"Secrets & Truths" By Dawson E. Rambo Disclaimer : Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, the property of 1013 Productions, and the property of Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. No infringement of any copyright is intended. Characters created by the author remain his property. Original Post : July 29, 1997 Archive Entry : "Secrets & Truths" Classification : VR (MSR) Rating : PG-13 (Adult Themes) Archive : Any public accessible server. Missing Parts : http://www.sonic.net/~drambo Feedback : All feedback (good or bad) to: drambo@sonic.net Antishipper : 1 on a scale of 1-10. Shipper : 10 on a scale of 1-10. Spoilers "Never Again," in a universe where "Momento Mori" and all associated issues...don't exist. Oh, the issues regarding tangential characters in "Tempis Fugit/Max" also never happened in this particular iteration. Note: Incredible piece of Mind Candy here, folks. I was watching some taped episodes over the last few days, trying to get a handle on Scully for some upcoming chapters of "Umbra," and I realized something about her, something I had never seen in fanfic. I'm sure that someone, somewhere has written about this issue, but...I haven't seen it. :) It deals with an assumption we've all made. I went back through the entire series in my mind, wondering if there had ever been a definitive reference to the issue discussed herein, and could not find one. We've had rumors, allusions, asides, comments, snide remarks...but never the actual words (I think) that would settle it definitively. So, without further ado... Enjoy! ------ Scully felt it again, felt it starting once more, felt the heat and the moisture suffusing her body from some central, unknown point inside her. Parting her lips slightly, just enough, she let out a soft, low, languid sigh. She tried to tear her eyes away from her partner, tried to look at anything besides him. He was at the filing cabinet, directly in her line of sight, bent slightly at the waist, trying to put something away and having to struggle mightily with the contents of the drawer. She drank in the sight of him; the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt rolled halfway up to his elbows, the way his tie swung loosely from his neck as he worked, the way he bit his bottom lip in concentration as he worked. Stop it, her mind chided. It's Mulder, for God's sake. Your partner. Your friend. Just stop it right now. Scully let out another deep sigh, closing her eyes, concentrating, looking for the little point inside her, that dark, hard little spot that she always used at times like these. There. She found it. Focusing all her mental energy on that spot, Scully began construction, began building the walls again. Brick by mental brick she erected the wall again, shoring up her defenses against her own wants, against her own desires, against her own partner. It would be so easy, she thought. So easy to walk over to where he stood and reach out with two trembling hands and grasp the taut cheeks of his behind in her fingers. All she would need to do was squeeze...once, perhaps twice, and Mulder would know. He would know how much she hungered for him, how much she wanted him, his touch, his kisses. And that, she reminded herself, was not all that he would know. He would know that she was weak. Typical. That she was like the dozens, the tens of dozens of other female agents that had passed through the doors of the J. Edgar Hoover building, the doors of the FBI Academy at Quantico, the doors of the hundreds of field offices, consulates and embassies across the world. Weak. Too weak to control her emotions. Too weak to control her desire. Too weak to stand up to the same emotions that every human being felt, every person craved and pined for. Scully moved her neck as if stretching, as if relieving the tension between her vertebrae. In reality, that small, simple motion did nothing more than strengthen her resolve. It was a motion that Jack Willis had taught her, a motion he used to relieve the momentary pressure of the lubricating fluid between the joints of her body; he'd used it when preparing for physical confrontation with a suspect. It helped focus him, he'd said, helped him forget for a moment the unrelenting pressure he felt everytime his body's autonomic fight-or- flight instinct kicked in. She'd adopted it from him (among other things,) and used it now to relieve another kind of pressure. A more annoying kind of pressure. Raising a hand to her forehead, Scully used her fingers to massage her brow, to gently rub the skin at her temples. That simple motion helped her remember what a massive mistake it had been to get involved with Willis. How she'd stupidly thought that her performance would speak volumes above the rumors that had circulated almost from day one of that relationship; how she'd naively thought that just being a good agent would be enough to surmount any lingering suspicions about her ability, about whether or not her relationship with Willis had garnered her any favors, any desired assignments. She wanted to laugh, wanted to let the short bark that was building in her chest out into the air. Instead she sighed, releasing the tension another way. Well, she thought, you can say one thing about the Willis incident...it did teach me to keep my emotions to myself. My feelings to myself. My wants, desires, fantasies...all of it....to myself. She could almost smell it in the air, the tension between them. Mulder, not ten feet away, pretending to file something in the cabinet. Oh, she was sure that he was filing something, and that it needed to be filed. Just as she was equally sure that he felt that same something that she did, that slowly gnawing, aching hunger between them. But, just as she had, he'd chosen to sublimate it, to turn that unexpended energy from whatever Might Be back into the partnership, back into the job, back into the Quest. Just as she was sure that Mulder would ever laugh if he knew The Truth. The Big One, as she called it. She tried to hide a small grin behind her hand. After all, who would believe it? In one way, it did make perfect sense. After all, she'd been raised a nice Catholic girl. And nice Catholic girls were supposed to be many things, but one thing above all others, as she still was to this day, the needy whining of Jack Willis aside. Who would think? Scully mused. After all, after the Ed Jerse matter, Mulder had probably assumed that they had slept together. That she had given herself to a man she had only met hours before. She could understand how Mulder would think that, how he would make the natural assumption. How he would think that a normally functioning 32-year old woman would need human touch, would need human contact, would need... Love. And more than that...the other. Lovemaking. Scully sighed, wondering if she would ever be able to tell him. She could count on one hand the number of times she had come close. So close. So close to giving in, to succumbing to the roar in her ears, the fire in her belly, the longing in her heart. But each time she had waited, resisting, holding that part of herself in reserve for the right time, the right moment. The right man. And here he was, ten feet away... Untouchable. Unattainable. Totally, utterly...distant. Scully sighed, wondering how she could ever tell him. She'd imagined the conversation in her head a thousand times, two thousand, ten thousand. "Mulder?" one version started. "Remember your redheaded, firebrand partner? The one that makes your knees go weak? Well, she's...a virgin." That word, that pristine, detached, clinical word. Better than, "Her hymen is still intact." Much better than, "She's never felt the essence of a man filling that most delectable of slowly moistening voids." She'd laughed at that one, cribbed from a romance novel she'd been forced to read by circumstance. It had sounded so...quaint. "Slowly moistening void." And so much better than, "Mulder...I've been saving myself for you." God, that sounded too much like something a homecoming queen would utter in the backseat of a parent's car on Prom Night as her date struggled through the ten layers of expensive, once-worn dress. She had no doubt that if she'd wanted, she could have him. Him. Mulder. Or most any man, for that matter. Take the Pining Pendrall in SciCrime. She could snap her fingers and have him in an instant. Of that she had little doubt or worry. Closing her eyes, Scully fought back a secret smile. He was a dear, she thought. A tender, sensitive dear of a man who would probably be the best thing for her, in the long run. But not the first time. He was too... unsure of himself. He would be fumbling, hesitant, awkward. And more than anything, Scully knew, more than just about anything she could think of, she needed someone...competent. Skilled. Familiar with the rhythms of man-woman love. Because she was scared. Oh, so scared. The thought of...baring herself like that, of opening herself for the range of potential hurts was terrifying, paralyzing. She'd thought about just...doing it. Seducing Mulder and not telling him until it was over. But again, the fear intruded. A fear of a different kind, a silly, childish kind. Here she was, a physician, a medical doctor, a duly certified and authorized Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and she still had the childish, immature worry of a teenage girl that her first lover would somehow know, would somehow be able to detect that she was a virgin. Like there was a secret handshake or something, a code phrase that didn't appear in any medical text, an unspoken, secret way for one non-virgin to communicate with others. Her logical mind immediately pointed out that hundreds if not thousands of married couples went to the honeymoon bed intact, neither of them having experienced the joys of physical intimacy before, and that if her childish fear were true, that they'd have no way of ever knowing the phrase or the handshake or the secret rituals and dances. So, silly as it was, Scully had discarded the idea of not telling Mulder and just...doing it. That damn commercial, she thought. She glanced up; Mulder had shut the first drawer and had opened a second, lower drawer, bending more deeply at the waist, drawing the material of his pants even more snugly against the beatific slope of his ass. Oh, my, Scully'd mind whispered, lost in carnal thought. She wondered how that ass would feel under her softly cupping palm. How the heat of it, the softness of it, would press against her skin. She longed to touch it, to stroke it, to kiss it. Is it hot in here? she thought, standing. Quickly, she shed her jacket, moving to the coat-tree by the door. She hung it quickly and turned- To find Mulder right there, in her space, holding a file. Her vision was filled with the third and fourth buttons of his dress shirt. He'd tossed his tie over his shoulder while fingering through the files, and he'd forgotten to realign it. She looked up, slowly up, her gaze inching over the taut, tight muscles of his chest clearly outlined against the soft cotton until she saw the jut of his chin, the speckled dark hairs of his beard stubble, then his lips, oh God, his lips, and then the funny little ridge above his lip and below his nose Philtrim, her doctor's mind announced. It's called a- and then his eyes, oh my sweet Jesus, his eyes, dark and full and looking at her, looking at me, into me, inside me, inside my soul- "Scully?" he asked. The first word that had been spoken in the last hour caught her totally off guard. "W-what?" she asked, wanting to take a step backward, needing it, wanting nothing more except space, except glorious, open, free space between them. Nothing more, that is, except for him to take her into his arms, for him to toss the file away with a casual flick of his wrist and take her, right there, right then. Right on top of his desk. She wanted to see him sweep the contents of the desk to the floor, lift her by the waist and drop her on the flat wooden surface and- "Scully?" he asked again. "W-what?" she asked. "What do you want?" Scully thought she saw a flicker of amusement cross his features, and she felt the blush creeping up her neck, the warm blood suffusing her cheeks. She glanced down, embarrassed, not wanting him to see how his soft, gentle amusement at her own obvious arousal at his nearness affected her so. "Lots of things," he said softly, and then he was doing it. She watched as he placed the file on top of the cabinet to her left. She turned to her right, preparing to move back to her desk. Whack! His palm slapping against the door, effectively trapping her, was loud in the quiet, dark office. "Scared of me, Scully?" he asked, his voice low, throaty. Dangerous. "N-no," she said slowly. "Of what then?" "N-nothing," she said, hating herself for stuttering. She glanced up to see his face inches from hers, his breath hot, ticklish on her skin. "I need to ask you a favor," he whispered. She found herself falling into his eyes, losing herself in his gaze. "What?" "I need to ask you...will you let me kiss you?" Yes, she thought. Oh yes, please, God, YES! "What?" she asked. "Kiss," he said. "You," he added. "Now." Her mind began whirling. Yes please kiss me now kiss me later kiss me tonight kiss me on the lips take me in your arms kiss me hold me please don't ask just do it just take me take me take me now take me please GOD take me. "Why would you-" she started to ask, and then was lost. Dana Scully stopped thinking, stopped caring, stopped doing anything but snaking her arms around his neck, taking that last little step into his embrace, into his body. He fit against her, two interlocking pieces of some cosmic puzzle snicking! together with an almost audible sound. His hands were in her hair, using it to guide her, to move her head, to tilt her mouth, her chin, her face to the perfect angle. And then he was there, almost, a centimeter away from her mouth, his tongue licking his lips. She could the moist heat of it, so close that she trembled from its' nearness. "Mul-" she started to say and then his kiss cut off any further words. It was just as she imagined, Scully realized. Just as she had hoped. "I want you," he whispered in her ear. "...have to...tell you...something," Scully whispered against his neck. "You need to know..." "I want to be the first," he said gently. Shocked, Scully pulled away. "You knew!" she accused. "How did you-?" He grinned. "I knew you...were. At least, you used to be. I wasn't sure you still were...after...." "How...did...?" "When you came back to me...in the hospital...they did a complete physical, Scully. To make sure that the coma wasn't trauma related; that you hadn't been..." He paused, swallowing. "I read your chart. I saw the note." She nodded. "All this time...? You knew?" He said nothing. Just smiled. "It doesn't bother you?" she asked. His expression changed. "Why would it?" "Some men...they...think it's gross." He chuckled. "Not me. It's...if we do...if I am...it will be the most wonderful, most special gift I could ever ask for." She grinned at him, a thousand watts of ScullySmile blinding him. He did understand. "There's one more thing," he added gently. "If we do...we can't go back." "Never," she whispered, and kissed him. --- END