Classification: MSR, A, some H Keywords: Post-Gethsemane, MSR, Mulder/Scully Rating: NC-17 Crawl An X-Files Romance by CW AKA Meg Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are the property of Chris Carter (the most frustrating man alive---next to our fictitious friend, of course.), 1013 productions, and Fox Television. The author does not intend to make any money off of them---though it would be nice-no, honestly, I won't try to sell your people, Chris. I'm just borrowing them for the while, I promise. And I won't hurt them. ( yeah right.) The songs quoted in this are: 'Crawl' (the title piece) by Artificial Joy Club 'Adia', 'Witness', 'Sweet Surrender', and 'I Love You' by Sarah McLachlan (Surfacing) Oh, and, as I read over this in the editing process, I realized that one of the things I quoted may have been someone else's words. I can't remember precisely, but I think that the stuff about 'guilt' at the Potomac was in Paula Graves' '12 Degrees'. Or maybe it was '12 Rites'. I really can't remember. Anyway, if the lines are yours, Paula, please don't sue me. They were just so perfect at the time... Distribution: Anywhere, anytime, to anywhere in Canada. Just kidding. That was a little Candice Bergen, by the way. You know, Sprint? Never mind. Send it anywhere, just keep my name on it and for God's sakes, don't try to sell or publish it. If you did, you'd need to see a counselor anyway. Spoilers: This takes place after Gethsemane. But we didn't know the Redux stuff yet, okay? And you should know everything up to Gethsemane to understand this, okay? Note: This one's a little more humorous than my other ones have been, in the end--- but there's still a healthy chunk of angst included, of course, not to mention sex and MSR. OTHER Note: Some of you out there are probably going to flame me majorly when you see how I've very deliberately had Mulder and Scully not use protection, aren't you? Well, let me just say that, I personally believe that Mulder and Scully, being FBI, would be required to have regular physical check-ups---not to mention that in their line of work, they'd probably have a strong leaning towards going by themselves. I don't think either of them has any serious STD's---they're both relatively careful people, aren't they? In fact, they're both relatively celibate people, aren't they... anyway, we know that Scully can't get pregnant even if she wanted to, and we all know that they know that just as well as we do, right? Anyway, it's a controversial subject, and I guess I'm just saying not to let my own personal opinion of the situation destroy the story for you (not to mention a really great sex scene ). Thanks: I'd like to thank everyone (that's right, all four of you) who wrote to me concerning my first posted story, 'Elmo.' It really bolstered my courage to hear back from people---your correspondence...well, let's just say it's a lot of fun. So thanks go especially to Lia, Mary, Johannah, and Faye. Thanks, guys. It means a lot to me. Summary: Scully struggles to pull her life together after Mulder's suicide. But little does she know that not all is as it seems... 'A change is coming...' ***** You can freak if you wanna freak You can fight if you wanna fight Learn to crawl when you're really weak I wanna see you... ***** "Agent Mulder died late last night of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound..." She was in a thick, impenetrable fog, stretching as far as the eye could see and far too opaque for her liking. Faces came to haunt her; faces of people she knew and liked and hated, of people she'd never met and didn't want to or really had to, of people she'd loved and lost. There was her brother, yelling at her for killing Missy. There was Missy, yelling about the same thing. There was her other brother, just staring at her sadly. Her father, looking down at her with disapproval. Her mother, shaking her head. Her boss, staring at her sadly. And finally, she saw him, tall and dark against the pure white mist, his eyes windows into the very hell she was trying to run from. He was crying, sobbing to her, begging her to help him, to save him. Screaming that it was too late, that he was gone and she could have saved him but she hadn't; she hadn't known, she hadn't paid attention. She should have known he was going to do it. He yelled this at her over and over. You should have known! You could have saved me! It was too much. She turned and scrambled away, running as quickly as she could through the viscous fog, away from him, from his accusations. She felt like he'd just reached in and ripped her heart out, then crushed it in his large, loving palm. He chased after her, yelling his accusations, and she fought blindly with the mist to get away, but he always found her. So she gave up. She turned back and cried out to him, begged him to forgive her. She fell to her knees in front of him, wrapping her arms around his legs and crying into his thighs, sobbing out her tortured apologies. I didn't mean to forget you. I really didn't. But he turned her away. Just like that. You forgot me. Now I forget you. She screamed, the tormented scream of a woman who'd just had her soul ripped clean from her body, torn in shreds by the very man she'd hoped would accept it and care for it. She tried to grab him again, but her arms passed right through him. He was gone. For good. She screamed again and sank to the ground, burying herself in her misery like a stone cold security blanket that held no security. She'd just lost her soul. She slowly lifted her face to the blank world around her, unable to see past the pain. And she lifted her throat again, and her voice carried her anguish, her cries slicing through the fog like nothing else could. Dana! Dana Scully shot up in bed, the scream still choking her, the tears streaming down her face and onto her hands, which clutched outward, searching, questing for the one thing that would ease her burden, the one thing that could right her wrongs, anchor her dying soul. Her hands met nothing. He wasn't there. Of course he wouldn't be there. He was dead. She'd killed him. ***** 'Cause there's no one left to finger There's no one left to blame There's no one left to talk to, honey And there ain't no one to buy our innocence ***** "Dana?" Scully shot up off the couch, then settled back again as her head swam with the sudden change in altitude. "Mom!?" she exclaimed. Maggie knelt before her daughter, reaching up to tuck errant strands of golden red away from misty eyes, shining hazel in their darkness. His hazel. "Dana, honey, are you all right?" Scully frowned at her mother. Then, gradually, realization came over her. She was at her mother's house, staying there for the weekend. She'd drifted off again---she was so tired recently---and dreamt, again. This one had been a happy dream. She remembered it clearly. She'd been in a cool spring glade, next to the creek that ran by her parent's summer house, a place she'd known and loved as a child. He was there with her, and they were both happy. They danced and sang together; they loved each other. But these dreams were perhaps worse than the nightmares, because it made it all that much more harsh to awaken, to find herself in a cold world where nothing existed but misery because he wasn't there to chase it away. She shook her head, appalled at herself for her distance. "Yeah, mom, I'm okay," she nodded, forcing herself to push back the tears, to clear her face of its raw emotion. Maggie stared at her with wide eyes, worry lines etched around her eyes. "Are you sure, Dana?" "Yes, mom," Scully nodded again and pushed herself to a straighter sitting position. "Dana..." "Really, mom." Looking unconvinced, Maggie straightened herself to a standing position and walked into the kitchen, only to return moments later with coffee, blessed coffee. Black, one cream, of course. Scully accepted the cup gladly and brought it to her nose, inhaling the pungent fragrance. But all that assailed her senses were memories, memories of her dank basement office, which had once been their dank basement office, which she and her partner, Fox Mulder, had spent the last four years of their respective lives working out of, to the best of their ability. The office was so cramped that she could remember how at first the smell of the coffee in the morning had nearly choked her in its thickness. But in the end, it had just become part of the whole picture, part of her life. Her life with him. The life that had ended when he'd committed suicide alone in his little apartment just over six weeks ago. Suddenly coffee didn't seem so blessed. In fact, the smell was making her sick. She hurriedly put down the cup on the table and curled up her legs, shutting her eyes to the cruelty of the present world. Everything was a painful reminder. Everything. Maggie noted this but didn't comment, knowing she'd only make it worse. "Your boss called looking for you." "Skinner?" "Yes. He asked if you would meet him to talk, later this afternoon...asked you to call him back." "Oh," Scully blinked. Skinner, calling on a weekend? What could he possibly want? "Okay." She stood, barely bothering to stretch her aching muscles before she hobbled out to the hallway phone. Maggie remained silent. What could she say? "Skinner." "Hello, sir? It's Dana Scully." "Ah yes, Agent Scully. Thanks for calling me back." "My mother said you wanted to meet me?" "That's correct. Would you mind meeting me at the reflecting pool?" Scully grimaced. "Can it be anywhere else, sir?" "Any particular reason?" Scully thought about that. "No sir. It's fine." "Then I'll see you at five-thirty this evening?" "Of course, sir." ***** Adia I do believe I failed you Adia I know I let you down Don't you know I tried so hard To love you in my way It's easy, let it go... ***** Scully stood staring across the water, her eyes attuned to the sound of Assistant Director Walter Skinner's footsteps, a large, impeding sound she'd come to know over the years of training her ears to listen for visitors coming along the narrow hallway that led to the office of Special Agent Fox Mulder and the X-files. She'd always been afraid of the approach of that black lunged bastard or one of his cohorts. She'd smelled his smoke in their office before. She hated him as she hated the devil itself, and feared him as she feared her creator. He had the physical power of both and more. She touched the cross dangling from her neck. Sometimes it wasn't enough. "Agent Scully?" She whirled, gripping the railing to hold herself from falling. She hadn't heard his approach after all. Maybe her concentration was slipping. Just a long shot assumption, she thought wryly. "Sir. I didn't hear you." His dark, shadowed eyes peered at her sadly from behind his owl-like wire-rimmed glasses. "Sorry if I startled you." "You didn't," she sighed and turned back to face the water. "You wanted to see me, sir?" "Yes, Agent Scully." "About what?" He took a deep breath. "This may come as a surprise to you. I don't know whether you'll like it or not." "I'm a tough girl, Skinner." A brief smile flirted with his features as he recognized her use of simply his last name with no leading honorific at the beginning in his presence, then disappeared as he continued. "I'm reopening the X-Files." She turned her head to stare at him, her eyes widening. He nodded. She shook her head, astonished. "That is a surprise, sir." "I'd like you to head them up, Scully." She stared at him again. "That also comes as a surprise." "You're the only one who can," he said, his voice slipping softer than she was used to. She laughed bitterly. "That I am aware of, sir." "You don't have to." "I know, sir. I think I'd like to...it might be good for me to bury myself in what I like doing." "My thoughts exactly. Then you'll take it?" "I wouldn't dream of turning it down, sir." "I didn't think you would. Oh...and Agent Scully?" "Yes, sir?" "How did your appointment go?" "As expected, sir." "It's gone?" "Yes, sir." "Those damn bastards." "Yes, sir." ***** Adia I'm empty since you left me Trying to find a way to carry on I search myself and everyone To see where we went wrong ***** Skinner had gone well over an hour ago, and still Scully stood, still and silent, her hands tight on the railing as she stared coldly at the water before her. Just behind her was the bench, their bench, the bench they'd always sat on when they'd needed a private, secluded place to talk. Someplace that they'd had high hopes wasn't bugged. They'd never had to ask each other to meet there...they'd just come. They'd just known. She would always come just after him, and he'd be sitting there, staring out at the water. Always, she would walk up to him and say, "Is this seat taking?" Always he would make some cynical reply, like, "No, but I should warn you, I'm experiencing violent impulses." And always she would answer with something equally smug and sardonic. "Well, I'm armed; I'll take my chances." But he wasn't there now. She'd come, but he hadn't kept his end of the bargain; he wasn't there. He'd abandoned her. She smirked at herself. Isn't it the other way around, Dana? Suddenly she felt compelled to turn around and check again. Maybe he would be sitting there, that smile in his eyes that told her he'd just played her for a fool yet again, and was proud of himself for having succeeded. That's it. He wasn't truly dead; he'd be right there, waiting for her to turn around, and he would smirk at her and call her a sucker for having believed them instead of herself. The urge was uncontrollable. She fought against it, she really did, but in the end she turned, just slightly, fearfully to the side. She let out a deep breath. The bench was just as empty as it had been when she'd come. Another urge came over her, just as sudden and unwelcome as the first one. Anger. She was angry, at him, at herself, at Cancerman, at the world, at everyone and everything she could think of, everything she'd ever hated or embraced. She threw her self-control to the winds in the face of that impulse; she'd held this in too long. She needed to let something go. She turned back to face the water, her knuckles white on the railing, and her angry yell rang out across the expanse of open space. "Mulder!" she grew angrier. "MULDER! YOU BASTARD!" That was it. That was enough. She sighed and collapsed her head into her hands against the railing, feeling as though this were the perfect time to let herself cry, but finding that she had no more tears left in her reserve. She was truly running on empty, and it was all the more depressing. Everything she did just made her feel worse. She hated her life. "I hate facing life alone," she murmured, lifting her face to allow the faint stirrings of rain to touch her cheeks, her closed eyelids. "Scully?" She snapped her eyes open. Where did she know that voice from? She ran through people in her mind quickly, then turned, sighing. "Byers," she said, a partial question in her tone. She nodded a greeting to the three men before her. "Frohike, Langly." "Hi, Scully," Langly said with a faint smile. "Hey, Scully," Frohike's smile was more nervous than anything else. Byers stepped up, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Sorry we didn't come sooner," he said softly, and she nodded, suddenly feeling the tears she'd hoped for moments ago but which were now strangers to her creeping up her throat. "We came to see how you were doing." "You heard how I'm doing," she whispered, turning back to the water. None of them responded, but as Byers' hands remained a light support on her shoulders, the other two Lone Gunmen crowded up beside her on either side, leaning against the railing with her, all of them silent in memory. "Christ, we're sorry, Scully," Frohike muttered suddenly, out of nowhere. She smiled slightly and reached over to enclose his forearm in her hand, squeezing gently, reassuringly. "It's okay, Frohike. You couldn't have known." She missed the glance the three Gunmen gave each other, though she wouldn't have understood its significance even if she had seen it. "Scully...we just thought we'd tell you..." Byers began, his voice sounding almost pleading, for what Scully could not discern. Understanding? "A change is coming. You have to know that." She lifted her head and glanced back at him, surprised. "You mean the reopening of the X-Files?" she asked. "That too," Langly said, a light smile crossing his face, as usual covered mainly by a too-large pair of thick black-frame glasses. Frohike lifted his own bespectacled face. "A bigger change," he said, sounding almost sorry for it, not like Langly, who seemed almost cheerful, which was no surprise to Scully. But Frohike hadn't even made a pass at her yet; she wondered what could be wrong with him. "But that's all you'll tell me?" she inquired, knowing the answer. Byers nodded, and she sighed and turned back to face the water. "Thanks, guys." ***** Make me a witness Take me out Out of darkness Out of doubt I won't weigh you down With good intentions Won't make fire out of clay Or other inventions Will we burn in heaven Like we do down here Will the change come while we're waiting Everyone is waiting ***** TWO WEEKS LATER Marita Covarrubias stood outside the door, wondering if she should go in, why she'd come here, why she'd made herself vulnerable to the possibility of exposure by coming here herself. Why she was about to reveal herself for the sake of a man she was supposed to be against...she was risking her life to bring this woman this information. She lifted her eyes to the door. SPECIAL AGENT FOX MULDER Not anymore, she thought wryly. Not right now. She wondered why Agent Scully hadn't had the name changed yet. It had been two weeks since Dana Scully had taken over the X-Files, and yet still the door bore his name. Suddenly Marita found herself curious as to whether the office would have changed. She'd never seen it, but she'd know the difference between Fox Mulder's office and Dana Scully's office. Fox Mulder was wild, impetuous, untidy. Dana Scully was pristine, prim, neat. She had to do this. For her own peace of mind if nothing else. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she lifted her hand and knocked on the door. The answer was immediate, but totally unexpected, a darkly cynical monotone that sounded painfully familiar, but in a mellow contralto rather than a dry deadpan. It was her all right. "Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted!" Smiling faintly as she recognized traces of humor rubbed off over the years from Mulder to Scully, she opened the door carefully and stepped inside. Yup, this was still Mulder's office. Everything was in piles around the room, the walls covered with garish pictures and large headlines proclaiming UFO sightings. Even the coffee maker looked like it had overflowed one too many times. Dana Scully sat behind the desk labeled as her former partner's, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, her appearance slightly rumpled, as though she'd been taking in long hours in front of the little laptop she remained immersed in. Marita cleared her throat nervously. "Agent Dana Scully?" Now the diminutive redhead's hazel eyes rose to meet the clear blue of the tall, nervous blond before her. "Yes?" "My name is Marita. I was...I was your partner's most recent informant." Scully's eyes narrowed indefinitely. "I don't believe he ever mentioned you, before his death," she said, her voice chilled with the ice touch of experience, her tone hissing slightly as she emphasized the word 'death'. "No, I don't suppose he would have," Marita shook her head. "Agent Scully, I must be brief." She took another quick breath. "A large change is coming your way. It is imperative that you go to the Potomac this evening; that you be there at exactly 9:13, when and where you will make a very important contact. Do you understand?" "What reason have I to trust this information?" "You will regret it for the rest of your life if you don't believe me," Marita said simply, then turned. "That's all." "Marita?" "Yes?" Scully's eyes lit with an unspoken thanks, for what Marita knew not, but she nodded silently and hurried out of the room. ***** We need to talk You can't keep it up now You're eating Kraft Dinner in the eye of a twister You don't listen to me I'm your referee I'm screaming real loud all you hear is a whisper ***** Scully glanced at her wristwatch nervously, then out across the darkened water. It was 9:12 now. Would her contact arrive on time? What could they possibly have to tell her? Was her contact real, or was this a setup? Was she in danger, or had they just wanted to make her all the more miserable? 9:13. She folded her hands in her lap and prepared for the wave of disappointment that had an obligation to greet her. "Is this seat taken?" That voice. Low, dry, full of cynical humor, so familiar, so painful, so beautiful. It was impossible. It was simply impossible. She closed her eyes against the torrent of emotions. It's my imagination. I'll play along for now. "No, but I'm warning you: I'm experiencing feelings of extreme guilt." "That's okay. Guilt and me go way back." Her breath caught in her throat. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. Then she felt the slight jolt as another weight settled on the bench beside her, felt the warmth of long fingers closing over her hands, her skin cold and numb with disbelief. "Mulder?" "Yes, Scully?" White hot anger flared through her. So, he had played her for the fool after all. "Why you little bastard," she muttered, and launched herself off the bench. She broke into a run immediately, scrambling for her car keys as she went. He was at her heels, following relentlessly. She reached her car and hastily turned the key in the lock. He came up behind her and stopped her hand's progress, stilling her breathing along with it. "I understand your anger and you have a right to it," he said, sounding completely honest. An honest dead man! Ha! "But you're not driving like this." She huffed, already knowing she couldn't win this argument, and that he was right, and stomped around to the passenger side. She kept her eyes studiously away from his lanky form as it slid into the driver's seat, waited until she heard the click, then slid into the passenger seat next to him, grateful when he started the car and headed for her home, probably speeding, not speaking until they got there. He stopped the car and she instantly jumped out, running again, up to her building, inside, up the stairs, with him still right behind her, not even trying to stop her. She burst into her apartment and listened as he slammed the door shut behind himself, but the sound didn't bother her. She dropped her coat, purse, and shoes on the floor on her way, and came to a stop at her kitchen counter, bracing herself against it as she let out all her newly formed anger in one loud, furious scream of frustration. She finished, choking on a sob, and started to cry, dropping her head. How could he have done this to her? Moreover, how could he be alive? It was such a relief! It was such an embarrassment! He came up behind her and tried to wrap his arms around her, but she slipped from his grasp and stomped into the living room, her tears drying as her anger renewed itself. "How could you?" she flared, whipping around to face him as he stood in her kitchen doorway, just as she'd remembered him, tall and lanky and lean, his dark hazel eyes looking pained for having hurt her, his dark hair loosing one strand on his unsuspecting eyes, as always. "How dare you?" He dropped his eyes, unable to face her wrath. Her sobs started again. "How dare you come to me now?" she continued, shaking her head. She cried out in frustration as her tears renewed themselves, and she allowed them to come, curling her hands so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palms as she cried. She was so upset she couldn't afford to be embarrassed over her loss of control before him. So angry, so desperate, that she didn't care. "Scully..." he began, his own voice sounding somewhat hoarse and choked. "Damn it, Mulder!" she cried, her voice breaking continually, to her annoyance. "I had to identify your body, for Christ's sake! It was you..." Losing her voice in her tears, she sank to her knees and curled herself up in a tight ball. He approached her again, his hands smoothing over her, and this time she didn't try to get away. "You were meant to think it was me," he said apologetically, his voice low and soft, hesitant. "They had to think it was me. Do you understand?" There was a long silence as her tears turned into deep convulsions that rang through her ears along with pummeling her stomach into a tight mass of nerves. "Why?" she asked, her voice tiny. "So they would leave you alone. It was me they were after...I...it's a long story. It was Skinner's idea..." "What?" she demanded, lifting her head to finally glare at him, her eyes narrowed. "Skinner? Skinner knows about this?" "Just him and me." "And that Marita woman..." "And the Gunmen." "They know too? That's what they meant!" "Probably." She was shaking so badly she could hear her teeth chattering, and it felt like her brain was being rattled in its casings. And suddenly her body started to complain...not of pain, but of a nagging, aching, painful hunger, and need that had been there for ages but never so desperate as it was now, with the feeling of Mulder's strong arms around her shoulders, returned from the dead. "Mu...Mulder?" she said around her clattering teeth, her wide eyes coming up to meet his, burying themselves in the familiar deep hazel. Oh God, her inner voice cried. No, please. "Yeah, Scully?" "I...I need..." Don't do it, Scully. You can't! He can't... "What is it, Scully?" "I need..." No, you don't. You're not ready. You can't just hand it over to him now, after all this time... "What do you need?" She couldn't bring herself to say it, but she had to. Her limbs were now crying out in defiance of all reasonable thought. Her hands came up to clamp around his arms. "Mulder...I want...I want..." NO, SCULLY! Her jaw set resolutely. Fuck you, inner voice. He deserves the truth. I deserve it. "What?" he asked again, his eyes searching hers. He had no idea. She tried not to grin hysterically as she thought of what his reaction would be. "I want you to make love to me." He collapsed onto his knees in front of her, his own eyes flying wide, his hands coming back as he stared at her. She shivered as she stared up at him innocently, smiling faintly at him, glad to have released her true need. Her inner thoughts grumbled. Ha, she thought. Take that. "Isn't this a little sudden, Scully?" "That's what I said when I saw you with a bullet through your head, you sanctimonious bastard," she answered matter-of-factly. His eyes widened along with his sudden grin of amusement. "I can see you're glad to see me." "Of course I am," she cried, her tears turning from frustration, anger, and misplaced sorrow, to ecstatic joy. She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him harshly into a hard embrace, burying her face in his neck. He held her with just as much force, whispering something close to, "I missed you, Scully." And then he was softly kissing her temple, and she was moaning into his neck, trying to control her sudden, deep shudders. "Damn you, Mulder," she whispered one last time, a shadow of a protest in his ear as she brought her own lips up to play, gently running her lips up and down the curve of his jaw, listening to his sharp intake of breath... "Scully..." "Shut up, Mulder." "Okay," he stayed perfectly still while she explored his entire face with her lips, kissing his eyebrows, eyelids, the tip of his nose, the tiny cleft in his chin, the soft skin at his temple. She finally came to a stop facing him, her breath warm on his lips from where they rested just millimetres from his. Her eyes opened slowly, a brilliant blue in her excitement, and stared deeply into his. Then they closed again and she leaned slowly, carefully towards him, and her lips brushed ever-so-gently against his, cautious, timid. She pulled back and stared at him with wide eyes again. He held her gaze for several long, silent moments, his eyes trailing from the depths of her blue eyes to the way her full lips hung slightly open, waiting for him. Then he nodded almost imperceptibly and came forward suddenly, catching her by the lips but not by surprise, and she latched onto him, with her mouth and her arms, her tongue instantly invading his mouth and wrapping around his tongue, every part of her trying to hold him closer, almost to bring him into her, as though they could just meld together despite clothing and skin and muscle. He held her in return, his arms tightening around her as he felt the heated changes in her body as she grew more taut, more warm against him, her lips softening to his as her tongue stroked along his, possessively clipping his teeth. Her touch was pure electricity, fusion energy borne out of a confusion and a frustration and a desperation that had been building for four years but which was intensified by his reappearance from the dead. He would never betray her again. And then her hands were climbing up under his shirt, her fingers spreading warm, sparkling fire over the skin of his chest, barely touching but so insistent, never to be ignored. Her mouth never left his, her hands applying their sweet pressure, waiting for him. She was so desperate, but so careful... He didn't wait. He reached down and helped her lift away his shirt, leaving him bare from the waist up, allowing her hands more free access as they roamed freely, wonderingly over the muscles of his chest, stomach, back, and neck, her mouth still fastened intently on his as she worked, her motions hurried but controlled. In return, she helped him peel away her blouse; did not restrict his hands as they moved up to cup over her breasts, applying a pressure to match her own. Suddenly she groaned deeply into his mouth and murmured something against his lips, and he pulled away from the kiss, relatively breathless, long enough to ask her what it had been. "Now, Mulder," she repeated, the urgency building steadily in her, her breathing erratic, her eyes wild and clearly focused on his. "Right now." He nodded again, and while her hands reached down and caught the waistband of his jeans, sliding around to find the top button and then the zipper, releasing him despite his groan, he smoothly ran his hands up her thighs, despite her tiny shivers in lieu thereof, and under the hem of her skirt, bringing it up with them the rest of the way. Still being careful, as though he might break her, he brought his hands back down, this time trailing along her panty hose, which he then deposited on the floor next to them along with their two shirts. "Come on, Scully," he breathed. "We should go into..." "Right here," she interjected insistently, almost childish in her urgent one-sidedness. "Right now." He tried desperately not to smile at her totally un-Scully behavior, and failed miserably. She didn't seem to mind his grin, however, as a small, tight smile of her own manifested itself just before she tugged on him again, forcing him to kneel so that she could continue to remove his jeans. She left them halfway down and brought her hands back up to grasp his face, pulling him back into a hard, hot kiss, her tongue lashing out at him again. They still knelt facing each other, one of her knees curled between his, pressing against his straining erection. Now she carefully rocked her hips towards him, pulling herself in one quick, sensual movement up onto his lap, where she swiftly adjusted herself until she was kneeling completely over him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her heated core just barely stroking his. He groaned into her mouth and reached down to grip her hips, and in one swift movement he thrust up deeply into her, feeling her stiffen and stretch at his entrance and drop her lips from his, a small growl escaping from between her teeth as she dropped her head against his neck, her fists tightening against his shoulders, her nails digging into her own palms. She was thinking more clearly now. And she couldn't believe this. She could not believe this. The more rational part of her mind was now screaming, but weakly. He was legally dead. She'd thought he was dead until now. Why was she doing this? She didn't need this kind of proof. It wasn't necessarily his life she needed proven, she realized. She'd become lonely over the past six weeks. Longing for the dependency she'd shared with the one man she couldn't share that kind of dependency with. Partners, friends...but it didn't matter anymore. They were here, and they were about to make love, and she had instigated the whole thing...well, no, he had instigated it when he'd come back...she didn't know who'd started it in the first place anymore. Whose fault had it been that this whole thing had started when she'd walked into his little basement office four years ago? It really didn't matter anymore. Because he was there, deeply embedded in her, throbbing and needy like her heart and she felt so full and possessed but independent and free and beautiful like never before and like no one but Mulder could ever make her feel, and she knew that now and she was proud of it and willing to defend it until the end of time. She had time, now, and she intended to use it. Go ahead, Mulder, I want you to. I have no regrets. Neither do you. So go. As though reading her thoughts, he chose that exact moment to move, thrusting up into her again, deeper, farther, causing her to shudder with the extreme feeling of it and tighten her nails, feeling the skin of her palms about to break. He reached up and curled his fingers around her fists, applying pressure until she opened her hands to his and their fingers intertwined tightly, until her nails now ground into the backs of his hands. She should have cut them. If he'd told her he was going to be alive, maybe she would have. It was too late now. He apparently remembered her exact words just then, of how she'd asked him to make love to her, for he suddenly, quickly pushed her forward onto her back against the floor, adjusting himself between her legs so that he lay securely over her, their entwined hands pressed against the floor on either side of her head to hold his weight. She closed her eyes as sensations again flooded her, her mouth falling open as she fought to breathe. It was too weird, too new, her and Mulder, love, sex, on her floor, still half dressed, with no protection...hey! Oh well. He must've sensed this mood in her too, because he bent and touched his forehead to hers, and she opened her eyes to his and found the normally dark hazel blackened out by the shadow of his desire, for her, for her only. She smiled, and he smiled back. It was so simple suddenly. He thrust into her. Oh yes. Very simple. Again. She wrapped her legs around him, holding him closer, tighter, her fingers tightening and loosening in his as her muscles tightened and loosened around him, their eyes held together despite the urge to close. He'd found a rhythm surprisingly easily, and now he intensified it, going quicker, farther, his grip tightening, his eyes glittering with hers. Everything was so still and silent and there was only her and Mulder and nothing else in the world and no one could ever tear them apart again and take this away from them because this was all they had left and they would defend it with their lives because it had become their lives and always would be. She felt like she and Mulder stood at the top of a very large waterfall, just waiting to jump, to lose, to be swept over the edge. Control was a technicality. And then the dam broke, and all the emotions and the feelings and the gorgeous new sensuality that was Mulder poured over her and into her and filled her with a sense of completion she'd never known and never believed in. And Mulder was with her, with her when she stiffened in his arms, with her when she moved again, with her when she lost his eyes and tilted back her head to cry out his name, with her when her nails cut deeply into his skin, drawing his sacred blood. He was quiet, but he was with her. So quiet. But so alive. So warm inside her. Thank God they'd forgotten the protection. God, that was wonderful. Keep doing that, Mulder. Keep making me feel so alive and so beautiful. It may never be this way again or it may always be this way, but keep right on doing it. And then everything was still and silent again, and Mulder was breathing gently against her neck and she was turning her head to the side, trying not to fall asleep then and there on her floor simply because she now felt whole and complete and there had never been a more perfect, wonderful time to let the world go and let herself fall asleep. With Mulder, of course. Always with Mulder now. And the next thing she knew he had gathered her up into his arms and was carrying her into her bedroom, and gently tucking her under her covers and settling in next to her, and then she finally smiled warmly, hoping he'd see, and let herself slip away. ***** You like to sleep alone on a land mine Your life's not a joke but it's painfully funny You don't listen to me I'm the only one who sees I'm screamin' real loud all you hear is a whisper You can sink if you wanna sink You can swim if you wanna swim You can't afford me to be your shrink I wanna see you Wake up, sugar, sugar Come down, smell the coffee Drink your fears, taste your problems Crawl ***** Mulder woke up in Scully's bed...alone. Had it been a dream or not? He pondered this with a scratch of his head and a slight frown, knowing that he'd had realistic dreams about sex with Scully before, but that he'd never actually woken up...well, in her bed. But the fact remained that he was alone, that she was not there, and was nowhere to be seen. And then he heard the distinct sound of gently running water. The shower. Too real. This had to be real. They actually had gone through with it...and it had been beautiful. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life was when his enigmatic, invincible partner had finally opened up completely and lost the ability to be invulnerable and had spasmed in his arms and whispered God's name and cried his louder. She had been so afraid, so desperate to be sure that he was alive, so...needy, that she had finally found the strength, or lack thereof, to let down her barriers and ask him, beg him to love her. He'd never been more proud in his life. But it had been a rather quick decision---a rather quick lovemaking, when it came down to it---did she regret it? Did he regret it? No, he decided instantly. He did not regret it one little bit. He'd dreamed of last night for a long time, and what he'd received was much better than he'd ever dreamed...and what he'd felt, what he felt now, was much deeper than he'd ever even have thought possible in a man so cynically jaded as he. But despite all of this, he knew she would be having doubts. Or at least she'd be embarrassed. As if to prove his point, Scully appeared from the washroom just then. She hadn't bothered with any clothing, and stood naked and still rather moist, her hair dripping...whether this was a gesture of trust or simply inability to care, Mulder couldn't decide. She stared at him with wide, tired, terrorized eyes, shining a dark gray-blue in their misery. Yup. She was upset all right. Then she dropped her eyes, ashamed to look at him. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said quietly, almost gravely. "I don't know what came over to me." Mulder felt the wheels in his head stop altogether. What? "I shouldn't have...I was upset and tired and not thinking properly...I had no right to ask you...I shouldn't have made you..." she sighed and something wild and angry passed over her eyes, frustration tainting her brow. "I had no right to ask you to do something like that just because I needed...a confirmation...that wasn't really necessary, which I would have seen had I been in a better state of mind..." "Woh, hold on, back up a minute," Mulder shook his head and held up a hand. She glanced up at him, surprise registering in her eyes. He gazed at her. "You didn't make me do anything. I did what I did because I needed it just as badly as you did." Her mouth slackened slightly, and she dropped her eyes again. "Scully," he said softly. "Dana." She looked up again, her eyes widening again, then settling as she caught the tenderness in his dark hazel. "I played a very cruel trick on a lot of people, including you," he said slowly, softly, ashamedly. "I made you think I was dead, and I had no right to do that. I now wish I hadn't. It was stupid from the start. I did it for good reasons...but I should have let you know as soon as the idea came into my head...as soon as Skinner and I had decided that we would go through with it. And I'm sorry for that. Now, granted, I wasn't expecting the response I got from you last night when I reappeared. But that was only because I didn't know...I never thought that you could possibly feel that way about me. I've treated you like dirt for so long, I don't deserve your slightest attention...I knew you'd miss the partnership, maybe even the friendship, but..." He smiled. "But now I see that that's not all you missed. Frankly, I'm so glad that one of us finally managed to come out with the truth...it is the truth, Scully...and you were so beautiful, and it was so beautiful...please, don't ever apologize to me, especially not for loving me..." She now gazed at him with tears shining in her eyes, and he smiled hopefully at her and shrugged. "I love you, Scully. I really do." "I believe you," she whispered, the colors in her eyes pooling. "I believe, Mulder." Oh, hell. Now he was on the verge of crying too. No one made him want to bawl like Scully made him want to. Would she take that as a compliment? Maybe not. But he loved her for it. He pushed back the tears, his effort visible to her so that she smiled, and his eyes focused clearly in hers again, the colors determined. "Now, Scully, I have something I want to ask you for-something I need you to do for me. Last night you asked me to make love to you because you needed to know that I was really alive. Now..." He smiled, showing his embarrassment, his need. "I'm begging you to make love to me because I need to know that I'm really needed. Do you love me Scully? I love you more than life itself; always have, always will. I've just been so scared you didn't feel the same way-even more scared that you did. Now I know you do. Or do I? I think I know you Scully. I think I know your responses. But I've never seen you like I did last night, so I'm hesitant to think I know anything." His eyes pleaded with her. "Please, Scully..." he trailed off, not knowing what else to say. He slowly lifted his arms to her, his hands reaching out towards her. She reached out her own hands and their fingers intertwined tightly, and he pulled gently and she pushed gently and then, in a sudden rush, she had spilled forward, across the room, and was in his arms, her arms coming up under his arms to grip him tightly, her face buried in his neck as she cried softly, and he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her hair. Then she reached upwards and caught him on the lips, harsh, bruising, her tongue insistent on attention, her teeth raking over his lower lip. Her hands came to his chest and pushed him down, flat against the bed, and not releasing his mouth, she slid over top of him, her flesh wet and naked and like warm velvet fire to his perception. She straddled him while he held her hips in his hands, and her knees locked against his sides, tight, damp, hot. Her hands still pressed against his breast plate, she shifted her hips and pulled him inside herself, her muscles tightening, pulling over him, sending streaks of painful rapture coursing up through his tight veins. He groaned into her mouth and she swallowed it with pleasure, her own response a tightening of her fingers over his skin. She released his mouth as she started her motion, gradually working up to a working rhythm, slow, lazy, tantalizing, torturous. Her lips worked on his neck, soft and soothing against his pulsing skin. He continued to hold her hips, helping her along. It wasn't long before she was speeding up, and her lips ceased their motions and her head dropped against his shoulder, eyes closed as she breathed tightly against him, listening to his similar breath near her ear. They tried to hold the sea, but eventually they were swept aside and lost in the tide, and washed ashore together. ***** You take me in No questions asked You strip away the ugliness That surrounds me Are you an angel? Am I already that gone I only hope That I won't disappoint you When I'm down here On my knees And sweet, sweet Sweet surrender Is all that I have to give ***** "Why did you do it?" At last, finally, the question he'd been waiting and hoping for and fearing all night. He was silent for a moment, considering the beautiful heartbeat beneath his head where it lay over her chest, her fingers tangled deeply in his hair and his mind. "I wanted to save you." She didn't answer, so he knew the answer was inadequate. "I-Skinner and the Gunmen and Marita and I thought that maybe if they thought I was dead, they would cure you---because in all truth it was me they wanted to suffer, and you were just an innocent. Like you said, they gave you this disease so that I would believe. And I did. You were dying just so I would believe. If they knew that I was dead---I thought I could save you. I thought it was the only way." She was still silent. But he had nothing else to say, so he tightened his arms around her and just kept listening to the steady beat under his ear. When she spoke, her voice was tightly controlled, and he knew she was trying not to cry again. "It's gone, Mulder." His own heart froze. "What?" He heard a slight smile in her voice this time. "It's gone." "What do you mean, it's gone? Just like that?" he sat up, pulling away from her embrace to stare her in the eye, his own eyes wide with fear and anticipation and hope. She smiled, sadness and happiness and fear behind her own gaze. "A month ago I was---taken again. When I was returned, I went to see the doctors...they have no explanation, but...it's gone. All of it. I'm perfectly healthy. I'm not dying." His mouth dropped open and he stared at her, then let out a sound somewhere between and chuckle and a sob and launched himself into her arms, where she received him with a laugh and a warmth in her embrace. "Oh my God," he whispered. "It worked." "Guess so," she agreed light-heartedly. "And I'm so glad you don't have to stay away anymore." "Me too," he kept shaking his head in disbelief. "Just like that...I can't believe it." "Believe it," she nodded, eyes smiling. He frowned suddenly. "But...does Skinner know?" "Yes, he does." "He didn't tell me." "Maybe he thought it was none of his business. Maybe he knew there'd be a time when I could break the news to you myself, like this." "Well, he may not have imagined it like this," he indicated the two of them, both naked. She laughed, the sound a savior to his ears. "Probably not," she agreed. ***** It doesn't mean much It doesn't mean anything at all The life I've left behind me Is a cold room I've crossed the last line >From where I can't return Where every step I took in faith Betrayed me And led me from my home ***** Scully's door caught and Skinner stumbled inside, and both occupants of the bed inside jumped, saw who it was, and buried their eyes somewhere. Scully's choice was behind her arm; Mulder tried to smother himself in the pillow. Skinner, however, didn't appear to find anything strange or embarrassing about the situation whatsoever. In fact, he had quite enjoyed the sight of a naked Mulder and Scully scrambling to cover themselves. "Good morning, Agents Mulder, Scully," he greeted them in his usual grim, generally emotionless voice. "Have a good night's sleep, I trust?" "Some of it, sir," Mulder answered, voice still muffled by the pillow. "I'm sure," Skinner agreed and cleared his throat. "Agent Scully, I was expecting you in a meeting at nine this morning." "I'm perfectly aware of that, sir," she answered simply. "Mmhm," he grunted, and folded his arms. "I just came to warn you: the Smoking Man is there." "What?" she said, and her arm flew from her eyes as she stared up at him. "He showed up at my office this morning and demanded to be there for your meeting. He's rather suspicious of your reasons for not attending." "Does he know Mulder's..." "No, he doesn't. That's why you're alive." "Ah, yes. I'd almost forgotten," she spat bitterly, and sat up, running a hand back through her hair. "Please, Agent Scully, come in as soon as you can," Skinner said, face never wavering from its perpetual scowl. "I can't stand the smell of Morleys much longer." "I'll be there right away, sir," she responded, tone firm. "And so will Agent Mulder." Mulder groaned and she reached back and slapped a hand over his mouth before he could protest further. "Very good," Skinner nodded and turned. He stopped in the bedroom doorway. "Sorry if I startled you." "Oh, no, sir," Scully shrugged. "Large men with spectacles are always breaking into my apartment, believe me. Sorry if we startled you." He shook his head, for once traces of a smile on his face. "You didn't startle me, Scully," he said, humor in his voice, and he turned and exited the apartment. Scully slowly grinned to herself, almost proudly, and settled back into her partner's arms. "Now, about these large, bespectacled men..." Mulder began, and Scully groaned and turned over. ***** Just you and me On this island of hope A breath between us could be miles Let me surround you My sea to your shore Let me be the calm you seek ***** It was half an hour later when Scully and Mulder filed into Skinner's office, and were immediately assailed by the stench of overused Morley cigarettes. Skinner looked up from where he sat behind his desk and acknowledged their presence with a terse nod; Cigarette Man, who stood at the window, to the side, smoking, as usual, ignored them completely. "Agents Mulder, Scully, won't you have a seat?" Skinner offered. Before they had a chance to respond, they noticed him scowling in the direction of his door, and then he pushed away from his desk and stalked across the room, opened the door, and yelled at the gathering crowd outside. "Yes, Agent Mulder's alive," he shouted, scowling. "Now get the hell back to work." Knowing that tone and the mood behind it, the crowd quickly emptied into the hallways, away from the office. Skinner closed the door, straightened his tie, and sat back down behind his desk. Mulder and Scully remained standing. "Now, Agents Mulder and Scully," Skinner said, eyes narrowed over his spectacles. "Originally, this meeting was to debrief Scully for a new X- file..." "You took up the X-files?" Mulder asked in disbelief, staring at Scully. "Yes, I did," she answered, only affording him a slight glance. "You didn't..." "I know I didn't tell you," she said, and smiled positively wickedly for a second before her face was back to its cool mask. Mulder could've sworn he saw Cancerman shake with a silent bout of laughter. Mulder turned to Skinner. "You didn't tell me," he said accusingly. "None of my business," Skinner said with some more of that trace humor in his voice, lifting his hands in a surrendering gesture. Mulder grumbled something undoubtedly obscene and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "As I was saying," Skinner said, a strong hint in his voice, in Mulder's direction. Mulder ignored him. "Originally this meeting was to debrief Scully for a new X-file, but it has turned into quite something else. Agent Mulder is returned from the 'dead', and apparently, Agents Mulder and Scully, well...things are a lot more friendly than they should be, let's just say that." Neither agent responded. "Is this true?" Cancerman finally spoke, turning to them with his dark eyes clouded by smoke. "None of your business, Black Lung," Mulder snapped, and Skinner seemed to blanch and then struggle with a chuckle. "I'm afraid it is," Cancerman disagreed with a shake of his head, almost in disappointment at the insubordination of his pawn. "I'm afraid it's not." All eyes turned, with immense surprise, to Scully. Her eyes, like her voice had been, were firm with conviction. They focused solely on Cigarette Man, and he almost seemed to shrink under the pure hatred in her gaze. "What Mulder and I do and don't do is none of your business whatsoever," she continued firmly, tensely. He didn't answer. So she kept right on going. "We are not your pawns. We are not players in your little game. We are two innocent people who've had the distinct privilege of seeing your playing field, the way you rip people's hearts out. You nearly killed me, twice. You nearly killed him too many times to count. You've kept us apart since the beginning. Well, no more. Mulder and I are partners and friends and we love each other and you can't do a damn thing about it. How does that make you feel? How does it make you feel to know that your little experiment went completely wrong? That no matter what happens now, we've beat you?" He just kept staring at her, pure disbelief in his gaze. "That's right. You can't answer that, can you? Because in all truth, you're just a little chickenshit trying to get by in a business that gives power, money---all the unimportant things. You get so Goddamn scared when your little projects go wrong, don't you? Well, we went wrong, Cancerman. We had sex last night," she smirked here. "Four times." Every man in the room swallowed. "And we love each other, Cancerman. How does that make you feel? We love each other." She paused and folded her arms. "So quite frankly, sir," she said, building up politely. Her face cleared then, looking innocent, except for the coy grin touching her lips and in her eyes. "Fuck you." Cancerman's jaw dropped. Mulder burst into laughter, loud and deliberate. Skinner laughed just as hard, but silently and behind a hand. Still looking happy beyond belief, Scully motioned to the door of the office with one hand. "Get out," she said simply. He obeyed, chin up, slamming the door behind himself. The entire room dissolved into hysterics. ***** You can see what you wanna see You can hear what you wanna hear Don't look at me for your enemies I wanna see you ***** THE END 'Meanwhile, I've quit the FBI and become a spokesperson for the AbRoller.' **Feedback is always appreciated**Flames will be used to decorate the Catacomb** **Let me know if this story's too long---meaning should I have split it into parts**