The Voice is Mine by Mish mish_rose@yahoo.com Classification: MSR, Mulder POV Rating: PG Spoilers: A few minor ones through season six Summary: Scully's voice finally penetrates the fog in Mulder's brain... Distribution: Yes, go for it, just let me know where, okay? Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters used here are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. Who cares? Dedicated to my bestest friend, Jan. She's put up with a lot from me this week, and I love her for it! Author's Notes: This takes place in the beginning of season 7; "Biogenesis" never happened in my little universe. Hah - and I'll bet you were thinking this little fic was post-Biogenesis, huh? The Voice is Mine That was the first time I heard it. That was the first time I put a name to it. That was the first time I craved it. That was the first time I fell in love with it. ********** Fox Mulder's apartment 2:10 a.m. October 19, 1999 "Scully?" "Yes?" she murmurs, her voice dripping with sleep. "I woke you, didn't I?" Of course you did, moron. With a rustle of satin against cotton sheets, I can almost see her look at her clock. "Christ, Mulder, it's two in the morning. What's wrong?" "Don't get excited, Scully," I quickly reassure her. "I just couldn't sleep, that's all." She sighs into the receiver in acceptance. "Wanna talk?" No, I want to listen. "Were you dreaming?" I shift against my couch in anticipation of her reply. "Actually - yes." It floats over the line in a gentle breeze. "Tell me." Yes, please, Scully. "I had to choose between you and Harrison Ford." Jesus, she must still be half asleep. I gulp my lukewarm beer and breathe a silent "Thank you, Jesus." "So...who did you choose?" Calm down, old boy. She's sure to hear your heart racing over the telephone. "He had a ranch. With horses," she whispers, her voice fading into gritty exhaustion. "Lots...and lots...of horses." I feel like such a cad. "Scully?" "Yesss," she slurs. "Go back to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow." "Mmm-kay." I cradle her breath in the palm of my hand. ********** American Airlines Flight 802 En route to Seattle, Washington November 15, 1999 "Scully?" She murmurs into my shoulder, but remains blissfully asleep. "Sculleee..." "Brad?" Who the hell is Brad? "Scully?" I say her name louder in the hopes of breaking through her drugged sleep. She's been fighting a nasty sinus infection all week. I really didn't want her along on this trip, but she insisted, saying the antihistamine should kick in any day now. The little yellow pills contribute to her lethargy, making her sleep like a baby. And judging from the caress of her mouth on my neck, they create quite the erotic dreamland. I could sit here all day with her curled around me, but duty calls. "Scully!" She pops up in her seat and blinks rapidly, momentary confusion marring her brow. "Where are we?" "We're almost to Seattle," I reply, catching her glasses before they fall to the ratty carpet. "Who's Brad?" "What?" she grumbles huskily. I don't think she even knows she was dreaming. I hazard a guess. "Brad Pitt?" She looks at me like I've grown another head. "Mulder, what are you talking about?" One of the more troublesome symptoms of her illness has been a touch of laryngitis. She's royally pissed that she can't chew my ass when she wants to with full-voiced Scully ire, but I think it's wonderful. I hear her speak and am instantly transported to a fantasy world of smoky gin joints where I get to call her "Baby" and she tells me to just "put my lips together and blow." Scully pauses for a second, then straightens her jacket and reaches for her glasses. Her face blossoms with color; I hope it's embarrassment and not fever. I shouldn't be teasing her this way. With a brush of my hand against her downy cheek I ask, "Are you okay?" "Sure, Mulder," she rasps. "I'm just parched. Can I get something to drink?" "Sorry, Scully," I apologize. "They closed shop ten minutes ago." I nod in the direction of the flight attendant gathering up empty glasses from the passengers. "Do you want me to flash my badge and demand service?" I'm halfway out of my seat when she lays a tiny hand on my arm. "That's all right, Mulder. I can wait until we land. Thanks for offering, though." She smiles sweetly and glances at the file on my lap. "Anything interesting?" We're on our way to Seattle to investigate several purported UFO sightings in Mount Rainier National Park. Well, *I'm* going to investigate that forest. If I have my way, Scully will be spending the majority of her time in the cozy comfort of her hotel room, typing reports and sipping spiced tea. She reaches for the stack of eyewitness reports and I try to talk her out of overdoing it once again. "Scully, you don't have to -" "Mulder," she interrupts me, slightly slurring my name in the aftermath of sleep. "I'm okay. Quit babying me." Oh, Scully, if only you knew. "So?" she patiently waits while I wallow in laryngitis-induced fantasies. I shift in my seat, willing away the sudden ache in my groin. "I tried to look them over, Scully, but I forgot my glasses in my suitcase," I say, mentally crossing my fingers. I *really* don't want her to bother with this; she needs to take it easy on this trip. "I can read them to you if you like," she offers. I groan inwardly but nod complacently. I can handle this. Just ten minutes until we arrive in Seattle. Piece of cake. She's a study in professionalism, glasses perched atop her regal nose. I love the classic lines of her profile. "File number X-573821. Several sightings of bright lights reported by campers and park rangers over a three week period beginning on September 12, 1999 and continuing through..." I close my eyes and listen with fascination. Amazing how an X-file can be transformed into the sensual words of "Lady Chatterly's Lover." All it takes is the right voice. ********** 1111 30th Street Georgetown 11:24 p. m. December 8, 1999 Okay, so I'm addicted. Ever since our trip to Seattle, I've called Scully three times in the middle of the night pleading insomnia. She gently responds in the voice, the one that breeds in me a firestorm of desire. I consider myself an intelligent man. I'm able to profile a serial killer with such detail I can tell you if he wears boxers or briefs. But I've been so blind all these years to the possibilities in Scully's voice. Or rather, deaf to it. It didn't occur to me until recently that her sleep-roughened voice probably sounds exactly like her lovemaking voice. All right, so maybe I'm stretching it a bit there. All I know is that the sound of Scully's voice after she's just awakened *could* be very similar in tone and pitch to the sound of her voice in ecstasy. And I can't get enough of it. When I give in to the urge to wake her from peaceful slumber, it's always with the silent promise to never succumb again. But, God forgive me, I'm about to do it again. She sleeps, her cheek pillowed against her gloved hand in the dark confines of the car. I've fidgeted for an hour with the steering wheel, fighting the ache to settle her in my lap. Every now and then she shifts, her eyes dancing behind closed lids in the embrace of her dreams. I've heard a breathy "yes" escape from her lips a few times, interspersed with moans and sighs. I can only imagine which movie star is enjoying the pleasure of her company tonight. "Mmm - Mulder." What? I grip the steering wheel in white-knuckled anxiety. Did she just... "Mulder," she repeats, her murmur accompanied by a ghost of a smile. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer before opening them again. She's still asleep, her chest rising and falling in blissful ignorance. An image of Scully lost in the throes of passion beneath me steals my breath away in a spasm of pain. That's it. The cold slaps me in the face when I yank open the car door. I pace beside the car, gulping the frigid air into my starved lungs. "Mulder?" Shit, I forgot to close the door. "Mulder, where are you?" It's the voice. Jesus, Scully, please stay in the car. She must see me in the glow of the street lamp above me, because her next words are tinged with concern. "Mulder, are you okay?" "I'm fine, Scully," I manage to grate out. "I just needed a little air. Go back to sleep." Dammit, she's getting out of the car. "Any sign of Dickerson?" she asks, referring to the suspected terrorist we've been sent here to keep an eye out for as a favor to the Domestic Terrorism Unit. "Nope," I reply, steeling myself against her approaching warmth. "Look, Scully, I can do this alone. Why don't you go home? You don't have to freeze out here with me." I feel her stop behind me. My arm jerks in response to the light touch of her hand. She notices it instantly, moving to study my lockjawed profile. "Mulder, it's cold out here," she says, assuming my jumpiness is a result of the temperature. "Come back inside, okay?" I regret it the moment I look down at her. Her cheeks are a sleepy pink, her lips rosy in her wind-chapped face. The deep blue of her eyes shimmer with the memory of her dream, their pupils dilated in unknowing desire. This time, I see the white steam caress my face. "Mulder?" She takes in my clenched fists and tight stance in a single sweep of her eyes. "Say it again, Scully," I plead. "Say my name." Awareness dawns in the shadows between us; Scully reacts with a tremulous smile. "Mulder." I enfold her face in my trembling hands and brush the petal softness of her cheek with my thumb. "Again." The entreaty falls from my lips with shaky exhilaration. "Mulder," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "Mulder..." I savor the sight of my name on her lips, bending to make the seal permanent. "Sweetheart." I pause in my descent, snapping my gaze back to hers and listening with my soul. "Lover." I snatch the endearment from her lips and devour it with uncontrollable fervor, my tongue dueling hers for possession of those simple letters. Her arms slide under my coat and she fuses her body to mine. We stand together for an eternity, exchanging declarations of love and need between kisses. How long we linger I have no idea; we finally break apart at the rude interruption of Scully's cell phone. She pulls away with a moan, her eyes promising a return engagement. I keep her in a loose embrace while she reaches into her coat pocket. "Hello? - Yes, this is Scully." Her gloved hand warms my damp cheek. Jealousy rears its ugly head; that voice just became mine. "Yeah, okay, thanks." The telephone is shut off and lost once again in the voluminous folds of her coat. "Shift's over, Mulder. They nabbed him three blocks over. We can go home now," she says, dragging my sluggish ass in the general direction of the car. I momentarily halt our progress with a tug on her hand, forcing her to look at me. She answers my unspoken question with a quick peck on my numb cheek. "My place is closer," she whispers in a sultry rasp, backing toward the car with me in tow. "Come on, poopyhead, get those legs moving." "Anything you say, baby." END Well, if you made it this far, let me know what you think of it! Feedback to mish_rose@yahoo.com Yeah, baby! Check out my fiction at http://members.xoom.com/galias/mishfic.htm