Title: At the Mercy of Love Author: J. T. Filipek Classification: MSR Rating: NC-17 Spoilers: FTF, Anasazi and Small Potatoes (slight), Sixth Season up to and including Triangle Distribution: Anywhere as long as it's complete and is archived with me as author Summary: First they talk, then they don't talk. Feedback: Welcome, in fact, begged for. If flaming, please do so responsibly. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television, and borrowed here with reverent respect. Not making any money, don't have any money, please don't sue me. "The Mercy of Love" by Shona Laing, (1992 MCA Music Publishing, a Division of MCA, Inc.). Used without permission, but with great love for the song. Previous anti-lawsuit plea applies here as well. Author's note: This is my first attempt at fanfic and the first time I've put ANYTHING I've ever written out for people to actually read. (With the exception of my cousin, Miss Cookie, who was kind enough to read this before publication.) We got smut here, folks, but I was aiming at literate smut. Hope it works out. Please let me know. AT THE MERCY OF LOVE By J. T. Filipek Dana Scully sat at the mirror of her vanity, added two more strokes of mascara to her lashes, and blew an exasperated puff through her hair, ruffling her bangs a little. Mulder was due to pick her up in about five minutes and, since they were on assignment, she knew she couldn't count on the half hour she usually had because he was late in picking her up. She peered at her reflection in the mirror, and shook her head in a rare, brief moment of self-pity. *Another bullshit assignment,* she whispered. Since she and Mulder had been removed from the X-Files and assigned under Assistant Director Kersch, they had been given assignments that would insult the intelligence and experience of a six-month rookie. And Diana Fowley was heading up the X-Files. Mulder's X-Files--hell, hers too--THEIR X-Files. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Tonight, for example, they were assigned to surveil and get photos of a reported meeting between a New York mob boss and up and coming drug runner who desperately wanted to become a drug lord. According to *reliable* sources, the two were meeting over dinner in a posh Washington, DC restaurant because Arturo Tetrazzo, the mob boss, felt it was too hot for them to meet in New York. Scully and Mulder were part of a six-person team assigned to get audio and photographs of the meeting. Special Agents Harper and Kowalski were undercover as a waiter and a bus boy, Agents Havleczek and Scott were assigned to get audio by acting as diners at a nearby table, and it was up to Scully and Mulder to get the photos. A knock roused her from her reverie and she padded in stocking feet to the door. Even through she knew it would be Mulder, she took a quick peek through the peephole and opened the door for him. She was already halfway through her apartment headed back to the bedroom by the time he got in and got the door closed behind him. "You ready, Scully?" he called after her. "Yeah," she answered. "I just have to slip on my shoes." She came out of the bedroom, looking at the floor as she poked an earring through the hole in her left ear. "This is really bogus. You know that, don't you, Mulder? Another bullshit assignment." He tried to choke back a chuckle, but didn't succeed very well. "*Bogus,* Agent Scully?" he said, sardonically. She glanced at him with the infamous Sully eyebrow thing. "What?" "Bogus is just not a term I expect to hear from you," he explained with a grin. "Of course, it's bogus. Six agents assigned and we're not even supposed to attempt an arrest. Surveillance only. Another fine example of your tax dollars at work. But, hey, I'm looking at it as a chance to eat at Ma Maison, which doesn't happen often on my salary, let me tell you. Besides, I get to wear this really cool watch with a camera inside. Very James Bond." Scully took a really close look at her partner for the first time that evening and smiled. *Still knocks your socks off, Dana old girl, even after six years,* she thought, stifling a sigh. He looked fabulous in a black suit with a muted gray pinstripe--Armani from the looks of it--and a black tie with a discreet silver pattern atop a shirt so white it was almost dazzling. The cut of the suit emphasized his slim waist and hips and wide shoulders and made her just want to stand and look at him for a while. "Nice suit, Mulder. Also very James Bond" "You clean up pretty good yourself, Scully." *Understatement of the year,* he thought. He searched his mind for an adjective to describe how she looked and ravishing, inadequate as it was, was the best he could come up with. She wore a slip dress of some kind of flowing fabric of a sapphire blue that almost exactly matched the color of her eyes and brushed against her legs with a whispered hiss. Thin spaghetti straps stood out in stark contrast to the creamy skin of her shoulders. Her fiery hair was pinned up and softly curled showing the diamond studs in her earlobes as they caught the light and sparkled. The way she looked made him wish he were taking her someplace where she'd dress like that for him. She felt slightly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but it was a pleasant kind of discomfort, as his smile showed that he liked what he saw. She wondered, and not for the first time since they'd returned from Antarctica, when or if they would ever talk about what happened...well, almost happened...would have happened in the hallway outside of Mulder's apartment. *Not now,* she said, forcing back the thought. *This is an assignment.* She grabbed the evening jacket she had draped across the back of an armchair and was surprised when Mulder took it from her and helped her slip it over her shoulders. "Thank you," she said, looking up at him, curious at this gesture. She was rewarded with a smile that made her knees weak. "Come on, Scully, let's go to work." He held the door and escorted her through it with a familiar hand at the small of her back. As they followed the maitre d' to their table, Mulder noted that several men in the restaurant turned to look at Scully, and felt a strange kind of pride to be walking through the room with her. *This is an assignment,* he told himself. But damn, she was drop dead gorgeous tonight! They were led to a table at the edge of the dance floor across the room from Tetrazzo's table. A small combo played soft music for those inclined to dance. The maitre d' helped Scully into her seat and left them with menus and a wine list. "Order at will, Scully," he said magnanimously. "If the Bureau doesn't care how much this thing costs, I sure don't." She looked at the menu and gasped at the prices. "Mulder, dinner for two here exceeds my entire monthly grocery bill." "Not a fair comparison, you don't eat very much," he said with a grin. "Let me order for both of us. I know you won't take advantage of the taxpayers' generosity as mercilessly as I will." "Remember who Kersh billed last time he disagreed with our expenses," she replied with a smirk. She had sat through years with Skinner coming down on them about their expenses, often taking the heat for Mulder's general lack of concern in the area of receipts and paperwork, and things with Kersh did not seem to be shaping up much better. "Maybe he'll go easier on us with an expense actually related to our assignment." Mulder gave her his *yeah, right* look. "I get the feeling that Kersch isn't too easy about anything. And I'm finding it increasingly difficult to give a damn. If he socks it to us again about dinner, it's on me. Okay?" Agent Harper, acting in his guise as a waiter, took their order and noticeably flinched when Mulder ordered the most expensive items on the menu and a bottle of wine that cost twice as much as a pair of shoes Scully had purchased the week before. "Now the plan is, we get up and dance when Havleczek gives me the word." He unconsciously touched his left ear, which held a small and barely visible receiver. "We dance," she said doubtfully, and he nodded. "Why us?" "I guess we just look like happy feet people, Scully," Mulder replied with a reassuring smile. "Besides, it would look fairly strange for Havleczek and Scott to be dancing, considering the fact that they're both men. This just isn't that kind of place. I promise I won't break your toes. After all, I had three years of dance lessons when I was a kid." She looked at him, surprise written on her face. "You had dance lessons?" "Yep. Three years of Saturday afternoons at Mrs. Hyde's," he said proudly. "Sucked during baseball season, though. And basketball season. Geez, hockey season, too. Pretty much sucked, Scully, but I did manage to learn to dance." "You never cease to amaze me, Mulder," she said with a chuckle. "Hey, I grew up on the Vineyard and had to be adequately prepared to take my rightful place in refined society. Dance lessons *and* etiquette lessons." "Get out!" she gasped. "Etiquette?" He nodded. "You'll be happy to know that I know the proper fork to use when eating three day-old Mexican takeout from a styrofoam carton." "Always a useful skill," she retorted. "Okay, so what are we doing?" "We move across the dance floor, and position ourselves so that my wrist is pointing at Tetrazzo's table and then snap away. Should be fairly easy, but you'll have to do the snapping. Just press the knob at the top of the watch when the time is right." "Oh, God, this really *is* James Bond-y," she said with only a trace of disgust. "I hope Havleczek gives us the word after dinner. I'm famished. I skipped lunch today because I knew we were coming here and I wanted to save some calories." *And to go shopping for this dress,* she thought. And she thought it just might be working. Their food appeared a short time later, delivered by Harper who informed them that Tetrazzo and Fischer were about halfway through their meals and still not talking business. Mulder and Scully started eating their salads--a combination of wild greens and artichoke hearts with a delicate vinaigrette that went well with the crusty French bread that was delivered to them still warm from the oven. "This is good," Scully commented, as she sipped from her glass of Chardonnay, which was dry, crisp and chilled to perfection. "Not too bad for a bullshit assignment," Mulder agreed. "I'm looking forward to the Melange de la Mer that's coming." "Love to take advantage of that high school French, don't you, Mulder?" "Another in my treasure trove of useful skills, Scully. Just your basic spooky Renaissance man." His tone was sarcastic, but the smile he gave her was gentle and warm, and she found herself smiling back. Havleczek's voice sounded in Mulder's ear. "OK guys, listen up. They've just taken out some paperwork and put it on the table. Time to do that Fred and Ginger thing." Mulder nodded and looked over at Scully. Havleczek went on, for Mulder's benefit only. "Oh, and Mulder? Mrs. Spooky looks particularly hot tonight, you lucky son of a bitch." Mulder looked up and cast the other agents a grin, hoping his expression conveyed the appropriate level of smug satisfaction. *Mrs. Spooky does, indeed, look hot tonight, guys. And take it from Mr. Spooky--she could kick your ass, and set your bones for you when she was finished. Gentlemen, behold perfection!* It was just a flash of a smile, but Scully caught it. "What were you grinning about?" she asked. "It's a guy thing, Scully." He stood up and held out a hand to her, bowing slightly. "Dr. Scully, it would be my pleasure if you would join me on the dance floor." She gave him her hand, and a smile that nearly took his breath away. "You really did take lessons!" She let him pull her to her feet. "I would never lie to you about important stuff," he said sincerely, looking deeply into her eyes, until Scully broke the look. He placed a guiding hand beneath her elbow and led her to the center of the dance floor. A soft guitar riff started the next song, and Scully found herself feeling awkward before the watchful eyes of four fellow agents, Mulder's arm around her waist and the fingers of their other hands intertwined. She relaxed somewhat as she started to feel the rhythm of the song and felt Mulder begin to lead her in the dance. The song was vaguely familiar to her, and she realized the band was doing a cover of a song she had on a CD at home. "Okay," Mulder looked down at her. "Let's start making our way over to their general vicinity. And remember, I lead. I'm the trained professional here." "Lead on. I've followed you into a lot scarier places than this." "Yes, you have," he replied, and the pride and admiration in his voice made Scully blush with pleasure. He tightened his grip on her waist somewhat and propelled them easily across the floor. "Okay, let's go over there, take a few pictures, move away for a bit, and then move back in for some more. There's twelve shots on the roll. Just keep your fingers away from the watch face. That's where the lens is." She looked up at him in mock seriousness. "This is James Bond overload, Mulder, and I'm warning you right now. You will regret the day you *ever* call me Miss Moneypenny." He smiled down at her ruefully, amazed yet again at her ability to read his thoughts, and guided them closer to Tetrazzo's table. As he did so, his right hand slid from her waist to rest gently on her bottom. "Mulder, you have your hand on my ass," she said, stating the obvious. "Yeah, I do." He smiled down at her in mild amazement. "It's been there before, but I gotta say, it's better when you're conscious. Now just run your hand down my arm, grab my wrist and move my hand over to your hip. Then snap as many as you think you should." Mulder had placed them perfectly for the shots and Scully pressed the knob four times in fairly rapid succession. The whir of the film advancing hummed against her fingertips as she held tightly to the watch casing. She felt Mulder move them back to the center of the floor, where they held their position for a few minutes. His hand had returned to her lower back, and Scully found herself closing her eyes and just enjoying the swaying of their bodies back and forth. His thumb traced light, lazy circles along the ridges of her lower spine in counterpoint to the beat of the song, inducing in her a kind of drowsy languor. *He probably isn't even aware he's doing that,* she thought, pleasantly dazed. "I'm at the mercy of love," Scully sang along with the singer, in a soft, breathy voice that was just slightly off key. "You sing okay, Scully," Mulder whispered down in the direction of her ear. "You know this song? I've never heard it before." He continued his slow caresses of her back. *She probably isn't even aware I'm doing this," he thought, pleasantly dazed. "Mmhm," she said, her voice low and languid. "I have it on a CD at home. Can't remember who sings it, though." "Nice," he said, and nuzzled his face against her hair, breathing in its fresh, clean scent. He cherished the rare opportunities he had just to hold her, and the way she fit just right in his arms pleased him inordinately. "Yeah," she said, tired of trying to keep her head from resting against his chest. The wool of his suit jacket barely brushed the skin of her cheek and she longed to complete the contact. *Just a little closer, just enough to hear his heartbeat.* She gave in to the urge and leaned her head against his chest sighing almost inaudibly as she settled in. "Mulder," Havleczek's voice came through the receiver gratingly. "If you're going to get any more photos, you better get on it. It sounds like they might wrap things up here shortly." *Damn,* Mulder said to himself. He'd almost had himself convinced that Scully was dancing with him like this not because of the assignment, but because she really wanted to. "Scully, we need a few more shots," he said, unable to keep the regret from his voice. He felt her nod against his chest and knew that the spell was over. They repeated the process that had worked so well before and got another six photos and, by that time, the song was over. They walked back to their table--this time with his hand not at her elbow, but firmly around her waist, drawing her close to him--and found that their dinners had been delivered while they danced. He helped her into her seat and walked around the back of the chair, letting his fingertips lightly graze the skin between her shoulder blades as he passed. A shiver of delight passed through her before she even had time to suppress it, and she hoped Havleczek or Scott hadn't seen the Mulder's caress or her reaction to it. He sat down and looked at her and was enthralled anew by her face. Her blue eyes sparkled when they met his, and her smile made his breath catch in his throat. It was a different smile than she'd ever given him before, one that both questioned and promised. He was vaguely aware that, across the room, Tetrazzo and his guest were leaving their table, and reluctantly pulled his gaze away from hers to watch them exit. Mulder exchanged eye contact with Agent Havleczek, who then spoke a few words to Scott. Apparently the audio was good, as Scott nodded slightly. "We're good here, Mulder. Got audio. We're going to head out and get this back to HQ. You two finish your dinner. And I recommend the creme brulee for dessert. Excellent. Bring in the film tomorrow." Mulder removed the receiver from his ear as they watched the other agents leave the restaurant and turned their attention back to their meal. "You want dessert, Scully? Havleczek recommends the creme brulee," he said, pouring her another glass of wine. "I can't finish this, so I think I'll pass on dessert," she replied. She noted his empty glass. "Aren't you having more wine?" "Driving," he replied. "But drink yours. Be a shame to let a good wine like this go to waste." They ate a while longer, talking about inconsequential things. When they finished, he looked at her and said, "Dance with me again, Scully." Sorely tempted as she was, she shook her head. "Mulder, we're on assignment." "Havleczek and Scott are gone," he protested. "And it's not even 8:30." "Yeah, but Harper and Kowalski are still here." The look of disappointment on his face both surprised and pleased her. "Come on. Take me home and I'll make you some coffee." He nodded with a resigned smile, knowing she was right and hating it. "Real brewed stuff? Not instant?" Scully paused, as if considering. "You drive a hard bargain, but okay." Mulder signaled to Harper, who brought them their check. Mulder gave him a credit card and they waited while Harper got the receipt. Mulder signed it and slipped his card back into his wallet. Scully instinctively reached for the receipt, slipping it into her bag, knowing his tendency to lose these things. *God, that's enabling.* She mentally justified her action by telling herself that if he lost the receipt, they'd get called on the carpet by Kersch again, and she was already on rapidly thinning ice with him as it was. Once inside the door to her apartment, Scully kicked off her new high-heeled pumps, happy finally to be able to shed them for the day. She padded barefoot toward the kitchen, Mulder following closely in her wake. He leaned against the counter, watching her as she busied herself making a pot of coffee. He liked seeing her in her own home, moving about surrounded by the things that were part of her. Her kitchen was warm and welcoming yet, being Scully's, efficient and well organized with everything within easy reach. He knew no one from the Bureau except him had ever been invited into Scully's apartment. She considered it her haven--her place to get completely away from work--and he wondered what they would think if they saw it. Her home was not a reflection of the woman she let most people see. There were touches that screamed Scully to him, but would probably surprise their co-workers. The fresh flower centerpiece on her table, the hand-crocheted afghan draped across the back of her couch, the pictures of her brothers and their families on one of the shelves of her bookcase, the small bowl of potpourri on the coffee table. Not exactly the lair of the Ice Maiden. It gave him a warm feeling in his heart that he knew this side of her and that she was comfortable with him knowing it. "Coffee's almost ready. Why don't you go sit down and I'll bring it out." She was taking coffee mugs out of the cabinet. She joined him on the sofa a few minutes later, a steaming mug in each hand, and placed them on the coffee table before them. She saw that he had discarded his jacket and tie and opened the top two buttons of his shirt and realized they must have been as uncomfortable for him as her shoes had been for her. She sat back and tucked her feet under her, holding her mug with two hands wrapped around it. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the aroma of the coffee, her thoughts far away. "Okay, it wasn't that much of a bullshit assignment," she said suddenly. "We weren't freezing our asses off," he added helpfully. "Or standing in the pouring rain." "Neither of us is bleeding." "Or bruised, battered or bludgeoned" "No serial killers." "No flukemen, thank God." "No alien abductees." "The pictures we took probably won't have auras." He shook his head with a sigh. "Yeah. Unfortunately for us." "Mulder, I'm bored out my mind. It was a bullshit assignment." "Yeah," he acknowledged. "But a nice bullshit, you know? It was worth it just to get to look at you. You look beautiful, Scully." His tone was so sincere, it made her blush. Mulder didn't compliment her often. "It *was* a nice bullshit," she agreed, setting her half-full cup on the table. "But, you know, it made me realize something." "What's that?" "How little I actually know about you." She cocked her head and looked into his eyes, almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. "I feel closer to you than to anyone in my life, and I don't know anything about you. Like that dance class thing. Why didn't I know that? We've been together six years. And what do you really know about me?" He smiled slightly, and Scully wondered about the sad wistfulness of it. "I know a lot," he replied softly. "When you were... while you were--gone--I talked to your mother. A lot, actually. She told me lots of things about you. Didn't Maggie ever tell you?" How strange to hear him refer to her mother by her first name. "She told me how much you helped her during that time. But she's not the kind who would relay personal conversations. Not even to me. I guess she figured what you talked about was between the two of you." "Your mother is an amazing woman," Mulder said and she smiled her agreement. "But Mulder, even with what she told you, you still only got her vision of things that happened to me. The truth is, you don't know very much about my life and I don't know very much about yours. The only memories you've ever shared with me are in relation to Samantha." He nodded. "I don't think I consciously kept those things from you, Scully. They just never seemed to come up between us. I don't know why, there's nothing in my life that I wouldn't trust you to know." He smiled mischievously at her. "Ask me anything." "Anything?" she repeated. "Anything. But then I get to ask you anything. Deal?" His tone was questioning. "Yeah," she answered, accepting the challenge and starting to like the idea. "Anything, huh? Okay, I've got it. What's the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to you?" He chuckled. "Oh God, there have been *so* many." He paused to think and Scully loved watching his expressions change as he dredged up and rejected memory after memory. "Got it. Hands down, the worst. June 1978, sixteen years old. The Chilmark debutante ball." "Debutante ball? You went to a debutante ball?" Scully asked, amazed. "You really were a dancin' fool, weren't you?" "It was the Vineyard, Scully. A world unto itself. And it wasn't my idea, believe me. My mother had a friend who had a daughter who went to a private school in Connecticut. She was making her debut and needed a date, and my mother volunteered me. Absolutely no getting around it. She even got my father to back her up." He looked down, lost in the memory. "Her name was Kelly and I'd never laid eyes on her before I went to pick her up for the ball. I'm standing on the porch, a bundle of nerves. Her dad lets me into the house, and when I went into the living room where she and her mother were waiting, I could see the disappointment all over her face." "Mulder..." she started to interrupt him. "No, Scully, it's true. I'm not looking for pity here, just stating the facts. Sixteen was not my best age. I was as tall as I am now and unbelievably skinny. Big nose, big lips, and morose as hell. The kid whose sister disappeared. Even the chess club guys thought I was a geek. No zits, though, so I hadn't yet completely given up hope in the existence of a merciful deity." He smiled and his tone held not a trace of self-pity. "I was not Prince Charming, okay? But she was really nice about it, and we got along okay in the car on the way there. "When we got to the ball and they did the debut thing, the girls were supposed to come down this long staircase, and their dates were supposed to wait for them at the bottom and escort them in. So there I am, waiting in a line with a bunch of other guys in tuxes at the bottom of the stairs. Waiting for them to announce Kelly's name. I look up and see her standing at the top under a sort of spotlight thing. She was a vision, Scully. Long dress, sort of ivory colored. The other girls wore plain white, but hers was ivory, and it made her seem to sort of glow. When I saw her walk down the stairs, trailing her hand along the banister, I knew right then why men have always written poems about women. It was like she was floating just a fraction of an inch above the ground, just floating." He paused, obviously savoring the memory. "So I stepped up to take her hand like they told us to do and my shoe slipped on the marble floor and I ended up in a long, gangly heap sprawled at her feet. Of course, everyone in the room erupted into gales of laughter and all I could think of was how I could dig a hole through the floor to crawl into." "Oh Mulder, that's awful," she said sympathetically. "Not completely, Scully. Kelly bent over, helped me up, and said loud enough for everyone to hear, *I love a guy who falls at my feet.* Then she stood on her tiptoes, looked me right in the eye and gave me the sweetest smile I ever saw and kissed my cheek. Within a few seconds I went from dork of the universe to master of all I surveyed. I remember looking down at her and knowing that I would never forget the look on her face. And I never have." Scully silently thanked that sixteen-year-old girl of so long ago for having the grace and the heart not to destroy that sixteen-year-old boy of so long ago. "She had hair the color of a brand new penny," he whispered from someplace far away. "Lighter than yours and almost as beautiful. Been a sucker for redheads ever since." Mulder reached over and touched her hair, pulling off the clip that held it off her neck, and setting it aside. He ran his fingers through it, and it flowed over his skin like molten lava that had somehow been rendered harmless to burn him. "I'm glad." She shivered a little at his touch and silently thanked that sixteen-year-old girl of so long ago for being a redhead. "Okay, your turn. Most embarrassing moment." His voice felt thick in his own throat and, with reluctance, he pulled his hand away from her hair and brought it back to his lap. He wanted so much to keep touching her, but at the same time, he wanted to hear her story--all her stories--and he knew that if he kept touching her, they'd have to stop talking. *Oh God, I'm in trouble,* he thought. *I want her mind more than I want her body. And I want her body much.* Scully watched his hand drift back to his lap and noted that his shirt had French cuffs held together by cufflinks made of gold and black onyx. She took him by the forearm and raised his arm so that his wrist and cufflink were at her eye level. "Cufflinks," she said, almost as if she had never seen anything like them in her life. "You never wear cufflinks." "I usually end up losing them." He looked at her curiously. *Why would she have noticed something like that?* As if to answer his unspoken question, she said, "I like cufflinks on men with nice hands. It draws attention to them, dresses them up a bit." She lowered his arm and he drew it back, his hand returning to rest on his thigh. "You think I have nice hands?" "Yeah," she replied softly. "Like an artist's hands... or a pianist's." He had no response to her words, but they pleased him immensely. "Hey, it's your turn." "Oh yeah. Most embarrassing moment. Easy. I still think about it almost every day." "Every day? Geez, this must be a good one." He turned, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa, so he could look at her full on without having to turn his head. "Actually, when I think about it now it's not that bad. At the time, though, it was completely mortifying and it changed how I act, even today. I was in sixth grade. I don't know, eleven, maybe twelve. My father was stationed at a base in New Hampshire and we kids were going to the local Catholic school. The Nunnatorium, we used to call it. At least it was co-ed. The boys had to wear white shirts and blue dress slacks and the girls had to wear uniforms. Blue jumpers, white cotton blouses, beanies, the whole works." She smiled almost fondly to herself at the memory. "Beanies?" he asked, confused. "Yeah, they're like yarmulkes only bigger. They cover more of the head. Guardian angel loops on the top." "Guardian angel loops?" he asked, still confused. "They were these little loops of fabric sewn onto top of the beanies. I don't know what they were for. When I was in first grade, Sister Agnes told us our guardian angels used those loops to yank us out of harm's way and keep us safe. I think she said it to make us keep wearing them, but I liked the idea of it." Mulder nodded. "Yeah, me too." Anything that kept her safe sounded like a good idea to him. "Anyway, it happened during the winter. We had to walk to school..." Mulder couldn't resist. "Is this gonna be like my parents' stories where they had to walk thirty miles to and from school in blinding hailstorms, fifteen months a year, uphill both ways?" She frowned, but not very convincingly. "Bite me, Mulder. Do you want to hear about my most embarrassing moment or not?" "More than I want the sun to come up tomorrow, Scully. Forgive me." He moved his hand to brush a knuckle lightly over her cheek. "Okay, then," she said, choosing to ignore the slightly sardonic tone of his apology. "Like I said, it was winter and Mom bought Missy and me matching full-length wool coats. They were navy blue with a wool plaid lining and they came with scarves made of the same plaid. It was bitterly cold and dry that day. And as I walked to school, the static of the wool of my coat against the wool of my jumper made it ride up, unbeknownst to me. By the time I got to school and took off my coat in the hallway, my dress was bunched up around my waist, giving everyone in the entire school a full view of my underwear. I didn't even know it until someone pointed at me and laughed. I looked down and pulled down my dress as quickly as I could, but not before what seemed like hundreds of kids saw my little pink panties. And there was no one to rescue me from my humiliation, Mulder. I just had to live through it. The kids called me Pinky until my father was transferred the next year and we moved again." He laughed. "At least you weren't wearing green panties that day, Scully. Pinky is much better than Greenie, if you catch my drift. Okay, so how did that experience change the way you act today?" She ducked her head slightly. "To this day, I can't take off a full-length coat without pulling the flap back first to make sure I can see my skirt." "Understandable," he replied, chuckling. "Also, if you were to look through my apartment right now, you would find no less than three cans of anti-static spray. One in the cabinet under the sink in the kitchen, one in the bathroom, and one in my bedroom. I spray everything I wear, every day." Mulder made his voice artificially deep, trying to imitate the guy in the movie trailers. "The adventures of Special Agent Dana Scully, killer of static cling. Coming soon to a theater near you." Scully laughed out loud and her laughter sounded like wind chimes to him. He made a mark on a mental chalkboard where he kept a running tally of how many times he had made her laugh. Sometimes, when the count seemed too small, he allowed marks for smiles that reached beyond a tolerant smirk. He'd had days he counted as successful when the only thing he had accomplished was making Scully laugh. "Maybe this is why we don't do this, Mulder. Here I am baring my soul and my compulsions to you, and you just make fun of me." He grinned at her. "Hey, I'm not laughing *with* you, I'm laughing *at* you." She returned the grin with one of her own. "Again, Mulder, bite me." "Ah, Scully, don't get me started," he said with a sigh. "All right. My topic. What was your best day?" "My best day? You mean, ever? You want to narrow that down?" "Nope," he replied. "Best day ever in your whole life." "Oo, tough one. Do you have one?" "Yeah, but you're first. Come on, Scully, there must be one day that really stands out." She leaned forward and put her chin in her palm, tapping her upper lip with her fingernail. "Well, holidays were always great in our family, so I suppose it may be one of those. There was one Thanksgiving when we were stationed in Florida and my parents decided we'd visit my grandmother in Michigan for the long holiday weekend. They let me fly there the weekend before, just me, so I had a few extra days to spend with Grammy. I think I was nine then, and she told me I was her favorite, although I suspect she said that to all the grandkids. She thought it would be a good idea to cook as many things ahead of time as she could so she could spend some time with the family on Thanksgiving instead of being trapped in the kitchen. It was Wednesday, the day before, when she finally got around to making her famous homemade bread and she let me help her. It was nice, kneading and punching the dough. A good, physical thing you could feel all the way to your shoulders. Then we let it rise and took it out and punched it some more, and let it rise some more. There was flour everywhere--from one end of the kitchen to the other. Grammy was a great cook, but a fairly half-assed cleaner. I remember, she dipped her hands into some flour, like she was going to knead the dough again, but she grabbed my face instead and left two big, white handprints on my cheeks. So I did the same thing and left a trail of little kid handprints down the back of her dress, and the next thing I knew, we were having a flour fight. A five-pound bag of flour ended up all over the kitchen. You know, when you throw flour into the air it falls just like finely powdered snow. Then she put the loaves in the oven and we cleaned up while they baked, all the while smelling the scent of baking bread. When the bread was done and had cooled enough to get it out of the pan, we pulled a loaf apart and ate the whole thing warm, dripping with butter and apricot jam. It tasted heavenly. Nectar and ambrosia all rolled into one. That was a pretty good day." "Yeah," he said. He'd seen photographs of Scully at that age at her mother's house and could picture the scene in his head. "Sounds like a good day. Is your grandmother still alive?" Scully shook her head sadly. "No. She passed away when I was sixteen. Stroke. I was devastated. I loved her so much. She was so patient and loving and wise. And fun. I always felt like the center of the world when I was with her." She gave a little sigh. "What's your best day?" "The day my dad took me to see the Red Sox play. I was eleven. The summer before Samantha was taken. My father wasn't exactly what you'd call accessible, Scully. He was away a lot of the time with his job and even when he was there, most of the time he was *gone.* Know what I mean? Not really a part of our lives. But every now and then..." He paused, seemingly lost in his own memory. "Anyway, one day he drove us to Boston for a baseball game, just him and me. It was an early afternoon game, and we just sat there and talked. Watching baseball isn't exactly riveting. In fact, the only thing slower than baseball is agriculture. So we had lots of time to talk. He asked me about school and sports and books and who my friends were and what we liked to do. I was eleven years old and we'd never had a real conversation before then. I remember sitting there in the sun--cloudless sky, just a little breeze. Dad had had a couple of beers and let me take sips from the foamy part and I thought that was the coolest thing in the world. The Sox even won the game with a great double play in the bottom of the ninth. "There was a real lull in the game around the sixth inning and I looked over at my father and he was sitting back in his seat with his eyes closed. I thought he'd fallen asleep. All of a sudden he says to me, *You know, Fox, I can't talk much about my job. I'm not supposed to. But sometimes it's dangerous. Now I don't want you to worry, I'm always careful. But if anything ever happens to me, I want you to make sure you look out for your mother and your sister. Because it's a man's job to take care of the people he loves, Fox. That's what a man is supposed to do.* I was floored, Scully, just totally blown away that he thought of me that way." Scully found herself, and not for the first time, hating a man she had never even met. Hating Bill Mulder for his shameless manipulation of his son's emotions. That simple little speech was the basis for the guilt that had weighed so heavily on Mulder since Samantha's disappearance, and had governed his actions from that time on. Mulder, barely twelve years old himself, had been left *in charge* that evening, and he hadn't been able to prevent disaster from befalling his sister. At twelve, he believed he had failed as a man, and she felt her throat constrict in anguish for the boy he was then. *Oh my God,* she said to herself. *That simple speech is also the basis for every time he's ever ditched me. It's a man's job to take care of the people he loves.* And she had no doubt that she fell into that category for Mulder, even though he'd been slightly out of it when he'd actually said it to her. "Scully?" he said softly. "What's wrong? You seem so far away." She smiled at him reassuringly. "Nothing, Mulder. I was just trying to picture you at that age." Much as she tried always to be honest with him, she didn't have the heart to destroy the memory of his best day by providing her take on it. "You know, I've never seen a picture of you as a kid." "And if I have anything to say about it, you never will. There's no need to put you through something like that." "Hey," she said suddenly. "I'm thirsty. You want something to drink? Coffee's not making it for me anymore." "Know what you mean," he replied. "What do you have?" "Water, iced tea, probably a can of Coke or two. Oh, and I've got some wine. It's not up to what we had with dinner, but I'm fairly certain it doesn't have a twist-off cap." "Bring it on, then." Scully went to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of Gewurtztraminer she kept chilling in the refrigerator for those rare evenings when she felt the need to indulge herself. Bringing in the bottle and the wineglasses, she had a sudden flashback on that memorable evening with Eddie Van Blundht and a small shudder passed through her. Mulder hadn't seemed to notice or make the connection, so she put it out of her thoughts. She resumed her place on the sofa and poured a glass for each of them. Mulder touched his glass to hers. "Okay, your turn. What's the next question?" And they talked for a long time about whatever popped into their heads and aroused their curiosity. Best books they'd ever read. Favorite movies. Favorite colors. Embarrassing family members. Songs they liked and hoped no one else would ever find out that they liked. Childhood best friends. They sipped wine and talked and laughed more with each other than they had in the entire six years of their partnership. *Do normal people act like this?* Scully asked herself. There had been times over the past six years when she'd found herself longing just to sit and laugh. Their jobs were so intense and serious--often deadly serious--and moments of release had been few and far between. But there was still one thing she had to know, that had gnawed at her since they'd returned from Antarctica. Before this evening, she hadn't had the courage to ask him, or even to contemplate what his answer might be. But she had to know. *In the immortal words of The King, it's now or never.* Mulder noticed that she had become somewhat contemplative. He knew that she had a question she was hesitant to ask, and he wanted no hesitation from her. He wanted her to have his stories, too. "Okay, what's the question?" he prompted. She took a deep breath, trying to draw from her inner reserves the courage to bring up the subject. "What you said to me in the hallway outside your apartment, before you... before we..." He smiled at her gently. "We're both grownups here, Scully. We can say the word *kiss.* Before I almost kissed you and you almost kissed me back?" "Yeah," she replied. "What you said about needing me. Did you say it just to keep me from going? To convince me to stay?" A denial sprang instantly to his lips, but looking down at her face, a face as familiar to him as his own and infinitely more beloved, he found he couldn't utter it. She deserved to know, finally, what was in his heart. She'd earned it--countless times over--in blood and disappointment and anxiety and loss. It was time to start giving back. "I've thought a lot about that since we've been back," he said, looking down at a spot on the floor beyond her. "Because I knew sometime you'd ask. Part of me hoped you wouldn't and part of me prayed you would. But deep inside, I knew you would because you always ask me the hard questions. It's a gift you have, Scully." He looked up then and locked his eyes to hers. He had to see into her, all the way in, to make her understand. "Contrary to popular belief, I am aware of the fact that sometimes I can be a self-centered asshole. I acknowledge that. I've taken that moment apart in my minds a lot of times--where you said that you'd held me back and that you were leaving. I've tried to look honestly at what I was thinking and feeling and I want to be honest with you about it. So I have to say that, yes, right at that moment in time I said what I said to convince you to stay." He saw the look of disappointment that crossed her face, watched her try and suppress it, cover it over, and it hurt his heart that her first reaction was to hide it. He reached over and took her hand in his, amazed, as he often was, at how small it was, yet how strong. "But, Scully, that doesn't mean I didn't believe what I was saying. I'd known it and believed it for a long time and was too much of an asshole to tell you. And in that hallway, I was fighting for existence. You were walking away from me and, in a rare moment of self-revelation, I understood what I was losing. More than just a partner, even more than a best friend--hell, my only friend. I was losing the part of me that's made me able to live with myself for the last six years, the part that kept me believing I could keep doing this." He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand as he paused, trying to put his thoughts together in a coherent manner. "And, you know, I might have been able to live with that loss. Not well, but then I've never lived that well anyway. What I couldn't live with was you walking out of my life thinking you'd been a hindrance to me, some kind of millstone around my neck. I knew I'd regret it the rest of my life if you left me just because I didn't have the guts to tell you I needed you, and I've already got enough regret stored up for several lifetimes. I realized that with just the truth, I might be able to keep the best thing that's happened to me, certainly in the last six years and probably in my whole life." He looked down at his lap, indicating that he was done. She felt tears spring to her eyes, knowing how hard is must have been for him to say what he'd said. "Thank you." she said softly, barely able to whisper past the lump in her throat. "Thank you for having the guts to help me not leave you." "My turn. Would you really have gone?" He looked at her questioningly. She nodded and a single tear rolled down her cheek. "If you hadn't said what you did, I would have had to. If you can admit to being self-centered, Mulder, it's only right that I admit to a more than healthy streak of pride. I gave my letter of resignation and my pride wouldn't have let me not follow through. I knew as I was walking to the elevator that I was making a mistake, but I couldn't stop it. You were right. I said you didn't need me, and almost had myself convinced, so I could quit with a clear conscience. But I knew you needed me." "How? I never told you." "You showed me, Mulder, time and time again," she said. "Besides, there's no way I could need you as much as I do if you didn't need me, too." "Scully, you don't need me. I haven't exactly been a lucky charm in your life." She shook her head, a sad smile on her face. "Oh Mulder, don't you see? You made me a whole person, too. All my life I've been so driven to always be the smartest and the strongest and the best. I knew that if I just got all the facts, no one could prove me wrong, so I spent my whole life getting them. I made a kind of fetish out of science and knowledge so that I'd never have to question how I feel and what I believe. Then you pop into my life, believing what you believe, despite what people or facts or science might say. And you were willing to lay down your life for your beliefs, and for some reason I've never been able to figure our, for me, too. When the chips are down, you're always there for me--even when I was pushing you away. Before you, Mulder, I was never willing to lay down my life for anyone or anything. You taught me that there are things worth fighting for, worth dying for, and that not all truths are found in science and facts." "You've lost a lot for that bit of information, Scully." "Yeah, I have," she acknowledged with a total lack of rancor. "And so have you. But look what we've gained." She squeezed his hand. "Mulder, I told you once that I wouldn't change a day of our time together. I meant it then and I mean it now. If I could go back and choose not to know you... Even if I could bring Missy back, even if I could get the missing months back, even if I could have avoided having cancer, none of those things--all of those things combined--couldn't make up for the lack of you in my life. We're out greatest strength, Mulder. Together, we're more than either of us is separately and that's why they're so afraid of us." He was touched beyond words at what she had told him. He reached over and pulled her close, pressing his lips to her forehead, rocked to the core at how precious she was to him. She pulled away slightly and looked into his eyes. "I want the X-Files back, Mulder. They belong to us, they're ours." "And they'll be ours again, Scully," he replied. "How?" He sighed. "I don't know yet. But I promise you, we'll get them back. If you've ever trusted me on anything, trust me on that." Her heart aching, she looked away. "They could be yours again right now." He looked at her, perplexed. "You and Diana could work together again. The Gunmen told me about you and her. Said you were quite a team. You could get back in." "Without you? Not a chance in hell." He saw the doubt in her face. "I should have told you about Diana when she came back, but it never seemed to be the right time. Once upon a time, we were a good team. But in the end, neither of us was what the other one needed. I guess if we had been, we'd still be together." "Byers said he could never figure out why you two split up." "Byers wasn't on the inside of that relationship, believe me, Scully," Mulder replied. "I'll tell you about us if you want." She shook her head. "No. There are parts of your life where I don't belong, just like there are parts of mine where you have no place. I don't care what she was to you before I knew you. It doesn't matter to me. But it matters greatly to me who she is to us now." "What do you mean?" "She's connected, Mulder, and she's connected higher than Skinner. That's why she has the X-Files now and we don't. And I think we both have enough experience to know where the orders come from that are above Skinner's head." "Yeah," he replied with a caustic chuckle. "And she seems pretty thick with Jeffrey Spender." "Spender," Mulder said dismissively. "He's a punk, Scully. An overly ambitious yes-man." "Don't underestimate him, Mulder," she warned. "He hates us and I think he'd do anything to see us take a fall. He blames us for the disappearance of his mother and you, of all people, should know what a motivator that is." He let out a sigh of exasperation. "I don't want to talk about Spender or Diana or the Bureau," he said wearily. "Not tonight. We were doing great. Out longest conversation ever without talking about work. Why don't you play me the song we danced to at the restaurant?" "Okay," she replied, glad for an excuse to change the subject. She crossed the room to the rack where she kept her extensive collection of CDs. She stood on one foot, looking at the CDs, her other foot running slowing up and down her calf. It was a motion Mulder found both arousing and strangely endearing. "Not alphabetized, Scully?" he asked. "Actually, they are," she said, not looking up. "By artist. I just can't remember who did that song. I'll know it when I see it. Ah, here it is." She grabbed the case from the shelf, opened it, and slid the disk into the CD player. She pushed the buttons to program in "At the Mercy of Love." She didn't hear him come up behind her, quiet as a cat. "Come here," he said, low and gentle, as he placed his hands on her shoulders to turn him toward her. She went willingly into his arms, ready to dance with him for as long as he wanted. Without her shoes, she was exactly the right height to hear his heartbeat, and without other agents present, there was no reason not to put her head against his chest and listen to it. His head rested against hers, and he pulled their clasped hands in close to them. She felt safe and cherished in his arms, yet at the same time, incredibly excited by his proximity, his scent, the touch of his hand on her back. The song had an intimate, gentle beat provided by the instrumentation of only a lead and rhythm guitar. By the time the opening guitar riff was done, they'd found their rhythm and were moving in synch to the music. The singer was a woman with a low and plaintive voice. "I'm at the mercy of love. Not where I want to be. For, like a woman without spine or choice, It just isn't me. "I want to reach out for you. I want to be brazen and brave, Knowing if the last train leaves, It was meant to be this way." Mulder moved away from her slightly, willing her with everything he had to look up at him, and she responded as he knew she would. Their eyes locked and held, and they looked at each other for a long time like that, with a total lack of self-consciousness. "I'm at the mercy of love. I could drown in your eyes. I'm so aware of you breakin' into my life. At the mercy of love, Not easy as friends. It's as if I have known you and will know you again. At the mercy of..." *I could drown in your eyes.* How often had he had that feeling, both in real life and in the fantasies he'd let himself have about the phenomenal woman he now held in his arms? And if he could choose how to go, he couldn't think of anything better than drowning in those eyes. "I thought the sun had gone down. I feel so out-at-sea. But it's a dangerous world And you're a dangerous man to me." Scully blushed slightly and wished she had recalled more of the words to the song before she agreed to play it. *He is a dangerous man to me. And not because of what's happened to me since I've known him, but what would happen to me if I ever lost him.* "I'm at the mercy of love. I could drown in your eyes. I'm so aware of you, breakin' into my life. At the mercy of love, Not easy as friends. It's as if I have known you and will know you again. At the mercy of love." "I'm at the mercy of love." The song went on and, when it finished, was followed by the rest of the CD. They continued to sway in time to the beat, just looking at one another. "Hey, we're pretty good at this," Mulder said softly. "We should go dancing, Scully." "We can't go dancing, Mulder. What if someone saw us?" She wrinkled her nose slightly. "I don't think I'm ready for *Mr. and Mrs. Spooky have a night on the town* jokes around the Bureau." "It would be worth it just to have you look like you do tonight for me," he replied wistfully. A shiver of delight passed through her at his words. "I *do* look like I do tonight for you." She saw a look of disbelief cross his face. "Do you think I skipped lunch to buy this dress to impress Scott and Havleczek? Or a roomful of people I'll never see again?" "Scully," he whispered, barely able to believe what he was hearing. She nodded. "I wanted you to like it." "I do like it. I like it a lot." He tightened his grip and led them in a small spin. He attempted to *dip* her, but her foot slipped out from under her. She would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed her and stood her upright. "I should have warned you about the *dip.*" He looked down at her, both arms laced tight around her waist, and found himself curiously unable to breathe. *Drowning.* "Yeah," she responded, unable to look away from his eyes, green-flecked gold in the dim light of the room. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders. They stood that way for what seemed to Scully to be an eternity, as she held her breath waiting for something--anything--to happen. *Drowning.* "God, I'm so tired of being with you and without you." Without warning, without preliminaries, Mulder's mouth descended on hers, his tongue demanding entry. She granted it and then she was lost, swept away. His mouth was hot and hungry as it explored hers, and from somewhere far away she heard herself moan softly in response. *So this is what it's like. Always wondered. Always. From the first day.* He plunged his tongue deeper into the sweet warmth of her mouth, consumed by her taste--wine and coffee and Scullyflavor. *Drown in your eyes. Drowning in you." He wanted desperately to give in, just to give over to all of the sensations she was arousing in him. But he couldn't, not yet. It had to be her choice. He pulled away slightly, every part of him rebelling at his action. "What are we doing, Scully?" he asked between ragged breaths. "Maybe I should go." He looked again into her eyes, seeking reassurance. "You get within two feet of that door, Mulder, and I swear to God I'll shoot you again." She threaded her fingers together at the base of his neck and pulled him to her again. This time it was she who went exploring, her tongue probing and questioning. He pulled her closer and she could feel him stirring against her. A fire flared low in her belly, and her insides melted and ran down her, readying her for him. He moved his mouth away from hers, his lips and tongue tracing a path across her cheek to nestle at her ear. "You're sure?" he breathed, unable to stop himself from drawing her earlobe into his mouth. The sensation of his warm breath in her ear, and his teeth grazing her sensitive skin made it difficult to answer. She muttered an unintelligible sound that she prayed he would take as a *yes.* He seemed to have understood as his mouth moved lower down her throat to her shoulder. He slid the spaghetti strap of her dress down to her upper arm and covered the skin of the top of her shoulder with light kisses and gentle caresses of his tongue. She tasted to him like some rare and exotic fruit he'd never eaten before, but that was now as necessary to his existence as air or water. He ran his hands up her back to entangle them in her hair and pulled her mouth to his again. She reveled in the taste of him--wine and coffee and mystery and passion. She ran her hands up and down his back, kneading the muscles that lined his spine as her hands moved up, scratching gently as they slid down. She felt him shiver in response and press his lips even more firmly to hers. His hands, moving seemingly of their own volition, moved down to find the zipper at the back of her dress, and he lowered it slowly, letting his hands caress the skin of her back. He then slipped the thin straps from her arms and the dress fell in a blue pool at their feet. Scully stepped out of it and kicked it aside, its purpose served. Mulder stepped away slightly to take in the reality of so many of his dreams. Beneath the dress she wore a light blue strapless bra and a garter belt of the same color holding up thigh high stockings. He felt himself grow even harder at the sight of her. "Oh, you know what I like" he whispered shakily when he could finally trust himself to speak. "Have something planned, Scully?" *IhopeIhopeIhopeIhope.* She smiled wickedly, delighted and excited at the effect she was having on him. "A girl can dream, Mulder. I figured if we got to this point, this would be a good thing, and if we didn't, you'd never know what you missed." *Thank you, Benevolent Being, if you're out there--and looking at her, I can almost believe--for letting me know what I might have missed.* He felt himself breathing in short, urgent gasps as his eyes passed over her again. Then his hands and his lips and his tongue were everywhere, sweeping everywhere, touching everywhere, and her own breaths came faster in response. "Mulder, if we don't get to the bedroom pretty soon, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to get there." "I can carry you," he murmured against her throat. "Uh-uh," she replied. "I'm not some Harlequin Romance heroine here, Mulder. I'll walk in there with you. We're partners in this, too." She could feel him grin against her skin. "Understood. You carry me next time." He swept her up in his arms and carried her toward her bedroom. She nuzzled her cheek against his. "Asshole," she whispered. And it sounded to him like a prayer. Mulder carried her into her bedroom, and smiled down at her when he saw that the bedside lamp was already on and the bed turned down as if welcoming him. He hated the part in lovemaking where you had to stop the proceedings and fumble with turning down the bed, either before or after. But Scully had seen to that. She did, indeed, have something planned it seemed. She smiled a confirmation and brought a hand up to caress his cheek. He released her and, even before she was to her feet, she began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. She took his hand and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his palm, then carefully removed his watch and the cufflink from his sleeve. She placed them on the table and removed the other cufflink. As his mouth descended on hers, she pushed his shirt open, living only to feel his skin under her hands, but found the cotton of his t-shirt against her palm instead. Groaning in frustration, she pushed his dress shirt down his arms and pulled away long enough to tug his t-shirt up his torso and over his head. Swiftly she reached behind her to unhook her bra and let it fall away from her. His breath caught in his throat and his groin tightened even more as she stood before him in just garters and stockings and tiny blue panties. His fantasies finally in the flesh. Her skin glowed, opalescent in the rosy glow of the lamp, the color of her cheeks heightened with her arousal. Unable to look away, he watched as her breasts rose and fell with her quickened breaths. Powerless to resist, he cupped his hand over her breast and sought out her mouth with his, his thumb stroking insistently over her nipple and feeling it stiffen even more in response. Her hands somehow found his belt and she tugged it open. Her fingers, suddenly shaky and awkward, fumbled with the button and zipper. Finally, she was able to slip a hand inside to rub his erection, hot and throbbing beneath the silk of his boxers. He moaned into her open mouth and pushed against her. Almost quaking with desire, she pushed his pants and boxers down over his hips. He pulled away from her and, in one fluid motion, removed his shoes, kicked away his clothing and slipped off his socks. She smiled her approval and longing as he stood lean and naked before her, and she was stunned by the absolute perfection of him. He was exactly what she wanted, all that she wanted, and, she finally admitted to herself, had wanted for a very long time. She drank in the sight of him as she ran her hands slowly up his body. They paused as they encountered several rows of scars across his ribcage, a remnant of his encounter with that feral woman in New Jersey. She bent and ran lines of light kisses along the scars. There were other scars from other battles in Mulder's war for the truth. So many wounds and so many more that weren't visible. She raised her head and ran her tongue around the ridges of the small scar at his left shoulder, the one she'd given him. He looked down at her face and her expression gave him her thoughts. She was sorry she'd done it, but she'd do it all over again under the same circumstances. He smiled at her and nodded, pulling her tightly against him, thrilled at the feel of her hard nipples against his chest. Somehow, his lips found hers again and, running a hand down her back, he encountered the waistband of her garter belt and tried to tug at it. "Scully, can we get this off?" he whispered into her mouth. "You don't want to leave it on?" she purred back to him. "Mmm. Tempting, but if I don't feel all of you against all of me real soon, I'm going to die." "Can't have that." She lowered her panties till they dropped to the floor and kicked them away. She began to reach for the garters to unhook the stockings, but he stopped her. "Let me. I'll try not to wreck them." She nodded, not really caring if he cut them off with his pocketknife or, even better, ripped them off with his teeth. She needed to feel all of him against all of her, too. It was fast becoming a biological imperative. His mouth left hers to begin a path down her body, leaving her skin burning in their wake, as he slowly sank to his knees before her. He paused in his descent, stopping to caress each nipple briefly with his lips. *More of this,* he thought, *but first things first.* He knelt before her and ran his fingers up the silky smoothness of her stockings, from her ankles to her thighs. He looked up at her face, he found her gazing down at him, her eyes heavy lidded with desire. Slipping a finger under the front garter of her left leg, he unhooked it slowly and carefully from the stocking. Never taking his eyes from hers, he reached one hand between her legs and the other around the outside to unhook the back garter. As he moved to unfasten the other stocking, he allowed his hand to brush lightly through her public hair, eliciting a shiver from her. He repeated the whole process, in painstaking slow motion, with the other stocking and Scully felt her the muscles in her legs turning to jelly. Mulder pushed her back gently and she fell without resistance to sit on the edge of the bed. Starting with her left leg, he began to peel the stocking back slowly, bending forward to rub his face against the soft skin of her thigh. The light stubble on his cheek felt incredible as it moved along her sensitive skin, and she groaned out loud. He pulled the stocking past her knee and calf, letting his lips and tongue graze over the newly-exposed flesh, until he finally pulled it from her foot and set it aside. Her foot in his hand seemed amazing small and delicate, with its tiny toes capped in red to match her fingernails. He massaged it gently, his thumbs applying a gentle pressure to her soles, and her toes flexed involuntarily. He ran his mouth over them, sucking on them gently, and heard her moan appreciatively in response. The other stocking was divested in much the same manner, slowly and with thorough attention. Kissing his way back up her leg, slowly and wetly, he reached her thigh and was rewarded with the heady scent of her arousal. Nearly shaking with desire for her, it was all he could do not to bury his face there and just breathe her in and taste her. *Not yet. I want this to last.* She pulled his face to hers again as he straightened and felt his hands undo the hooks at the waist of the garter belt. He pulled it away and tossed it to some shadowed corner of the room. Scully found that she had to prop herself up, that the muscles of her back had suddenly become as useless as the ones in her legs had been a few minutes before. Finally, he crawled up onto the bed beside her and urged her to recline with a gentle kiss. He pulled her close and sighed contentedly at the feeling of her naked against him, from the top of her head to the tips of her feet. He pulled back and looked down at her in wonderment, awed at what was happening between them. "You didn't believe me in the hospital when I said I love you. Would you believe me if I said it now?" His voice was low and husky and warm as hot buttered rum. "Maybe you should try it," she answered just as softly. "I want to believe." "Hey Scully." He looked deeply into her eyes as he had in the hospital. This time he had no problem reading what he saw there. "Yes?" She spoke almost without sound. "I love you." "I believe you," she whispered, running her hand along his cheek. "I love you, too." "Oh, God," he moaned. "Say it again." "I love you?" she asked curiously. 'No, *I believe you,*" he whispered with a gentle smile. "You have no idea how much it turns me on when you say that." She chuckled softly and shifted her position, so that her face hovered over his head on the pillow. "I believe you," she whispered as she dropped a kiss on his forehead. "I believe you." She kissed his cheek, running her lips across the stubble there, savoring the flavor of his skin. "I believe you." She dropped her head to plant a kiss on his chin and take a little nibble, tasting him yet again. "I believe you." She took his full lower lip into her mouth and sucked on it, her tongue playing over its softness. *This lip is finally mine,* she crowed to herself triumphantly, knowing how many times over the years she had wanted to do this. Finally, she granted herself access to his waiting mouth and her "I believe you" became nothing more than a muffled moan. Her hand, suddenly having become a separate entity from the rest of her, moved down his chest and across his hip, to cup his butt. She gave it an appreciative squeeze before reaching between them, the need to feel his heat too great to wait any longer. He uttered a low rumbling moan into her mouth as her hand found him and the sound of it excited her beyond belief. She held him gently and began a slow, easy stroking that made him thrust against her just as slowly. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and she sucked on it greedily, breathing in the groans he gave her. Mulder knew he was dangerously close to coming, and he didn't want to, not yet. He reached down to stop her hand, pulling it away with a shaky breath. "Hold it, Scully," he gasped. "I need to do this one slow. Can I just look at you for a while? I've wanted to for so long." He looked deeply into her eyes, amazed at what he saw there. He thought he'd seen every look there was in Scully's eyes over the time he'd known her--happiness, grief, fear, respect, even love. He lived--he got up and got going in the morning--for what he saw in those eyes every day. But nothing in the world could have prepared him for Scully's eyes when she was aroused. Their normal crystalline blue deepened to a color close to that of the sky just after the sun sinks below the horizon, a twilight blue. But with her arousal, he saw something far more intimate--her complete and utter trust. She lay back on the pillow, her arms out to her sides, offering herself for his perusal. He cupped her cheek and tenderly kissed her his thanks. He turned her and himself so that they lay prone, her face turned toward his. He kissed her mouth once more and then raised himself slowly, blazing a trail of kisses across her cheek and down her throat to the back of her neck. He nuzzled his cheek against her hair, finally able to luxuriate in the feel of his against his face, like satin fire. "I love you," he whispered into her ear, and she smiled. He parted the hair at the base of her neck and ran his tongue down her vertebrae and she shivered in response, her breaths coming in small gasps. Without warning, his tongue encountered the small, almost imperceptible, bump beneath her skin. The chip. The thing he knew without a doubt had brought his Scully back to him, and had just as surely almost taken her away again a short time later. Much of the time, he was successful in putting it out of his mind. But when he thought about the chip it was, for him, an object that inspired almost biblical awe. He brought his lips together on it in a kiss of respect, as if it were an icon to be both revered and feared. Scully sensed his fear and shared it. How many times a day did she find herself unconsciously fingering the tiny lump at the base of her neck? She reached out and put her hand over his. "It scares me sometimes, too. But it did what it was supposed to do, so let's just be glad about that." He nodded wordlessly against her neck. He continued to run his hands and mouth down the valley of her spine, amazed at the softness of her skin--like satin, like velvet, like the petals of a fresh cut rose. He was delighted to find that the skin of her back had a sprinkling of faint freckles, as if she's been lightly dusted with gold. He traced a line of them and she chuckled faintly at the tickling sensation of his finger. As he reached her lower back, he found a slight discoloration where he knew her tattoo had been. He could still make out the faint outline of the snake eating its own tail, and he brushed his hand over it. He lay back down beside her, turned her face to his, and looked at her questioningly. "I had it removed a few months after my cancer went into remission," she said quietly. "A dermatologist did it with a lasar." "Why?" She was tempted to look away from him, but she resisted the urge and continued to meet his gaze. She wouldn't hide this from him because it was important to her. "After the cancer and Emily, the tattoo seemed--I don't know--like some kind of frivolous and petulant gesture, like a meaningless rebellion. It wasn't who I'd become so I had it removed." He nodded and pulled her to him, suddenly ravenous for the taste of her again. She responded to his kiss, immediately and hungrily as she pressed herself to him, throwing a leg over his thigh. He turned her so that she lay back against the pillow again and deepened his kiss, his hand coming up to cup her breast. He kneaded it tenderly as his thumb and forefinger teased the nipple till it was hard and aching. She groaned and arched against him when he finally took it into his mouth, suckling and gently raking his teeth over her sensitive flesh. She held his head to her breast and took his hand in hers to guide it to the thatch of hair between her legs. She thrust her hips against his hand in a slow, back and forth rocking motion, pressing her hand against his in counterpoint to show him the rhythm. His hand found what she liked instinctively, and he inserted a finger deep into her and massaged her clitoris with his thumb. He moved his mouth from her breast to return to her lips, kissing her deeply, feeling her thrusts against him increase as he gradually increased the speed of his hand against her. He moved his mouth to her ear, thrusting his tongue against it and suckling on her earlobe, and her groans and gasps enflamed him as she rocked frantically against his hand. "That's it, Scully," he breathed into her ear. "Let it happen, sweetheart, that's right. Come for me." He raised up, needing to see her face as she climaxed She arched off the bed against his hand as the first wave hit, thrusting up and opening herself to him. He inserted another finger into her pulsing vagina and pressed his finger insistently against her clit. She could feel a delicious pressure building up in her at her core as his hand moved against her and his teeth found her earlobe. "Oh, Mulder, yeah, like that!" she cried and fell off the edge of the earth into an infinity of stars. She was so incredibly beautiful, he thought he might go mad from looking at her, might forget to tell his heart to keep beating, might forget to breathe. A flush of red spread upward from her heaving breasts and over her throat and face, making her seem almost luminescent in her fulfillment. He held her against him, kissing her gently and slowing his strokes as she came down from her orgasm. Her breathing slowed and she could feel his erection pressing against her hip, hard and insistent. She reached for him, stroking him lovingly and wanting him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. Wanting him inside her body as he'd been inside her mind and soul for so many years. She pulled him over her and wrapped her legs around him, her hand guiding him to her warmth. "Please," she whispered urgently. "Please, now." Mulder's arousal was past intense, past painful, to something almost holy. He entered her slowly, trying still to prolong what his body and soul and heart were crying out for. He thrust in with a gentle circular rocking of his hips, allowing her to adjust to him, feeling her muscles drawing him in and the quiet occasional spasms from her recent orgasm. Finally, he felt himself buried deeply inside her, surrounded by her, and he leaned forward to kiss her deeply and thoroughly. *Inside, outside, inside.* He was inside her, outside her, and inside her embrace. Scully moved beneath him and all his hopes for self-control shattered, fragmented into a million pieces. He rocked with her, slowly at first, but soon his need overcame him and he thrust into her hard and fast, her name the only recognizable sounds in his urgent mutterings. She met his every stroke eagerly and hungrily and she leaned forward to nip at the sensitive skin between his neck and shoulder. She was whimpering almost continuously now, her throaty sounds goading him on. She felt his rhythm increase and change and knew that he was close to climax, and that she herself was not far behind. She raised he legs higher on his ribcage, allowing him to go deeper, and arched against him, tightening her vaginal muscles around him. He moaned out loud, and thrust deeply into her--one, two, three more times--and she felt him explode inside her, throwing his head back as he called out her name. That was all she needed to bring her along with him, as the entire universe shattered around them. He collapsed against her, and she loved the feeling of him on her and in her. He moved slowly inside her still, giving her the last of his essence. She held him close, pulling his face into the hollow of her throat, and relaxed her legs to tub her foot lazily along his calf. *Runner's muscles,* she thought drowsily. She turned her face and found his ear with her tongue, tracing the hollows and ridges. "I love you, Mulder," she whispered, surprised to feel tears in her eyes. She heard him sigh and he brought his hand up to touch her face, his thumb caressing the outline of her lips. He pulled out of her and moved to her side, both of them immediately missing the feeling of him inside of her. He gathered him against her, clasping her tightly as his mouth found hers. He wondered if he would ever get enough of the taste of her. Right now, he would immediately agree if anyone volunteered to surgically attach his lips to hers. "We're pretty good at this, too," he said with a lazy smile. "Even better than dancing." "Oh, yeah," she said, running her hand languorously through the patch of hair on his chest, ecstatic at the simple fact that she could touch and caress this extraordinary man in any way she wanted. She could hear his breathing even out and thought he might be falling asleep. Her own eyelids felt heavy and limp, but she fought the urge to sleep, wanting instead to watch him sleep, to listen to it, to feel it. Sleep for Mulder was a rare thing, and she almost felt prouder of helping him to sleep than of helping him to climax. Almost. The rhythm of his light snoring finally lulled her to sleep, and she settled in with her back against his chest. His arm tightened around her and she drifted off to the feeling of his breath, warm and moist against the skin of her neck. Georgetown 3:27 a.m. Jeffrey Spender paid the cab driver off and got out of the car several blocks from his destination. As he walked through the cool night air, he thought of what a lucky stroke it was that he had overheard Scott and Havleczek discussing a wager on whether or not Spooky was going to get lucky that night. As he neared Scully's apartment building, he saw Mulder's car parked in front of it. *Looks like Scott won the bet. I wonder how they thought they were going to settle it?* He reached into his jacket pocket and fingered the watch, an exact duplicate of the one Mulder had worn that evening. He had been told to switch the watches in the photo lab, leaving Mulder to blame when the pictures came out blank. He figured this would work out better. Mulder would turn in the wrong watch and there was no chance that he, Spender, would be seen anyplace near the lab. At the door, he slid on a pair of latex gloves. Working smoothly and competently, he inserted a pick into the lock, turning the tumblers with barely a sound. He turned the knob, praying that she had forgotten to engage the deadbolt. The door pushed open without resistance, an almost inaudible creak making him wince slightly. He had his flashlight at the ready, but was surprised to find lights on all around the apartment. *Not very energy conscious.* Pocketing the flashlight, Spender walked into the living room, giving it a cursory once over and listening for any sound that might indicate that someone was awake in the apartment. Hearing nothing, he moved across the room to where Scully's dress lay in a pool on the floor. He picked it up and brought it to his face. It still bore her scent, something light and floral. *Whore.* Mulder's jacket and tie were tossed haphazardly over the back of an armchair. Silent as creeping fog, he headed toward the open bedroom door, listening carefully for sounds of stirring. He bent low and stuck his head in the doorway, and was met by the sound of soft snoring, but he couldn't tell which of them it was. A soft light on the bedside table cast a glow on them as they slept--Scully nearest him, Mulder behind her clasping her to himself, a thigh draped over her hip and a hand cupped loosely on her breast. He saw the watch on the table, next to a pair of cufflinks. Still standing in the doorway, he drew his gun, then walked toward the bed. If either of them woke up, they'd both be dead. Dead or alive, it didn't matter to him. He almost relished the idea of putting a bullet in both of them. He took the watch from his pocket and smiled. *Why shouldn't Mulder give them a picture or two?* He pointed the watch face at the sleeping couple and snapped five photos in rapid succession, moving silently to different positions to vary the shots, his gun still ready in case they stirred.. He placed the watch on the table and picked up the other one. On his way out the door, he spied Scully's keys and purse on the coffee table and a stroke of genius hit him. He opened the purse, removed her service weapon, and grabbed her keys, dropping them into his pocket with the watch he'd taken from the nightstand. He left the apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft click. *Sleep tight, kiddies. You're going to need your rest. I think you have an interesting couple of days ahead of you.* Outside once again, Spender examined the keys. *Stupid keychain for a woman to have. Apollo Eleven.* Finding the remote lock device, he pressed the button while pointing it in various directions and was relieved to see the dome light come on in a blue Taurus. He got in behind the wheel, reassured that he had the right vehicle when he had to move the seat back in order to drive. He started the car and pulled out into the empty street. He pulled a notebook from his inside jacket pocket and turned on the dome light. Diana Fowley lived in Bethesda. Not a familiar address, but he was sure he could find it. A quick bullet to the head, Scully's gun left at the scene, her car parked outside. He could get another cab back to his place. *Teach the bitch for thinking she can just walk in and start issuing orders to me.* Yes sir, things were going to start looking nasty for Mr. and Mrs. Spooky. His father would be so proud. THE END