Precious Things by Dom Parker (DominoF16@aol.com) Rating: NC-17 Catagory: S/R/A Summery: Mulder, as usual, screws things up for him and Scully. But will she forgive him once he realizes what he's done? Does he need to feel sorry in the first place? And why does he act like such a crybaby anyway? Disclaimer: CC, FOX, and 1013 own them, but they never let them have any fun, so Mulder and Scully were remanded into my custody for a short period of time in which they were allowed to participate in sex and other such uncharacteristic acts...you wanna sue me for it? Go ahead and try...I can be packed up and moved out an hour after your lawyers leave the message on my voice mail. Author's Notes: This story is a departure for me...for one thing, smut was never anything I saw myself writing. Then I was flamed---for being depressing and immature and never writing anything with a happy ending. My dear flammer challenged me to write an MSR with smut and a happy ending. I accepted, and realized too late what a horrible way to start a story that is Anyway, I turned the whole story into my idea of a songfic...the lyrics at the beginning of each section, that idea I stole from Catwoman, the lyrics inserted sneakily into the story---well, brownie points if you spot them :-) Be kind, this is the first romance I've ever attempted. I'm much more comfortable unleashing Potty-mouth Scully or tying Mulder to a chair and torturing him for a while than I am letting them have some actual fun and fuck like bunnies... "The felix of your truth will always break it And the iris of your eye will always shake it And the armies I have created will always hate it... Will always bait you on." * * * I liked the way my hand looked on her head. The presence of my fingers tangled in fiery red strands of silk was for some reason a mesmerising sight and what had been meant as a brief, connecting gesture lengthened into a hesitant caress over the slippery cool feel of her hair. The touch lasted only a moment too long, was only a fraction too intimate and it was normally the sort of gesture both of us would have been quick to deny. Scully even went so far is to do her part. She shot me a quick, questioning look and then her eyes dropped to her lap and she began to talk about nucleotides and RNA sequences. The quick questioning glance, the flashing of crystal blue in the iris of her eye were things I had become intimately familiar with. It was a look that made my heart beat a little harder, my breath come a little faster, my mouth a little dryer; mostly because every time I got that look I felt like I had a choice to make. It could have ended there. I could have perched myself on the edge of my desk, like I had a hundred times in the past and committed myself to a discussion on genetic abnormalities as demonstrated by what was first the corpse of a possible alien abductee and second a teenage boy named Ronald Morton. If I had done that, then everything would have remained normal between us. Scully would have been free to label the moment as simply another incomprehensible Mulder-act, a friendly gesture that absentmindedly stayed too long---if she were being especially discerning and disinclined to self- delusion, she might even label it as a random manifestation of sexual tension. Whatever label she could have chosen to slap on the moment, however, became moot because instead of engaging her in our patented 'special agent' banter I looked at her. I looked at her. Really looked at her. At her. My eyes swept over her with a fervor I found disconcerting and her voice blurred into background white noise. I looked at her and began to dissect her, stripping her of the comfortable layers of familiarity we have both allowed her to cloak herself in. My mind was ripping into the illusion of the agent, the partner and the friend; hunting for the woman. I know this feeling well, this tunneling into the mind of someone with the express purpose of stripping and exposing them. It's like a hunt in a dark forest. There's a delicious sense of power as you disappear into someone's head, a tantalizing whiff of danger as you go deeper, knowing each time that if you venture past a certain line you may never find your way out. The line, at first so clear, blurs and wavers the deeper you go. In the landscape of someone's mind you find small prey which you track back to bigger game, until you are satisfied with your kill and ready to drag your spoils back with you into the light of day. Once you have begun there is no way to imerge again without humiliating and violating your subject. By the very nature of profiling you expose secrets and trespass into areas you have no right to. While I have never had any compunction violating a serial criminal in this manner, I had never actively profiled Scully before, always aware of the lines of privacy she clings to with such tenacity. I couldn't tell you what was different about this time. Suddenly, I had just slipped into her head, and once I was on the path it was impossible to stop. Dimly I was aware of her voice. I've always loved Scully's voice. It's low and sensual with the potential to be unbearably sexy, but she speaks with a cool poise and distance that counteracts any blatantly sexual effect. I could hear her voice at a distance, the clipped, intelligent but ultimately emotionless cadences and my mind grasped at it. A lie. She is not emotionless, I've known this almost from the first moment I met her. Scully is a very emotional person, intensely so, I'd even say. Not so, I realized a second later. Scully *is* cold and hard. Scully can look at the corpse of a mutilated child and shove aside all horror and empathy; she can pick up a scalpel and begin peeling away layers of flesh while dictating her findings in a rock steady monotone. Scully doesn't blanch at gruesome crime scenes, she heads straight for the victim and begins a meticulous examination of the body without so much as a grimace. It's Dana who's the emotional one. Dana who feels things with a passion and depth that makes it impossible for her to function in the world Scully resides in. Dana is surpressed and locked away by Scully and only a small part of her is allowed to occupy Scully's life. And now I had game in my sights. Scully is not a person, Scully is a defense mechanism. Bang. The woman who ruffled my hair in a hotel parking lot when I was alone and hurting was not Scully, it was Dana. The woman who has followed me around the world on a quest that is insanely impossible, against all logic or reason, is not Scully, she is Dana. The woman who looks at me with liquid diamonds in her eyes, the woman who wraps her arms around me and lets me bury my face in her stomach, the woman who's smile spreads slowly and magically over her face is not Scully, she is Dana. Even this was not enough for me. I ventured farther and I tracked more and I snared elusive truths. When I emerged, it was with sweat and shallow breaths as I drug these truths back with me, unable to leave them behind. What I had learned was not freeing. The truths I'd found threatened to trap me, to break me, to unmake me and consume me. I didn't want them but I couldn't give them back. Something ugly and elemental in me, armies and defenses I had spent twenty-five years raising, fought against the one thing that had the power to undo everything I'd spent my life working for. These truths were nothing I hadn't suspected, even prayed for. But at that moment, confronted with them as more then a suspicion and a wild desire I realized how this would play out if this path was traversed. I saw bitterness in blue eyes and I saw weary resignation as I sucked out everything that was good and pure. I saw iron bars--a cage--and myself pacing within it like a captured panther. I saw my quest sucked away in favor of the nepenthe of her skin. I saw a red head hit the ground with a sickening thud and I saw blood swirl away from a slim body as the price of my folly. I saw these things and I felt the fingers of blind panic squeeze painfully in my chest. Suddenly, it was imperative for me to stall this path, to forever block it and the danger it presented. My mouth opened and I spoke without thought or intent, words shaped by the violence of my vision and selected by the knowledge that I must nip this in the bud before a rose blooms and then withers, leaving me with nothing but the stinging pain of thorns. "Scully, you're in love with me, aren't you?" The words dropped distantly from my lips, carrying with them none of the shortness of breath, near-panic and pained fortitude I was feeling. I didn't even look at her when I said them, choosing instead to stare off at some point over her shoulder. "What?" She choked out incredulously, her face reflecting shock and disbelief. "You're in love with me, aren't you?" This time my eyes wandered over to meet with hers almost of their own accord. Immediately I regretted the draw of her gaze as I fell into the sea tossed blues of her eyes. "Where the hell did this come from Mulder?" She sounded angry as she got to her feet; Scully never thought much of surprises. "Does that matter?" I asked conversationally. "It's a question. Just answer 'yes' or 'no'." I wondered where the hell the casual timber of my voice was coming from. "Hell yes it matters!" She retreated several paces back, keeping a wary eye on me the entire time as if she were questioning whether I was really me or some evil MulderClone. "Damn straight it matters." "Fine," I found myself shrugging slightly. "I was just looking at you, and suddenly, I knew." "Knew what?" She had a funny, strangled look in her eyes. A flush spread beneath the porcelain ivory of her skin while her full, cupid's bow mouth remained parted to allow for her suddenly shallow breathing. "That you loved me," the words tasted strange in my mouth. "Like that," I clarified. "If you've already made up your mind, Mulder, why are you asking me?" She asked the question so carefully, her eyes searching my face for answers I knew weren't apparent to her. "I needed to know," I was surprised that my voice came out almost apologetically. Then again, maybe it wasn't such a surprise. "Asking you outright was the only way to be sure." "Why did you need to know, Mulder?" Again that careful voice. "Please Scully," my voice was rough, as if it hadn't been in use for days. "I need to know." "Yes." Her chin lifted proudly and she met my eyes with quiet dignity. "Because if it were true, then I had to tell you..." my tongue slicked nervously over my lips, "I needed to say,"---I could hear her breath hitch from here---"That you need to stop. There's no future in it. Scully, you have so much to offer a man, and I hate to see you waste it on me...you're my partner, and---" In retrospect I'm surprised it took her so long to hit me. She didn't slap me either---nothing so girlie for my Scully---no, she decked me a solid right hook. Her fist connected with my jaw, sending me stumbling into my desk, one hand going out to catch my fall and the other flying up to rest on my jawbone. I'm sure I looked shocked. Hell, I was shocked. It wasn't like I'd never been hit by a woman before. Phoebe used to hit me all the time, but only because she enjoyed the dramatic picture she made while doing it. She'd choose her moments perfectly, waiting until we were in the middle of a really dirty argument, and then she'd push at me and goad me until I said something nasty, and wham! She'd draw her arm back and say "Fox, you bastard!"---as only a Brit can say the word 'bastard'---and then slap me soundly on the cheek. She always made sure she didn't hit me so hard that the pain would in any way dull what a magnificent picture she made, however. Scully obviously had no such dramatic concerns because her blow almost dropped me, and it hurt like hell. Not that she cared... "You unmitigated bastard!" she hissed, her voice low and poisonous. "What are you trying to prove? What in God's name was this?" Something that looked suspiciously like hate glowed deep in the reassesses of her suddenly green eyes and I cowered away from it, physically shrinking back. "Scully, I just wanted---" "Shut up!" enraged, she silenced me with a quick cutting motion of her hand, and once again that dreadful voice. "Just shut the fuck up Mulder. I don't give a damn about any excuse or justification you could possibly make right now." Dimly and awfully I begun to realize what I had just done, and self-loathing washed through me like acid. "Oh God, I trusted you!" her voice was suddenly anguished and I could feel a part of myself die. My betrayal only just realized I suddenly knew Peter denying Christ. The realization began to shred something I was unable to name, deep in my chest and it lanced through me with such acuity I wondered if I were dying in a physical sense. "Scully---" I was overcome with the need to make amends, the desire to drop to my knees and pull her against me, push my face into her stomach and beg for her forgiveness. "I gave you everything I had," she went on, oblivious that I was suddenly gasping for air and ignoring completely my attempt to stall her tongue by use of her name. "And I never asked you to give me anything of yourself but your trust and your respect." "Scully---" her name came out a plea. I needed her to stop now before I lost it. "Mulder, SHUT UP!" I had never heard her yell like that before. I had never seen her look like that before; face drained of all color and eyes burning in on themselves. My mouth closed, pressing trembling lips together. "Damn you! You had to take everything, didn't you? "For the last six years I've sacrificed everything for you: career, reputation, family, friends...I've lied for you and killed for you and I would have died for you without a seconds hesitation. There's nothing on this earth I wouldn't have done for you and you knew it. "You accepting everything I offered and reached for things I didn't. You demanded my mind and my soul and somewhere along the line I lost my heart---not surprising when you consider how intrinsically wrapped up in each other these things are. I gave you all these things and I never demanded any of them in return from you. We never even fucking acknowledged that you had them, did we? "I never asked you to love me back, and I never burdened you with the weight of my feelings, did I?" Her voice was strong and bitter and she pinned me with a look that demanded my answer. I shook my head mutely. "There was one thing I always kept though, Mulder. One thing that I was never able to give up for anyone," her voice faded into a soft hiss, "My pride, Mulder, my dignity...but you couldn't even let me keep that, could you?" My eyes were burning, vision dimmed by pain; but through these things I could see the contempt and loathing in her gaze. I was withering, realizing the implication of her words. The one thing Scully could never accept was the loss of was her pride, and anything that cost her that would meet with rapid exorcism; she would cut the offender out of her life with never a look back. Before I realized quite what was happening, she had turned away from me. Through a haze of tears I watched her walk quietly from our office, shutting the door with a soft snick of finality. I think I managed to remain standing for a whole two minutes before I folded into myself and sank to the floor in a tight ball of misery. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to make it safe again, that was all. The empty office mocked me, reminded me of the fine line between what we intend and what we get. * * * You were my lesson I had to learn, I was your fortress you had to burn, Pain is a warning that something's wrong, Walk away There's nothing left to try, there's no place left to hide, There's no greater power then the power of good-bye. * * * Running after Mulder is like running after the rain. I had realized that early in our partnership. Chasing him is elusive and futile because after all, what would you do with Rain if you caught it? You can only capture so much of it, a tiny part of a whole. You are enveloped by wetness while the substance you search for slips through your fingers. Meanwhile, after I'd left the office I was more interested in an umbrella, or even better, some warm climate then I was in catching any substance remotely Mulder. My fingers were shaking as I fitted my key to the apartment door and I was still breathing like I'd just run a marathon, instead of the distance between my car and home. Just to give myself something harmless to think about I began to count my respirations as I swung open the door and dropped my stuff carelessly just inside. My apartment was empty, and it was still mid-day, so sunlight streamed in through the windows. It was strange, seeing it in the light of day instead of by lamplight or the filter of distraction. Neat and orderly with the sort of tastefully muted decor I'd grown up in. A touch of country for a woman who never felt quite comfortable outside of an office or out from behind a badge, gun and designer business suit. My thoughts were whirling through my head like a tornado, touching down randomly and causing more damage every time they hit. With a tiny whimper I acknowledged the unpleasant truth. I was going to have to go chasing tornadoes. After Mulder's little demonstration of bastardhood personified, I was going to have to nail down a few of those thoughts and figure out what I was going to do. Where four years ago, the choice would have been simple---pick up and walk away---I knew I had too much invested in the X-Files to ever walk away from them easily. The question was, did I have too much invested in Mulder? I stalled the inevitable questions I knew were about to be raised by kicking off my heels and beginning to strip down into less constrictive wear. Stockings, suit jacket, shirt and gun all followed the heels, leaving me in my skirt and a bra. I flopped onto the couch and wished for an economy bottle of Advil. My head throbbed with trepidation of the kind of soul searching that always drew on all of my resources. "Scully, you're in love with me, aren't you?" God, why couldn't anything ever be simple or beautiful for us? Why couldn't he have asked me simply if I loved him, instead of if I was *in* love with him? Why the fuck did I answer? Everything about him screamed that I was in for some serious MulderAngst. For Christ's sake, he was fucking *monotone* when he asked me. What was I expecting? A declaration of mutual love? In that tone of voice? Sure. Fine. Whatever. I hurt. I actually, physically hurt. I knew Mulder loved me, there was never a question of that for me. I'd seen it in the softness of his eyes when he looked down at me, or pulled me under his chin for a reaffirming hug. I'd seen it in the agony of his eyes when I told him I had cancer and could die, or that I was going to leave him. I'd seen him look at me like I was his salvation and I'd held him while he clutched me like I was the only one who could save him from the Hell he carries with him in his own soul. The question always was, *how* did Mulder love me? Was I his friend? Soulmate? Partner? Lover? God forbid, but was I some sort of Samantha replacement? A living quest to cover for his own emptiness? After this afternoon, I still didn't know. It could be any and all of these things, knowing Mulder. It was possible he was in love with me and this was his knee jerk, panicked reaction. God knows I panicked the first time I realized I was in love with him. Who wouldn't? The man is brilliant, driven, obsessed, haunted, intense and seriously fucked up in some elemental ways. Of course I was afraid to love him. The problem was, I never really had a choice. Somehow we became necessary extensions of each other; a drug in the system. He's my cocaine, and I'm his and no matter how we make the other crawl there's something that instinctively forces us back to the other's side. On the other hand, it was possible that he loved me as something less then a lover, something platonic and sisterly. The entire scene in the office could have been simply another instance of Mulder being completely obtuse to my needs. Him telling me that I needed to 'stop, because it wasn't going anywhere' could have been a variation on his 'you're becoming emotionally involved, I think you need to step back, Agent Scully' speech. It was entirely plausible that the sexual attraction I've felt flair between us was either one sided or the simple biological responses of a male and female thrown into intense and consuming situations with no one else at hand. There was a third, more terrifying possibility. It was possible that his passion for me was nothing but the love/hate need of a junkie for his fix. I know Mulder and I have skated the line between love and hate on more then one occasion. Times when a scarifies neither of us could bare were called for by the other; my sister Melissa, the woman Mulder thought was Samantha on a bridge in the dead of night...It was possible that I had become a crutch to Mulder---no matter how loathed, necessary to him and resented all the more for it. A part of me refused to believe this. There was no way that the man who cradled me in his arms and pressed his lips to my forehead in the middle of the hallway in an Allentown hospital and told me that the truth would save both of us could feel the sort of disdain and contempt for me as the last scenario offered. I hurt. I physically ached. I had never expected it to be this way. When I was a young girl I always thought that when I finally gave my love to a man it would be beautiful... precious. I never loved easily, it was always too dangerous for a girl who never stayed. I never loved a man with the heart-stopping intensity I felt with Mulder---never the raging fervor and the complete trust and fierce loyalty. And now all I wanted to do was bleed them out, let them wash away and to finally break their hold on me. I wanted to be free again, to go back to a time when my world was ordered and the word love still meant something good and pure, precious and uncomplicated. I wanted to go back to the woman who didn't know that her other half could only be found in a pair of hazel eyes that swam with murky shades of brown and gold and green and gray. I wasn't thinking beyond the desire to leave his world when I packed a suitcase and pulled a black muscle t-shirt over my head. I kept an over-night bag packed at all times and grabbing this from under my bathroom sink, I left my apartment with the keys to my car in one hand and enough clothes to last me a few days in the other. I still wasn't sure what Mulder had been doing, or the reason, and at that moment, I wasn't sure I even cared. No, I knew I didn't care. Falling in love with my partner had been a stupid, predictable, infuriating, cliché, impossible and painful mistake. I had never liked making mistakes, and ones that I do make, I like to rectify; it's how my father raised me and it's a deeply ingrained part of my personality. I wanted to rectify this mistake I'd made with Mulder, and I knew that it would be next to impossible to do that in DC. I knew he would be feeling like shit about now, and showing up at my door in about an hour and I didn't want to see him. My mother was out---he'd find me there right away---no, I needed to go somewhere Fox Mulder would never think to look for me, somewhere I could start getting over this stupid sucking pain in my chest and forget that this afternoon had ever existed. I wasn't really mad at him. Whatever had compelled him to do such a cruel thing in our office earlier was classic Mulder. Something about him, something deep and fundamental, sabotages everything good in his life; it's a lesson I learned almost immediately in our journey together, and it wasn't fair to blame him simply because I forgot the lesson and got too attached to a man who burns his bridges and castles behind him. I had built a crystal palace and he had predictably shattered it; it was my fault I'd constructed anything so flimsy. No, I was going away to forget Mulder, not out of anger but out of the realization that if I was going to get over him it would have to be cold turkey. I was like a junkie who has to get away from their whole life to avoid being sucked back into the abyss, hoping that the power of good-bye would be enough to save what was left of their life and soul. It was time to learn how to walk away. * * * This is not helping me at all, What are you doing here? In the name of God and Love It's the distribution of fear... This is not helping me at all, Where did we get this plan? That you could give to me What I might already have Pyramids, healing wines, a musician's fame... I vollunteered you my eyes In place of fixing me. * * * She can make me feel so worthless. Actually, just thinking such a thing was enough to make me sick all over again. I couldn't believe that I was laying my innate self-loathing on her now. She was always the one who tried so hard to make me see the "good" in myself. I could remember one time, early on in our partnership, when I was trying to drag her kicking and screaming after some tenuous lead in the shape of a photograph given to me by a contact that has since been proven to have revealed small truths, engaged in small lies, and perpetrated huge omissions. She sat at her dining room table and told me that I was passionate and dedicated and while she appreciated these things in me, others would use them against me.other words, I was manic and obsessed and she wouldn't hurt me but less benevolent forces would use my own blind refusal to evaluate alternatives that weren't what I wanted to believe against me ruthlessly and brutally. It was a sacrilege to say Scully made me feel worthless. Anything in me that's not complete shit is because of her. She's my only redeeming quality. She's the only reason I can look in a mirror and stare into my own eyes. Before she came I used to stand in front of my medicine cabinet and place my gun in my mouth, and then I'd try to think of a reason not to eat it. Only one ever came up... Samantha. And then one day the name that sounded in my head wasn't Sam, it was Scully. That's why I'm still alive, that's why I still live, that's why sometimes I can go days, even weeks at a time without thinking that I hate myself. How could I blame her for showing me up for the fucked up sorry son-of-a-bitch I am? How could I say she made me feel worthless when I forced her to offer me the most precious thing a woman can offer a man and then spit on it? I'd always been the one to drag her down, and now I'd gotten what I wanted. I was pretty sure it was safe to say she'd stop loving me now. After a while I managed to unfold myself from the tiny, pathetic ball on the floor I'd curled up in and I stood slowly, looking dumbly at her desk and the briefcase still sitting next to her chair. Over on the coat rack her trench coat was hung up next to mine. The only thing missing was Scully herself. Making my way to her coat I lifted it off the rack and raised it to my nose, taking a deep breath. It smelled like her, as I knew it would. A connection. I bunched the coat up until it made a lump I could put my arms around and then, cradling it in my arms, I buried my nose back in it. Using her scent to guide me I began to dig deep within myself, searching for the answers I'd need to fix this. I had to fix this. There was no question about it, I had to find a way to make this okay, because if I didn't, Scully was going to come back and it was going to be with a transfer request. If she didn't come back with a transfer request she was going to come back with a stone cold face and she would never allow me past her defenses again. Most people couldn't keep walls up indefinitely; Scully could. The Ice Queen would reign and I would be left a miserable shell of a man. A miserable laugh clawed it's way past my throat. I already was a miserable shell of a man. Exactly who was Fox Mulder? Fox Mulder was a quest; a man made by his dedication to a sister he was only beginning to realize was no longer even a person in his mind but a cause, something to dedicate himself to in order to fill up the caverns and empty places within his own soul. How long had I chased the shadow of an eight year old girl, who alive or dead had ceased to exist over twenty years ago? How long had I let myself believe that finding her would make me whole? Though I had already begun to realize the lie of my dedication to finding my sister, it wasn't until I stood in a dingy diner and closed my fingers around a slender white hand that I had realized that my truth was not contained in strange, afraid hazel eyes. I suddenly realized that in truth I had long since dedicated myself in worship to another. I had worshipped at the shrine of Dana Scully and I had dedicated myself to her like some dark knight from a fallen Camelot. She was the last remnant of light in my world; the final vestige of purity and hope---the final beacon of light from a dying world. I went from the side of an abandoned quest to the bedside of my light; martyred in the name of a cause I would forsake upon her death to ride forth in the name of Vengeance dispensing death to all those who had conspired to destroy her and me in the process. But she lived. I offered her salvation in a tainted chalice and she drank, and we continued in a grim purpose that I had named even before I understood the nature of our journey together. United once again with her; both of us reveling in the strength of our commitment, I became blind with the pure joy of having her again by my side. With Emily came a chasm between us that I was at lost how to bridge. I watched the light die in Scully's eyes and I watched her close herself off from me, shutting herself within a stone tower and fortifying her isolation with inpenatrible defenses. If I had once laid siege to her walls---had attacked them with the dedication and strength I applied to my work, I could have possible breached her defenses. I could have possible saved her from some of the torment I knew her to be going through simply by sharing her burden. If I hadn't been a coward I might have been able to force her back to my side. The simple truth was that I was afraid of her and her reaction. Dana Scully is not someone easily forced, and she is intensely private and jealous of her emotions and soul. She does not share her pain and she does not open her heart. Attempts at invasion are met with steel and ice and battles for her pain have always ended in defeat for me. I feared her shutting me out even more and I comforted myself with being there as much as she would allow, and if she took it all with a grain more weariness and an unyielding detachment, then that was her business. Hurt by her rejection I made no efforts to pull her to me and the chasm widened. Unable to bare the distance without hardening myself to her I dedicated myself to an external truth once more and allowed myself to become wrapped up in my pains of disillusionment. Convinced that I had been deceived and that my quest had been a lie, I failed to see her or the tentative attempts she made to reach out to me. On a good day, it is difficult to determine whether or not Scully is reaching for you, and when blinded by selfishness, it is impossible. Though we briefly found our way back to each other in the dingy hallway of my apartment building, the simple truth is that I'm not good for her. I threaten to swallow her whole and consume her in the flames of my passion for truths that cannot be easily categorized or referenced. I chase monsters and travel in shadow. We live in an unending purgatory with frequent journeys into hell. If I ever allowed myself to take the final step with Scully---the one that would fuse us together forever---then she live with me in the shadows, without even the pieces of light and joy she manages to carve out for herself. I cannot do that to her, and I will not; no matter how it kills me. Maybe I hope a little that it will. Through the darkness descending over me like a heavy wool blanket, I heard the crack of the office door hitting the wall with the violence and sharpness of a gunshot. I turned to the front of our office habitually, only to be confronted by my partner looking like I've never seen her before. She still wore her suit's skirt, but the silk blouse and jacket were history, replaced by a black t-shirt that molded to her body like a second skin, her preferred style of t-shirt these days. Her gun rode on her hip---in defiance of Bureau etiquette, which deems it preferable to never display your weapon gratuitously--- and her eyes were flashing like she was considering using it. It wasn't anything I had expected to see. I had been convinced that when I saw Scully again she would be ice cold and radiating steely detachment. Dumbly, I found myself staring at her hands, looking for a transfer request. Then she spoke and I kissed steely detachment good-bye and tried to bring my surprise numbed mind back to reality. "Mulder, you're an asshole." * * * And here I stand With this sword in my hand You can say it one more time What you don't like Let me hear it one more time then Have a seat while I Take to the sky * * * A raspberry swirl. Clarity hit me over a raspberry swirl, which is surprising considering I hate raspberry ice cream. That little fact didn't occur to me until after I had bought myself a cone of raspberry swirl from Baskin Robbins and stood outside staring at it dripping down my hand. My decision to stop for ice cream had been made on autopilot, born half out of a woman's desire to drown her sorrows in something fattening, and half out of the desire to figure out where the hell I thought I was going. I still had no idea as the ice cream made sticky rivulets down my wrist and pooled at the edges of the cone. I toyed with the idea of going to my father's boat, which the family had kept despite the fact that none of us had any time for sailing, except Billy and Charlie---who were in the Navy and therefore obligated to do at least *some* sailing. The boat was exactly what I was looking for, but still the idea held little appeal for me. My mind, which I had kept a careful blank since I had left my apartment, began to stir, and I found myself really thinking about my situation. Which was beginning to look a lot like a really bad "Good Housekeeping" mini- romance novel. I had all the ingredients for a real winner; angst-ridden scene where woman confesses her love for man and is spurned, followed by woman's flight to a distant local where the man can never find her, and she can cry over her Ben and Jerry's in peace. I had jumped the gun a little on the ice cream, but the idea was the same. Of course, those stupid stories always ended one of two ways: the woman looks beautifully pitiful and vulnerable for a while, and then some stud muffin is drawn to her obvious heartache (which of course mirrors his own) and eventually sweeps her off her feet and makes her forget about the loser who never deserved her anyway---or, the man realizes how wrong he to spurn the heroine in the first place, and tracks her down, and in a stunning display of virility kicks in her door and sweeps her off her feet. Indignation began to stir the second I thought of my life in terms of one of those god-awful romance stories. Dammit, that wasn't *me*! I wasn't, had never been, some wilting flower of a woman who needs a strong, studdly man to validate her existence! I had never been overwhelmed by a man's virility, I had never swooned or fainted, I had never sat in a fucking ivory tower and cried out for a hero. I was building up to a pleasant rage, berating myself for succumbing to the stereotypical female role---complete with the hideously predictable 'run- away' scene where the damsel flees to escape her love, when I realized that I didn't want to flee anywhere anymore. The truth was, what had happened with Mulder was painful, and it had hurt, and it had been embarrassing and degrading. It made me angry and sad and had exposed me in a way I had never allowed with Mulder before. He had stripped me of my masks and given me nothing in return but one of his infuriatingly vague explanations that always seem to center around my own good. A half an hour earlier, I hadn't cared why Mulder did what he did, had only wanted to get away so I could exorcise myself of his hold on my heart. Applying a little distance to the situation, not to mention a little good, old-fashioned anger, and I began to realize that I was not as crushed as I had thought. I still didn't know how Mulder felt about me---he had failed to mention that when he had wrenched his little confession from me---but I was beginning to suspect more and more that it was another example of him shooting himself in the foot again. He had tried to scare me away, and his keen little profiler mind had told him exactly how to do it. And what had I done? I ran. If he tried to scare me any other way I would have kicked his ass, but he had pushed my buttons and I had responded right on cue. Gag me. Though my copy of "Codependent No More" warned me that a relationship with Mulder was a very bad idea, and I should assert my independence and move on, another stronger part of myself wanted to go back to the office, where he was doubtless curled up in a ball of misery by now, and give him hell. Then I wanted him...for myself. For keeps. I turned on my heel, which is a lot like trying to turn on four inch stilts, and dropped my ice cream cone in the trash can, where it belonged anyway. Raspberry swirl is wonderful flavor, but only if you like raspberries. I didn't even bother to wash up properly, settling for licking my wrist off like a cat on my way back to my car. I was still pissed off and it felt glorious, energizing and refreshing, as I peeled out of the driveway, back toward the Hoover Building. I felt reckless and Irish and for once like Dana, instead of Scully. Scully was cringing in the corner---where I had shoved her---as I stormed through the Bureau with my fury written clearly on my face instead of the approved porcelain mask, and my only concession to the dress-code being my skirt, which must have looked ridiculous combined with the t-shirt I was wearing, and the nosebleed heels I call shoes. Scully shuddered as I broke every rule in her book---which demanded that she face Mulder with aloof dignity and cold indifference---by throwing open the office door with more force than necessary and facing a Mulder slumped miserable and dejected over behind his desk with my coat clutched in his arms and his eyes glazed over in that look of mental anguish he does so well. "Mulder, you're an asshole." My words brought him around and the foggy expression was replaced by confusion. "Scully, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice cracked and rough. "Telling you that your an asshole," I said, not wanting to be side-tracked from this most important of points. He started to stand up slowly, but I waved him back into his seat. "Sit down Mulder, I want to do this to your face." A very faint smile turned up the corners of his mouth at my reference to height and I warned it away with a dangerously cocked eyebrow. Obligingly, the smile faded and he sat looking up at me tragically, his beautiful hazel eyes awash in his precious pain. It made me even angrier. Mulder loves being tragic. It's a theatrical, melodramatic indulgence on his part which has frustrated me for years. He embraces his guilt and martyrs himself for the beauty of crucifixion. I don't want to crucify him; he'd only get caught up in the figure that he makes...I want to keep him off balance so he's reacting to me and not his own preconceived notions of how this conversation should go. If he has time to control the situation, he'll end up on a cross, and if I won't nail him to it, he'll do it himself. "Don't even *start* to feel sorry for yourself," I said, glaring at him. "This is not about you right now. At least, not much about you." "Scully." Amazingly, I saw the beginnings of a pout forming on his mouth and I almost smiled. That was better. If he felt even the tinniest bit indignant and insulted than the chances were he wasn't thinking about what an ass he was, and therefore wasn't castigating himself and thinking selfish, suicidal thoughts about how he should have killed himself a long time ago and saved me all the pain...yadda yadda yadda. I know him so well it's scary sometimes. "I really don't want to hear it Mulder," I snapped, making sure my voice was bitchy and not the least bit of sentimentality was peeking through. It was surprisingly easy, because I wasn't feeling very sentimental at all. "I came here for one thing; equal opportunity." He looked confused, which always makes little lines wrinkle his forehead like a befuddled puppy and is actually unbearably cute...when I'm not determinedly pissy. "Equal opportunity?" He repeated. "What are you talking about?" I carefully reigned in the smug look I knew was fighting for dominance in my expression; he was off-balance enough that he was actually speaking to me in a normal tone of voice and all trace of self-recrimination was absent. Things were really going almost too well, and I was as close to enjoying myself as one could be in a situation of the type we were engaged in. "I don't for a minute believe that you were without motive in today's little scene," I informed him. "And I can think of several possible objectives you could have had. I may even be interested in those motives in a little while, but right now, I'm more concerned with the fact that you behaved selfishly, no matter how you justified it to yourself." "I know." Guilt began creep into his eyes and self-loathing rolled in like a fog. "I know what I am, Scully..." "Shut up, Mulder," I held up a silencing finger to punctuate the sentiment. "This is still not about what a creep you can be. I shouldn't have run off in the first place; I wouldn't have...if you hadn't thrown me so off balance. "You exposed me Mulder. You stripped me methodically of my balance and you used my confusion to get what you wanted. You took what you wanted and you used what you knew of me to make me leave, and while I can imagine in your own warped way you did it out of some misguided sense of protection and under the justification of my best interests, you still put me at a disadvantage. "We're not on equal footing, and I can't do my job like that." "You're leaving me." He stated the words flatly, wearing what was either 'the panic-face' or the 'I-don't-want-you-to-know-what-I'm-feeling' face. His eyes, however, were miserable and a wonderful mossy green color that seems to be reserved for the most painful events in his life. "No, Mulder," I answered calmly. "I am most definitely not leaving you. The X- Files are about more then you or me and I will not leave them voluntarily. We're going to have to come to a different solution than that one, because it's not an option." "Then what are you saying?" He asked. "You tell me you can't do your job with this between us, and you tell me you won't leave the X-Files. Are you asking me to leave?" "What I'm saying is that I want us to be on equal footing again," I clarified. "I put all my cards on the table, and now I want to see yours. I want to know how you feel about me Mulder, and I want the truth. Any answer you give me is acceptable, as long as it's completely and unequivocally true. If you love me like a friend and nothing more, I can accept that and we can continue to work together and I'll eventually get over you---but you have to tell me the truth." I placed my hands on his desktop and moved forward until I was mere inches away from his face. My eyes were drilling directly into his, and I could see his widening, feel his startled intake of breath on my own mouth and smell the slightly spicy scent of his aftershave; it was a heady rush as I asked my question in a voice slightly huskier than usual. "So tell me, Agent Mulder...are you in love with me?" His mouth opened and closed like one of his goldfish caught out of water, and finally he managed to answer me in a strangled voice. "Yes." "Oh good," I muttered, suddenly entranced by his lower lip. "That makes things much easier." "What things?" He asked in that same voice; I wondered briefly if his tie was too tight. "Whatever it is we decide to do about this." "Nothing," he stated firmly, seeming to regain his mental balance. "Scully, this would never..." "Mulder?" I cut him off catching his face and holding it still when he would have moved away. "Hmmm?" "It's still not your turn to talk," I informed him, and closing the remaining inches between us, covered his mouth with my own. * * * I guess I'm an underwater thing, I'm liquid running There's a sea secret in me It's plain to see it's rising But I must be flowing liquid diamonds Calling for my soul * * * The trick was to keep breathing. I sat in stunned immobility as she kissed me softly and undemandingly. It only lasted a second, a brief brushing of her lips over mine, before she pulled back and regarded me soberly. The anger she had displayed upon first entering the office was completely absent, as was the determined resolve to have her say she had exhibited in her little speech. Instead she pulled away from me and looked into my eyes serenely, which was a direct contrast to my own raging emotions. She loved me. She told me she loved me. She wanted me for some inexplicable reason. I loved her. I told her I loved her. I wanted her more then I'd ever wanted a woman before in my life. And there was some reason I wasn't supposed to have her. It wasn't fair and I wanted to cry. "Mulder please don't start," she intreated in a voice devoid of blame. "Honestly, can't you save your inferiority complex for another day? I don't want to hear how you're only going to end up hurting me; in fact, it will only piss me off because when you decide something like that it's assuming I'm too stupid to make my own decisions or to weigh the risks of a relationship in my personal life." "But it's true Scully," I said, reaching for her hand and drawing her around the desk to stand before me. "I don't know that I can be what you need. I love you, I love you so much that I want what's best for you and if I don't think that that's me then you can't expect me to just offer you up on the alter of my own needs." A sweet, fond smile curled up the corners of her mouth, taking the sting out of her next words. "Oh God Mulder, why start being chivalrous now?" I offered up a sad smile and a shrug in answer. "Mulder, do you think I'm happy right now?" She asked, changing tacts. The game was old---I had a theory and she was trying to dissuade me of it---but the soft indulgent tone was new. "Uhm," I wracked my brain for the answer to what had to be a trick question. "You know what my life is Mulder. I wake up in the morning and I come to work. I pour my entire mind and soul into this job and I fight by your side for truths that are bigger then both of us. Sometimes this quest we're on is so consuming that it blocks out all facets of my life, but primarily it disguises itself as a normal job. I do paperwork and I pour over research and pathology notes. I go home at night and I take my work with me half the time. I run around all over the country with you, chasing weird shit that I wouldn't have believed in even four years ago, and then I do lots of paperwork in which I try to make it all sound valid in the eyes of people who find the concept of a flukeman to be completely unbelievable. "My job is satisfying, Mulder. Sometimes I have a love/hate relationship with it, but over-all I wouldn't trade a day I've spent on the X-Files by your side. However, and this is a big 'but', this does not make me happy. I have moments of happiness, but on the whole I would not call myself a 'happy' person. I'm a content person, a driven person, an intense person, but I can't think of anyone who would call me 'happy'." I could feel guilt welling up in me in a familiar wave, and apparently she recognized it's onset, because an exasperated expression settled itself over her face and she said crossly, "Can I please finish before you start in on the self-flagellation?" A sheepish and hesitant smile battled it's way past my defenses. "My point, Mulder, was not that you and the X-Files have ruined my life. My point was that I need more than my job to make me happy. I need what everyone needs. I need someone who loves me and is not obligated to by bloodties. I need someone who will hold me at night and someone who challenges me and interests me and protects me and brings out the best and worst in me and trusts me. Someone I can trust and protect and share my life with." Scully reached out a hand, ruffling it through my hair in a maternal gesture that always made me consider her in a not-very-maternal light. Freud may have had something to say about that, but he had always scared me and thinking about squat Germans was not something you want to be thinking about when the woman you love in a way that's elemental and breathtaking is telling you that she wants you. "You fit the bill, Mulder. No matter how you want to call yourself unworthy, or how much you believe you'll hurt me---you're all those things to me. I think we're lovers in the ways it counts most already, so you're a little late to nip that in the bud. All you can do is refuse the physical part of a relationship with me, because I think both of us are incapable of walking away now." To say anything at that point was utterly beyond my capabilities, and I had to settle for grabbing her wrist and pulling her onto my lap, where I wrapped my arms around her and almost crushed her against my chest. I felt liquid and heavy, my emotions between awe and gratefulness, and something so strong it seemed to settle on my chest with a physical weight that made breathing difficult. She cuddled up against me, her tiny body fitting naturally to mine and my head found it's way into the crook of her neck. If she noticed or minded the couple of hot tears that escaped my eyes and rolled down to catch on the collar of her shirt, she didn't mention it. My voice was still muffled as I pulled back to rest my forehead against hers. When my eyes opened, I was staring straight into blue pools as fathomless as any number of poetical clichés. Laughter rumbled in my voice as I tried one more time to warn her away from me, more out of respect of our antagonistic little games of persuasion then any true conviction. "What about our enemies, Scully? Won't they try to use this against us?" She actually rolled her eyes at that. "Oh yeah, we should really worry about that, Mulder. They might do something awful...like abduct me and send me to Antarctica or something. Or maybe they'll shut down the X-Files, and there's always the chance that they'll grab you and throw you into a work camp or prison and subject you to medical experiments." I had never known that a person could go from utter dispair to nearly delirious happiness in a matter of an hour. It had to go against several laws of nature and every experience I've had in my whole life. She was still sitting on my lap, and her legs dangling over mine---feet not-touching the floor---was the most adorable sight I'd ever seen. She had kicked off her shoes and was curled up against me like a contented kitten. There was something very feline about Scully anyway. From the lithe strength of her body, her unflagging independence, to her capacity for the perfect 'incredulous' look always punctuated by eloquent body language, Scully radiated cat. "I really do love you," I whispered into her ear, feeling unbelievably safe in my admission. She twisted around to face me with an evil smile I had never seen before. "Prove it, G-man." That raised all sorts of interesting ideas...amongst other things. * * * I love the way you smile at me, I love the way your hands reach out and hold me near... I believe this is heaven to no one else but me, And I'll defend it as long as I can be left here to linger... * * * Ah, a stroke of luck. Sitting on Mulder's lap had put me in a unique position to feel his, ahem, *interest* rise. Thank you God, that smirk still worked. This had the potential to be very interesting. Finally I was seeing some action from Mulder that could do me some good. It wasn't like I didn't know Mulder's been affected by me at times. Frankly, I think I should get nominated for some kind of acting award for all the times I ignored a Mulder hard-on while spouting scientific gibberish for him. For Mulder, words with over five syllables have a direct affect on his groin. I've actually had to unobtrusively angle myself in a way to block him from the rest of the room when we're conferring in front of people on a few occasions. I squirmed around a bit on his lap, just to see him react, and than looked down pointedly when I felt him twitch beneath me. Since I was sitting on it, I couldn't see anything, but the point was made and when I looked back up to meet Mulder's eyes, he was grinning sheepishly. "Sorry Scully; it's been awhile, you know?" Did I ever. Dammit. Oh well, he certainly looked worth the wait. I smiled back, basking in a Mulder smile that was neither cynical nor sad. Those don't come around very often and I was soaking it up and memorizing it to pull out in the next depressing situation we found ourselves in. Or the next time I saw Diana Fowley. Blech. Way to ruin a moment. Aw fuck Fowley. She wasn't here, and I was, and Mulder loved me and was saying it---when he wasn't drugged out of his mind and convinced we'd just saved the world in 1939---and he was holding me in his arms and still looking half- embarrassed, like he thought this was the first time I'd ever been confronted by his libido. He looked adorable and I leaned in for another kiss. A real one this time. That bottom lip of his had been torturing me for the last six years, and the light, dry kiss I'd given him a few minutes ago hadn't done anything to assuage my curiosity. This time I sucked his bottom lip in between my own softly, knowing he was still nervous and wanting to go slow for him. I wasn't in any real hurry anyway; I just wanted to explore. He hummed against my mouth, reaching a hand up to cup the back of my head and tangle his fingers in my hair. Encouraged, my next kiss was firmer and I traced my tongue lightly over his mouth before breaking away and looking at him expectantly. "Why'd you stop?" he mumbled, and pouted disapprovingly. His lips were moist from that last kiss and I felt my famed self-control slip a notch. Okay, so screw slow. This time he took the initiative and kissed me. He didn't bother working up to it either, just grabbed my head, his hands cupping the sides of my face and his fingers buried in my hair, and melded his lips to mine, pushing his tongue in my mouth. Oh yeah. I moaned against him and slid my tongue over his, battling half- heartedly for dominance in the kiss. Something most people don't know about me is that I could kiss for hours and be perfectly happy. It's at odds with my personality, so most people would never guess that, but it's true. I may be goal oriented and hard-edged and cool and detached, but I love to be kissed. And Mulder can kiss. Like everything else he does, he invests himself, and his kisses aren't poorly concealed attempts to distract me from where he's putting his hands, and he didn't shove his tongue down my throat to placate me so he could reach for my breasts without seeming too forward. Apparently, Mulder liked to kiss as much as I did. He explored my mouth thoroughly, making the most amazing little sounds of contentment in the back of his throat and causing me to start shifting in his lap. Really we weren't in the most satisfying position. I wanted to be pressed up against him, to feel him tight against my whole body, but that would have required discussion, or actual movement, and I wasn't interested in breaking a kiss I'd been waiting for for so many years it was pathetic. Mulder's mouth was incredible. Just looking at his mouth always triggered unprofessional musing on exactly how I could make it work for *me*, but even all the thought I'd put into it was no comparison to actually exploring it. His mouth was hot and wet, and tasted so damn good; rich and dark, like kahlua or something. I pressed my tongue up against his palette, making long, slow strokes into his mouth that were putting both of us near the short end of control. I could feel him, hard and straining against my ass and I shifted again, making him groan harshly. At this point, there was no question on how this was going to end. I was going to make love to him, and the only thing left to be decided was whether either of us had any interest in going back to one of our apartments, or if we were going to christen our office. Frankly, the office had my vote; I'd been fantasizing about fucking Mulder on his desk since almost the first day I walked into his dingy little lair. The thought of it was enough to send a jolt of need down my spine. I needed him to touch me, and reaching out blindly, I managed to grab his wrist and bring his hand around, placing it on my breast. He froze, breaking the kiss and panting like he'd run a marathon. His eyes zeroed right in on his hand, which had flexed reflexively to cup me and he looked back up at me with wide eyes and a 'how did *that* get there?!' expression. "Scully?" "And Agent Mulder gets to second base his first time at bat," I narrated lazily, smiling up at him. "Against this team anyway..." "Jeez Scully, don't put it *that* way," Mulder chastised me uncomfortably. "You know it's not like that for me. I'm sorry if I came on too strong." "Jesus Christ Mulder," I snorted. "*I* put your hand there, what are you apologizing for?" "I just don't want to push you too fast," he said sweetly, his eyes glued to my breast and the way his fingers were curled around it. "We can take this as slow as you want." "I don't wanna go slow," I whined, fully aware how petulant I sounded. "I've waited six *loooong* years for this and I won't let you or your outdated sense of chivalry ruin it for me!" Reluctantly, I made the necessary concession to his feelings. "Unless you don't feel ready to take this step yet." "Oh I'm ready," he mumbled, thrusting up against me lazily to press his point home. "But you deserve this to be perfect for you. You know, wine, candles, music...romance." "Uhm, that's really sweet, Mulder," I said hesitantly, wondering how to break it to him. Finally I just blurted it out. "But I hate that stuff. It makes me feel stiff and akward and uncomfortable. I don't want us to be contrived and unnatural, I want us to be *us*." I smiled up at him shyly. "You're probably more of a romantic than I am." He grinned at me happily. "So you wanna go back to your apartment now?" I shrugged, deciding to go for it. "We could. Or we could finish this now. Here." He gulped, and I could feel him harden even more through the thin material of his dress slacks. "Come on Mulder," I whispered into his ear. "Tell me you haven't wanted to do me right here, in the office." His breath rasped out harshly. "On the floor," I pulled his earlobe into my mouth and sucked on it for a minute. "Against the file cabinet?" He shuddered. "On your desk?" I pushed my tongue into his ear and he gasped, jerking out of his seat. Somehow, right before I was dumped off his lap, he managed to get an arm behind my knees and the other one behind my back, and he carried me across the office rapidly, dropping me to my feet before our still-open door. We were both breathing hard when he slammed it shut, locking it with a twist of his wrist and pushing me up against it with his other hand at the same time. Thank you Jesus, I was officially in heaven. * * * In the mist there she writhes, And castles are burning in my heart, And as I twist I hold tight... * * * My little world had just been turned upside down. I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing...one minute I was reasonably in control, the next I had Dana Scully up against a door, which was not the way this was supposed to be happening at all. To be completely honest, I have no idea when control over the situation was taken from my hands. Probably around the time she walked into my office and stuck her little hand under my nose, eyeing me with frank appraisal and more than a little amusement. Whatever. Now all that mattered was the hard heat of her arms under my hands and the soft curves of her breasts crushed against my chest and the wet heat of her mouth as I kissed her. She had surrendered the kiss to me, not even making a gesture at parrying my tongue's eager strokes into her mouth, and her hands were pressed up flat against the door. I was holding her roughly too, my finger's digging into her biceps as I drank from her like a parched man who finds an oasis in the desert. A part of me was screaming at me to slow down and not be such a caveman, and another part was demanding that I start uncovering and exploring some of that Scully-skin I'd been obsessing over for the last five and a half years. The caveman won and I broke the kiss, sliding my mouth down her jaw and towards her neck. She smelled like peaches and warm skin and I inhaled deeply before beginning to nip and kiss the delicate skin there. She sucked in a breath and bared her throat to me, humming her approval, and I moved my lips to the hollow at the base of her throat, where her cross lay nestled, and sucked hard on the tender flesh. The gesture seemed to push her into action, and her hands suddenly flew up to curl in my hair and drag my mouth back up to hers. Not that I was fighting her all that hard. The next thing I knew we were into another marathon kiss and her hands were busy sliding my jacket over my shoulders and shaking loose of my grip so she could drag it all the way down my arms and drop it on the floor. Nimble little surgeon's fingers found my tie next and quickly unraveled the knot, tossing it carelessly over my shoulder with one hand while she yanked off my belt with the other. Scully was already starting on my shirt buttons before I realized that I was supposed to be doing more than taking inventory of her mouth with my tongue. I was supposed to be getting her naked too. After all, things will work better that way and I'd been waiting for almost six years to see her naked. The time in Antarctica didn't count because her skin was as blue as a smurf and she was covered in slimy shit that looked like the crap from a Sigourney Weaver movie and I was scared shitless--- not to mention trying to play the gentleman and not look---so my only clear recollection of a body part is her left foot, which got tangled up in my snow pants. It took a minute for my epiphany about getting Scully naked translated to actual action. I slid my hands down her body until they were resting at her waist, and grabbed the first thing in my way. Despite having dated Diana for a while, I can still say this is the first time I've groped a woman and come up with a gun. I wasn't stupid enough to just toss that over my shoulder, so I sort of bent at the knees until I could place it on the floor, dragging Scully with me so we wouldn't have to break contact. By that time, Scully had finished with my shirt and pulled her mouth away from mine with a little popping sound while her lips traveled down my jaw with a brief detour at my Adam's apple. So far even the littlest things on her part were driving me to distraction and causing large portions of my IQ to disappear entirely. I found myself hoping sex with my partner would not cause permanent stupidity, because at this point I was entirely unwilling to stop. Still, I managed to keep my own fingers moving and hooking them under the hem of her shirt, I began peeling it up off her stomach. I was doing quite well until the back of my hand came into contact with warm, smooth skin and Scully's mouth simultaneously closed over a very sensitive spot at the center of my chest, which she immediately began to bathe with her tongue like a cat. I moaned and flattened my hand against her stomach, reveling in the hot, silky skin. Apparently, I was going too slow, because suddenly her hand slid down and before I knew quite where it was headed, she was cupping me through the thin material of my pants. I instinctively jerked up into her palm, thrusting into the contact. Smart woman. That seemed to end my dazed inactivity, because suddenly I was jerking the tight black t-shirt over her head and looking down at two of the most perfect breasts I've ever seen (and being a frequent porn observer, I've seen a lot) held in a silky, midnight blue bra. I'd been obsessing over those breasts for a long time and now I was looking at them and could even touch them if I wanted. I had a sudden mental image of myself bouncing up and down, clapping my hands and going "Yippee!" I'm such a dork. I dropped my pants, standing before her in nothing but tinted boxers and a nervous smile, and began to fumble with the zipper at the side of her skirt with clumsy fingers. Finally that was gone too and she was wearing nothing but a matching underwear set and an arched eyebrow. * * * Now your big blue skies And your deep blue water Will not wash away the past But to my heart I will surrender And swear this time will be the last... And maybe I'm afraid of losing, baby Maybe it'd be worse to win Either way I'm jumping in... * * * Ah, temptation waits... And it was wearing little green glow-in-the-dark alien head boxers. How truly frightening. Not the boxers, those are undoubtedly a gift from the Lone Gunmen. No, the frightening part is that I was so far gone I didn't even laugh when I saw them. Mulder was communing with my breasts, so I don't even think he noticed. Frankly, it was flattering the way he drooled over them before remembering that there was an actual woman attached and looked up to offer me a sheepish grin. "Nice boxers," I teased lightly, reaching forward and hooking my index finger under the waistband. "They serve a purpose," he grinned, eyes bright with humor. "Now you'll be able to find me in the dark, and I'll have you notice that the third alien head from the bottom in the center front is strategically placed so that you can locate key male anatomy easily and conveniently without the akward fumbling in the absence of light..." I actually laughed at that, pleased to discover that Mulder was one of those people who could have fun in the bedroom. Office. Whatever. Of course, there was fun and then there was fun, and I'd been waiting for five years to have my fun. I decided not to wait anymore and without preamble jerked Mulder's boxers down over his hips---careful not to snag any key equipment in the process---dropping to my knees in front of him. Well there it was. A Mulder erection I was not forced to ignore. Since I had never seen Mulder naked at full mast, I'd always had to use my imagination when the occasional fantasy would shove it's way past my defenses, and I was always generous. Well lucky me, God had been too. Before Mulder's mind could quite process what was going on, I was running the flat of my tongue firmly up the length of his cock from base to tip, stopping at the head to suck him lightly into my mouth and begin working him with my tongue. I really should have warned him, taking into account how long it had been for him, because he practically bellowed his surprise. "Shit! Scully what the hell are you doing?!" "Well there goes the excuse that porn tapes are educational," I answered tartly, before lowering my head and getting back to business. I was somewhat surprised when his hands wrapped around my upper arms in a vice-like grip and he literally dragged me up to my feet, pinning me to the door again. One look into his eyes and I almost came right there. He looked positively deranged. His eyes were more pupil than iris and the carotid artery in his neck was throbbing. His hair was tussled and his eyes were almost emerald and the romance novel cliché was reversed because his chest was the one heaving. He was so beautifully male that I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry and the only thought in my head was that I wanted to climb on board and go for a ride. Before I knew what was happening, he had jerked my panties down roughly and was lifting me up against the door until I was at the proper level before burying himself in me without preliminary. Frankly, I was impressed with his aim. I gasped from a combination of shock and pleasure and a twinge of pain. "God Mulder!" I hissed into his ear. But I wasn't complaining and he knew it. The pain just made it better anyway, it made it real, it made it a fuck and not just sexual gratification. My fingers didn't hurt, but they sure as hell didn't make me feel like this either... "Good huh?" he asked, his nose inches from mine, and fused his mouth over mine in a brutal kiss. I wrapped my legs around his waist to accommodate our new position--since there was no way in hell I could actually touch the floor from this height---and nodded enthusiastically. For a minute I wondered why he wasn't moving, than realized the he was keeping me braced up with one arm around my back, while the other hand was fumbling with my bra clasp. "Brace me," I muttered, releasing his neck from the death grip I had around it and reaching behind my back, quickly unsnapped the clasp with speed born partly from having wrestled with the damn things practically my whole life and partially from desperation. Satisfied, Mulder once again pinned me to the wall and began to thrust into me. Hard. My head snapped back against the door and I groaned. Unable to do much, I watched his face, beaded with sweat and tense with concentration and effort. God, he was so beautiful. Unable to resist, I leaned forward for a deep kiss; fucking his mouth with my tongue, mimicking his actions below. "Aw fuck," I breathed, breaking the kiss. For the first time in so many years it was embarrassing, I actually had a man inside me. Not just any man either---as Ed Jerse flashed to mind---but the man I wanted. There was no feeling like it in the world. Not only that but our position allowed me to enjoy the filled feeling, without the distraction of *having* to come. Mulder must have picked up on my thoughts using that "unspoken" thing we do, because all of a sudden he stopped, very obviously putting himself in check and resisting the urge to finish himself off. "You're not going to come this way, are you?" He asked breathlessly. For a second I debated lying to him, but that thought flew away almost as soon as it entered my mind. There was no way I was lying to Mulder about this. Not ever. "No," I admitted, leaning forward to lick away a drop of sweat rolling down his temple, "But I'm sure as hell having a lot of fun." I smiled, looking deep into his eyes, trusting him to see the truth in my words. "It's okay, Mulder. I have what I want right here." My smile turned mischievous as I clamped my internal muscles down on him, and then smug when his eyes practically crossed and he gasped. "Sorry Agent Scully, but I seem to remember you saying something about having to be on equal footing to be able to work with me," he said, recovering himself quickly. "But Mulder, I'm not on any footing at all," I pointed out, squeezing my legs around his hips for emphasis. "You said something about my desk earlier," Mulder reminded me, giving one last lazy thrust before pulling me firmly against his chest and walking us, still joined, over to the officer furniture in question. I think it was my turn to go cross-eyed, and I know the mere suggestion was enough to cause me to spasm around him again, unconsciously this time. He shot me a reproachful look anyway, admonishing me to 'stop that' because he was already close enough as it was. Words to warm an ice queens heart. "Thank God you're so small," he teased from around my neck, which he was licking and nibbling as I purred shamelessly. "In my old age, my knees wouldn't hold out long trying to trek you around the office like this." Happily, it took him merely seconds to clear the desk of the pesky files and folders, paper clips, pens and notepads in our way. I breathed a prayer of relief that he felt too cramped when his computer was on the desk, because no matter how overcome with passion either of us were, I couldn't really see our practical sides trashing a monitor just so we could make the two-backed screaming beast in a reenactment of every professional's most cherished fantasy. I was never going to be able to look at this desk the same way again. And then I stopped thinking about anything but the way Mulder was slamming into me. God, the man had the stamina of a bull. Hard, deep, slow thrusts that had me squirming beneath him, raising my hips to try and force him to speed up. He shook his head, determination written all over his face, as he slid his hands between us, using his fingers to provide the stimulation I needed. It was so sudden that it was surprising; I could feel my orgasm approaching from seemingly nowhere. "God Mulder, faster," I hissed. I barely saw him studying my face to see how close I was through my vision's pre-orgasmic fog, but I did catch his satisfied nod, and then he was speeding up and I could feel him straining against me and seconds later I was gone. I could feel myself spasming around him, and then he buried himself in me as deep as he could, throwing back his head, and he was coming too. Absolutely, stunningly beautiful. And all mine. "Love you," he gasped, and collapsed on top of me. * * * I love the time in between, The calm inside me in the space where I can breathe. I believe there is a distance I have wandered To touch upon the years of reaching out, and reaching in Holding out and holding in. I believe this is heaven... * * * I sank into Eden with her. If anyone were to ever ask me to describe perfection, I would have been able to oblige them. Heaven was slick heat and a slim, tight body against me. Heaven was blue eyes and a mouth that can make the manliest of men into boys. Dana Scully is as close to perfection as any man could possibly want; not only in body, but in mind and soul. And she's all mine. I grinned against her neck evilly. Mine mine mine. Hahaha! Next time some hick sheriff ogled her from under his cowboy hat and talked to her breasts or became distracted by her legs, I would no longer have to fear that she'd be likewise enamored. "Mine too, buddy," Scully's muffled voice came from under me, and even though my eyes were closed, I could *see* the arched eyebrow. It also alerted me to the fact that I was: A. still ontop of her, and B. my internal monologue was not working and had become external. Before I could apologize or clarify, I felt her fingers trail up to my collarbone and over to my shoulder, where she gently circled a spot I suddenly realized smarted. "That bite mark reads 'Property of Dana Scully,'" she informed me half-seriously. "No other's need apply. If they do, they can talk it out with my Sig." For some reason I found that almost unbearably cute. "Aw Scully, this has been your property for a long time," I said smiling and easing myself off of her. I was more than moderately pleased to discover that though my legs were a little shaky, like they got after a run, they could still hold me up. She sat up as well, throwing her legs over the side of the desk, feet dangling. She looked up at me, her head to the side and her hair falling like a sheet to shade the side of her face. She smiled shyly, a direct contrast to her casual nudity. "It's been the same with me," Scully said softly. "Yeah?" I grinned goofily. "Yeah," she responded with a wide, breathtaking grin. Apparently Scully likes nerdy guys. "We should get dressed now." I always could trust Scully to be the practical one. "Only if we can get naked later," I leered, waggling my eyebrows at her. "Yes Mulder, we can get naked later," she told me in her very best 'see the nice lady indulging the little kid' voice. "Now throw me my clothes please." I did so, then began to struggle into my own clothes. Crumpled up on the floor, my Armani had not faired very well. The dress shirt was hopelessly wrinkled, but the price of dry cleaning was a small price to pay for the afternoon's entertainment. Scully finished dressing before I did, since she had less to deal with. While I was buttoning up my shirt, she sauntered over with my tie draped negligently over her fingers. I finished the last couple buttons at the collar and she reached up on tip-toe to loop the gaudy colored atrocity---which I picked out for that express purpose---around my neck again. Then nimble little surgeon's fingers were deftly tying the knot with less trouble than I had with it, even after years of practice. The gesture was so lover-like that I could feel my chest tightening again. I reached out for her, burying my fingers into her hair and using that to draw her towards me. I liked the way my hand looked against her head, and the beauty of that vision alone was enough to steal my breath. * * * Made of flesh and bones, My life, my soul, you make my spirit whole... * * * Dedication: To CW for being so enthusiastic about the possibility for "DomSmut" and for reminding me about this damn thing as it collected dust on my hard drive. Also to DS for being so encouraging through the entire, dull, excruciatingly slow process... And to Jen, who refused to read the end because it was her sister who was writing about sex Also thanks to all the folks at Planet X and to Anu, Puck, Griz, Psy (who is unable to believe I do this for fun, but wishes me well anyway) and Hammer (who is a whinny idiot, but occassionally redeems himself) Lyrics from the following artists were used without permission: Tori Amos, Live, Madonna (leave her alone! ), Sarah McLachlan, Patty Smyth and Garbage. I used them because I have no talent of my own... Well, that's it guys...and thank God! I'm so sick of this stupid thing I could scream.