In My End is My Beginning by Johnie Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, Fox Network, Chris Carter... yadda-da, yadda. I have no money anyway. Category: S, MSR, mucho Mulder angst Rating: NC-17. For sexual content and language. Spoilers: Let's see, I suppose there is lots of `em in here. Third and fourth season- Small Potatoes, Momento Mori, third season last episode(whatever it was called) and there are some references from early fourth, various other episodes and WetWired. Summary: Mulder/Scully together. Angst and disaster striking. Warning: Militant non-shippers, please don't read this, I doubt you'll like it and I don't want to be responsible for wasting precious moments of your life. Also, for everyone else this is very angst-y so don't read it if you're looking for special-Hallmark-moments type of romance. It ain't in here. Posting: ***This has been previously posted to the Gossamer Archives.*** Do not send it to them again. It may travel elsewhere if requests are made to the author. Comments and feedback, if you are so inclined, to: JohnieRed@aol.com October 1997 Mulder grabbed Scully's upper arms and roughly pushed her against the wall in the narrow hallway of his apartment. His mouth descended to quickly cover her's before she could protest. She had arrived immediately in response to his terse call to her cell phone. "Scully, I need you." "Where are you?" she asked. "I'm at home" "I'll be right there," had been her only reply. She didn't ask why he needed to see her, she trusted him. Mulder had thrown the cell phone -his home phone had already been disconnected- on top of the TVafter hanging up. A flash of guilt hit him when it occurred to him tonight he would be breaking that trust but then the pain and grief washed over him and stomped down any feeling accept the raw need that was clawing at his chest. He realized his grip on sanity was tenuous at best but pushed the thought away. He wasn't going to think tonight. Tonight he planned on fulfilling his wildest fantasy. Tonight he was going to fuck Dana Scully. Scully struggled briefly and then began to respond. She opened her mouth returning his kiss hotly. He felt her hands cup ass and then move up to caress his back. He ran his hands up over her shoulders and cupped her face with the palms of his hands, tangling his fingertips in her silky hair. The kiss was making his head reel. She was soft, her lips, her skin, her hair. Her softness reminded him of flannel sheets and the wispy bits of down that escaped from the seams of feather pillows. It was such a contrast to the Scully who was his partner. That Scully was hard, tough as nails, and would have kneed him in the balls and pointed a gun at his head, while she watched him writhe on the floor, all for having touched her without permission. He decided, at this moment, he liked the Scully who was sighing against his mouth, licking his bottom lip and running her hands up under his shirt, tangling her fingers into his chest hair, much better. But it was too much, he thought, too much for just one night. He wanted to fuck Dana not make love to her. I will die, he thought, die if she makes this soft, slow and about love. I *need* her but I can't love her, not now, he thought desperately. His feelings for his partner had always run deep. A year into their partnership he had felt a loyalty to her that no one else had ever inspired in him; he had grown possessive of her professional skills, her rare smiles, and her companionship. But he hadn't thought about loving her, truly loving her until the night he had burst in on her and Eddie VanBrundht. The sight of her almost kissing someone she thought was him had given him anxiety attacks for weeks afterwards. He hadn't ever allowed himself to think about her that way because he was sure he wasn't her type and even if he was, he knew she deserved better. Someone with less baggage. Someone who wouldn't cast shadows into her life. Someone who could surge into her life with such a wave joy that all the pain that occurred in her life during her time as his partner would be washed away. He knew he couldn't fill that role, couldn't be that for her, he was part of her pain. `She is not for you' was the phrase that crossed his mind every day since witnessing that particular scene and in the past three months since her cancer disappeared mysteriously as it arrived, he repeated it to himself so often it had become a mantra. There a been a week, seven wonderful days, after the cancer had gone when he had entertained thoughts of telling her, telling her he wanted to fall in love with her, wanted to spend lazy Sunday mornings reading the paper in bed with her, wanted to learn to braid her hair, wanted to build a snowman with her at Christmas and send her love letters. He had been so happy that week thinking about all the silly romantic feelings she was unknowingly inspiring in him. He had cherished each moment of those hundred and sixty-eight hours, had imagined dozens of ways to reveal his feelings to her. Then the call had come. A construction crew on Martha's Vineyard had torn down the remains of a cottage that had burnt a over decade ago in order to rebuild -real estate on the Vineyard had skyrocketed in value since President Clinton had begun vacationing there- and in the field stone foundation they had found the body of an eight-to-ten-year-old girl. She had been buried approximately twenty years. No cause of death was apparent. Mulder had quietly submitted to genetic testing to see if the DNA they extracted from the skeletal remains matched his enough that they could identify her as his sibling. Scully had held his hand when the FBI lab called with the results- inconclusive. She had sat up with him all night when the lab was finishing up the tests on DNA results of body's against the DNA records the military had on his father and DNA from his mother's blood. Scully had reviewed the lab's report herself; she was the only one he trusted. It was Samantha. She showed him the black and gray lines on the print out, explained the sequences, answered all his questions. He didn't want to believe... but he did. Scully had offered to accompany him when he told his mother. He hadn't told his mother about the testing. Caroline Mulder had had five small strokes- TIA's Scully called them- in the past months. She had become frail and occasionally confused. Her physician had warned against upsetting her, said it could cause another stroke. The doctor had asked her private duty nurse to draw an extra vial, during the weekly check of the medication levels in her blood. One vial was sent to the local hospital, the other to the genetics lab at the Bureau. When the reports had come in, one confirming the daily dose of coumadin was keeping her blood safely thin, the other that her daughter was dead, he had known it was time to tell her. Mulder had accepted Scully's offer and was grateful for her presence on the trip. He leaned on her emotionally and literally during the drive to Connecticut, sleeping against her shoulder as she drove; it was the first time he had slept well in weeks. He had told his mother, gently , that they had found Samantha and that she was gone. She had smiled and told him she was glad she finally knew. She said she had never believed any of the abduction stories, never thought Samantha was coming home, but she was glad she knew for certain. She fell asleep with a gentle smile on her face, she didn't notice the matching, but bitter one, her son wore. She died the next morning of a massive stroke. Scully stayed with him through the funeral and other arrangements. Perhaps he could have gotten through it all if it wasn't for the casual remarks from agent who did the genetic testing. "Hey, Agent Mulder, I was really sorry to hear about your mother," said Agent Neilsom in the corridor outside his office, "I'm glad we got the DNA test results for you so she at least had some peace of mind about your sister." "Thanks, Neilsom," Mulder said genuinely grateful. The agent had been patient and understanding when Mulder demanded Scully review all the final DNA lab reports on his sister. He walked to the elevator with him. "I lost my mother and step-father a couple of years ago, we were very close. My dad is still alive, I see him sometimes. We've never seen eye to eye but it is good to have him around. Is your dad still alive?" Neilsom asked. "Uh, no. The government had that DNA record on file, he died two years ago," Mulder replied. "Oh," said Neilsom causally, "I didn't get his file, I only got the file on Samantha's father. I just reviewed his, yours, and Samantha's. Agent Devers analyzed your mother's DNA and any other relatives that where collected to help with the extrapolation." Mulder said nothing. He just stared blankly at the wall, his head spinning. "Let me know if you need anything else," Neilsom finished as he stepped off the elevator. Mulder had gone straight to the Lone Gunmen. Byers read the reports and confirmed what Neilsom had unknowingly discovered. The DNA match with Mulder had been inconclusive because Samantha was his half-sister, William Mulder's offspring; he wasn't. If Bill Mulder wasn't his father then who was? For the first time in his life he didn't care about the truth. He didn't care about anything. He didn't care how Samantha died, didn't care who his father really was. What difference would it make? It wouldn't make him less alone. It wouldn't bring back what he had lost. He had taken a leave of absence from the Bureau a month ago and had avoided Scully since. He had spent the last week packing his apartment, sub-leasing and arranging for storage. He had sent his resignation to Skinner this past morning and then called Scully. And now here she was. He tugged her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and pulled it open sending it's tiny buttons popping through the air. In response, she pulled his gray T-shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. He moaned as she rubbed her cheek against his bare chest and reached down to stroke his erection through his jeans. With one tug, he tore the remains of her shirt off and then moved to pull her bra off. It was only a tiny bit of lace with a small clasp in the front. He nestled his face between her breasts, bit the clasp open, and then greedily sucked a nipple into his mouth. Scully growled and pulling on his hair, dragged his lips back to her own. Mulder gasped in surprise as she suddenly whipped around pinning him to the wall. Yes, Mulder thought. Scully somehow sensed his desperation and pushed him deeper into the vortex of desire. She, who knew him so well, understood his necrotic soul simply could not tolerate even the smallest measure tenderness tonight. She seemed to know she had to keep it rough, hot, and hard, or he would shatter. By reacting in kind, she silently let him know she was willing to meet him on his terms. Mulder was having difficultly forming coherent thoughts as Scully kicked her skirt off and began unbuttoning his jeans. He waited until Scully peeled his jeans off and then fell to his knees, pushing Scully against the opposite wall. He rubbed his raspy, stubbled chin against her thigh and nudged her legs apart to taste her. Scully went wild, bucking under the ministrations of his tongue and then slid down the wall when her legs would no longer support her. They stayed, kneeling in the hallway, trading desperate, dusky kisses for several heart beats and then Mulder pushed her to the floor. He paused for a brief moment before entering her; Scully whose eyes had been closed, opened hers just as his shut down. He was poised to join them, with his eyes closed, his lips whispering inaudibly as though in prayer. She pulled him down onto and into her, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction when she heard him moan heavily as he slid into her. After that she was beyond all conscious thought. Later Mulder carried her down the hall to his bedroom. His little used bed was one of the few pieces of furniture left in the apartment. On it they spent a night that Mulder hoped not a minute of would ever fade from his eidetic memory. In the early morning light, he dresses in the discarded clothes trailing down the hallway. He winces while pulling the T-shirt over his head. He is sore; Scully has left scratches on his arms and back, and has given him a dozen or so love bites on different parts of his body. It was almost as through she knew his plans to leave, as she knew everything else about him, and wanted to leave her mark on him. As the thought crosses his mind he unconsciously touches the gunshot wound scar on his shoulder. He walks down the hall to look at her lying in the stream of sunlight pouring through the window. He wishes he could, just once, see the red of her hair. It just looks muddy brown to him, although he knows, from hearing admiring comments from other agents that it is the color of firelight. He smiles tightly. Many times throughout their partnership, he had been no less afraid of her than he was of fire. He walks over to the bed and gently kisses her forehead. "I could have loved you, Dana," he whispers, they are the only words he has spoken to her all night. Dana sighs softly as Mulder picks up his carry on bag, looks one last time at her sleeping form and walks out of the apartment. THE END