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FBI Special Agent Dana Scully sat in her
office chair, staring into space. She would have been sitting at
her desk except that she didn't have one. The only desk in
*this* office belonged to her partner, FBI Special Agent Fox
Mulder. Mulder, she mused. She didn't know, really, just what it
was that made him so attractive to her. She had wondered about
this often. He was tall, good-looking. But there was something
more. Maybe it was his voice; most women were attracted to a
deep, resonant, masculine voice, but his was special, a sort of
velvet monotone that caused her pulse to race whenever she heard
it.
"Hey, Scully. Good morning."
Damn it! She jumped in her chair. Why did
he always have to sneak up on her? She felt irritated with him.
She felt irritated with him most days, actually, and that was
probably one of the reasons that nothing had ever happened
between them. Although there were others. She, after all, was a
doctor, a scientist, while he ... well, Mulder went more by
intuition, and she really couldn't get into that. But she had to
admit, he frequently made these fantastically intuitive leaps
that often led to them solving their cases, which was great for
her career. He just couldn't seem to pick up on the many, many
hints that she dropped to let him know that she was interested.
Oh, well, she sighed to herself; she could always hope.
There she sat, he thought, his partner,
Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D. He mentally left off the M.D.
part, though he knew she wouldn't like it. Scully was really
into titles, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she felt just
a teeny bit superior to him because of the doctor thing, though
she really didn't get on him much about it. She was, however,
very touchy about being his equal even though he had been
working on the X-Files for a lot longer and, frankly, was a lot
better at it. So he had developed this thing where he would ask
her for her opinion, even though most of the time he was
thinking about box scores in his head while she was talking. It
kept the peace, though, and he was really anxious to keep the
peace with Scully. She was very, very attractive, and he kept
hoping that their working relationship would develop into
something more. It never had, though, in spite of the many
longing looks he'd cast her way; he'd kissed her forehead
several times and even stroked her jaw, but she was oblivious to
his attraction for her. He had been practicing in the mirror
lately, trying to get up the courage to approach her, and
although he'd developed one or two new looks of longing, he just
couldn't seem to get it together.
The phone rang. "Mulder," he
answered. He sighed. "Scully. The phone. It's for
you--Assistant Director Skinner. Again." This was one part
of the job that he hated, answering the phone. It was usually
for Scully, and it was usually their boss, Walter Skinner.
Skinner had never bothered him when Mulder had first started on
the X-Files; in fact, he hadn't seen the guy for nearly two
years until Scully had been assigned to the X-Files. Now Skinner
was always popping down, checking up on them to see what they
were doing. All that mattered to Mulder was the work. I just
want to do my job, he thought self-righteously.
"Scully."
"Hi, Dana--er--Agent Scully. It's me,
Walter--Walter Skinner, your boss? Um ... I was wondering if you
had a minute today, if you would mind coming up to my office. I
have a ... special project ... that I'd like to discuss with
you."
"Certainly, sir," she replied.
"When would you like to see me?"
"Well ... how about this afternoon
sometime ... say five o'clock?"
She paused. "Gee, sir, it *is*
Friday."
"Oh, whenever you get a minute, Agent
Scully. Any time would be fine with me."
"All right, sir, I'll stop up later.
Shall I arrange a time with your assistant?"
"Actually, she's not here today. So
just come on up whenever."
"And Agent Mulder? Would you like to
see him as well?"
"Uh ... no. Just you."
"All right, sir." She hung up
the phone and turned to look at Mulder. "Skinner wants to
talk to me about some kind of special project. What do you think
it could be about?"
Mulder was staring into space. He loved
listening to her, even when she was droning on and on. Scully
had the most beautiful voice. It sounded liked crushed ice
against his skin; sometimes it sounded like molten sugar. It
depended on the weather. He got up suddenly. "I'm going to
the men's room, Scully. I'll be back in a minute."
"Okay, Mulder," she said.
"I'll just read this article on mutants until you get
back." She hated to pry, but Mulder seemed to spend more
than his share of time in the bathroom. She thought of
mentioning this to him; after all, she *was* a medical doctor,
but sometimes he looked kind of, well, disheveled when he got
back, so she thought it best not to mention it. This mutant
article is really long, she thought. The phone rang.
"Scully."
"Hey, Scully, it's me."
"Mulder? I thought you were in the
men's room."
"I am--er--was. Scully, do you think
you could read a couple of paragraphs to me from that mutant
article? I've got a ... theory."
"Sure, Mulder. What part?"
"Any part."
"Well, okay. 'The large quantities of
glycoproteins will most certainly lead the researcher to the
conclusion--'"
"Scully?"
"What?"
"Do you think you could read
faster?"
She sighed. "'... That the organism
is a carbon-based one, and that a close examination of the amino
acids present in the core sample--'"
"Faster, Scully--"
"'... will provide the researcher
with a basis for further examination upon--'"
CLICK.
Mulder was always doing that, she thought.
He never ended a conversation with "bye" or
"catch you later" or anything like that. He always
hung up really quickly. When he first started doing it she
considered talking to him about it, but she guessed it was just
that he considered her his equal, his partner. Come to think of
it, Skinner did that sometimes, too, and the guys in the lab.
She must have finally infiltrated the old boy network at the
FBI. They thought she was just one of the guys. Hmm, thought
Scully, maybe that was the problem with Mulder.
She was working at her computer when
Mulder came back in. He didn't look pleased; he pointed to
someone behind him and mouthed "Skinner" at her. They
must have met up in the men's room.
"Hi, Dana--er--Agent Scully,"
said the Assistant Director. "How's it going?"
"Fine, sir."
"Wow, that's really a pretty outfit.
You look really nice today, Dana--er--Agent." Poor Skinner,
thought Scully. There must be some kind of mold or spore
activity here in the basement; his voice always got really low
and husky when he came down to talk to her. Maybe he had
allergies. She knew a couple of specialists and had thought of
mentioning it to him; after all, she *was* a medical doctor, but
she didn't want him to think that she was stepping out of line.
"Thank you, sir." She looked
down at her basic black pantsuit. Come to think of it, she wore
a lot of black. Maybe that was the problem with Mulder, maybe he
thought she was too austere. She did have that charcoal gray
pantsuit; maybe she'd wear that on Monday.
Someone was coming down the hall. They all
looked up as Arlene from the Information Desk came in with a
large bouquet of flowers. "Dana? I've got some more flowers
for you."
"Again?" said Scully. Out of the
corner of her eye she saw Skinner slip Arlene a couple of dollar
bills. Wow, that was really thoughtful. She knew that Mulder
didn't like Skinner hanging around all the time, and she had to
admit that it got on her nerves, too, especially since it seemed
to be happening more and more often outside of work; she was
always bumping into him at the grocery store, the library, at
the garage. She didn't think he even lived close to her. One
time she'd even run into him in the building where she saw her
gynecologist. Oh, well, D.C. had a confusing street system; he'd
probably gotten lost.
"Who are they from, Scully?"
asked Mulder.
She looked at the card. Her name,
"Dana Scully," was on the outside of the envelope, but
there was no signature. "It's unsigned."
"As usual," said Mulder.
"Uh, Agent Scully," said
Skinner. "I'll just leave this list of items I'll need for
the special project ... here on your--where's your desk?"
"I don't have one, sir. Agent Mulder
and I share the one desk."
"Well," said Skinner. "I'll
have to see about that. Come up to my office a little early and
we'll look through an office furniture catalogue," he
smiled at her. "See you later." He gave a little wave
as he and Arlene went back down the hall.
Scully glanced down at the list he had
left. Gee, that handwriting looked so familiar. She checked out
the card on the bouquet of flowers. It seemed really ...
similar. It vaguely reminded her, too, of the writing on those
sexually explicit notes someone had been leaving on her car,
although she'd thrown those away. "Look at this, Mulder.
The handwriting on Skinner's list is almost exactly the same as
on that envelope that came with my flowers. That's really
interesting," she said as she looked for something to mop
up the water that had spilled out onto Mulder's desk.
Mulder looked more than a little
interested. In fact, he felt a big intuitive leap coming on. His
eyes narrowed and he put his fingertips together. Could it be?
Could it be that *Skinner* was interested in Scully? That would
explain a lot of things, including her big cost of living raise
that, he, Mulder didn't get, even though he didn't care about
things like money. It was just about the work; he just wanted to
do his job, he thought defensively.
"So, Mulder, do you want to grab a
bite of lunch?" she asked hopefully. Maybe she could
approach him then about her feelings for him.
"No, Scully, I've got some errands to
do today during lunch time. See you later," he said,
grabbing his suitcoat as he left the office.
Scully sighed. She guessed she'd eat by
herself in the commissary today. She picked up her jacket and
turned off the lights.
"Agent Scully?"
She jumped. It was the Assistant Director
again; he must have forgotten something in their office.
"Oh ... hello, sir."
"Do you have any plans for lunch? I
thought maybe we could talk in my office. I really want to start
... working with you."
"No, sir, I don't have any plans for
lunch," she said. She tried to listen to Skinner as they
walked down the hall toward the elevator; he was on one of his
favorite topics again, about his bad marriage and how no one
understood him. Scully thought maybe he could use the services
of a good mental health professional; she knew a couple of
therapists and had thought about suggesting it to him; after
all, she *was* a medical doctor, but she'd thought better of it.
He might be offended. She kept thinking about Mulder. He never
had any plans at lunch time. Where was he going?
*****
Skinner had forced his hand, Mulder
thought. He was going to have to make his move on Scully sooner
than he had planned. He'd never actually planned out this move,
but there was no time like the present. Mulder didn't know why
he was having so much trouble approaching Scully. Women seemed
to like him, he'd had girlfriends. He knew this because they
popped up from time to time and they still seemed to be
interested in him. He must have had a really great technique, if
only he could remember what it was. There was that girl from
England; then there was that vampire girl he'd picked up in a
bar; that hadn't been so good. Scully had been missing then and
he wasn't thinking too clearly. Then there was that woman who
had been in the suicide cult. They'd been soulmates in previous
lives; that had been ... what ... like 150 years ago or
something, and she had still been interested in him.
He went into Barnes & Noble. He needed
a different technique, and surely there was some kind of book
that could help him. He felt weird being in the Human Sexuality
section, so he grabbed the first book he could find and headed
off to the Sci-Fi comics section where he felt less conspicuous.
He picked up the latest X-Men comic and put it around his book.
Three or four junior high-age boys were staring at him.
"Aren't you boys supposed to be in school?" he tried
to sound official.
"It's lunch time, Mister," one
of them said.
He pulled back his suit jacket so that his
weapon was visible and they scampered off. That worked less and
less well these days, but it was still better than showing his
FBI badge. The way things were going with the Bureau, a special
agent with the FBI got slightly less respect than the Easter
Bunny. He'd even been mistaken for a FEMA worker a couple of
times, and he didn't like it. Yeah, in D.C. he was nothing, but
he had big plans for himself and Scully, where they would go on
a trip together and he would show his badge and say
"FBI" in a really deep voice to impress her and get
good tables in restaurants. At least, he thought that's what
people did on trips. He hadn't had a vacation in a long, long
time. Oh, Scully, he sighed.
He couldn't find any of the techniques
he'd used on Scully in the book. There was nothing on forehead
kissing. Nothing on jaw stroking. Damn! He'd even checked the
index for "jawline stroking," but still, no luck. He
thought of the times he'd stroked her temples with his thumbs,
rubbed the bridge of her nose, her eyebrows with his fingers.
Someone had liked that, but who? Oh, yes, now he remembered.
Chipper, his black Labrador retriever. Good ol' Chipper. They
had had some great times together, him and Chipper, back in the
day. But it was time to move on. Mulder read quickly. Thank God
he had that photographic memory so he wouldn't have to buy the
sex book. It would be too embarrassing. He raised his eyebrows.
Hmmm. The book offered some interesting suggestions. Guess I'll
have to work a little farther south, he thought.
*****
Scully was putting some files away when he
got back to the office.
"Where were you?" she asked.
"You're awfully late getting back from lunch, aren't
you?"
"Traffic. You know," he said.
"I'm sorry I couldn't have lunch with you, Scully. I know
you don't like eating by yourself in the commissary."
"That's okay. I ran into Skinner and
we wound up having lunch in his office."
I'll bet, thought Mulder.
"Boy, I feel sorry for his assistant.
She was gone today, so we kept getting interrupted and he just
blew up," said Scully. "She must have to put up with a
lot. But I did find out about the special project he wants me to
work on."
"Oh?"
"Yes, he wants me to reorganize his
desk drawers."
"*What*?"
"You know, make them ergonomically
more efficient."
"Scully," said Mulder slowly.
"Don't you think it's odd that he'd put a special agent
from the X-Files on a project like that?"
"Well, no. He probably thinks that I
know something about kinesiology and things like that, well, you
know, being that I'm a medical doctor and all." She hoped
she hadn't offended Mulder about the doctor thing. Hmmm, she
thought, maybe that was the problem with Mulder.
Mulder sighed. Well, he thought, here
goes. Actually it would be a relief to tell Scully how he felt.
He knew there was a pool at the FBI about him and Scully. The
other male agents would all be wearing ALF t- shirts and humming
the tones from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" if
they thought they could work with her, she was so attractive.
Maybe even some of the female ones. But somehow everyone knew
that their relationship was chaste. He knew, too, that 40%
thought he was gay and the other 60% had put their money on
clueless, not that he cared about things like that. It was all
about the work, he just wanted to do his job. Still, he thought
wistfully, it was getting harder and harder to get a pickup game
of basketball with the gay thing going on.
He cleared his throat. Scully glanced in
his direction as she was putting away some files. He was really,
really nervous. Shake it off, Mulder, shake it off, he told
himself. He did. Scully shot him a look.
"You okay, Mulder?"
"Uh, yeah. Say, Scully ... how'd you
feel about having dinner with me tonight?" Okay, he
thought, she must know how I feel about her. I just asked her to
dinner. He stared deeply into her eyes. Come on, come on,
Scully, pick up on it ... pick up on it.
He was giving her one of those looks
again. What was up with that? thought Scully. She eyed him
suspiciously. "You're buying, right?"
"Yeah, sure. Wherever you want to go.
It's on me," he smiled at her.
"Well, yes, that'd be great, Mulder.
Pick me up at 7:00?"
"Fine."
She stood up from in front of the file
cabinet and brushed off her hands against her pantsuit. "I
think I'll take off a little early, if that's okay with you. I'm
going to take some of these journals home with me and see if I
can get a little reading done this weekend." She moved her
head back and forth, rubbing the back of her neck. That damned
implant. It was probably going to rain.
"No problem," said Mulder.
"See you at 7:00." Thank God she was leaving. He
needed to sit down.
"Knock, knock...." said a
familiar voice at the door.
"Assistant Director Skinner ...
hello," said Scully. "Was there something else you
needed to speak to me about concerning the special project with
your desk?"
Skinner flashed a quick look in Mulder's
direction. "No ... ah ... just happened to be down here in
the basement and thought I'd drop in to see how things were
going. Are you leaving, Agent Scully?"
"Yes, sir," she said. "I'm
just taking a few things home to work on over the weekend."
"Oh, well, here, let me ... can I
carry your books for you? Let me walk you to the elevator. Or
the parking garage. Did you drive to work today? I didn't see
your car...."
"Oh, um, okay," she said.
"Bye, Mulder. See you later."
*Skinner*, thought Mulder. His intuition
thing was one for one.
*****
Mulder was happy. All in all the day had
gone pretty well. No, Scully had not picked up on the fact that
he loved her, but he was pretty sure that he could go through
with it at dinner. And he had, in fact, correctly intuited four
things today, three if you didn't count that thing with
predicting when the bread truck would arrive at the FBI
commissary, and he didn't think he would, being as how he hd
noticed it rather than intuited it.
He took a quick shower and shaved. He
looked in the mirror. With any luck at all, he and Scully might
be having a "close encounter" of their own tonight.
His heart pounded a little faster. Dah-dee-dah-dum-dee, he
crooned tunelessly to himself in the mirror. He felt really
nervous. Shake it off, Mulder, he told himself. He did.
Scully, too, was making preparations for
the dinner date. Because it was a date, she told herself. Sort
of. She wondered how best to approach Mulder. It seemed as if he
got scared off fairly easily. She knew about the pool about
Mulder and her. Originally, it was 60-40 in favor of Mulder
being gay, but a carefully timed conversation with Holly the
switchboard girl about "fear of commitment" had swung
things the other way. And maybe things were going to change
tonight. After all, she'd dropped at least three major hints
today about her feelings for him. Maybe he was finally picking
up on them. She dressed carefully. A nice, basic black pantsuit,
just like she wore at work. Maybe it would put him at ease. She
decided against wearing her small gold cross. I don't want him
to think that I'm super-religious or against premarital sex, she
thought. Hmmm, maybe that was the problem with Mulder. Still, it
was her lucky cross. The doorbell rang and she went to answer
it.
*****
Dinner was over and they were at the door
of Scully's apartment. Things had gone pretty well, thought
Mulder, though not as well as he had hoped. Scully still hadn't
picked up on the fact that he was in love with her, even though
he'd told her to order the most expensive thing on the menu and
had let her order her own dessert, no sharing. They'd had a
great conversation; she had seemed interested in him, much more
so than usual. She hadn't even cut him off when he'd started
telling her his theory about the Barney and Betty Hill case, and
he was pretty sure he'd mentioned it to her a couple of times
before.
"Want to come in for some coffee,
Mulder?" she asked.
"Sure, Scully, that would be
nice."
They walked into the apartment and she
flicked on the lights. My, it was nice in here, he thought. It
was orderly and tidy, and things smelled fresh and clean. Scully
was getting some coffee beans out of the fridge. Wow, he
thought, look at all that food she has in the fridge. His own
living situation was not so good, but he tried not to let it
bother him. After all, it was the work that mattered. And he
just wanted to do his job.
"Is your bathroom still in the same
place, Scully?" he asked.
"Uh-huh," she said. "To the
left, through the bedroom."
He walked through her bedroom, trying not
to look at her bed. But there it was: pristinely made and
covered with pillows. He bet you could bounce a quarter off it.
He went into the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water.
Oh, boy, he thought. He couldn't stay in the bathroom forever.
She'd certainly come looking for him and that would be really
bad. He took a deep breath and left the bathroom, putting one
hand to the side of his face so he wouldn't have to see the bed
again, and walked into the living room.
"Scully," he said.
She was pouring coffee into two mugs and
glanced over at him. "Yes, Mulder?" He started to say
something but he was mumbling and she was having a hard time
understanding him. She noticed then that he was breathing
awfully fast. "Mulder, are you okay?" she asked,
concerned.
"I think I need to sit down." He
felt for the couch and sank down on it. She went over to him
then; he seemed kind of clammy and his respirations were really
rapid. She got up quickly and went to the kitchen, taking a
small paper bag out of one of the kitchen drawers.
"Here, Mulder," she said,
"breathe into this." He put the paper bag over his
nose and mouth and started to breathe. Poor Mulder, she thought,
brushing a strand of hair from his forehead; he must have gotten
something bad to eat. She had thought about warning him away
from the sushi, you never could tell about it, even in a nice
restaurant, but she was a medical doctor, not his mom.
Mulder was beginning to feel a little
calmer. There she was, kneeling on the floor next to the couch,
pressing against him. She looked so worried and concerned. He
could see the curve of her breasts under her little green
sweater; the creamy skin of her face; her soft, rose-colored
lips. And she had touched his forehead. Mulder felt bolder. And
then their eyes met. He leaned imperceptibly closer to her,
closer ... closer. Scully felt her heart start to beat faster.
She tilted her head back and parted her lips slightly. Mulder,
she thought, come on, Mulder. Slowly he took the paper bag away
from his face; he held it in his left hand and crumpled it,
hard, then threw it to the floor. Scully began to breathe
quickly. Wow! she thought. She'd never seen him to do anything
like that with a paper bag before.
"Scully...." he said, leaning
toward her. It was now or never, he thought, moistening his lips
with his tongue.
RING!!
Scully jumped up. The stupid phone.
God damn it! thought Mulder. "Just
let it ring, Scully," he said.
"It'll just take a minute," she
said. She walked quickly to the phone. "Hello? Oh,
Assistant Director Skinner, it's you. Actually, no, this isn't a
good time. Okay, I understand that. Really? Uh-huh, well, thank
you very much, sir. I'll be talking to you soon." She hung
up. "Well, that was a surprise."
Mulder looked at her resignedly. "It
was?"
"Yes," she said. "I thought
he was going to go on and on about that desk project again, but
instead he told me he thought I might be getting a
promotion."
"You're kidding," said Mulder.
"What kind of promotion could you possibly be
getting?"
She thought for a minute. "Well, I'm
not sure. The only thing I can think of in my current position
is maybe directing the X-files or something."
WHOA! thought Mulder. Whoa, whoa, whoa,
whoa. He didn't care about the other things, the raises, the
easy assignments she got, the government car, the great parking
place, the handicapped sticker--no, wait, maybe she got that
herself; she was, after all, a medical doctor--no, he didn't
care about any of that because it was the *work* that mattered
to him, he just wanted to do his job, but damn it all to hell,
this WAS the work!
"Scully, I can't believe you'd accept
a promotion you didn't deserve," he said.
She looked at him. "Well, nothing's
set in stone, Mulder; he did say it would depend upon my
performance under him with the desk project." She picked a
piece of lint off her pantsuit. "And anyway," she
said, narrowing her eyes at him," why would you think it
was undeserved? I mean, I know I haven't been working on the
X-Files as long as you have been, I know I've got a lot to learn
still, but aren't we partners, equals?"
"Come on, Scully," he said,
exasperated. "How many cases have you and you alone solved?
None. How many cases has the science part of things really been
a factor in? None. How many intuitive leaps have *you* made,
have you even made one?"
She frowned. How many intuitive leaps
*had* she made? Not that she was supposed to. After all, she was
the smart, scientific one and he was the smart, intuitive one.
And she had made an intuitive leap, once, with that homicidal
maniac in St. Paul. She'd figured that one out, and before
Mulder, too, even though the case had pretty much been solved by
that time. Yeah, she'd intuited it, right before she'd had to
save Mulder's ass by shooting the maniac. A thought crossed her
mind.
"Maybe, Mulder," she said
slowly, "maybe I could make more intuitive leaps if I
weren't always having to save your ass."
"*Save my ass?* Since when have you
saved my ass--never mind," he said quickly; he knew there
had been a couple of times, or more, but that was really beside
the point. The X-Files were *his*. "The only reason that
Skinner would even consider putting you in charge of the X-Files
is that he has a thing for you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Jesus, Scully, figure it out. The
flowers, the cards, the big raise, the time he told us there was
an FBI conference in Springfield, and you and he wound up
together in Illinois while I was in Missouri--and I didn't get
reimbursed for that, by the way--come on, Scully, use that
doctor brain of yours! I know what I'm talking about, trust
me."
"I thought you said to trust no
one."
"I didn't mean *me*, Scully!"
She was crushed. How could Mulder say
these things to her?
"Well, Mulder, I'm sorry you feel
that way. Personally, I think it has to do with the work, and if
you didn't need saving all the time, if you had better control
of your weapon...."
"Of my *weapon*? Just leave my weapon
out of it!"
"I'm sorry your weapon is such a sore
point with you, Mulder," she said coolly.
"Is that a euphemism, Scully?"
"Is what a euphemism?"
"I think you know."
"Think I know what?"
"You know what."
She was getting confused. "Mulder,
just get out of here!"
"Oh, yeah, I'm getting out of
here," he said. He pushed past her. He pulled the door open
and left, letting it bang against the wall of her apartment.
Scully ran over and slammed the door shut.
That bastard! Hot tears prickled her eyes. Oh, God, she thought.
Things had been going so well. Mulder! she thought. She loved
him, and now everything was ruined. She paced around the living
room for a while, then looked at the clock: 10:13 PM. It was
really too early to go to bed. Maybe she'd take a hot bath and
try to relax. She snuffled sadly and looked at the couch. He'd
almost kissed her. Oh, well, she was a medical doctor and she
could always get some drugs if she needed them.
*****
She thought she might have to; the bath
hadn't helped at all. She looked at the clock: 11:21 PM. She
sighed. It always seemed as if it were 10:13 or 11:21. My God,
she thought, I'll be lying here all night long. She sat up in
bed and turned on the light. I'll read something, she thought,
anything. Her mother had sent her a subscription to "Ladies
Home Journal" for Christmas. She never read it; it was
pretty boring for a doctor-career woman like her, but there was
one thing she did read, a column called "Can This Marriage
Be Saved?" It helped to know that she wasn't the only one
with relationship problems. And it was comforting. No matter how
bad the problem was, by the end of the column, everything had
been solved. Those counselors were almost as good at intuiting
things as Mulder. Mulder! She fought back tears. She had just
gotten into the magazine when she heard a loud banging sound in
the living room. Jesus, she thought, what's that?
Someone was knocking on her door. Loudly.
And hard. She scrambled out of bed and went into the living
room.
"Scully," Mulder continued to
knock on the door. "Let me in, Scully. We need to
talk."
She stood about eight feet away from the
door and listened.
"Scully!" he shouted through the
locked door.
"Mulder, be quiet! My neighbors will
hear you!"
"Then open the door."
"No."
"Scully, I'm not kidding around here.
Open the door. I'm not leaving until you do," he yelled to
her.
"I don't want to see you,
Mulder," she said unconvincingly. There was no sound. Had
he given up? Gone home? That bastard, she thought.
"Open the God-damned door, Scully, or
I swear I'll break it down!" he shouted.
She stood stock-still, unable to move.
Mulder stood outside her door. God damn
it! Now he was really going to have to do something. He stood
back from the door and kicked it, hard, above the lock, just
like they taught him at the Academy. BAM! There was the sound of
splintering wood and the door fell open.
He stood there on the threshold of her
apartment, breathing heavily with the effort of kicking in a
solid oak door. I wonder if my foot's broken, he thought. It
hurt like hell. Scully stared at him, her hands covering her
mouth. He limped into the room and stood there, still breathing
hard.
"Okay, now what?" he said.
"Jesus, Mulder, how'd you do
that?"
"I kicked it, hard, just above the
lock, like they told us at the Academy."
"I don't think I've ever seen that
work before," said Scully, impressed.
"Yeah, me either." Scully, he
thought, was breathing hard, just a little *too* hard for
someone who had just gotten out of bed. Her pajama top was
unbuttoned and she was staring at him.
She brought her hand up to her neck; her
heart was really pounding. I wonder if I should get that checked
out, she thought momentarily. Her knees felt weak. The way he
looked at her after he had broken down the door ... God. He was
staring at her. She felt warm ... really, really warm ... she
cleared her throat. There was a large bulge in the front of
Mulder's pants. Something was out there, thought Scully, and she
didn't think it was the truth.
"You'd better fix that door,
Mulder," she said breathlessly.
He looked at her, then walked slowly over
to the door. He had to walk slowly, because of his foot. The
broken brass lock hung uselessly at the side of the door. Then,
just as slowly, he shut it.
"Yeah," he said huskily.
"I'm going to fix your door. I'm going to fix your door,
but good."
"Um...." said Scully. Her pajama
bottoms felt kind of tight all of a sudden. "Do you think
you can find an all-night hardware store?"
"An all-night hardware store?"
he repeated. "An all- night hardware store? Yeah, I think I
can find an all- night hardware store." He took off his
leather jacket and threw it on the floor. What was with Scully?
She was really staring at him.
Her eyes seemed almost ... what ... smoky
with desire? Her fingers were playing with the drawstring of her
pajama bottoms. And then, Mulder made a great big intuitive
leap. Scully wanted him! She would most likely even do it with
him if he didn't screw things up.
He went over to her and put his hands on
her shoulders. "Scully," he said. "I want to ...
I want to...."
"Believe?" she offered
helpfully.
"No," he said. "I want to
fuck you until you can't walk."
"God, Mulder," she breathed. She
felt a sudden lurch in her stomach, or thereabouts.
And then they were in each other's arms,
and he was kissing her, hard, and she was moaning softly. He
tore off her pajamas, and then ripped off his shirt. It was
harder to get his jeans off because of his sore foot, but he
manfully pulled them off and tossed them into a corner of the
room. She looked at him expectantly. He picked her up and
carried her off to the bedroom. Please, God, he thought, don't
let me scream before I get to the bed. His foot hurt really bad.
He dropped her on the bed and looked at
her. She was really beautiful. He lay down on the bed with her.
Clean sheets. God. He breathed in heavily. "Downy," he
murmured. But since his hand was caressing a part of Scully's
body at the time, she thought he was talking about her and
didn't get mad at him. Then he was on top of her and making love
to her, and boy, was it wonderful. It was unbelievably good,
better than anything he'd ever had before, not that he could
remember the other times, but wasn't that in and of itself a
good thing? She, Scully, was his soulmate, not any of those
others; even that suicide cult woman with whom he'd been
involved in his past life. Actually, he hadn't really believed
that stuff about the past life, he'd just played along with it
to see if he could get a rise out of Scully. He couldn't really
remember those other women because she had driven them from his
mind, because Scully was "The One" for him.
Scully had never experienced such
pleasure. None of her other boyfriends had been any good at all
in bed, she knew that now. Mulder was fantastic; he was so
strong, so sexy. And as for his weapon ... well, Scully knew she
was a fortunate woman, indeed. He was so perfect, he knew just
how to please her. Who would have believed it? Boy, Mulder had
come out--figuratively speaking, she corrected herself hastily.
The way he made love to her was absolutely incredible; he knew
just how to move inside her; his rhythm was unbelievable!
"Not the forehead, not the forehead,
not the forehead; not the jaw, not the jaw, not the jaw,"
he whispered under his breath. He was pretty sure that he was
getting it right. He wished, though, that he hadn't read any
more in that sex book, especially not the part about nervousness
the first time with a highly-desired partner. Shake it off,
Mulder, he thought to himself. He did.
"Oh, God ... God, Mulder,"
Scully cried out underneath him. She gasped. It was the best
orgasm of her life. This intuiting thing with Mulder was really
paying off in spades, sexually speaking. And where had he
learned to do that shaking thing?
Mulder could not believe it. This was the
most wonderful experience he had ever had; he had pleased her,
he had "sexually fulfilled" Scully, as the book put
it. Now he wouldn't have to think about those box scores.
Although he wasn't quite clear in his head about that Yankees
game....
"Mulder ... three orgasms ... I can't
take any more," she moaned.
And so he thrust into her, again and
again, until he exploded inside her, nearly losing
consciousness. Which was okay, because it took his mind off his
foot.
*****
They lay in bed together, cuddling. Mulder
was happy. Scully was a great girl, and he loved her. And that
sex book had been wrong, too, when it said that it was unlikely
the woman could climax through intercourse alone. Scully had had
three orgasms. She was something else. Of course, it might have
something to do with her being a medical doctor and all. He
wasn't sure. Her apartment was so nice; she had clean,
sweet-smelling sheets on her bed, and food in the fridge. Mulder
found himself really liking all these creature comforts. He
wondered how soon he might suggest that he move in with her. He
wasn't sure on the protocol for this. Maybe he'd better go back
to Barnes & Noble; they probably had some kind of book. But
this time, he'd go during school hours. Mmmm, she even had TV in
the bedroom. He watched her holding the big, long, thick remote
control in her little hand, flicking from channel to channel
with her fingers caressing the buttons...He felt himself stir.
"Scully," he murmured, tracing the outline of her body
with his hand. "Scully..."
Oh, Mulder, she thought. She loved him. He
was really great, a wonderful lover, caring and sensitive. She
only hoped that he could figure out how to fix the door; her
landlord had put up with a lot of ... well ... things, like that
liver-eating mutant breaking in, trying to kill her, so she
didn't want to make trouble. It *was* an expensive door. Mulder
was kissing her now, caressing her. Did he want to have sex with
her again? It was hard to tell. She thought that maybe he did as
he had gotten on top of her and she could no longer see the TV.
Oh, well, it wouldn't hurt to miss her favorite program this one
time. She could still hear it, she thought, as she tossed the
remote on the floor, and that was the best part. "Win Ben
Stein's Money."
Mmmmm.
Ben Stein.
She loved his monotone.
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