Fire and Ice
by Foxsong
  Rated NC-17
  MSR - Non-shippers, turn back before it's too late. It's all here - an MSR 
  with big-time Mulder angst, Scully angst, UST, RST. A splendid time is 
  guaranteed for all.
  Spoilers: FTF mostly, brief references to Triangle, Monday, Excelsis Dei
  Archive: I should think so! Just let me know.
  Feedback: Always a pleasure at foxsong@earthlink.net
  Thanks to D. for letting Mulder tell his *true* truck story! <g>
  Disclaimer: The X-Files, Fox Mulder, and Dana Scully are owned by Ten Thirteen 
  and Fox, both of whom seem to be unfamiliar with the Thirteenth Amendment to 
  the Constitution which abolished slavery. No copyright infringement is 
  intended. (Free Fox 'n'' Dana!)
  Summary: Mulder is still dealing with the traumatic events of FTF; Scully, 
  trying to help, ends up pushing the relationship to a new level.
- - - - - - - - - -
After such knowledge, what forgiveness?
- T. S. Eliot
- - - - - - - - - -
Fox Mulder couldn't sleep. Again.
It was after midnight. He prowled his apartment, casting a wary glance at the 
bedroom door. He passed a weary hand over his face and kept going. He would pay 
for this tomorrow, he knew, when Scully studied his hollow eyes and asked him - 
again - if he was alright. And he would lie to her - again - and although she 
wouldn't ask him a second time, he would know by the way she watched him that 
she hadn't believed him.
There was a tape in the VCR that he could watch; it was still there from the 
night before. He circled the room restlessly, unwilling to give in. It had been 
his tried-and-true remedy for his insomnia for years, but now even this had 
begun to betray him: when he closed his eyes he saw Scully, her mane of red hair 
tousled, her ice-blue eyes ablaze. The minute he was finished he was completely 
disgusted with himself. He shook his head. Not again. Not this time. Not 
tonight.
He sat down on the couch and pointed the remote at the TV. He didn't bother to 
rewind the tape. He just picked up where he'd left off last night. After a few 
minutes he reached over to turn out the light; he lay back on the sofa. He 
tugged at the drawstring of his sweatpants...
In a little while, in spite of himself, he breathed, "Scully. Scully..."


At last she was alone with Mulder, and from behind her he reached out, put his 
arms around her, and when she turned to him they just * fell* on each other, 
almost savagely; he had no shirt on, and her mouth found his throat, right at 
the juncture of his collarbone, and she practically * bit* him. The rush was 
incredible - and he was holding her so tight...
Dana Scully startled awake, gasping for breath. For a moment she didn't even 
know where she was, and then the familiar shapes of her bedroom took form around 
her again. She sat up in the bed and pushed her hair back from her face. "Oh, 
God," she murmured, "not again..."
Just last week she'd had a similar dream, and had awakened so flustered that she 
got up and showered and went to the office forty-five minutes early just to get 
away from her apartment, from her bed. When Mulder had walked in and said "Good 
morning," she'd blushed scarlet from her throat right to the roots of her hair. 
Mulder said nothing, but she knew by the sidelong glance he shot her as he sat 
down that he'd seen it.
She was sure now that Mulder loved her, and that put her in the excruciating 
position of having to own up to her own feelings for him. Before that near-kiss 
in the hallway she had been able to talk herself into believing it was 
one-sided, that it was just her crush. But after that... And it wasn't just his 
sense of duty that had brought him to Antarctica, to Hell, to rescue her. They 
had revealed too much of themselves to each other now, and instead of drawing 
them closer it had widened the gulf between them. She didn't even dare to stand 
as close to him as she used to, because now she was terribly aware of the heat 
that emanated from him, a fire that made her heart beat too quickly. And she had 
seen how, when he reached out to touch her the way he always had, he had learned 
sometimes to hold back, to stop short before his hand reached her arm, her 
shoulder. She believed Mulder felt just as distressed by it as she did. And she 
couldn't find any way back to the way things used to be.


Friday afternoon, ten to five, Memorial Day weekend. Even Mulder had run out of 
things to do, and was reduced to arranging stacks of paperwork on the corners of 
his desk. Across the basement office Scully was labeling videotapes and putting 
them into cardboard boxes for storage, tapping the information into her computer 
from time to time. There was nothing here that couldn't be done on Tuesday 
morning, but somehow neither of them seemed to want to be the first one to make 
a move toward the door.
Scully paused, and sighed, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She 
glanced up at Mulder. Chin propped on his hand, elbow on the desk, looking at 
her - through her - a million miles away. Scully smiled. "I guess we're done, 
huh?" she asked.
"Hmmm?" Mulder started. "I'm sorry. I wasn't listening."
Scully closed the box of videotapes and busied herself with her computer mouse. 
"I said, I guess we're done. We're probably the last people in the building 
today."
"Slaving away at our thankless task, heedless of holidays, making the world safe 
for democracy and defending the freedoms of this great nation." Mulder leaned 
back in his chair and stretched his long frame. "Hidden from the eyes of the 
ordinary citizens who will never comprehend the sacrifices that have been made 
so they might enjoy barbeques overrun by screaming children..."
Scully took the floppy disk out of the drive and put it into the storage box. 
"Mulder - "
"The menfolk gather into a clan in a circle of lawn chairs, beer bellies hanging 
over the waistbands of their Bermuda shorts..."
"Mulder - "
"...while the old women congregate under the shade trees, comparing photos of 
their grandchildren..."
*"Mulder!"*
He paused and looked over at her and sat up straight in his chair again. "So I 
guess you weren't invited to any barbecues this weekend either."
Her mouth opened and closed once again before she spoke. "Actually, my brother 
has one every year. I usually drive down." She stood up and smoothed her skirt 
down over her thighs, a distant look crossing her face. "...I might not, this 
year. I told him I wasn't sure if I'd make it."
Mulder stood up, picked up his suit jacket from the back of his chair, and 
draped it over his arm. "Really?" he asked, moving slowly toward the door. 
"Other plans?"
"No... no," Scully returned thoughtfully, picking up her purse and following 
him. She sighed. "I'm just not sure I'm up to it, for some reason. I've been..." 
Her voice trailed off as they stepped into the hallway and Mulder locked the 
door behind them. "... I don't know."
Mulder regarded her as they walked together toward the elevator. "Well, I can 
understand not wanting to be subjected to your brother. Nothing personal. You 
know." His tone was mischievous.
She laughed. "He * likes* me, Mulder." They stepped into the elevator. "Or at 
least he would till I brought *you* to his barbecue."
Mulder's eyebrows went up. "Are you inviting me to the ritual tribal gathering?"
"Oh, I don't even think I'm going. ...But if I do, and you want to come, 
certainly. Yes."
They walked out of the elevator and across the hallway toward the door. "No, 
Scully," Mulder said, "I don't think I want to spend one of my rare weekends off 
being exhibited as a curiosity at a gathering of normal people." His tone was 
light but the words brought a sharp glance from her; he was sorting through his 
keychain for his car keys and didn't see her stare. When he looked up at her he 
was wearing his usual wry grin. "I'll see you Tuesday, okay?" And he touched her 
elbow and turned and walked away.


He hadn't driven two blocks when his cell phone rang in his coat pocket 
alongside him on the seat. He grimaced and let it go for three rings before 
rummaging through the jacket to find it. Here went the weekend, he supposed. He 
pressed the button and lifted it to his ear. "Mulder."
"It's me, Mulder."
His brow furrowed. "Hey, Scully. What did you forget?"
There was a pause. "Nothing," she said. He waited. "Mulder, what are you doing 
tonight?" she finally asked, speaking quickly.
"... Nothing, really." He was puzzled. "Why, what's up?"
Another hesitant moment passed before she said, "Listen, Mulder, why don't I 
pick up Chinese and meet you at your place?"
He was surprised, but couldn't think of a reason to refuse. "Ah... sure, I guess 
so. Yeah. ... You might get there before me, Scully. I have to stop at the 
cleaners' on the way."
"I'll use my key," she said, and hung up.
He stared for a moment at the phone, feeling a peculiar mixture of anticipation 
and apprehension.


In the elevator in Mulder's building, Scully juggled her keys and the bag of 
Chinese food and the bottle of wine she'd bought and silently cursed the impulse 
that had made her call Mulder and invite herself here. She was not an impulsive 
person; she was perhaps a little too proud of her capacity to think things 
through before taking action. So what on earth had made her take out her phone 
and dial his number before she'd even driven out of the parking lot? You're 
behaving like a schoolgirl, she chided herself. A three-day weekend without him 
wouldn't have killed you. And you're not *really* going to try to talk to him 
about that awful coolness between you, are you?...
She left the elevator and walked down the hall and steeled herself against the 
memory as she walked past the place where it had happened. At the door, she put 
her key in the lock and reassured herself that, no, she didn't *have* to bring 
it up. She could have her meal and drink her wine and just have a nice evening 
with her... her friend. That would be enough. That would be fine.
"Hey, Scully, wait for me."
She heard his voice just as she stepped through the door; she turned and looked 
down the hall. She couldn't suppress a smile at the sight of him, plastic-bagged 
suits draped over one arm, a paper bag tucked beneath the other.
Mulder was very glad to see that smile. Scully hadn't sounded exactly like 
herself on the phone and he had fretted for most of the way home about what that 
might mean. Now that she looked happy to see him, he felt foolish for wondering. 
Emboldened by her smile, he leaned over and brushed her cheek with his lips.
"Welcome to Chateau Mulder, mademoiselle. I hope you will enjoy ze cuisine." 
They walked into the apartment and Scully closed the door.
"It's Chinese food, not French," she said, setting the bags on the kitchen 
counter.
"Yeah, well, I don't speak Chinese." He leaned over and added conspiratorially, 
"Gimme a break here, Scully, I'm trying to set the mood."
She chuckled and said, "You're reaching, Mulder. You don't speak French either."
"Spoilsport." He set his paper bag on the counter and walked out of the kitchen.
Scully began taking out plates and silverware. "Scully, there's wine in that bag 
- I picked up a bottle of your favorite," Mulder called from the other room.
"Well, we'll have plenty, then," she answered, "because I got *your* favorite."
Mulder came back into the kitchen, tie loosened and shirtsleeves rolled up. He 
reached for his bag and Scully for hers. When they saw the identical bottles of 
white zinfandel, they broke into laughter.


"... so I just think it's ironic that now I *am* 'The Law'," Mulder was saying, 
wiggling his first and second fingers in midair to indicate quote marks, "when, 
at nineteen, I was a *fugitive* from the law."
"You? A fugitive?" Scully laughed a little. She was relaxed, leaning back on the 
sofa, her legs stretched out before her, crossed at the ankles; her heels rested 
on the corner of the coffee table. She sipped again from her glass of wine, her 
cool blue eyes never leaving Mulder's, and he found himself enchanted by the way 
she looked up at him from beneath her long lashes. This didn't feel like Chinese 
takeout with a coworker. This felt like... a *date*. God, it felt good. How long 
had it been since he'd been on a date?
He realized she was waiting for him to elaborate. "Yes, a fugitive. Wanted. 
Reward. The whole nine yards." He wasn't sure whether his euphoria had more to 
do with the wine or with the soft blush on Scully's cheeks, with her lips, 
parted slightly on that expectant smile. She tilted her head a little and he 
decided that wine alone could never have done this to him.
"Mulder, what did you do?" Scully shifted her hips and leaned forward, watching 
Mulder's eyes. I... am... *flirting* ... with Mulder, she thought, but it felt 
so good that she didn't think she would stop. ...How much of this wine had she 
drunk, anyway? She'd stopped worrying about it an hour ago.
"It was just a week or two before we had to go back to school," Mulder began, 
"and about six of us crashed a beach party. It was pretty late - there were a 
couple of kegs, you know - "
"You were drunk," Scully interrupted, her eyes sparkling.
"Regardless. We were on the beach, and we went walking around, and there were 
some trucks, some construction equipment, parked there, because the town was 
doing some kind of work..."
"Oh, Mulder," she said, "You didn't..."
"One of my friends found the keys right under the mat, right in the front of the 
truck. A big truck. A dump truck."
"You *didn't*."
"No, no, *I* didn't. ...Well, I didn't *drive*. I was in the passenger seat."
"What did you run into?"
"Run into?" Mulder adopted an air of wounded dignity. "Run into! Scully! Surely 
you wouldn't mistake me for a common miscreant."
Scully giggled. Mulder realized that in all the years he had known this woman he 
had never heard her giggle.
"We didn't run into anything. We drove it... well, there was a downhill slope 
toward the water..."
"Oh, Mulder." She covered her mouth with her hand.
"And we had a lot of momentum..."
"Oh, Mulder, *no*." She was starting to laugh.
"And at the last minute, just before we hit the water, we bailed out."
Scully was laughing out loud. Mulder raised his voice a little to be heard.
"No, Scully, that's not the best part. It *kept going*. It had all that 
momentum, it kept going! When the water got high enough it shorted out the horn 
- "
Scully had to put down her empty glass. She leaned back on the sofa, dissolving 
into breathless laughter.
"So it was sinking, Scully, with the lights on and the horn blowing - but it 
sounded different, underwater, sort of like a foghorn - "
She recovered enough to ask, "How far down did it go?"
"About twenty feet, really down there! It -"
Scully, still laughing, wiped tears from her eyes. "Mulder, stop! What did you 
*do*?"
"We ran like hell! What do you *think* we did?" Mulder was laughing, too, 
remembering. "We saw the posters in town, two days later. 'Reward for 
information leading to' - all that stuff."
"I can't imagine - I can't picture - " Scully wiped her eyes again.
"You're laughing, Scully," Mulder said, wagging a finger at her in admonishment, 
"but this kind of experience can scar a person for life. When I saw 'Titanic' I 
laughed in all the wrong places."
"And you never got caught."
"We never got caught."
"Oh, Mulder, you know, now you've really done it," Scully said, still laughing. 
"Now I've got the goods on you. I've got you big time. If you're not nice to me 
I can turn you in. Mulder, your life is in my hands."
"Ah, Scully, it already is, every day," he answered, surprised by the vehemence 
of the words even as they left his lips. She felt the change as well, and there 
was a moment of suddenly awkward silence. Mulder studied the glass of wine in 
his hand as if it offered an explanation.
Scully, reminded now of why she'd come, took the plunge and spoke. "Mulder, 
there was a reason I came over tonight..."
"Somehow I suspected you didn't come here for the ambiance."
"I wanted to talk to you about something." Looking up, she already saw a 
wariness about him. "We've been so... separate... since Antarctica." Something 
in his eyes had grown distant, was trying to close her out. "I used to feel I 
had your trust. That it was understood that there weren't secrets between us."
"Are you saying I'm hiding something from you?"
"No. No. It's not a *thing* ... It's more the feeling that... " She searched for 
the words - "That you're hiding *yourself* from me. That there are times, even 
when I'm standing right next to you, that you've gone somewhere I can't follow."
Mulder said nothing. He just looked at her, his expression unfamiliar and 
unreadable. Scully wished she could shake the feeling that she was digging 
herself in deeper and deeper. She took a long breath and forged ahead.
"I would never mean to suggest that we don't have lives of our own apart from 
the X-Files and each other. But if this affects us at work, makes us less 
effective - it could put our lives in jeopardy under the wrong circumstances. 
...And Mulder, at least * I* can't help taking it home with me. It affects me... 
off the job too."
It was an effort for Mulder just to sit still on the sofa and not to squirm. He 
studied the wineglass and sighed. "Antarctica..." he said quietly, and his voice 
trailed off.
"It just seemed to start after that. After we came home."
"Antarctica," he said again and looked up, not at Scully, but around the room as 
if hoping for a means of escape. "I saw things in Antarctica, Scully..."
She watched his eyes and knew that he was seeing the frozen landscape even now.
"...Things that - should be impossible. Things that were so *wrong* ..." He 
looked at her now, his eyes terrible, haunted. "And to see *you* there. Scully, 
there are still nights when I wake up screaming, seeing your face in - " His 
voice broke, and he turned away from her. "And now I'm back in my office pushing 
papers around and they've covered their tracks so well that I hardly know where 
to start looking. Now that I've seen it. Now that I *know* ..." He ran one hand 
across his forehead and through his hair. " 'This is the bitterest pain among 
men, to have much knowledge but little power.' "
"Herodotus," Scully murmured. Mulder cocked an eyebrow and looked up at her.
"God, Scully, Greek historians too." He smiled wanly. "You never cease to amaze 
me." Lifting his glass to his lips, he drained the rest of his wine; he set the 
glass down on the coffee table.
There was a moment's silence.
"Mulder," Scully said, "there's no shame in being overwhelmed by something so 
huge. There's no shame in being unable to handle it alone." She sighed, and 
waited, but he did not speak. "You need to talk to someone, Mulder. You have to 
get help."
"That's the same thing Skinner told me," he said dryly.
"Mulder, I've been to the EAP counselors. I can give you the name - "
He laughed shortly and without mirth. "Scully, the Employee Assistance Program 
is not equipped to deal with what I'll tell them. When I start spinning *my* 
tale, they won't just talk to me. They'll lock me up." He twisted his hands 
together in his lap, staring down at them. "Who's going to understand - or even 
*believe* - what I've seen?"
Scully reached out, put her hands on his. "I will, Mulder," she said quietly. He 
looked up and met her steady gaze. "You can talk to me."
Mulder's throat worked, but no words came. He dropped his eyes. "I can't, 
Scully. I can't do that to you."
"What do you mean? ...You can tell me anything. I *want* to help you." She 
stroked his forearm, trying to reassure him.
Mulder took a deep breath and sighed. "Scully, tell me what you remember about 
Antarctica."
She ducked her head for a second and then looked up at him again. "Mulder, I've 
told you be-"
"Tell me again." His voice was low but insistent. He reached out to smooth her 
hair from her forehead, and let his hand rest against her cheek.
"I... I remember the bee sting. I remember falling... and you holding me. I 
remember being put on the stretcher." She shook her head slowly, searching even 
now for more. "Then there's a gap... The next thing I remember is trying to stay 
awake while you kept me on my feet. I remember coming out onto the snow..."
"But the gap," he repeated. "What about that gap?"
"...I don't remember... "
"You don't remember," he echoed softly, his fingers still caressing her face. 
The grief in his eyes threatened to overwhelm her. "You don't even know what 
kind of mercy that is. I've robbed you of so much over these past six years. I 
can't take that away from you too."
Scully set her mouth in a grim line. "You're doing it again, Mulder," she said.
He stared at her, silent.
"You're taking up another burden. Tying another stone around your neck."
Mulder looked away, dropped his hand from her cheek, and stood up. He walked 
over to the stereo as if to put on another CD, but just stood in front of it 
when he got there.
"I've watched you do this for years." She got up and followed him, put herself 
in front of him, looked up at his face. He would not meet her eyes. "You 
shoulder everyone else's burdens. You pile them onto your back until you can 
hardly walk under the weight." She put her hands up onto his chest. "I'm afraid 
it'll break you someday. ...I think it's breaking you now." Her voice faltered. 
"Mulder. I don't *want* to let it break you."
He looked into her eyes and saw his own pain mirrored there. He put his hands on 
her waist. "Scully, don't," he said softly, shaking his head. "Don't lose 
yourself trying to save me."
"Mulder," she insisted, "this is my life. I could have walked away a long time 
ago. My own choices sent me to Antarctica - not yours."
Mulder closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to speak. "Scully," he breathed, 
"I can't *help* feeling responsible for the things that have happened to you - "
"No, Mulder, no," she interrupted, a tone of defeat in her voice. "It's not that 
you can't help feeling responsible. It's that you make it a *point* to feel 
responsible. It feeds your guilt. And you *love* your guilt. You wouldn't even 
know who you are without your guilt." She looked up and saw the hurt in his 
eyes, and was sorry she'd sounded so bitter. She dropped her gaze, leaned 
forward, laid her head against his chest. He put his arms around her.
They stood silent for a long moment. Then Scully lifted her head and looked up 
into Mulder's eyes, and slipped her hands up his chest till her arms encircled 
his neck.
"Mulder," she murmured, "I know I can't save you. ...But I can try to help you 
save yourself."
She drew his head down, and stretched up to meet him, and he didn't resist; she 
closed her eyes, just like a moment ago, like a lifetime ago, in the hallway. 
But this time their lips met - almost shyly at first - and then she parted his 
lips with her tongue and began to kiss him in earnest.
Mulder's heart leaped. He wrapped his arms around Scully and hugged her tight 
against him. Her mouth was more intoxicating than all the wine he'd just drunk. 
Scully, molding herself against his body, felt him suddenly, unmistakably 
aroused; felt something within her that had lain stunned under the Antarctic 
cold flicker alight, felt it throw up hopeful little tongues of flame.
When she pressed her hips against his, Mulder felt a sudden wave of shame and 
embarrassment sweep over him. As gently as he could, he broke off the kiss, 
extricated himself from her embrace. Holding her face between his hands, Mulder 
leaned down and placed one chaste kiss on her forehead. "I'm sorry, Scully," he 
said sadly, shaking his head. His eyes were downcast. He let go of her and 
stepped back; he turned to the coffee table and began gathering the dishes and 
glasses there. He carried them away toward the kitchen, his broad shoulders 
bowed.
Scully, dumbfounded, stared after him, frozen to the spot. The air felt 
uncomfortably cool after the ring of fire that had been his arms. Her heart 
thumped in her chest and deep down inside her the little flicker had become a 
steady flame. She heard the dishes clinking together in the sink, heard the 
water running. Resentment flared up in her, and without thinking she marched 
toward the kitchen.
The click of her heels on the hardwood floor sounded assertive even for Scully, 
who was never less than confident to begin with. At the sound Mulder looked up 
from the sink with an uneasiness that approached dread. She appeared in the 
doorway and stood as if to block his escape.
"Mulder," she said, her blue eyes smoldering, "if you can look at me and tell me 
with a straight face that you don't want me, we'll forget about this. But we've 
been playing this game too long and it isn't fun anymore."
"Scully, I - "
"The *truth*, Mulder. A lie would cost us both too much."
He spread his hands apart helplessly. "Scully, how can we - How can I - "
She closed the distance between them in only two strides. "I *know* you want me. 
Damn it, Mulder! You only see the dark side of everything. How can you live like 
that?"
"But Scully - "
"Shut up, Mulder," she said curtly, and began untying the knot of his necktie. 
She pulled it loose and tossed it aside. "Fox... Mulder," she began, speaking 
slowly and deliberately, punctuating her words by opening the buttons of his 
shirt. "Special... agent. G-man. Brave... Fox... Mulder... who can face down 
extraterrestrial monsters without blinking - " She jerked his shirttail out of 
his pants - "but who can't make a move on a woman who's throwing herself at 
him." She unrolled his cuffed sleeves and pulled the shirt off, tossing it away 
after the tie.
"Scully - "
"Shut *up*, Mulder." There was fire and ice in her tone, passion and something 
else - something that stopped just a little short of scorn. Mulder had never 
been so turned on in his life. He shivered.
"This is *my* game now, Mulder. *I* started it. *I* make the rules. *I* take the 
blame. So that *you* - " and here she tapped his chest sharply with her 
forefinger for emphasis, staring straight into his eyes - "don't have to feel 
guilty when it's done." She grasped the bottom of his undershirt and began 
pulling it up over his torso. He was too astonished to do anything but raise his 
arms and allow her to pull it off over his head.
Scully looked up into his eyes, and his deer-in-the-headlights expression made 
her pause. She smiled and shook her head and reached up to caress his face with 
one suddenly gentle hand. Almost reflexively, Mulder's hands came up to encircle 
her waist.
He was so shocked to find himself standing half-naked in his kitchen with Dana 
Scully in his arms that he did the only thing any reasonable man could have been 
expected to do under the circumstances. He bent his head to her upturned face 
and began to kiss her again.
Like my dream, Scully thought, Just like my dream. Mulder's hungry mouth seemed 
to want to devour her lips, her throat, her ears. She threw her arms around his 
neck and kissed him with delighted abandon.
Mulder was reeling. He was glad he was leaning against the kitchen counter, 
because he wasn't sure he could stand up on his own. That she wanted him at all 
was wonder enough; that she wanted him like *this* was incomprehensible. "My 
God, Scully!" he exclaimed as he felt her fingers pulling feverishly at his 
belt. "Just kiss me," she returned, and covered his mouth with her own. 
A fierce joy rose up in him as she shoved him back against the counter and 
redoubled her efforts at his belt. When the leather pulled free of the buckle, 
she made short work of the button and zipper that remained. He closed his eyes 
in disbelief as he felt her fingers slipping under the waistband of his boxer 
shorts. He put one arm around her neck and pulled her closer and kissed her 
desperately, and then he felt her hand touch him under the silk.
He gasped against Scully's mouth as her hand closed over the head and slipped 
down - and down - the shaft. Her eyes opened and widened as she wrapped her 
fingers around him, taking the measure of him. "Mulder. I'm impressed," she 
chuckled.
His wit deserted him. "Thank you," he said weakly. She pressed her mouth to his 
again.
Scully began to slide her hand up the length of him and back, teasingly at 
first, and then harder. Mulder's head fell back, and he began to moan, very 
softly, in time with Scully's strokes. She watched his face intently. Gradually 
she picked up her pace and Mulder fell silent, eyes squeezed shut, breathing in 
quick pants.
"Scully," he groaned, "have mercy - " His hand came down suddenly to clasp her 
wrist. "Scully, no - not this way - I want..."
She lifted her hand to his chest. "What do you want, sweetheart?" she whispered, 
but he only heaved a great sigh and bowed his head and laid it down on her 
shoulder. She felt him shaking and wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling his 
cheek and his ear. A long moment passed while she steadied him, let him catch 
his breath; then he lifted his head and sought her mouth and began to kiss her 
again.
"Scully," he murmured between kisses, "you're wearing - so many - clothes..."
"I was wondering when you'd notice..."
His fingers found the buttons of her blouse and opened them, one by one; his 
hands slipped beneath the fabric. She felt a shiver pass through him as he ran 
his fingers lightly over her breasts. She straightened up and shrugged the open 
blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Mulder ran his hands 
across the back of her bra, and found no fasteners, and paused. Scully smiled at 
his puzzled expression. She reached up, and smoothed his hair back from his 
forehead, and said softly, "It opens in the front, sweetheart."
"Ah..." he said, opening it.
He put both arms around her waist, pulling her hips tight against his, and she 
lay back in his embrace, letting the bra slide down her arms and fall away, 
already forgotten. Mulder bent over her and pushed his face against her breasts, 
turning his head from side to side, nuzzling and kissing. Scully stretched her 
arms over her head and leaned all her weight into his embrace; she let her head 
fall back, closed her eyes. Mulder's mouth closed over a nipple and suckled 
gently, then more firmly. "Beautiful," he moaned against her, "you're so 
beautiful..."
Mulder lifted her up in his arms and turned her around, leaning her up against 
the counter. He lifted his head to kiss her forehead, her mouth, her throat; his 
lips grazed her breasts again and he kept going, down her torso; she ran her 
fingers through his hair, smiling to herself as she watched him. He sank to his 
knees before her, his tongue tickling her navel. His hands were sliding up her 
thighs, lifting her skirt, and she gasped as he ducked his head down further and 
she realized where he was going. She had the presence of mind to step out of her 
shoes when she felt his fingers begin to tug at the waistband of her pantyhose.
Mulder almost laughed aloud with the sudden delight he felt. He pulled her 
pantyhose down her legs, peeled them inside out over her toes. She had gathered 
the skirt up in her hands, and he glanced up at her face. Her wide eyes seemed 
bluer than ever over her flushed cheeks, and they were alight - He'd never seen 
her this way, never dreamed it could really happen. His heart sang. He watched 
her mouth open in a wide silent "O" as he drew her panties down over her thighs. 
And slowly, reverently, he leaned forward, pressed his mouth to her...
She swayed above him as his tongue parted her, and he wrapped his arms around 
her thighs, supporting her. Her sighs became low moans, sometimes became his 
name. He opened his mouth wider, pressed his face into her, and felt her move 
her hips against him; he let go of her with one hand and brought his fingers to 
her, slipped one, then two, into her sweet wet warmth. She swayed again and her 
hands clutched at his hair, the skirt falling around his head. He moaned without 
even knowing it. This was bliss, absolute bliss. This was the well he wanted to 
drink from for the rest of his life.
Scully clung to Mulder's head, hoping vaguely that she wasn't hurting him, and 
tried to keep her eyes open. When she closed them the dizziness overwhelmed her, 
but keeping them open was so... so... hard... She heard herself moaning and was 
powerless to stop. He had found the place, and his tongue licked and circled, 
and his fingers slipped in and out in the same rhythm. Oh - she wanted - she 
*needed* - Her knees were turning to water. Even leaning against the counter, 
she knew she couldn't stand up much longer. "Mulder. Mulder..." She pulled his 
hair a little, and he looked up, and lifted his head, and just in time - for her 
legs gave way and she slid slowly down the front of the counter, letting him 
catch her in his arms. "Please... please," she breathed, and Mulder seemed to 
understand, and he lifted her up and half-carried her back to the living room, 
and set her down on the sofa. He kicked off his shoes, let his pants and boxers 
fall and stepped out of them, and then found the zipper of her skirt and opened 
it. He drew this last garment off her and just sat, looking wonderingly at her, 
tracing the lines of her body with gentle hands. Scully stretched like a cat 
under his touch. He leaned over her and dropped his head again to her breast.
At length Scully shifted in his arms, and sat up, and pushed him back, making 
him sit up on the sofa. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and 
climbed across his lap, straddling him. She reached down and took him in her 
hand. His head lolled back against the sofa cushions. "Scully..." he sighed, 
lifting his hands to cup her breasts. "Oh, Scully..."
She grasped him firmly, and began to stroke the head of him against her, letting 
it part the moist lips. Mulder groaned and rocked his hips, but she wouldn't let 
him penetrate her, not yet; he was achingly hard, and the pressure of him 
against that most sensitive center of her was almost too much to bear.
He put his hands on her hips, coaxing her toward him. She was like velvet, she 
was liquid. He strained his hips toward hers but she pulled back - pulled away - 
and he was left with the tip, only the tip, of the head poised at her entrance. 
He was sure he felt a drop of her moisture trickling down his shaft. He almost 
whimpered.
Scully gazed down at him, at his rapt face, and struggled for control. He was 
the only thing in the world she wanted; she'd never wanted *anything* so much. 
And he was *right... there...*
"This is my game, Mulder," she reminded him. She heard him choke back something 
like a sob. "Tell me what you want." Her voice was no more than a throaty 
whisper, but it was resonant with triumph. "Tell me... how *much* ... you want 
it."
1 Mulder stared up at her, stunned, speechless, imploring. What I want? What I 
*want*? he thought frantically. What I *want* is to flip you over, overpower 
you, *take* you!... But he saw cool steel in her eyes, and he was transfixed.
...Words. There were words, magical words that would make her lower her body 
onto his, words that would take him home, words that would change his life. He 
was desperate to find them. He ran his tongue over his lips.
"Scully," he pleaded, "Scully, God - help me, Scully - I want to be inside you. 
It's all I want. It's all I've wanted for years - Scully... *please* ..."
"Then do it, Mulder," she whispered fiercely. The steel in her gaze had gone 
molten. "*Do it now.*" And she lowered herself just as he thrust upward, sinking 
all the way into her. He felt her yield to him. She fit him perfectly. He 
wondered fleetingly if he might not die here and now, in her arms, inside her.
She sat down upon him, taking him fully; he stretched her, filled her 
completely. He put his arms around her and she leaned forward, cradling his head 
against her breast, against her heart. They stayed like that, unmoving, for a 
long moment; then, as if by some silent agreement, they began to rock their 
hips, began to find their rhythm together.
Mulder looked up at Scully through half-closed eyes. Her hair was falling across 
her face and he reached up, smoothed it away, ran his fingers through it; he 
drew her head down and found her mouth, and they kissed, their tongues echoing 
their bodies' dance.
Mulder felt the pressure building inside him, felt himself coming closer and 
closer to the edge. He wanted to wait, wanted it to last. Reluctantly he broke 
off the long sweet kiss.
"Scully - slow down - I don't want to come yet - "
"Mulder, I can't. I *can't.*" And she sat up a little straighter on him, reached 
one hand down to where they were joined, and began to stroke herself as she rode 
him. His mouth opened wide in amazement. He had never, *never*, seen anything 
like... He was going to lose it. It was all over now. He was going to...
But Scully got there first. She felt the first faint tingle, felt the flush 
spreading through her, widening like ripples on the surface of a pond. "Oh, 
Mulder - Mulder," she moaned, and threw her head back, and rocked herself 
against him hard. "*Mulder*..."
He felt her climax from within her, and it was more than he could stand. He 
thrust into her as hard as he could, and gasped, "Scully - my Scully - " And 
then it was too late for words; it was happening, and he was shocked at the 
intensity of it, and he couldn't even find his voice to cry out, because there 
was nothing in the world except the way that he and Scully were joined, and he 
had no means of knowing where he ended and she began. He shuddered and fell back 
against the sofa.
Coming back to herself, Scully looked down at Mulder's face and was suffused by 
a rush of tenderness. She wanted to stay with him, wanted to hold him inside, 
wanted never to let him go. She leaned forward and laid herself down on Mulder's 
chest. She put her head down on his shoulder and he put his arms around her; 
with one hand he began slowly, gently, stroking her hair.
They lay together for a long time, until their breathing had quieted, until they 
both felt the air cool upon their warm bodies. Scully could still feel Mulder's 
heart beating against her breast.
Now, in this deep quiet afterward, she was suddenly overwhelmed by what she'd 
done. Tears sprang to her eyes and she tried for a moment to hold them back; 
then, realizing she had nothing to hide from him now, she let them come. Mulder 
heard the little catch in her breath and wrapped his arms tighter around her. 
His heart constricted with a sudden, sickening fear that she was already sorry.
"Shhh," he whispered, "Oh, Scully, no... Don't cry. Don't cry. I love you, 
Scully. Dana. *Baby.* I love you. Don't cry..."
The words she had known she'd never hear, the words she'd have waited for all 
her life. They only made her cry harder. "I love you, Mulder," she wept against 
his shoulder. "I love you."
Mulder let out a long sigh as the great flood of relief washed through him. "I 
know, baby, I know," he murmured soothingly, kissing her neck. "I love you, 
Dana. Don't cry." And he held her and rocked her until her tears subsided, until 
she lay peacefully still in his arms.


They were lying down now, stretched the length of the sofa, holding each other 
close.
"Scully."
"Mmmm..." She had already been half asleep.
"Let's go to bed."
'"What bed? Isn't... this the 'bed'?"
"I replaced that waterbed, Scully."
She lifted her head to look at him and raised one eyebrow. He leaned close and 
deadpanned earnestly, "Yes. Brave... Fox... Mulder...special agent... G-man... 
dialed 1-800-MATTRESS."
Scully winced and laid her head back down on his chest. "I'm sorry," she said, 
and Mulder, to her chagrin, began to laugh.
"No, you're not! ...And I wouldn't want you to be," he said. "Really. Scully - 
think about it. Where would I be right now if you hadn't come over tonight and 
kicked me in the ass?"
She raised her head and saw by his expression that he wasn't *quite* teasing 
her. She waited.
"I'd be sitting right here, on this sofa... watching one of those tapes that 
isn't mine..." She smiled, and he took her chin in his hand, looked into her 
eyes. His own smile faded.
"... and I'd be thinking about you."
She opened her mouth, but it was a long minute before she could speak. 
"Mulder..." she breathed at last.
1 He stroked her hair, traced the lines of her face and throat with his fingers. 
"You knew I - You knew I loved you...?" His eyes were dark. "I told you... 
once..."
"After I fished you out of the Bermuda Triangle," she murmured. With a pang, she 
remembered how she had cut him down with a sharp retort and fled the room, 
fighting back tears. She took his hand in hers and drew it to her lips, kissing 
the palm, the fingers. "I couldn't believe you said it. I ran away so you - 
wouldn't see me cry..."
"Oh, Scully..."
She leaned toward him and he held her tighter; he found her mouth and kissed her 
- soft, slow, sweet.
"Come on," he said, when they had parted, "Let's take a shower and go to bed."
"Will you wash my back?"
"Oh, among *other* things..."
They stood up together on unsteady legs and slowly made their way across the 
living room, Mulder's arm draped around Scully's shoulders, hers around his 
waist.
"I love you, Mulder," Scully said again, and this time she was smiling.