always been able to bounce back, Mulder.  And,
up until now, so have I."

God, Scully, please don't tell me you're leaving me.

"I'm not leaving you, Mulder," she says, uncannily
reading my mind.  Of course, the desperation is
probably plastered all over my face.  "I just think we
should step back and breathe for a bit.  In the span
of two days, I've lost you, found you, and lost
Michael all over again.  Don't you think we have
enough to think about for a while?"  She pleads with
me with her eyes not to push.

It will be one of the hardest things I've ever had to
do.  I want to be with her so badly; Scully is my life
now.  Somewhere along the way, she became more
important to me than Samantha.  I wonder if she
realizes this.

"You're right, Scully," I concede, though I'm still
not in full agreement.  But that's just my dick
thinking.  My brain is telling me that she's right, I
can bounce back much more easily than she can.  After
all, my new life has been perfect so far.  "I didn't
think about what you went through with Michael, not
really.  I guess I just didn't want to believe there
could ever be anyone else in your life."

She doesn't say anything, just commiserates sadly with
her eyes.  This would be the perfect opportunity for
her to light into me and my jealous, juvenile
selfishness.  But she knows, like me, that there are
things, fates beyond our control.

Correction.  Beyond her control, not mine.

My hand reaches for her face again.  Thankfully, she
leans into my touch.  I take a deep breath, then
another, searching for the right way to put this. 
Disregarding my need, I whisper my death-knell.

"I can get him back for you, if that's what you want." 
So, I'll be fucking miserable without her, a useless
half of a whole.  I'll survive, and Scully will be
happy.

Immediately, her anguish turns to anger.  "By using
the typewriter?  Mulder, you touch that thing and I
will never speak to you again."  She sniffles and lays
her hand over mine on her cheek.  "Promise me you
won't.  Please."

I give her lips a tweak with my thumb before lowering
our hands to the table.  Damn, I feel the tears
threatening, my voice husky.  "Just thought I'd
offer."  I give her a wry grin.

"Promise me," she says adamantly.

To hell with the dead husband.  It suddenly occurs to
me I can fix this. There's a little devil on my
shoulder telling me to make her forget it all.  Forget
Michael, especially.  The urge to bolt to the car and
make everything perfect between us is tempting, almost
overwhelming.  Scully would be mine, with no
reservations.  I wouldn't be human if I didn't think
about it.

But the primal surge of jealousy leaves in an instant. 
I don't want Scully that way; I want her to love me
without the influence of drugs, alcohol, or the
paranormal.  "I promise, Scully."

"Thank you, Mulder.  You know I wouldn't want him back
that way."

I know I'm going to kick myself later for this, but I
have to ask.  "But you would take him over me,
wouldn't you?"

Scully quickly tries to reassure me.  "Oh, Mulder, no
- I didn't... I don't want you to think  -"

"I know, Scully, that Michael was probably the ideal
man for you.  He didn't ditch you, or put you in any
danger."  I raise my hand at her sputtering protests. 
"Don't deny it, Scully.  In this life, you had your
soulmate.  I don't blame you if you find me somewhat
lacking."

"Mulder, stop.  I don't find you lacking," she states. 
"This is ridiculous.  I am not comparing you to
Michael.  Apples and oranges, you know."  She raises
her brow, driving the point home with a squeeze of my
hand.

"More like champagne and rotgut whiskey," I snort.

"Well, since you put it that way... then yes," she
agrees, smiling at my consternation.  "I've always
loved champagne, the way it tickles your nose and
makes you pleasantly tingle.  But whiskey -" she
lowers her voice to a husky murmur, leaning slightly
forward.  "Whiskey, Mulder, leaves a trail of fire
from your tongue to your stomach, burning its warmth
to the tips of your fingers and toes.  It's sinful,
the way it makes you feel; like you know you'll have a
hell of a hangover in the morning, but you can't stop
drinking it, coming back for more.  Many people prefer
champagne, but I prefer my liquor to have a bit more
of a bite, don't you?"

"God, Scully," I groan.  "You sure you wanna wait? 
Because I think I've aged enough.  My bite is
definitely at its peak of flavor."  I lean across the
table, intent on delivering a sample personally.

Scully's eyes follow the movement of my lips, her
mouth parting slightly.  I proceed slowly, not wanting
to scare her away.  She's not moving away, she's not
moving away, I repeat to myself, the joy at the
thought making my pulse pound.  In fact, she brings a
hand to my jaw, and closes the gap between us by
putting her lips on mine.

Thank you, Jesus.  Thank you, Allah.  Thank you, Santa
Claus.  Scully is kissing me.  Not the most passionate
of kisses, but a kiss nonetheless.  I remain perfectly
still as she explores my mouth with her own, her lips
making a map of mine.  She showers me with what are
actually tiny, separate kisses, although her lips
never move far enough away to break contact with mine.

Unable to keep from looking at her, I open my eyes to
get a myopic view of her face, eyelids closed, cheeks
flushed, lips rosy.  So this is what an aroused Scully
looks like.  If I had a camera, I'd take a picture to
carry with me always.  She pulls away, sensing my
scrutiny, but doesn't open her eyes, as if she's
letting the feel and taste of us wash over her.  Like
a fine scotch whiskey, I suppose.

Now I'm grinning like an idiot.  She finally opens her
eyes, but it takes a few moments for the glazed orbs
to focus.  When they do, she snaps back into her
chair.  "God, Mulder, I'm sorry -"

"I'm not."

"I don't know what came over me -"

"I do."

"I don't want you to think -"

"That you're hot for me?  I don't."

Like hell I don't.  She stops, her lips curving into a
small smile.

"I still want to take this one day at a time, Mulder."

"I know you do.  It was a nice beginning though,
wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, it was.  Very nice, indeed."

My heart surges with love for this woman.  So, we
won't fall into bed with one another today.  But it's
only a matter of time.  We sit, discovering the joy of
just anticipating the inevitable.  Not a word passes
between us, only lingering looks and touches.

After a few minutes, I see an idea form in her eyes,
her jaw dropping with realization.  "The typewriter -
where is it?"

"In the trunk of my car," I say, soothing her worry. 
"Along with a sledgehammer.  I made a stop on the way
over here; the Gunmen were happy to oblige, though
they looked at me like I was nuts."  Looking down, I
lace my fingers through hers, then give her my best
'whipped puppy' look.  Hey - a guy can hope.

"I thought we might have a little impromptu 'Sledge-o-
matic' party later on."  After the wild sex we were
gonna have, I add silently.  Scully reads my face like
an open book; her eyes darken with sympathy and her
pale skin colors attractively.

"Let's go, Mulder," she says, pulling me up and
marching to the front door.

"Where?"

"We're gonna give our arms a workout."

"Scully, can't this wait?  I'm tired, I just want to
sleep."  Truly, I feel the energy draining from me. 
Now that it looks like I'm not going to have the sex
of my life with Scully, I just want to go home and hit
the sack.

She must see the exhaustion beginning to take hold of
my body, because she stops and soothes the lines in my
forehead with a warm hand.  "I know you're tired,
Mulder.  But this won't take long.  I want to finish
it."

I nod and we make our way to the front of her
building, my footsteps sluggish at times.  But I have
to do this, I tell myself.  Just one little thing and
it will be over.

I open the trunk and look at Scully.  "Now what?"

"Put it on the lawn, over there," she says, gesturing
at the patchy green grass of early spring.

The damn thing feels like it weighs a ton, but I
manage to drop it unceremoniously in one of the few
remaining dead spots in the yard.  When I turn around,
Scully has taken the sledgehammer out of the trunk and
is dragging it over to me.

"Wait Scully, let me help you with that," I say,
coming up to take it from her.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she replies with a
smirk.  She doesn't release it, though, just continues
moving forward until she stands a few feet from the
typewriter.  "Get behind me, Mulder."

"What?"  My brain must be running on its last legs,
because I can't follow where she's going with this.

"Get behind me.  I can't do this alone."

Ah, okay.  I see what she wants now.  I curl around
her back, my arms wrapping around hers to grip the
handle.  We fumble with each other for a few seconds,
until Scully says, "Mulder, I'm in the middle, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply, settling my hands above and
below hers.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Ready."

"On three.  One... two... three!"

Together, we lift Conan the Destroyer above our heads
and bring it down squarely in the middle of the
platen.  It breaks in two like a bone, the satisfying
crack making us both chuckle.

Scully heaves a relieved sigh.  I answer with one of
my own.

"What, Scully?  Did you think it would defy
destruction?"

She turns her head slightly.  "Like the thought hadn't
crossed your mind either, Mulder."

"Got me on that one, Scully."  Great minds think
alike.  "I think though, that we should give it a few
more licks.  Just to make sure, you realize."

"I think that's an excellent idea, Mulder."

The next blow takes out the keys, scattering them in
shards of cheap plastic.

"Ooh, good one, Scully."

The next two break the housing, first on the left,
then the right.

"Nice shots, Mulder."

We continue until our arms are aching and our chests
are heaving from exertion, not stopping until the
typewriter lays in smithereens on the grass.  By this
time, we've attracted the attention of quite a few
people in the neighborhood, some passersby, some
gaping at us from apartment windows.

"I think we've caused a scene, Scully," I whisper into
her ear.

"So?" she replies.  "What - they've never seen two
people destroy a possessed typewriter before?  Puh-
leeze!"  She waves and smiles at Mrs. Pennywell, whose
fascination with us had made her come out onto the
front stoop.

I laugh with her, my arms tightening to gather her
giggles to me.  "Scully?"

"Yes?"  She gasps for air, her head lolling on my
shoulder.

"I love you."

She sobers and turns in my arms, the sledgehammer
dropping to the grass, its work done.  Her hands
cradle my face, her eyes shimmering in the morning
sun.

"I love you too, Mulder," she whispers, then fits
herself to me like a glove.

Scully loves me.  She said it.  Holy shit, she finally
said it.

I run my hands over her back.  "Too late to take it
back, Scully."

"I know," she says, the words muffled but sure.  "I
couldn't even if I wanted to."

So, now comes the daunting task of wooing Scully.  Hey
- at least I don't have to make her lovee me.  I just
have to make her see me as a lover.

Shit.  How the hell do I do that?

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"Wanna go on a date tonight?"  I feel like I'm sixteen
years old again.  "Dinner and a movie.  My treat."

She sniffles into my chest and I hear a faint
chuckling murmur.  "You're just saying that 'cause you
want to get into my pants."

"Damned right I do."  I drop a quick kiss onto the
tight cap of red hair and give her ponytail a tug. 
"Don't make me wait too long, okay, Scully?  You know
I don't deal well with patience."  The last sentence
is punctuated by a broad yawn.

She smiles and brings her lips to my chin, where she
innocently places a small kiss.  God, Scully, you're
killing me here.  "Think you can stay awake for a
little while longer?  I know you're tired, Mulder, but
I just want to sit with you for a while."

"Sure, Scully.  Mind if I make use of your couch?  I'm
bushed."

"You go on," she replies.  "I'll be there in just a
bit."

I pause at the doorway, glorying in her smooth,
economical movements as she picks up the bigger pieces
of the typewriter and drops them into the trash can at
the corner.   She doesn't notice me watching her, and
I take the opportunity to thank my lucky stars.  We
will be together, I know we will.

As she finishes up, I make a break for her apartment. 
I flop onto the sofa cushions and suddenly realize I'm
way beyond bushed.  I'm exhausted.  I close my eyes
and will the images of the last few days to disappear. 
I want happy dreams now.

Just as I feel myself dozing off, a warm hand fits
into mine, our fingers interlocking to create a
fortress.  My eyelids lift like they're carrying ten
pound weights, but I manage to look at her.

"Scully, are you gonna be okay?"

The morning sunlight casts her profile in shadow.  She
ponders my question for a moment, then leans her head
into my shoulder, her right hand settling on my arm. 
"Yes, Mulder, I think I will.  Just give me some time,
okay?"

I've given her everything I possibly could, even if
she didn't want or need it.  Some of it good, a lot of
it unintentionally bad, but all of it came from my
heart.  This one tiny request I can handle.

"Sure, Scully," I reply, resting my head atop hers. 
"That's one thing I have a great deal of.  Time."

I'll wait.  When she's ready, I'll be right here.

I sleep at last.


End prologue

Part One


My heart says otherwise.

The prophetic words come back to me, reminding me of
the conversation in my kitchen that put our lives on
hold.

Two months today.  An anniversary of sorts for Mulder
and me.  Exactly two months since we started new
lives, thanks to our typing skills.

All in all, it's been an interesting eight weeks, to
say the least.  We're actually approaching a
relationship that by anyone's standards would be
considered 'normal.'  Okay, so we began about seven
steps into the ten step relationship program, if there
even is such a thing.  Bypassed the awkward 'get to
know you' stage - you know, the one where you're
afraid to say or do anything that may upset your
potential love interest.

Sailed right through the 'maybe we're seeing too much
of each other' stage; after all, in our previous lives
we practically breathed the same air day and night. 
He's not even begun to get on my nerves, which is
surprising.  Michael went through that hovering stage
about six weeks into our relationship until I finally
had to have a little talk with him.  It took some
compromise, but we made it through.

Sighing, I sip at my iced tea and watch the birds nip
at each other in the willow tree outside my kitchen
window.  Thoughts of Michael these days are few and
far between; I know I told Mulder that it was like
losing him all over again, and it was.  But the memory
of that surreal meeting on Brooksbank Avenue is fading
more and more with each day that passes.  Michael's
been gone for over a year now and although I will
always love and miss him, I think I'm ready to move on
with Mulder.

My heart now says I'm ready.  I woke up this morning
and realized it was beating with a rhythm I'd thought
was gone forever.  Excited syncopation, jazzy
anticipation.

Mulder makes it dance.  I knew it would only be a
matter of time and luckily, I recognized it
immediately.

Which brings us to step eight.  The one step that is
the giant hurdle any couple must cross en route to
number nine - living together.  We can't very well
make that kind of commitment to each other if we've
never had sex, now can we?

Just the thought of having sex with Mulder makes me
excited and uncomfortable at the same time.  Of
course, most women would jump at the chance to make
love with a man like Mulder.  I've always thought he
wasn't the most handsome man in the world, but he
certainly is one of the most sensual I've ever come
across.

That smooth, graceful stride of his conjures up
delicious images of the way he will move above me,
around me, within me.  And that's not all - his voice
has always sent shivers up my spine.  Lately, I can
feel the desire for me in every word he says, every
syllable of my name.  Will it be even more husky,
pierce my heart even more as he makes love to me?  I
think it will.  I also think it's time I found out.

So what's the problem?  Well, aside from the fact that
I'm thinking about fucking my best friend, which could
lead to all sorts of complications... I'm scared. 
Plain and simple.

God, you would think that a thirty-five year old woman
who has been married, for Pete's sake, would be able
to get past an unreasonable, juvenile fear of sex. 
Check that.  I'm not afraid of sex.  I'm not afraid of
sex with Mulder.  Knowing him as I do, I realize he
would never hurt me, even unintentionally.

It's just that I don't know how to take that first
step toward intimacy.  In all of my previous
relationships - wow, three total - I was never the one
to make the first move.  And that's what it's going to
take with Mulder.  He told me he would wait for me and
that's what he's doing.  Aside from mind-blowing
kisses, he hasn't tried to put the moves on me in any
other way.

Damn.

I can do this, I know I can.  I've faced situations
far more deadly, conversations far more
embarrassing... all involving Mulder.

Piece of cake.

The knock at my front door startles me, causing the
tea to splash in a brown spray, narrowly missing my
linen pants.  Pausing to say a prayer of thanks, I
call out, "Coming," and wipe the sticky mess from my
fingers.

Today is going to be the day; I swear this to myself
as I head for the door.  Mulder is taking me to
Samantha's for a spring barbecue slash birthday party
for her fianc‚, Edmund.  If I can make it through a
Saturday spent with Mulder's sister and their mutual
friends, I can certainly make myself tell Mulder what
I want for dessert Saturday night, can't I?

It's not that I don't like Samantha, I really do; the
few times we've spoken have been short, accidental
meetings at Mulder's apartment, but we've hit it off,
much to Mulder's delight.  Spending the day in her
company should be very enjoyable.  She's one of those
rare individuals that can put anyone at ease - Mulder
told me she'd even invited Skinner to her house for
this social gathering, though I don't imagine he'll be
there.  Yes, the big guy is still around, thank
goodness.  Trying to meld two lives into one, just
like the rest of us.  He's even put forth the
paperwork for my transfer down to the basement, so no
problem on that front.

Mom, however, has no memory of Mulder's impact in my
previous life.  Or maybe she does and chooses not to
say so.  All that matters to her is that I'm happy. 
Actually, she loves Mulder.  She tolerated him before. 
Go figure.

"Scully?"

"I'm coming, Mulder," I say, forcing my legs to move
and my mind to stop wandering.

Jesus, he looks good enough to eat in his khaki pants
and loose white Oxford.  And Nikes - typical Mulder. 
I'm surprised he's not in jeans, but I can't say I
don't like this look.  Yum.  "Hi," I greet him, my
voice trembling in the aftermath of my thoughts.

His eyes narrow, picking up on my nervousness
instantly.  "Anything wrong?  Do I have shaving cream
on my ear or something?"  He rubs a hand over his
face.

"No, no."  Okay, I've got to quit staring.  "But you
did nick yourself this morning, didn't you?"  My thumb
passes over a bright red mark on his neck.  Oh, bad
move.  The warmth of his pulse under my fingertips
just made my heart skip a beat.  Blushing, I turn away
and reach for my jacket draped over the chair.  How
was that for a first move?  'Schoolgirlish'
immediately comes to mind.

"Scully, you sure you're okay?"

When I turn around, I am brought up short by the
overwhelming presence of Mulder.  Right smack in front
of me, the heat of him washing over me like a blast
from a furnace.  God, he smells so good.  Just a hint
of fabric softener and bath soap underlying the
powerful scent of tanned skin....

"Scully?"  His hand brings my chin up gently; my
fascination with the hollow of his throat becomes
total lust in a flash.  Those eyes... Jesus, when did
his eyes get so sexy?

"I'm fine," I mutter, then watch his face darken with
a memory of another time, another place.  He pulls
away slightly, but not before I catch his hand in
mine.  "Really, Mulder.  This time I really am fine." 
My lips graze his smooth cheek and his sigh travels
from my ear drum to my stomach with the "weeee" of a
dropping bomb.  It explodes in a shower of sparks
somewhere in the vicinity of my lower belly.

Damn, I'd forgotten what that felt like.

Yes, today will be the day.  If I can just find a way
to ask for it.

Suddenly, it dawns on me that we're dressed like
twins, my tan pants and white button-down tank eerily
similar to his attire.  In the interest of preventing
the inevitable comments from the other guests, I pass
my eyes over his form, then mine.

"No jeans today, Mulder?"

He catches on immediately.  "Since we're gonna be
among the rich Scully, I figured I'd better dress the
part.  Kind of looks like we're joined at the hip,
doesn't it?"  Those perfect lips turn up in a hesitant
smile.

Oh Mulder, if you only knew how close we are to being
just that.

"I don't mind if you don't," I reply with a sidelong
glance.  "Actually, if I told you it was fate, would
you believe me?"

Yes, that was a stupid question, but I feel like
asking stupid questions today.  I feel like doing a
lot of things today that I haven't done in quite some
time.

Following me out the door is a wry chuckle.  "You know
me Scully.  I'm always ready to believe."

Well, believing is not the only thing he'll have a
chance to do today.


**********


"Okay, Scully, you're scaring me here."

"Hmm?"  His words register at last, turning my mind
from its contemplation of the night ahead to his
frightened face.

Gripping the wheel even tighter, his eyes flash from
the road ahead to me.  "Something's on your mind, and
whatever it is, it's not good."  He turns into
Samantha's neighborhood and slows to accommodate the
cyclists and joggers that appear from nowhere.  Ah,
suburbia.

"How do you know it isn't good?"

"Because when you think too much, it's usually because
there's a problem.  And if there's a problem, it's
usually a problem with me."

My slow smile makes him huff.

"Okay, what is it this time?"  The car meanders up the
street and Edmund's mansion comes into view.  "What
did I do?  I've been the perfect gentleman.  No
ditching, no bizarre, middle-of-the-night trips to
Rhode Island... not that I'd want to do that anymore,
anyway."

"I know Mulder, and I appreciate it."  I pause while
he navigates through the narrow lane of parallel-
parked cars to the driveway, where nobody seems to
want to park.  Why do people do that?  He pulls in and
I wait until he puts the car in park and kills the
motor before continuing, "I've made a decision,
Mulder."

His hand freezes on the ignition for a moment, then he
removes the keys slowly before looking my way with
anxious eyes.  "Yeah?  About what?"

Closing my hand over his, I lean over to make sure he
hears me.

"I've decided I want a shot of rotgut whiskey."

God, I didn't want it to sound so serious, like it was
the end of the world.  But I have a habit of lowering
my voice when I'm nervous and that came out like I'd
just told him I didn't want to see him anymore.

Thankfully, he knows exactly what I'm talking about. 
The sudden blast of heat from his gaze has pinpointed
my words, magnifying them in the confines of the car. 
At least I won't have to say it twice, or explain it
further.

Did I say pinpointed?  More like assault with a flame
thrower.

"Hey!"

Looking away from Mulder's inferno, I squint at the
sight of Samantha approaching from the side of the
house.  She waves and I wave back with a broad smile
before facing Mulder again.  I squeeze his hand to
bring his attention to his sister; he gulps and gives
her a nod and a smile before turning back to me.

"Now?" he growls.  "You tell me this now?"

"Oh, you know me, Mulder.  Once I make up my mind...." 
I pull away and reach for the door handle, but he tugs
on my hand, grabbing my chin with the other.

His lips hover inches above mine, his minty breath
cool upon my face.

"You realize we're stuck here for at least a couple of
hours, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You won't change your mind, will you?"

"No."

Samantha is fast approaching; he sees it out of the
corner of his eye and grimaces.

"Scully, sometimes your timing really sucks."

"I know," I reply, giving his cheek a whisper of a
kiss before finally leaving the car to greet his
sister.

He meets me at the front of the car and wraps an arm
around my waist.  I feel his fingers massage my hip
through the thin fabric of my trousers and I hope with
all my heart that I've just done the right thing.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

He guides me up the massive lawn, taking his time. 
"Is it just me, or do you feel like humming the theme
song to 'Dallas' every time we pull up in front of
Edmund's house?"

Normal Mulder words, wrapped in ten layers of
frustration.

"Now Mulder, be nice."

He snorts and lowers his voice as we near Samantha. 
"This from the woman who tells me I could have made
love to her a half hour ago. *If* she'd only bothered
to tell me."

"Why do you think I didn't tell you?"

"Because we'd never have made it here."

"Precisely."


**********


"Fox, how's it going, buddy?"

Uninterrupted scrutiny of my intended lover has just
become a thing of the past.

Looking up from the plate of awful potato salad and
burnt chicken, I give Edmund a sickly grin. 
"*Mulder,* Edmund."  Jesus, how many times to I have
to tell this guy?  "And it's going okay."  Until you
showed up, I silently add.

"Good, good.  Beautiful day, isn't it?"  He smiles at
the throng of well-wishers in his immense back yard. 
Yeah, I know you're rich.  I know you're one of the
top five attorneys in the greater metropolitan area. 
I know you're going to marry my sister and take her
away from me.

Funny how that doesn't bother me so much today.  Hell,
I'm feeling pretty damn good today, so I decide to
spread a little of my good cheer.

"Happy birthday, Edmund."  Extending a hand, I let my
grin blossom into a full-fledged smile.

His beefy hand engulfs mine and he gives me a toothy,
three thousand dollar smile in return.  "Thanks, Fox. 
Oh, sorry - Mulder."  A distant shout of his name
makes him jerk his head to the left.  "Listen Mulder,
I'll catch you later, okay?  Duty calls."

Nodding, I gesture for him to leave.  Thank you,
Jesus.  He's an okay enough guy.  I suppose Samantha
could do a helluva lot worse... as in Alex Krycek. 
Don't go there, I admonish myself.  That's all in the
past.

She and I discussed it at length one Sunday afternoon
shortly after... you know.  Krycek and Samantha were
lovers in their past lives, and I've come to realize
that there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. 
She was influenced by her father, brought up in a
world full of greed and manipulation.  After we argued
for an hour about it, we cried for at least another
hour, coming to terms with it and moving on.

We're both happier now than we've ever been, and if
Edmund is what she wants, who am I to stand in their
way?  Doesn't mean I have to *love* the guy, just
tolerate him.  Maybe one day I'll even grow to like
him.  Ass or no, he will one day be my brother-in-law.

Scully seems to like him too, and she's a better judge
of character than I am, that's for sure.  Speaking of
Scully - target is moving to the keg, saying goodbye
to an acquaintance....

Oh, this is the perfect opportunity.  I dodge an
incoming basketball buddy and duck through the
Merriwether sisters and husbands number three and
four, respectively.  Closing in on my favorite party
guest.

Moving around to her side, I nod to the kid behind the
bar.  "Make that two."  My arm encircles her and we
watch the foamy brew flow into the cups.  "When did
this revelation happen?"  She knows very well what I'm
talking about.  "In the car?"  I absently take the
cups from the bartender, nodding my thanks.

She brings the cup to her lips, taking a long sip
before answering.  "This morning.  I woke up and
realized that tomorrow morning, I want to wake up
beside you." 

This morning?  "You mean, all I had to do was show up
early?  If I'd... say, brought over breakfast for two,
we wouldn't be here right now?"

"Mulder, if we hadn't touched that typewriter, we
wouldn't be here right now."

"Good try Scully, but it won't work.  Answer the
question."  Now I simply *must* know what I missed. 
Call it a form of self-torture.

She sighs like she knows I'm not going to like the
answer.  "Well, I hadn't thought of it that way... but
yes, I suppose so."

Dammit.  Of all the times to visit the Gunmen. 
"Jesus, Scully -"

My voice is lost in the surge of... beer.  Overflowing
from the cup onto my hands and almost onto Scully's
shoes.  Stupid kid.  Check that - stupid me.  My hands
are shaking with lust.  The picture of Scully and me,
naked in her bed, feasting on bagels and cream cheese,
dissolves in an instant.

"Mulder!"  Horrified, she trips into me in her haste
to avoid smelling like a brewery and we both stumble
away from the keg, our cups falling to the ground.

"Sorry, Scully.  Shit."  Stepping away from her, I
rush to the table for a towel.  "I'm sorry.  That was
stupid.  I'm -"

"Mulder," she says, stilling my hands and my runaway
mouth.  Raising my eyes to hers, the moment I see the
laughter in them I'm gone.  We start by chuckling,
then giggling, then out-and-out guffawing, attracting
a crowd by the time we sober enough to realize we're
the center of attention.

Standing there with the towel clutched between us, we
wait while the well-to-do members of the neighborhood
slowly trickle back to their cliques.  "So we're
really gonna do this, huh?"  I can't help it, I have
to ask.  Yet another form of self-torture.

Her eyes are shimmering in the sun, the color of the
sky, clear and bright.  "Yes, we are.  Sometime this
evening, if that's okay with you?"

Trust Scully to reduce the event to the casual
importance of an appointment with Skinner.  That
thought doesn't bother me, though.  I wouldn't expect
anything less from Scully.  She approaches everything
in her life with the same logical coolness.  Though
I'd rather see her trembling with desire and
anticipation, just like I am.

Forget about what I missed this morning.  Let's
concentrate on what *she'll* be getting this evening. 
Time to shake her up a bit.

"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"My place or yours?"  Throwing the towel back to the
table, I move in closer and lower my voice.  "It's
your choice."

She purses her lips slightly and gives it a moment. 
"Mine, I think.  If you have no objection?"

Like I would.  "Fine by me.  You have a better bed,
nice and firm.  Because we're gonna need all the
support we can get... I plan on fucking you like
there's no tomorrow."

Her mouth drops.  Yeah, Scully.  I said the 'f' word. 
In reference to you.

With a gentle push of my fingers under her chin, I
walk back to the bartender and order two more.  We're
gonna need it.


End part one

Part Two



You know, I always knew Mulder could be a very
charming, personable fellow in the right
circumstances.  He's spent quite a bit of time moving
from group to group, beer in hand, exchanging
pleasantries with the other guests like he was born to
it.  I suppose he was; I nod in the general direction
of his mother and father, waving hello.  They haven't
spoken to me yet, which is fine by me.  Reconciling
what I remember of them with Mulder's insistence that
they've changed has been difficult.  Best to keep my
distance for a while.

Especially since I'm having nothing but lustful
thoughts about their son.  Wonder if anyone can tell? 
Do they see it in my eyes?  Hear it in the tone of my
voice?  Actually, I feel like I'm on display for the
whole world to see.  Dana Scully - about to get laid.

"Dana?"

I look away from the volleyball game on the other side
of the lawn and smile at Samantha.

"Hi," I say with a smile.  "Please, join me."

She walks from the sunshine beyond the canopy above me
and sits in the plastic chair to my right.  "Are you
having a good time?"

"Yes.  Thanks for the invitation."  As always, I'm
shocked at how much she looks like Mulder.  Right down
to the little groove in the chin.  How could her
parents have allowed her to be taken away?  I feel a
shadow of anger pass over me at what Mulder had to
endure all those years without her.

"Dana, don't think about it."  Her soft words make me
start.  She's like Mulder in more than just looks.  "I
don't anymore."

"You don't?"

She laughs at my disbelieving tone.  "Well, not all
the time."  With a sigh, she continues.  "Every now
and then I think about Alex.  He's really the only
thing I miss."  She hurriedly moves past that subject,
knowing exactly how I feel about Alex Krycek.  Much as
I hate that man, I do know how it feels to lose
someone you care about.  "I have Edmund now.  I'm
happy."

Placing a hand on her arm, I say softly, "That's all
that counts, then."

We sit in silence for a while, until she takes a deep
breath and plunges right into the foray.  "So... what
did I interrupt in the car this morning?  And don't
tell me nothing, because ever since then I've been
receiving looks that could kill from Fox."

"We were discussing the future."  That was truthful
enough.

She perks up at that.  "You're getting married," she
breathes, her mouth dropping.

"No!" I blurt out, then smile at her crestfallen face. 
"But - who knows?  It may come to that one day.  We'll
see.  We still have work to do."  Conspiracies to
uncover, men to bring to justice.

Samantha hesitates, the enormity of my unspoken words
sinking in.  "I haven't heard from him, you know."

"Your father?"  Like I really have to ask.

"Well, the man I once knew as my father," she hastily
corrects me.  "He isn't really my biological father,
you know."

Thank God.  I've often wondered about that.

"I hope I never see him again," she states adamantly.

"So do I."  Thankfully, she senses my reluctance to
elaborate further and smiles.

"Well, that's enough seriousness for one day, don't
you think?"

My chuckle joins hers.  "Yes, I think so.  We're
supposed to be having fun today, remember?"

"Let's see what I can do about that," she replies,
getting up from the chair.  "Starting with my brother. 
Where the hell is he?"  She scans the crowd and
snorts.  "He's should be here with you.  That's
terribly rude - abandoning you like that."

Ditching, Samantha.  The word is ditching.  "That's
okay," I tell her.  "I needed some time to think
anyway."

"I'll see if I can round him up for you - you look so
lost sitting here alone."  Samantha walks back into
the sunshine and turns to give me a wicked grin.  "You
can't very well discuss marriage if he's not here, now
can you?

Marriage?  Before I can force a reply from my tight
throat, she's off and running.  Great.  We haven't
even slept together yet and Samantha has us engaged. 
Now instead of looking like I'm about to get laid, I
look terrified.  I can feel the fright taking hold of
my face by degrees.

I jump when I feel a warm hand on my shoulder.

"You're not changing your mind, are you?"

How does he do that?  Coming up behind me like that,
digging into my mind with such ease?  Just a minute
ago, he was playing volleyball, swirling in a
testosterone haze with the other high school has-
beens.

"Of course not," I reply, refusing to look at him. 
Calm down, I tell myself.  Just be cool.

Settling into place in the chair next to mine, he
sighs.  "Good.  Just checking."

Something I imagine he's going to spend the rest of
the afternoon doing.  Though he's far from being the
insecure man who I once knew, it's second nature for
Mulder to question.  I'll have to set aside my fears
and be more reassuring.

Bringing my hand to cover his, I scoot to the edge of
the chair and squint against the sunlight.  With a
smile I say, "You know, it's not like we're getting
married, Mulder.  Just making love."

Where the hell did that word come from?  No, no!  Not
the 'm' word.  Stifle it, Dana!

A frown darkens his face.  Too late, he's grabbed onto
it like a bulldog.  "You don't want to marry me?"

Oops.  Wrong choice of words... I knew it the second
they left my lips.  All this talk of marriage with
Samantha has gone to my head faster than the alcohol.

"I didn't say that.  Besides, you didn't ask." 
Striving for nonchalance, I take a sip of my lukewarm
beer.

"Would you marry me if I asked?"

Knew that was coming.  "Would you ask?"

"No."  I whip my head in his direction, sputtering at
his murmured, "Gotcha."

He ignores my feeble attempt at anger and continues. 
"Scully, I would marry you in a heartbeat, you know
that.  Or not marry you, if that's what you want. 
Just because we're lovers doesn't mean that -"

"I know."  My soft reply stops him cold.  He waits
while I simmer a while.

It was true, what I told Samantha.  We still have work
to do.  Mulder knows this; for the past weeks we've
pushed aside the urgency to uncover the truth.  But we
know it's only a matter of time before Cancerman rears
his ugly head once more.

For now though, I am content with my life as it is. 
Normality is something I used to dream of in stale,
air-conditioned motel rooms and stuffy rental cars. 
Just having a chance to sample fresh air on a daily
basis is amazing.

Having a happy Mulder is more than amazing... it's
electrifying.  I find myself saying something totally
out of character, but it must be said.

"Mulder, I would like it very much if you would ask me
to marry you."  Stunned, he stares at me.  Dear God,
now I've said too much.  "Not today.  Just... one
day."  Still he sits like a statue.  "Mulder?"

He licks his lips before replying.  "I'm just waiting
for the 'gotcha'," he says shakily, his hazel eyes
misting over.

"No 'gotcha'," I reply, astonished at the realization
that I would like to marry him, very much.  I bring my
hand to his face and trace my fingers over his jaw. 
"I just wanted you to know it."

He puts aside our cups before grabbing both of my
hands.  "Wanna go find a justice of the peace right
now?"  Just like him to jump in with both feet.

"You didn't ask me yet."  My laughter is dangerously
close to tears.  He opens his mouth to put voice to
the question and I stop him with a sure hand.  "Don't
say it."

"Well why did you bring up the subject?"

"I didn't.  Your sister did."

"What?"

"She knows she interrupted something between you and
me in the car.  She thought you were proposing."

"Oh she did, huh?"  He gives me a lecherous grin.  "As
I recall, *you* were doing the proposing.  Or
propositioning, as the case may be."

"I'm such a tramp, aren't I?" I tease, moving in for a
preview of tonight's activities.

"Special Tramp Dana Scully," he quips, then pulls back
at the touch of my mouth on his, looking like he's
just been struck by lightning.

"What?"

Shaking his head, he replies, "Nothing.  Deja vu, I
guess."

I give him a sympathetic smile then murmur, "Somehow,
I'm not surprised," as I kiss him.

Our lips meet slowly, but before too long we're
dueling with a kiss so heated, so promising, I
question my wisdom in not phoning him when I first
woke up this morning.  His tongue darts into my mouth
and I eagerly parry with my own.

"Hey, you two!"

Groaning, Mulder pulls away, though he keeps my gaze
firmly locked with his.  "I'm gonna kill my sister one
day, you know."

"No you won't," I laugh, straightening at Samantha's
approach.

"I was looking for you," Samantha says to Mulder while
winking at me.  "The band's starting up.  Aren't you
going to dance?"

Mulder winces.  "Do we have to?"

"Come on, Mulder," I say, "I've never danced with
you."

Looking from Samantha to me, he knows what I've said
is an outright lie.  He's taken me dancing several
times in the past two months.  Go along with it, I
tell him with my wink.  At least we'll be in each
other's arms.

Grabbing my hand, he pulls me up and sidesteps his
sister.  "Yeah, sounds like a great idea.  Catch you
later, Samantha."

That's my boy.  Sharp as a tack.


**********


We sway to the strains of 'Smoke Gets in Your Eyes' as
sung by a God awful senior citizen version of the
Platters.  If I wasn't in such a good mood, this music
would be turning my stomach.  The butterflies are
still there, though, mainly due to the fact that the
hour is fast approaching when we can be alone.

What ever happened to my bid for gaining the upper
hand?  I was the one supposed to make her lose control
of the situation, not the other way around.  But do I
really care?  Hell no.  She seems very content with me
and the upcoming night.  I check my watch behind her
back and wish for the sunset.  Two hours?  Damn, we've
been here for three already and every time we try to
leave, something else comes up.  Lunch was expected,
then the obligatory birthday cake and gifts.  Mom and
Dad cornered me for a good half hour before I managed
to slip away.

Before I finally sat down with Scully, I'd gotten
roped into an impromptu game of volleyball.  It wasn't
until I realized that a groin pull would be most
untimely that I hauled my ass off, begging for time to
cool down.

"No use checking your watch, Mulder.  I promised
Samantha we'd stay and help clean up."

Pulling away from the warmth of her neck, I stammer,
"You... you did what?"  Damn Scully, do you want me or
not?

"Gotcha."  The corners of her mouth flirt with a
smile.

My hands tighten around her waist and she gasps when I
drop her over my arm in a whirlwind dip.  "Mulder!"

I keep her there for a second, my face inches above
hers.  "Do that again Scully, and I'll put you over my
shoulder and carry you home like a caveman."  Don't
think I wouldn't do it either, my eyes warn.

"Oh Mulder, you know what I like," she purrs, blowing
my attempt at dominance right out of the water. 
"Promise?"

Swinging her up into a standing position, I pull her
close, close enough to make my intentions *very*
clear.  "This feel like a promise to you?" I growl,
gripping her hips, making it impossible to put even a
piece of paper between us.

She swallows and her lids sink to half-mast.  "Promise
or not, it feels pretty damn good," she says huskily,
achingly, rubbing her abdomen against my growing
hardness.

"Sculleee... stop," I have to say, though it pains me
to do so.  There's still one thing to be discussed and
I have to say it before we get to her place and
incoherency becomes the mode of communication.

Thank goodness she hears the plea in my voice and
gives me breathing room.  "What?  What is it?"  Her
hands lace around the back of my neck, concern evident
in her tone.

"Are we gonna have to make a stop on the way home?"

She smiles, a beautiful, confident thing that makes me
want to rip her clothes off right here.  "Nope.  Got
it covered, Mulder.  Ortho-cyclen, to be exact." 
She's such a... *doctor* sometimes.  I anticipate the
next medical topic and sure enough, it's right on the
heels of her disclosure.  "I'm clean.  Are you?"  Her
fingers play with the hair that touches my collar and
it's all I can do to concentrate.

"In mind or body?"  At the purse of her lips, I
hurriedly concede.  "Yes, Scully.  Clean as the
proverbial whistle.  Wanna see the results of my last
physical?"

"Nah.  I trust you."

"I'll do you one better," I reply as the song comes to
a close.  "I love you."

We stand there as the crowd dissipates slightly and
once again the world shrinks until it's just us.  I
keep waiting for her to say it back to me, but
instead, she manages to get the upper hand with her
soft reply.

"Mulder, take me home and make love to me."

Yeah, I kind of knew it was coming, but I feel like
she just punched me in the gut.


**********


He looks like I just punched him in the gut.

The crowd swirls around us, couples lingering for the
start of the next song.  Mulder hasn't moved.  Jesus,
it's not like he didn't know this was coming.

"Mulder, did you hear me?"

"Yeeesss," he says, dragging the word out and making
his patented 'panic' face.  "I'm just trying to figure
out how I'm going to walk through this crowd without
embarrassing myself."

"So I guess I shouldn't do this, huh?"  My hand snakes
between us, but before I can reach my goal, he's
grabbed it in his own.

"Shit!  Okay, that's it.  Turn around."  He grabs me
by the shoulders and makes me his human shield. 
"March," he commands.

"Okay," I laugh, my smaller stride making it almost
impossible for us to exit the crowd without his big
feet overtaking mine.  We stumble a few times and I
can't help but chuckle.

"Shut up," he growls.  "This is not funny."

"Yes it is, Mulder.  We're probably attracting more
attention this way than we would have if we'd just -"

"Fuck this," he interrupts, grabbing my hand and
dragging me the rest of the way.

I was wrong.  His hurried pace is affording us quite a
few curious glances.  Of course, my silly laughter may
have something to do with it.  That and the hot color
I feel flooding my face; I'm incredibly horny all of a
sudden.  I've been a-tingle with anticipation all
afternoon, but this is different.

Mulder is taking me home to make love to me.  In a
way, I don't think I fully realized it until now. 
Stupid, isn't it?

In no time, we're making ruts in the lawn in our haste
to get away.  Breathlessly, I kiss Samantha goodbye
and shake Edmund's hand, then watch Mulder do the
same, fending off not-so-polite inquiries as to the
rush.

"Fox, the party's just getting started," Samantha
whines, then seeing she's not making headway, turns to
me.  "Dana, would you tell me what's the hurry?"

"I... uh, I just remembered I left my iron on,
Samantha.  Sorry!"  Mulder pulls me to the car and
practically shoves me into the passenger seat before
getting behind the wheel.

"You left your iron on?  How lame."  He fumbles with
the keys as I watch Samantha's dumbfounded expression
slowly turn into a smile.

Smiling back, I give her a wave and a wink.  "What did
you want me to say, Mulder?  That I was going home to
'fuck your brother'?  That would have gone over really
well."

Mulder doesn't reply, just puts the car in gear.  He's
gotten awfully quiet all of a sudden.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

We leave rubber on Edmund's driveway.  "I'm just
worried, that's all," he says grimly.  "The sooner
we're home, the better."

"Worried?  About what?"

"Oh, the usual.  Bees, consortium goons, my propensity
for hospital visits.  Something's bound to happen,
Scully.  We've dodged so many bullets in the past. 
Can I help it if I'm waiting for the other shoe to
drop?"

"Mulder, you're gonna crack a few teeth if you don't
relax your jaw.  Then we *will* be spending the night
in the hospital."  At my soft tone, he visibly sags
into a more relaxed pose, his fingers releasing their
choke hold on the steering wheel.  I put a hand on his
thigh and pinch; the bunched up muscle twitches, then
smooths out.  "Slow down.  We have lots of time. 
Besides, it's going to take an act of God to keep me
from 'fucking you like there's no tomorrow'."

He laughs and presses my hand deeper into his leg,
inching it up to meet his obvious need.  "You stole my
line."

The backs of my fingers brush against his khaki
covered bulge and he gasps before I pull away.  "So I
did.  What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing," he squeaks, negotiating a curve like he's
channeling Jeff Gordon.  "Not right now anyway. 
Unless you feel like stopping and making out in the
back seat of this car."  His mischievous grin is
tempting, but not irresistible.

"No thanks.  My bed is more comfortable."

Shifting in his seat, he groans, a low, earthy exhale
of breath.  "We're gonna have to stop talking about
this, Scully."

"Why?"  Though I know very well why, I can't resist
the teasing.

"Because all this talk of fucking and your bed is
making it difficult to drive, that's why.  And you
damn well know it."

Although he's half joking, I detect a hint of
frustration underlying the words.  Maybe it's time to
stop the innuendo; I *really* don't want our first
time together to be in the back seat of a car, groping
like teenagers.  If we keep up this banter, that's a
real possibility.

"Okay."

We lapse into silence as the minutes slide by.  It
seems like forever, but it's only been a half hour
when the streets of Georgetown unfold before us. 
Seems the Department of Public Works is working
against us, though.  We hit every damn stop light on
every block.

Eventually the quiet gets to Mulder, just like I knew
it would.  Me?  I could sit here blissfully for hours
and never say a word.  But Mulder has always been the
talkative sort, sometimes to the point where I wanted
to yell at him to shut up.  Now however, I welcome his
soft words.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"One more thing I have to know before we... you know."

"Yes?"

He bites at his lower lip before answering.  "When you
took a turn at the typewriter, you wrote that you
loved me.  Maybe you love me now because you can't
*not* love me."  Worry lines his face in the evening
shadows of the car.

Oh, Mulder.  Always looking for obstacles where there
are none.

"You're right, Mulder."

Sighing, he pulls up in front of my building and kills
the engine.  Before he can reply, I put my hand over
his and watch as he raises troubled eyes to mine.

"I could never *not* love you.  It was impossible
then, and it's irrevocable now."  My lips touch his,
carving my vow in stone, unbreakable, unshakable.

"Just thought I'd ask," he says, breaking away to bury
his face in my shoulder.  "Last chance, Scully."

My fingers sift through the short hair at the nape of
his neck.  "No Mulder.  It's *your* last chance. 
Remember, no way can I ever stop loving you.  So let
it be written...."

"So let it be done."  Our fate is sealed by his reply.


End part two

Part Three


Hmm.  'Sea foam.'  Judging from its half-empty state,
it looks like Scully has a particular affection for
this bottle of bath salts.  I'll have to remember
that.

"I hope you left me some hot water."

I almost drop the half-empty bottle of bath salts at
her greeting.  

"'Sea foam'," I say stupidly. 

My heart skips a beat at the sight of Scully lounging
against her bathroom door.  Her eyes lower to the
towel draped around my hips and it's all I can do to
retain a modicum of decency.  She insisted we clean up
before taking a tumble in the sheets and I agreed; not
only did I not want to smell of beer and sweat our
first time, I needed a bit of space in which to calm
down.

Much as I know what I'm doing in that department, this
is Scully we're talking about here.  Nervous doesn't
begin to cover what I'm feeling right now.

"Yeah, it's my favorite," she says quietly, taking it
from me.  "Thought I'd use it tonight, actually."  She
opens it and passes it under my nose.  "You like?"

"Oh yeah."  I tear my eyes away from her tempting
mouth and lean over the sink, suddenly realizing I
have a mouth full of toothpaste.  How smooth.

"I'll be through in a second," I mutter, giving my
mouth one last rinse.  "Hope you don't mind... I used
your extra toothbrush."

The sound of the bath tub filling greets my ears. 
"It's there for you."  So calm.  How can she be so
calm?

With a last wipe of the face towel, I'm done.  A quick
glance in the mirror tells me I'm ready for the night
ahead.  It also reflects back a face that's scared
shitless.  My eyes are desperate in a pale face.  What
if I screw this up?

Naked arms surround me and I feel a hot little nose
burrow into my back.  "Don't worry, Mulder. 
Everything will be okay."

Although I try hard to tamp them down, tears fill my
eyes and threaten to spill over.  Hanging my head so
she won't see, I let my hands cover hers.

"I've done nothing but mess up your life, Scully," I
whisper.  "What if I mess this one up, too?"  A little
too late to be thinking of that now, moron.  You
should have walked away from her two months ago while
she had the chance to start over.

Slowly, she turns my reluctant body to face her.  When
I open my eyes, it's to a vision of her in nothing but
bra and panties.  It literally steals away what little
breath I have left in my lungs.  I pull my hands away
and grip the counter behind me.  Don't touch.  If you
do, you're lost forever.

Her hands snake up my chest in a meandering smooth
slide of pink and white fingernails.  I watch their
progress with fascination; I find I can breathe again,
though it's now more rapid, painful almost with
anticipation.

When those instruments of torture reach my face, her
thumbs tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet her eyes. 
Bright blue against the background of white tile, they
tell me things I so want to hear.  They tell me she
loves me.  Tell me she desires me, needs me.  Will her
lips vow the same?

"Mulder, I don't ever want to hear you say that again. 
You did not 'mess up' my life, before or after it
changed."  Deep, sincere words, her voice is resolute
in a way that I've come to realize as the one truth in
my life.  Scully never lies to me.  I nod, still at a
loss for how to answer the truth when I hear it. 
Maybe one day she can show me how.

"Now, I've got champagne in the bedroom and an ache
that only you can ease.  Will you be waiting for me or
not?"

Finally, I feel like smiling.  So much has happened
today, so much good that I want to shout it from the
rooftops.  Instead, I settle for stealing a quick kiss
in the humid confines of our close quarters.  My hands
hold her to me lightly; I wouldn't want to start
something here when we have a comfy bed in the next
room.

"Champagne, Scully?  I thought you wanted whiskey
tonight."  Her lips move in counterpoint to my murmur,
pulling away with a gasp.

She colors, remembering her comparison not long ago. 
"Mulder, I didn't think... please don't take it the
wrong way -"

Shit.  Not what I wanted her to be thinking about
right now.

"I'm not," I assure her.  "I'm *trying* to be suavely
romantic, in case you hadn't noticed.  I can be
champagne when I want to be, you know."

"Oh yeah?"  She melts under my gaze, all thoughts
apparently flown from her mind, judging from her
fascinated stare at my mouth.  Well, all thoughts but
one... me.

"Just think of me as 'Chateau Mulder - '61'," I quip,
nibbling at her lips.  "Moody but tangy at times...
explosive acid and long snappy finish...."

"Let's hope so," she growls.

"Hurry," I whisper, releasing her to her waiting bath
tub.  "Like I told you months ago, I think I've aged
enough."


**********


Naked or not?  That is the question.

My white satin robe hangs on the back of the door.  It
really would be the safest course of action,
guaranteed coverup for a little while, at least.  Not
that I'm ashamed of my body, no indeed.  It's just
that I don't know if Mulder's ready for a full frontal
assault, so to speak, especially after his guilt trip
minutes ago.

Maybe we should take it slow.  We've waited six years
- what's a few more minutes going to mattter?  On the
other hand....

Maybe naked *would* be better.  Show him I have
nothing to hide from him anymore, in body and soul. 
Dammit, why can't I make up my mind?

Shit, I think I've over-analyzed this day to the point
of clinical madness.  I should have just jumped his
ass when he showed up this morning.  Give him and
myself less time to think.

*POP*.  There goes the champagne.

"Ow!  Shit!"

Guess the point is now moot.  Seems the sex will have
to wait;  Typhoon Mulder strikes again.  Sighing, I
tie the belt of the robe.  And we were *so* careful
all day.  Maybe he was on to something when he said he
was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As soon as I walk into the bedroom, I'm greeted by the
usual.  "God, Scully, I'm sorry -"

"Let me see, Mulder."  I sit beside him on the bed and
remove his right hand from his eye.  "What happened?"

Wincing, he manages to open the eye, thank goodness,
though there's a knot below it the size of a quarter
and it's deepening in color rapidly.  "Fucking cork
ricocheted off the ceiling and hit me in the eye."

"I'll get some ice," I say, pushing him back against
the pillows.  "Lie down, I'll be right back."

From the kitchen I can hear him cursing up a blue
storm, showering epithets on everyone from himself to
Dom Perignon.  And whoever invented plastic corks,
just for good measure.  Before he can get around to
God, I quickly fill a ziploc bag with ice, wrap it in
a dishtowel and run back to the bedroom, nearly
tripping over the hem of my robe.

"Shit," I mutter, then curse again silently when he
picks up on my stumble.

"Scully, you okay?"  Panic makes his voice rise an
octave.

"Fine, I'm fine."  Righting myself, I rush to stop him
before he sits up.  "Here, put this on your eye."  I
replace his hand with the bag.  He keeps both eyes
closed and drags in a heavy breath.

"At the risk of saying I told you so, Scully...."

Poor Mulder.  Poor me, actually.  Now I'll have to put
up with another five minutes of his 'the world's out
to get us' routine, or the 'what do you want with a
guy like me?' song-and-dance.  What was I thinking
moments ago?  Oh, yeah.  Something about 'jumping his
ass'....

"Your eye is going to be fine, Mulder.  The swelling
should be starting to go down."  At his moan, I decide
on my course of action.  Tonight's the night, dammit,
and I'm not going to let a little thing like a flying
cork come between us.

With a twist of my fingers, the belt of my robe gives
way.

"Feeling better?"

"No.  Still hurts."  A pout graces his lips.

"Better?"  My naked chest drapes across his and the
ice bag falls to the floor, his shiner forgotten.

"Scully?"

"Yes, Mulder?"

His hands pull at the silk while I make short work of
his towel.

"Miraculous recovery," he says, then pulls me under
him, making further speech unnecessary.


**********


Jesus, she sure knows how to cure a guy.

Mom's butterfly 'make boo-boo go away' kisses never
felt like this.  Maybe I ought to bottle Scully's
magic for the next time I really do land in a
hospital.

I'd always imagined what Scully would taste like, feel
like, sound like as we were making love.  But no
amount of imagination could have prepared me for
this... this absolute perfection.

Her arms encircle me, her hands hissing along my
spine, strumming each bone in my vertebrae, sending
the vibrations pulsing straight to my groin.  My hips
already begin to push into hers, answering her call,
though I'm not ready yet to give in to her siren song.

I'm too busy acquainting myself with other, just as
delectable parts of her body.  Not that I haven't seen
her naked before, touched her skin with these hands. 
It makes a whole world of difference when we're not
surrounded by a hoard of pissed off aliens.

She sighs when my mouth leaves hers and travels down,
down... finally closing upon the one thing I do
remember from our trip way down south.  Her breast,
the plump mound of flesh that I tried so hard not to
look at in Antarctica.  After all, I was trying to
save our asses, not cop a feel.  But the dire
circumstances didn't stop me from taking a mental
picture and fantasizing about how it would feel under
my mouth.

Just as I thought it would, though this is infinitely
more satisfying.  Her skin smells like... sea foam. 
Yeah.  I definitely like that.  And the taste?  Rather
tastes like that champagne we haven't yet sampled. 
Wonder if the left one tastes as good as the right?

Yep.

My hand closes over the hardened nipple I just
abandoned and Scully arches beneath me, her hands
moving up to grip my head.  Like that, do you Scully?

"Mulder..." she breathes, though it sounds
suspiciously like my name just became synonymous with
"Oh yes!"

Can I get an "Oh yes!" from her, just to be sure?  My
free hand skims her waist, glides over the newly born
gooseflesh on her belly, and zeroes in on the one part
of her I never *dared* look at before, much less
touch.

Soft, so soft she is, especially in the folds hidden
beneath her auburn curls.  Okay, so I *did* sneak a
peak on that spacecraft - I'm only human.  Sometime
tonight I hope to sample with my mouth the nectar
that's making my fingers slick, but not now.  One
discovery at a time, that's my motto.

I dip a finger into her warmth, searching for just the
right spot....

"Oh yesss...."

Judges?  The three clones of myself stand up in my
mind, each holding a '10'.  It's unanimous; every time
I hear my name from her lips now, I'll think of this
moment and consider myself worthy.  Sanctioned by the
only woman in the world that I would beg approval
from.

"Mulder?"

Not now, Scully.  I'm perfecting my craft.

"Mulder?"  Okay, so maybe I'm doing something she
doesn't like.  Better safe than sorry.

"Mmm - what?" I murmur, sliding up her body to look
down into her face, my hands gripping her thighs,
pulling her legs up and around me.  My cock takes up
where I left off, rubbing the little bud of pleasure
that is now throbbing.  I can feel it, actually feel
it humming against me.  She's close, so close.  Hell,
so am I, but I want to make her come first.

"Now, Mulder."  Her lips blur before me, forming the
two words I most wanted to hear.  My mind drifts back
to the day we were set free, when all I could think
about was getting to her and making love to her
immediately, decisively.  Indecision makes me pause; 
I never realized how much I wanted to just touch her,
make her writhe beneath me.

In my life, both of them, sex has always been a means
to an end.  Personal gratification for myself and my
partner.  Although I'm not one to make love without
feeling love, I've never been in love with anyone but
Scully.

"What is it?" she asks, sensing my need to say it.

"I love you, Scully."

Relief makes her smile and shakily, she brings her
lips up to mine.  Falling back onto the pillows she
says, "You scared me, Mulder."

"I did?"  And I thought I was doing a pretty good job
of scaring myself.

Nodding, she continues, "I thought you were going to
tell me some big, dark secret."

"Like what?"  Shifting, I nudge at her opening,
slipping in just a bit.  I groan and she answers with
a catch of her breath.

"Oh... God, Mulder, that feels so good..."  Inching
into her, I watch the play of emotion across her face
with awed fascination.  "Like maybe you had a wife
somewhere you didn't tell me about."

Nope, wrong life, Scully.  And she wasn't a wife, she
was a mistake.

"Or that -" her voice hitches again, becoming
strained.  "That you were gay and just didn't want to
disappoint me."

My cock slides into her, fully, completely, at last. 
I hold still for a moment, just savoring the feel of
her walls expanding, holding on to me like she's
always held on to me.  It is a physical joining that
rivals our spiritual joining.  We have finally become
one and the joy that thought brings makes me want to
weep with happiness.

I allow myself this moment of sentimental
introspection and lay my head upon her breasts,
listening to the rhythm of her heart beneath my ear. 
Scully lives.  Scully loves.  Scully has become mine.

Her hand makes lazy circles in my hair and I fight off
the tears little by little until I'm able to speak. 
"No wife, Scully.  And believe me, I'm not gay."  My
smile caresses her skin and she chuckles beneath me.

"Just checking.  We can't be too sure these days."

"Tell me about it."

Laughter trickles from me and she joins in, her body
shaking with mine.  Surreal, that's what this is. 
We've made the last connection and all we can do is
flirt with hysteria.  How bizarre.  How wonderful.

The last tremors leave me and I realize I must be
smothering her.  "Am I too heavy?"  God, I don't want
to choke her with my weight, but this feels so damn
good right now.

"Well, it's a good kind of heavy," she says.  "I could
stay here all night Mulder."  The syllables of my name
vibrate into my ear.

"Me too, but I think if I don't start moving soon,
I'll explode."

"Then move."  Wow.  That was better than 'Oh yes!'. 
She stretched out the 'ooo' in move and my body
responds instantly, twitching within her.


**********


God, he's so beautiful, just like I knew he would be. 
Moving above me, supported by his elbows on either
side of me, he graces me with a sight that I'd only
ever seen in my dreams.

In the glow from the bedside lamp, he's all golden,
his arms, his chest, his neck... pure unadulterated
gold.  A thin sheen of sweat adorns him like the
finest honey; I must taste it, and I do, running my
tongue along his collarbone.  My reward is a groan, a
hearty, piercing arrow straight to my lower abdomen.

Just like I knew it would be.

Yes, Mulder, I want to say, over and over, but the
pleasure building within me has strangled my voice. 
It's a chore to keep my eyes open now, but I must.  I
want to remember every moment of this, every short
exhale of his breath, every line that deepens in his
brow as he nears orgasm.

I think he's now on the edge; his eyes meet mine,
questioning.  Knowing that he would torture himself
with self-denial, I answer him by stealing a hand
between us, intent upon taking up where he left off
not long ago, my fingers almost burned by the heated
friction of his cock moving in and out of me.

Oh, I can tell he likes that, his eyes widening, then
narrowing as I add to our pleasure, his and mine.

"Yes, Scully," he grates out, flattening his palms on
the bed for greater leverage.

Yes, yes.  It builds, it thunders, every stroke of his
body resonating throughout me until I can stand it no
longer.  I splinter into a thousand pieces, releasing
myself unto him with a cry, my hands clutching at his
upper arms, my torso bowing as the synapses fire all
at once.  I can't breathe.  All I can do is feel.

So that is how it's going to be between us, I think
with wonder as I come back to reality.  Better than I
imagined it would ever be.  Better than champagne,
better than whiskey.  More powerful than any drug,
certainly more addictive.

It takes a few moments for me to get my bearings, but
when I do, I realize that Mulder hasn't stopped,
though he's looking at me with glazed, smoky grey
eyes.

"Beautiful," is all he says, all he can say.  On
toward completion he strives, pounding into me now. 
Vaguely I ponder the inevitable soreness I'll have to
endure in the morning, but I brush the thought away. 
Seeing him like this is well worth it.

I touch him everywhere I can, the knotted tendons in
his neck and shoulders, the ripple of muscle below his
navel, his flexing, rotating ass.  With my mouth I
whisper, "I love you," to his chin, the shell of his
ear, the purplish bruise below his eye.

When I bring my lips to his and murmur, "Let go
Mulder... I've got you," he finally lets loose,
throwing his head back and to the side with a hoarse
cry, coming in an orgasm so intense, I feel his semen
shoot into me for what seems like an eternity.  It's
enough to tumble me over the edge again, not as soul-
rending as the first time, but just as sweet, my
vaginal muscles clenching around his cock.  My arms
refuse to let go as well, circling his body so I may
ride it out with him.

He stays with me until I collapse upon the bed, then
drops his head, capturing my lips in a kiss so
exquisite I may die from the pleasure of it, I think. 
Once, twice he pulls away, only to return for more. 
His arms are shaking from the overexertion but he
makes no move to break the connection, his penis soft
within me now.

I don't want him to leave me just yet, but I can't
bring myself to make him go.  With gentle hands, I
make him relax, shushing his protests until I maneuver
us into laying side by side on the bed, still joined,
our legs entwined.

We do nothing for endless minutes but look at each
other and pass our hands over curves and valleys slick
with dampness.  Neither of us speak, though there's
really no need.  If his glorious face is a reflection
of mine, then we're saying all we need to.  The depth
of emotion I feel could not be put into words, anyway. 
And he doesn't have to hear me say them, he knows.

But when has Mulder ever passed up an opportunity to
speak?

"So you've got me, eh?" he slurs, his speech taking a
while to catch up with his mind.

Post-coital Mulder is a very attractive one indeed. 
I'll have to remember this next time we get into a
fight.  Fuck him and his continuous 78 rpm album of
'Fox Mulder's Greatest One-liners' slows to 33 1/3 in
a flash.

"Yeah, I got you good."  I think he's drooling into
his pillow.  Poor baby, I wore him out.

"Scully?"  His voice is silvery, lyrical.

"Hmm?"  My hand is enclosed by his, warm and
protected.

He clears his throat and the words come out easier
this time.  Damn.  "Would you say we just wrote the
perfect ending?"

I think of the piece of paper that started it all,
safely tucked away in the Gunmen's lair.  The single,
flimsy sheet of onionskin that led us to this defining
moment.

"Like - 'and they lived happily ever after'?"

Nodding, he waits for me to tell him what the last
line will be.

"Then yes, Mulder.  Though I don't care for 'happily
ever after'.  Too much like a fairy tale."

His eyebrow shoots up and he grimaces at the pull of
skin below his eye.  "Ouch."

Soothing my fingers over the bruise, I say, "See.  You
and I are not fairy tale material, Mulder.  Too many
corks with our names on them."

Smiling, he says, "Okay then, Ms. Louis L'amour.  How
would you write it?"

I pretend to give it some thought before answering and
Mulder yawns, the day finally beginning to catch up
with him.

"'Scully loves Mulder.  The End.'"

His eyes perk up, darkening to a smolder, though his
reply smacks of mock sarcasm.  "And you say my line
was sappy?"

"It wasn't your line, I said it first."

"But I thought it first."

"Doesn't matter, I still like mine better, Mulder."

"Well then, Scully, you're gonna love this one."  He
pulls me into his embrace and reaches for the sheet,
draping us in cotton. "'Mulder loves Scully. The
End.'"

I pinch his waist.  "Plagiarist."

"Nitpicker."

"Believer."

"Skeptic."

"Beloved."

I lift my head at his soft-spoken word and sigh my
answer against his lips.  "Believed."





END