First Person Finale
By Shoshana

"Ouch!" he squealed, shoving her hand away from his right
temple.

"Mulder! Sit still and let me clean that up!" she scolded.

"It stings! Why the hell do you have to use alcohol?" he
moaned.

"Because *you* decided that it was too much trouble to run
down to the car and get my bag. And *you* said that it
would be fine to use the First Aid kit here. And *you*..."

"Okay, okay! I get it, Scully. It's my fault. It's not
humiliating enough getting beaten by that virtual bimbo;
I'll have to suffer through this too."

He grabbed a four-legged stool from the corner of the
'Executive Washroom' and plopped down on it dramatically,
offering his forehead to her once again.

She chuckled and said, "I don't get it Mulder. You have
black and blue marks all over you from being thrown around
by Maitreya the Magnificent... and this hurts?"

"Yeah, it does." He noted her dubious look and continued,
"I couldn't feel all those blows when I was high on
adrenalin. And everything was happening so fast, I didn't
have time to *appreciate* my bruises. But I'm ready to
take my medicine now. Let's get this over with."

"I'll be gentle, Mulder. It's not like it's your first
time, huh?" she teased, a tiny smile gracing her lips.

They both still wore the bright colored paint that had
splattered on them during the game. She had insisted on
ducking into what passed for the women's restroom and
patching up his forehead. It was larger than the men's
room and it had what meager medical supplies she required.

He sat patiently as she approached him again, using the
astringent soaked gauze to clean the wound. This time he
emitted only a soft whimper, cringing minimally and
allowing her to finish her work.

She applied some clean gauze with skillful precision,
taping it to his forehead, moving aside dark, unruly hair
with a soft stroke of her fingers.

He smiled at her when she was done, and she found it hard
to resist returning one in kind. They were scrutinizing
one another, temporarily lost for words, when someone
knocked on the door.

"Come in!" she said quickly, turning away from his gaze.

"Hey guys, after you get cleaned up do you want to come
along with us? Frohike knows a great Mexican bar and
grill."

Langly still looked disheveled from the game; they must
have been tying up lose ends with Phoebe and Ivan before
making their exit from corporate headquarters.

Mulder shrugged his shoulders once and glanced over at
Scully, yielding to her preference in the matter. It only
took her a few seconds to interpret the unspoken plea in
his eyes, begging her to join his friends, if only for a
little while.

She turned back to the thin face peeking in at them and
responded, "Sure, just give us some time to wash up, Langly."

"Take all the time you need. We're still making plans for
the next incarnation of the game. We won't be ready for at
least a half hour or so."

With those words he left, and Mulder turned to Scully and
said, "If you're too tired, Scully... it's okay. I'm not
in any shape for a big evening out and I know you don't
want to hang around too late tomorrow."

"Who says I don't want to hang around? We don't have to
fly out of here till Sunday, Mulder. I'd like to go down
to the ocean, take a walk down by the beach. It's too cold
to swim, but I'd love to watch the tide come in. And I'd
like to go eat somewhere other than Howard Johnson's for
once. I'd like to see a few of those things I miss because
we're too damn busy being good little agents."

"You do?"

He was jubilant she wanted to stick around for a few days,
possibly allowing him to drive her up the coast, sightsee,
eat in some little romantic spot along the way. He tried
to keep his facial expression as neutral as possible,
belying the joy he felt within.

"Hell, yes. Every time we've had to drag ourselves out to
the West coast, too many times already, you must agree,
we've had to leave before we can enjoy it. So, I don't
mind coming along, Mulder. We have plenty of time to sleep
late tomorrow. Come on, Gameboy, out of here so I can get
cleaned up and change my clothes."

"Oh, Scully. I'd be glad to be your Playstation any day
of the week..." he said suggestively, hurrying out the door
before she could swat him with a towel.

Her satisfied grin lingered as she went about the business
of washing off the paint and grime from their ordeal. She
would have preferred to shower, but they'd be back at the
hotel soon enough. She couldn't imagine Mulder keeping her
out too late tonight.

He looked exhausted already, as she noted, so did she.
He'd probably have a few shots of tequila and a hamburger
with fries and a beer and that would be it. He never drank
a lot, even when surrounded by his male friends.

Although he'd shown up on her doorstep inebriated before,
she had confidence that he imbibed infrequently these days.
Unless of course he was hiding some deep, dark secret from
her.

That was highly unlikely, considering all the time they'd
spent together lately. On his couch, writing reports on
the weekdays, on her couch, watching television on the
weekends, always dozing off after a couple of beers.

He was far more predictable than he used to be. He showed
up at her doorstep like clockwork, every Saturday night.
He'd leave before she went to bed, only sacking out in her
living room if driving conditions were impossible or he was
too tired to crawl out the door.

It was nice. It was comfortable. And it was driving her
nuts. She knew he was waiting for her to make the first
move so that she'd have complete control over this
situation.

He respected her need for orderliness, for certainty in
her personal life. Especially considering the nomadic life
they endured, flying from one coast to the other on a
seemingly daily basis.

She had given up on any but the hardiest plants. Her
refrigerator had a bare bones selection of items, and she
only stocked fresh vegetables when she *knew* her weekend
was free.

What she could depend on, what she knew she had from day-
to-day, was Mulder's complete attention. Even after he'd
been acting like a typical hormonal brat at the police
station, it was his hand escorting her through the
lingering crowd of law enforcement personnel, his soothing
touch on the back of her neck when they got stuck in traffic.

She wanted him with her, she wanted to be by his side...
but she was still, after all these years, terrified of the
possible consequences romantic involvement could bring. If
things didn't work out, if it affected their work, if what
she wanted was not what he really wanted...

So they were in a stalemate. He was waiting for her. She
was immobilized by fear of the unknown. Well, maybe this
weekend was what she'd been waiting for, maybe he would
take the hint and make the first move anyway.

She'd given him an opening, asked him to drive along the
coast with her, explore the shoreline, do nothing all
weekend. If he didn't seize the moment after she'd
practically begged him for a careless getaway, there was
little hope left for progress in their relationship.

She finished dressing, emerging from the washroom to find
four men waiting patiently for her in the main computer
room, identically stupid smiles plastered on their freshly
scrubbed faces.

"Hail the conquering hero," Frohike announced.

She smiled weakly and protested, "Not me. We all worked
together on this one. You and Phoebe are just as
responsible for getting us out as I was. And it's all part
of my job description to run after my hotheaded partner
here."

"Whoa, who you calling 'hotheaded'? I'm just a
daredevil," Mulder asserted.

"You're right, Mulder. It's Scully who's hot. She puts
all of us to shame," said the usually reserved Byers.

"Better watch it, Byers. The penalty for calling a female
agent 'hot' in California is several rounds of drinks and
two plates of nachos," said Langly.

"Come on boys, I'm going to hold you to that. I'm
starving," she replied, moving toward the door.

The small group of friends split to different sections of
the parking lot and Scully found herself alone with Mulder
once again.

"So you really want to drive to the coast tomorrow?" he
questioned.

"Sure, we can go to Santa Barbara, maybe drive a little
farther north if we have time."

"All right," he murmured.

He looked unusually pensive when he handed her the keys to
the Taurus and headed toward the passenger side. She
wondered what could possibly be getting him down now. He'd
been so cheerful a few minutes ago; his attitude had
evidently changed as soon as they'd left the facility.

They got into the car and she adjusted her seat with ease.
Mulder was very quiet beside her, thoughtfully buckling his
seatbelt. It had to be more than just exhaustion, she
thought. It had to be something else. Something she
didn't want to get into right now. At least not until
she'd had something nourishing in her stomach.

She wasn't planning on drinking, despite the offer from
Byers. Someone had to stay sober and she wasn't even sure
Mulder should be drinking tonight. His moody behavior was
puzzling. Maybe they'd get a chance to discuss it later.

The restaurant was crowded, so they decided to eat in the
bar area, right off the dining room. It was only six
o'clock, but the place was filling up with customers,
mostly singles looking for great margaritas and conversation.

Scully was sitting between Mulder and Frohike at one end
of the intricately carved wooden booth. Pinatas and gaily
colored streamers hung from the ceiling and piped in
Mariachi music dominated the atmosphere.

They started with tequila shots and beer chasers. By the
fifth round, Scully was beginning to worry. Mulder was
there, he was with them, yet he really wasn't. He'd never
broken out of his funk and she suspected something was amiss.

Their meal arrived shortly after the first round and she
concentrated on the food and ambiance, shelving Mulder's
melancholy for later. She was happy to see him eat
something; apparently whatever was bothering him wasn't
affecting his appetite for soft tacos and guacamole.

The guys were discussing their grand plan to salvage the
video game and remarket it within a few months time.
Scully understood about twenty per cent of the conversation
and although she hadn't had a single drink, she found
herself nodding off.

Mulder noticed her lethargy and leaned over to ask her if
she was ready to go. His closeness, the intimate way he
whispered in her ear, woke her up in a most pleasurable
way, motivating her to request coffee all around.

The Lone Gunmen, almost as tired as they were, left when
they did. On the way out to their cars they promised
Mulder a sneak preview of the new game as soon as possible.
Mulder feigned interest, but to tell the truth, he'd had
enough video game fun for several decades. He was secretly
happy to be heading back to the hotel with Scully, not for
an all night session of Lara Croft with the guys.

Scully drove back to the hotel, a very nice one, courtesy
of the Lone Gunmen. A hotel with large comfortable beds,
room service, and mints on their pillows. When they'd
arrived and checked in, she'd fantasized a little, imagined
that Mulder and she were on vacation, not on some favor for
a friend, not even on another X-File.

The illusion was shattered, of course, as soon as they
went to their separate rooms. But she'd had the long
elevator ride up twenty floors and an equally long trek
down the carpeted corridor to speculate about it. She'd
stolen a few glances at him along the way, and discovered
that he was looking at her with undisguised admiration.

Her thoughts strayed back to that fantasy now, wondering
whether Mulder's apparent sadness was tied to the very same
dilemma. What if he wanted what she wanted? What if he
was as tired of this kind of existence as she was? They
were together all the time, but there was always a door
between them, a hotel door, an apartment door, and perhaps
most significantly, a bedroom door.

When she was depressed, she'd always hide it. She'd never
display those emotions to him; she'd never share those
feelings, especially if they were about their relationship.

He, on the other hand, would brood openly, whether he was
conscious of it or not. He'd get lost in his own
despondency and she'd learned how to approach him, how to
successfully bring him out of it. It worked ninety per
cent of the time, the other ten per cent... she had no
solution for those times. She hoped that she could talk to
him tonight; she didn't want to let it slide till tomorrow.

They hadn't said two words to each other since they'd left
the bar. He'd pretended to sleep on his side of the car
and when they pulled up to their parking space, he
pretended that the vehicle's lack of movement had roused
him out of his slumber. He knew he wasn't fooling her; it
was a game they'd played many times before.

He'd needed twenty minutes to think, to plan, to
strategize. They were going on vacation together. They
were not going to stay in Bureau bought motels, eat FBI
sponsored food, take official strolls down the boardwalk in
Santa Monica.

This was it. She wouldn't agree to spend this kind of
time with him if she didn't love him, if she didn't want
him. He was going to talk to her. He was going to talk to
her tonight. It couldn't wait till tomorrow. He couldn't
wait till tomorrow.

She stumbled toward the hotel entrance, exhaustion evident
in every step. He followed close behind, his usual stride
impeded by inebriation. He blatantly admired the curve of
her bottom, until she turned around to check on his progress.

His sheepish grin made her laugh out loud, the first real
connection they'd made since they'd left the restaurant.

"Hey, Scully. Why don't you help a drunken man get to his
room?"

She smiled broadly and walked over to him, catching his
hand in her own.

"Come on, I want to talk to you," she said softly.

"About?" he said, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

"Stuff," she answered, looking directly in his red-rimmed
eyes.

"What kind of stuff?" he asked, tugging her toward the
elevator and away from the reservation desk.

"Stuff stuff. You know. Stuff."

The elevator opened and they entered together, still
holding hands, still smiling at one another. Mulder
pressed the number of their floor with his free hand, then
stepped closer to her, mumbling in her ear, "I've always
wanted to kiss you in an elevator."

Scully, a bit surprised, but entirely pleased, whispered
back, "Then by all means..."

He lowered his mouth to hers and crushed his warm, soft
lips against her exquisitely beautiful ones. She responded
in kind, deepening the kiss, delving into him as far as she
could.

They'd already reached their floor when they parted,
oblivious to the sound of the mechanical doors opening and
closing beside them.

They didn't want to interrupt their mutual caress, but
they were both keenly aware that a hotel elevator was a
poor place for a makeout session. Mulder pressed the floor
number again, and the doors opened, allowing them to exit
the metal box.

He drew Scully along by the hand, fascinated by her
swollen lips, by the crimson in her cheeks. She watched
him closely, all concerns from earlier in the day banished
from her mind. She saw his flushed face before her; she
felt his feverish hand grasp her own.

They reached her room, and she put her cardkey in the
slot, opening the door. She slammed it shut behind them
and stepped toward him in the dim light.

Without hesitation, he took her in his arms and scattered
tiny kisses up and down the soft skin of her neck and
collarbone. Her hands dug down inside his jacket, pulling
him tightly against her.

The only light she'd left on was the lamp next to her bed;
it softly illuminated her features when he pulled back to
regard her, a radiant smile gracing his face.

"Scully..."

He was breathless. He was also a little nervous that he'd
done too much, too soon. He stepped back and took her
hands in his own. She was staring at his face, not smiling
at all, just staring at him in an odd, intense way.

She was equally short of breath, and she managed to gasp
out, "I'm all right."

"You're beautiful," he said reverently.

"You're not so bad yourself," she threw back, smiling once
again.

Without a word, he pulled her along, settling them both on
the end of her bed. They sat there, mesmerized by the
sight of one another, flushed and happy and well-kissed.

"So, Scully. What did you want to talk about?" he said.

He was utilizing every bit of willpower he possessed to
restrain himself. He was far too curious about what was on
her mind to ignore that aspect of her.

She lowered her eyes to their entwined hands and shook her
head, unable to form the words she'd chosen to say while
driving home in the car.

She just wanted to sit with him. She just wanted to hold
him. She just wanted his presence beside her, his warm,
calloused hands gently rubbing her own. She knew he'd like
to do more; she knew he'd like to sleep with her tonight.

He was being a gentleman. He'd slowed things down and was
sitting across from her, patiently waiting for her
permission to stay, patiently waiting for what words she
had for him.

She said nothing. And did everything. She smiled into his
eyes, framing his face with her elegant fingers, pulling
him down for another succulent kiss.

They parted minutes later and she silently began to
undress him, sliding his jacket off his shoulders one arm
at a time. He grinned at her, still thinking, still
wondering how far this should go.

'They'd only just kissed...' he thought. They had all
weekend to seduce one another. They had all weekend to
discover every inch of each other's body for the first
time. He wanted this to be special for her and he wasn't
even sure he could perform after all the alcohol he'd
ingested.

In fact, he told himself, he was quite sure of that. He
was fading fast. He was mentally and physically exhausted
from playing the game. He had a hard-on, sure. But he
knew that making love was problematic, that he wasn't going
to be able to take this to its logical conclusion even if
they started peeling off all their clothes immediately.

"Scully?"

"Mmmm?" she said, taking off her own jacket and throwing
it behind them.

He pulled her into his arms and sprinkled kisses all over
her face, then kissed her briefly on the lips.

"This may sound incredibly wimpy, Scully. Especially
after a day of testosterone thrill seeking. But I'd just
like to sleep with you tonight. I'm too drunk to do much
of anything and I know you're tired too..."

She smirked at him and said, "What makes you think I was
going to let you make love to me anyway?"

The color in his cheeks rose and he stammered, "That's,
that's what I thought... I thought we were going to..."

She laughed, so sweetly it made him ache. "We will, VR
boy, but not tonight. I'm really tired, just like you.
Now, Mulder, help me undress you, and then we can brush our
teeth and fall asleep under the covers together. You're
too big for me to undress all by myself. I need some
cooperation here."

He leaned over and kissed her again. "You've got it."

He stripped down to his tee shirt and boxer shorts,
watching her out of the corner of his eye as she rummaged
through her suitcase and found a nightgown to change into.

"I'll be right back, okay?" she said, turning toward the
bathroom.

He sat on the bed, stunned and deliriously happy. Scully
was in the bathroom. Scully was changing into a nightgown
for him. They were going to sleep in the same bed together
tonight.

Well, that was nothing new. But he didn't have permission
to hold her and kiss her the last time they'd been forced
to share a room. And there wasn't the promise of more than
just kisses tomorrow and the next day and for the rest of
their lives.

She came out of the washroom, clothed in a plain white
floor length gown. Her vibrantly colored hair was combed
neatly; her face devoid of makeup.

"Go in now," she said, passing him on the bed. Close
enough to brush by him, close enough to run one hand down
his arm before she walked to the other side and turned down
the covers.

He couldn't bear to take his eyes off her. She looked so
lovely in her nightgown, setting her alarm for the morning,
swallowing her evening medication as routinely as if she
were preparing for bed on any other night.

He tore himself away, and headed toward the john. She
heard him brushing his teeth, washing his face. She heard
the toilet flush. And when he came out of the bathroom it
was to a completely darkened room.

"Scully?" he questioned.

"Come to bed, Mulder," she said.

He laughed softly and made his way around the large bed.
He climbed in, finding her right away, nestling down beside
her, kissing her hands and eyes and lips with equal fervor.

"Scully?" he said softly, as they knotted their arms and
legs together underneath the blankets.

"Hmmm," she mumbled, very tired, very happy now.

"I really do love you."

"I knew that."

"You did?"

"Uh huh."

"Good," he said, half asleep.

"Love you too," she said, kissing his brow.

She got the last word, to his delight...

fin

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