TITLE: After The Tea

AUTHOR: Flynn

E-MAIL ADDRESS: flyn121@yahoo.com

CLASSIFICATION: RST, DAL; MSR (NOROMOS, TURN BACK NOW.)

DATE: July 18, 2000

DISTRIBUTION: Xemplary, Ephemeral, Spooky, Gossamer, yes; anywhere else,

just ask.

SPOILER WARNING: All seasons are fair game; Amor Fati in particular.

RATING: R for adult displays of affection.

FEEDBACK: It's what I live for.

SUMMARY: 'all things' piece. Read the title and let your mind run with it.

DISCLAIMER: Neither of these characters belongs to me, dammit!

Author's note: I swore I'd never do one of these, but .... what the hell. It almost

wrote itself.

Hot monkey thanks to Christine, my beta and friend.

Our webpage can be found at:

http://www.geocities.com/cratkinsonflynn/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the Tea

by Flynn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She must think I'm asleep.

He studied the dark silhouette standing motionless in the doorway. Her arms were

held at angles, supporting herself on the doorframe. He started to say something -

it only seemed fair, after all, to let her know she didn't have to tiptoe around in the

dark - but something stopped him. Curiosity, maybe. Yeah, he was just plain

curious. Blame the profiler in him. It was the middle of the night, and she was in

his territory. What would she do if she didn't know she was being watched?

He smiled to himself. Something was different. Something had changed tonight as

they sat there drinking their tea, and he couldn't say exactly what it was.

Well, besides his perception of her. She had talked. Really talked. With Scully, it

wasn't just what she said, it was how she said it. She'd opened up what had to be a

difficult topic, and she had quietly and thoroughly talked herself out. To him. In

some strange way, he'd found her words incredibly painful. It wasn't that he had

any illusions about other men being in her life - God help him, he wasn't *that*

petty - but something in her tone made his heart ache for her. For her regret. For

her own painful realization of the ultimate consequences of her actions, taken with

the thoughtlessness of youth.

His smile broadened as he looked at the dark form standing in his doorway. Had he

ever loved her more?

After a long time she slowly stepped forward, past the bed. He heard the rustle of

fabric as she shed her jacket, then felt its weight as it fell across the foot of the bed.

She was an inky shadow lost in deeper, darker shadows, and it struck him that,

even submerged in darkness, there was a glow to her. Again he started to speak,

and again held his silence, as she went into the bathroom and closed the door.

She thinks I'm asleep. I'll catch her on the way out. G'night, Scully. See you at the

office. Drive carefully.

He lay there and listened to the muted noises. Water ran in the sink. The toilet

flushed. A cabinet was opened, then gently closed. Faint rustlings. He found

himself smiling. The sounds were achingly familiar. How many times had he been a

silent witness to her evening rituals? Seven years spent together, sometimes with

nothing more than a closed door between them. There was so much more they

could have if they could just open that door; but if this was all she could allow

them - if it was all she could allow herself - then it would suffice.

God, how he wanted more.

There was a soft snick! as the doorknob turned, a faint squeak from the hinges as

the door itself slowly opened. He rolled up onto an elbow. "Going home?" he

asked softly.

A car rounded the corner across the street just then, and for a split second his

room was lit by the glare of headlights. The drawn shades cut harsh lines and

shadows everywhere. In that instant she was caught in the light, and in that instant

he wondered if he really was asleep, and dreaming.

He had to be.

It can't be real, he thought, and gave his head a little shake as he sat up straighter.

The sweater and skirt hugged her curves just so, he'd noticed that at once. Of

course he was imagining things. He had to be. She wasn't really standing there,

nude. She couldn't be.

He heard her soft footfall, and the bed gave slightly as she sat down beside him.

"Mulder," she murmured, her hand unerringly finding his face in the darkness. It

was warm and steady. Chagrined at his schoolboy notion, glad that she couldn't

see what had to be a killer blush, he caught a hand around her wrist and squeezed

gently.

Her arm was bare. The sweater was soft, sure; he'd had a good feel of it sitting

beside her on the couch, but it was nothing compared to the silkiness of her skin.

And he could smell her now. She smelled of perfume and perspiration and

something utterly, utterly female. His mouth abruptly went dry, and his heart set

up a painful throbbing in his chest. God. Oh, God. His mind was suddenly lost in a

whirl. She's naked. Scully's naked. She's ... what is she doing? Jesus, I've waited

for so long for some sign, some hint, some indication that she would be ready to

take the next step some day .... Now I don't know what to do ...

Then he felt her lips on his. At first it was whisper-light, the touch so insubstantial

he wasn't sure if it was real. Her mouth began to move gently against his, opening

just enough to let him feel the soft, wet inner curve of her lip, just enough to admit

the tip of her tongue. Oh, God, it *was* real. Was that a groan? Was it him? He

couldn't help it. She tasted like ... like tea. Warm and mild and just a little like mint.

Her hand cupped his neck, drawing him closer. He followed without protest. They

were kissing. He was kissing Scully. His Scully. Noses bumped as heads tilted, and

her mouth opened just a little more. God, he could feel her teeth now ... they were

pulling at his lower lip. She was asking his permission to enter, and here he sat like

a dumbshit, barely touching her, not responding at all. He couldn't help it. It was a

spell; he was caught in some sort of wonderful spell, and if he moved it would

break and she'd be gone and he'd be alone ...

Shit, she *was* pulling away. He'd let her down already. He tried to murmur her

name, or a protest - dammit, he had to say something - but it came out as another

soft moan. The hand remained on the back of his neck - maybe not all was lost

after all - and the deliciously soft mouth slowly made its way along his jaw. She

nuzzled his cheek as she murmured, "Tell me you don't want this and I'll leave.

We'll never mention it again."

Never mention it? Was she serious? *Shit, she must really think I'm not

interested*. Panic gripped him, and his hand tightened around her wrist. "No," he

whispered, dipping his head and pressing a line of wet kisses along the soft

underside of her forearm. "God, no. I don't want that." She moved a little closer

then, and he bit his lip when her breast grazed his arm. God, how could he explain

it? How could he make her understand? He wanted so much, he wanted it for

himself *and* for her, and yet it had been so damn long since he'd been with

anyone; what if he lost it, what if he couldn't please her ...

"I'm afraid," he breathed. More than afraid. Terrified.

She slowly drew back. He could just make out her expression in the darkness. A

slight frown, a gentle shake of her head. "Of me?"

He mirrored her actions. "No," he murmured, touching his free hand to the curve

of her face. "Never of you. Of failing you. Jesus, I've wanted this for so long, but if

I can't ..."

She silenced him with a gentle hand across his mouth. "Stop." Her mouth replaced

her fingers in a kiss that was deep and languid. God, could she feel him trembling?

Slowly she drew back. Her hand stroked his forehead, played with the hair at his

temple, then slid down his neck to that spot that seemed to be connected directly

to his balls. God, he was getting hard already. A couple kisses and a hand on That

Spot, and he was hard.

Well, things could be worse. At least she couldn't doubt his interest.

Without a word, she lifted his hand and laid it over her breast. His fingers curved

around it, and his breath caught in his throat. Carefully he stroked his thumb over

her nipple. She made a tiny sound in her throat, one he took as approval. Then her

own arms found their way around him, drawing him down with her. Her legs rose

up around him, caging him. Another car took the corner, this time a little slower,

and for a few precious seconds the room was awash in light.

She was smiling. At him. Because of him. It was all he needed. She was with him

because she wanted to be. She was smiling. God, she was with him and she was

happy.

In that instant, he was no longer afraid.

It was the most natural thing in the world to kiss her. To let his lips play along her

jawline, down her throat and over the delicate ridge of her collarbone, to the

softness of her breast. She moaned softly as his lips closed around her nipple.

Later he remembered moments. Instances. The taste of her skin, of her sweat. The

pliant smoothness of her breasts in his hands and in his mouth. The sounds she

made as he worked his way down her body, nuzzling, licking, suckling. How she

stopped him with a hand under his chin, the gentle firmness indicating that the act

he was intent upon was not only unnecessary but also unwelcome. He acquiesced

without protest. There would be time later. If she wanted it.

They made love.

Few words were exchanged. They knew each other's gestures and movements, had

memorized them over the years, acted on them as readily as if wishes and needs

were given voice. So what that they'd never done this before? There were patterns

between them, actions which dictated certain responses, and it seemed to make no

difference that those actions were now meant only to give pleasure.

Her eyes widened in surprise as he slowly pushed into her for the first time, and

her hands gently stayed the progress of his hips. "Oh, God," she murmured, her

breathing uneven. "Wait. Give me a minute."

He readily complied. He was so close, any movement now might well end it for

him. He was content to bide his time. He distracted them both with gentle kisses,

over her eyelids, down her brow bones to her temples. Gradually she adjusted

around him, her body reconforming itself to fit the dimensions of the intruder; and

he became acquainted with her as well, accepting the tight heat of her body as

something to be savored, not taken in a single hard gulp. Slowly she began to

move, tipping her hips this way and that, changing their angle, taking him deeper.

He didn't try to contain his gentle, agonized groans.

He was holding her. He was in her. She was his world.

How had this happened?

How much time passed? He had no idea, but it must have been a fair amount

because they were both beginning to pant. "Harder," she breathed, matching his

rhythm. He groaned as he complied. God, it was good, it felt *good*. Her arms

were like bands of steel around him, her breath coming in shallow grunts. Was this

really happening? His beautiful, stoic Scully was writhing in his arms, her eyes

unfocused and her expression rapt as she pleaded for more. "Harder. Mulder,

harder. Oh God, yeah ..." A gasp, then a soft, breathy outcry as she arched and

twisted beneath him, culminating in a long, low, drawn out "*Mulderrrr...*"

Oh, Jesus, that was it. Done in by his own name. A few more grunting lunges and

he couldn't hold it any longer. Did he moan her name as he came? He must have. It

went on forever, the bucking hips, the driving and plunging ... Had he called her

his touchstone? She was the very center of his universe.

She clutched at him tightly when he collapsed, not permitting him to escape. Her

breath came in heaving pants, and for a moment he thought she was crying. He

was relieved to hear her breathless chuckle. Her hands stroked the hair out of his

eyes, then framed his sweaty face, holding him away so she could look at him. Her

eyes were soft now, the darkness muting their color but not the emotions in them.

She didn't say the words because she didn't have to, he could see it even in the

darkness. God, he loved her, too, so much ...

He sighed, fighting back the tears that suddenly threatened, and pressed his temple

to hers. "Are you laughing at me, Agent Scully?"

Her arms slipped around him again, her hands sweeping up his sides and back

down in long, lazy strokes. "I'm laughing at us," she murmured, stressing the last

word. "I'm laughing at myself." Slowly she gave her head a shake, then pressed a

kiss to his forehead. Her limbs tightened around him. "I don't know why I fought

this. All those years, all those cases throwing us together and challenging our

beliefs. It was inevitable, wasn't it?"

He indulged them both in a long, searching kiss. Then he propped himself up on an

elbow, pinning her under him, and tenderly stroked a wisp of copper away from

her eyes. "Yeah," he said, tracing the curve of her brow with his fingertip. "Yeah, I

think it was. Maybe once upon a time things might have gone differently. One of

those paths we didn't take."

She frowned at his soft chuckle. "What's so funny?"

He rolled slowly onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. She followed him,

drawing her legs up against his and propping her head on her hand. Her hair fell in

disheveled waves around her face, and even in the uneven darkness he could see

her perturbed expression. "I was just thinking ... all those years, and all the things

we've seen, or what I saw and tried to describe to you ... here you had your -

encounter - and this time I'm the one who missed out." He smiled as he looked up

at her, then took her free hand and cupped it to his chest. Her eyes held his as she

nodded, and his smile broadened. "Ironic, isn't it?"

She regarded him solemnly. Gently she drew her hand away, then ran her index

finger over the cleft in his stubbled chin. Light from a passing car illuminated the

room again, cutting shadows across her face and gleaming off the cross hanging

over her collarbone. He looked at it for a long moment, then reached out and

touched it thoughtfully.

*I had the strength of your beliefs.* Her words rose in his thoughts, sweet

whispers from the past that sent chills through him. Slowly he shook his head. "I

just don't understand," he murmured.

Her brows furrowed a little. "Don't understand what?"

He pursed his lips. "Anything. The concept of a benevolent god, one who would

allow what happened to Sam, or you ... hell, any of the death and chaos in this

world. Or how any good could possibly come of it. Yet you manage to believe.

I've seen your faith shaken to its foundation, Scully, but it always comes back

stronger. Maybe I should start wearing one of these, too. Not as a symbol of faith

in any deity, but my faith in ... in you." Their eyes met again. "You're my constant,

remember? You've never let me down. I can't say the same of your god."

In the darkness, he saw a tear slip from her lashes and glide down her cheek. Her

lips quivered as she tried to smile. A quick swipe of her hand dried her face, and

then she leaned close and kissed him gently. "I believe in you, too."

They were silent for a long while. Another flash of headlights, this time

accompanied by the blare of a car horn, ended the moment. With a soft grunt,

Scully pushed herself upright and swung her legs over the side of the bed. He sat

up quickly, immediately tense. "You're not leaving, are you?"

She looked at him over her shoulder, and he saw her impish half-smile. "That

depends on whether we can find a place that delivers at this hour. Or are you going

to surprise me by having something edible in your kitchen?" She clutched her arms

around herself as she rose. "Damn, it's chilly in here."

He watched as she pulled on the T-shirt he'd been wearing earlier that evening.

Oooh, Scully in hip-length black was an enchanting image. She went to the

bathroom and smiled at him as she closed the door. He rose with a grunt and

padded, jay-bird naked, out to the kitchen. A quick check of the fridge confirmed

his darkest suspicions: save for some stale mazzo crackers and a few bottles of

beer, he had nothing to offer her. Okay, take-out it was. He had the order placed

even before she was out of the bathroom.

Their cups were still in the sink where he'd put them. A faint coating of lipstick

marked the one she had used. He thoughtfully touched the stain on the rim, then

smiled at the smear of color on his fingertip. Yeah, he was hers, too, now more

than ever.

He heard her quiet step behind him. Her hands were cool as she slid them up his

bare back. "Hey," he said quietly, without turning. He felt her lips touch his

shoulder. "Can I ask you something, Scully?"

She slid her arms around him, linking her fingers across his sternum. He caught his

hands around hers, trapping her against him. "You know you can," she murmured.

He glanced back at her. "Why tonight?" When she didn't say anything, he turned in

her arms and hugged her to him. "I'm not complaining. I'm just wondering. I left

you asleep on the couch, and the next thing I knew, you were ... well, not wearing

a thing." He touched a finger to her chin. "And neither was I."

A tiny smile drew at the corner of her mouth. "You mean, no condom?" He

nodded. Her eyes dropped to his chest, and a rosy glow colored her cheeks. She

shrugged one shoulder. "As a doctor, I should be appalled, I know. First-time

lovers having unprotected sex ..." She looked up at him again. "Mulder, I know

you better than I've ever known anyone. Besides, we both know there's no chance

of pregnancy. It really didn't seem the time to ask if you had a box of Trojans

stashed somewhere in the apartment." She dipped her head and playfully licked at

his nipple. "As for the timing ... I've been telling myself for too long that this wasn't

meant to be. I think it's pretty clear now, it damn well *is*." She looked up at him,

and he had no trouble reading the reproach in her eyes. "You did have me worried

for a while. I couldn't tell if you were asleep or just supremely uninterested."

He smiled as she continued her ministrations. Tingles shot from her mouth straight

to his cock, which was already growing heavy and dark with blood. "Couldn't be

that I was in shock, could it?" he murmured, stroking her hair away from her face

so he could see her busy mouth, lapping and then actively suckling his flat excuse

of a breast. Jesus, those lips ... He shook himself. "I saw you standing in my room

- shit, I thought I was losing my mind. Good, Scully, that feels so ... Keep it up and

we're not going to last until the pizza gets here."

Ooh, the wicked gleam in her eye as she looked up at him! His heart did a flip in

his chest, and he felt his dick twitch. "Pizza, huh? That takes a good thirty minutes.

I've got the time. Unless you have something better to do ...?" Her hand closed

around him as she lifted her shirt, and she rolled the tender underside of his cock

against her own belly. His groan seemed to echo up from somewhere around their

ankles, and she smiled. "Ever do it in the kitchen, Mulder?"

His hands curled into fists. Oh, the effort it took to tear his thoughts away from

what her nimble fingers were doing to him! He managed to clear his throat.

"Mmm. I'm not sure my table's up to the strain."

Her lips twitched into something like a smirk. "Who said anything about the

table?" Slowly she knelt before him, and he couldn't help but hiss when she

touched him with the tip of her tongue. His eyes tried to close by reflex, but he

forced them open as he grasped at the counter for support. Okay, this was a

surprise. Sure, he'd thought about this a few times - like maybe a thousand - but

for some reason he'd never expected this was something she'd ever *initiate* ... to

see her actually draw him into her mouth and ... Oh Christ, her mouth. He

shuddered. God, what if she didn't stop? What if she sucked him right on over the

edge? The thought was at once a little disturbing and incredibly arousing.

She held him steady with one hand as she worked him, while the other hand slid

around his hip and caressed his ass. "Mmm, you smell like sex," she murmured.

He sighed as he stroked her fiery hair. "Can't imagine why. Scully, would you hate

me if I told you this isn't the first time I've had this fantasy?"

Her eyes flashed up briefly. "That depends. Was it me, or was it just my face on

the body of some bimbo named Jade Blue?"

He grimaced. "You think I could have any erotic fantasies about someone hellbent

on blowing me away? Besides - ahhh - she's too tall."

Scully grunted softly at that. "You like 'em short, Mulder?"

He hooked a finger under her chin, lifting her face up. "I think you know what I

like." He was loathe for her to stop what she was doing, but it was essential that

she understand. He caught a hand around her upper arm and gently pulled her to

her feet. She rose without protest, her expression suddenly anxious. He held her

gaze, compelling her to see, to comprehend. "It's you, Scully. You. I can't

remember a time when I didn't ... I mean, I look back and I can't even say when it

really began." He didn't break eye contact as he raised her hands and kissed her

open palms. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Her pensive look dissolved away, and suddenly the imp was back. "You're

distracting me, Mulder. Here I was getting ready to invest my not inconsiderable

medical training in giving you one hell of a blow job, and you start in with mushy

sentiment. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it as much as the next woman. Not

that there had better be a next woman. C'mon, I want to see your eyes roll back in

your head one more time tonight."

It was his turn to smirk. "One more time? Setting the bar kind of low, aren't you,

Scully? I've heard about women in their thirties. Or don't you think I'll be able to

keep up?"

Smiling, she stepped back and tugged his shirt off over her head "I have every

confidence in you, Mulder. Where was I? Oh, yes." She bent just a little and

dragged his erection slowly over her hard nipples.

He bit back a choked moan. Ugh, what was the hardest thing to take, the sensation

of her flesh against his, or the expression on her face as she looked at him? Oh, for

Christ's sake, say something! He laughed breathlessly. "I guess you're still cold,

huh?"

"Mmm, freezing. Wanna do something to warm me up?"

He swallowed convulsively. "Just so it involves the bed or some other piece of

furniture. Not that I'd particularly mind winding up on the floor with you, Miss

Scully, but I'd just as soon not get there because of gravity, and that's what's going

to happen if you don't - wait! Medical training? What, did you take a special

course in fellatio or something?" He feigned a disheartened groan. "Please tell me

Waterston wasn't involved. I don't think I could take - ow! Chest hair!"

Her icy glower was half-hearted. "Just wanted to make sure I have your attention.

Don't bring him up again, and I won't mention any of a half-dozen of your

near-misses." She caught the offending hand around the back of his neck and

pulled him down for a hard kiss. He submitted without protest. "You said

something about the bed," she said, her words rushed and breathless. "C'mon,

time's getting on. It's time we did too."

He smiled as he took her hand. "Nah, I want to do it on the couch. What d'ya call

it? A christening? That is what it's called, isn't it? I'm not really up on my Catholic

rituals."

She stepped into his embrace and giggled in delight when he hoisted her off her

feet. "Mmm, do me a favor, Mulder, and don't mention God again tonight. He has

this thing about sex and the unmarried, you know."

"Wasn't he the one that said 'Be fruitful and multiply'?" he grunted as he made his

way into the dark living room, her feet swinging gently around his shins.

"Yeah, but even if it did apply here, and it certainly doesn't, that won't work with

me, remember?"

He turned around and let himself fall backwards onto the couch. "That doesn't

mean we should stop trying." He groaned softly when she started in on his nipple

again. "Besides," he added, settling back and arranging the blanket haphazardly

around him, "who said we're not married? You realize everyone at work has had

us doing the wild thing for years now. And they do call you Mrs. Spooky." He

yelped when her gentle suckle became an active bite, and his eyes narrowed. "Oh,

yeah. Hurt me, Scully."

She glanced at him. "I noticed you said that before I got back to the blow job," she

quipped, slithering out of his lap and settling on the floor between his knees.

"Now, where was I?"

He cradled her head gently in his hands. "We were discussing Jade Blue - ow!

Some of that hair belongs down there, dammit."

She shot him a fevered look. "Mulder, don't even mention that color again." She

turned her attention back to the job at hand, and he tried not to purr in

appreciation. "Talk about work," she murmured between caresses. "Tell me about

a case, preferably not one involving hospitals or one of us getting shot."

He groaned softly and let his head fall back. God, she expected him to think while

she was doing that to him? Discuss a case when he could barely say his own name?

She didn't want much, did she? "Sure, Scully. No problem. Jeez, where'd you learn

to do that with your tongue? Ugh! Never mind, never mind, just don't stop. Work.

A case. What about that nightclub thing ... uhhh .... earlier this year. *Oh God,

yeah* ... did I tell you about that ... that housewife whose husband was cheating ...

oh, jeez ... uh, he was cheating with every woman in town ... she asked me if I had

anyone special ... ah, yeah, yeah, like that - and I didn't know what to say, because

... I did have someone, but it wasn't exactly like we had anything going at the time.

Not that I wouldn't have appreciated a little .... of this ... oh, jeez ..." He panted as

he rolled his head from side to side in agony. "I can't keep this up if you're gonna

do that ... Ugh, I love you, Scully ..."

She released him with a pop, then slowly made her way up the length of his body.

"I know you do, Mulder," she murmured, settling over his hips and guiding him to

her. "I know you do, and you can tell me anytime you want to, just so long as it's

just the two of us. Mmm, sorry about stopping, but I'm feeling a little deprived.

You don't mind, do you? Oh God, this *is* much better than the kitchen floor."

He caught his hands around her hips and tried to speed his entry. She resisted his

efforts, balancing herself over him on well-muscled thighs and admitting him inch

by blessed inch. He bit back a loud, gratified moan. "Agent Scully," he gasped,

"have I told you lately how I admire you sense of control?"

She smiled. "Years of self-denial, Agent Mulder," she replied, her voice rapidly

degenerating into breathy pants. "I'm afraid there's just so much I can take at one

time without rupturing something." She shivered suddenly, and when she spoke,

her words punctuated her careful movements. "Ooh, I wish you could ... see your

expression ... right now. You're really ... quite beautiful."

He slid his hands up her sides to cup her breasts, and as he stroked her nipples, her

breathy gasp became a full-throated moan. He watched her fleeting expressions.

God, *she* was the beautiful one! Her mouth fell open as her eyes closed, and she

began to gyrate on him, rising and then falling and grinding all in a single, smooth

motion. "Show me," he urged her, caressing her breasts just a little more

vigorously. "Show me where I am in you."

Her hands slid away from his shoulders, traveling down his chest and abdomen to

the place where the two of them were joined. "Here," she breathed as her fingers

splayed open on her belly. "You're filling me, Mulder. Can you feel that? You're

hitting my cervix ... now .... now ... now." She licked her dry lips and let her head

fall back even farther. God, the sight of that pale throat just beyond his reach was

maddening. So were those hands dancing over her flat white belly. And that voice,

like sweet velvet as she moaned, "Mmmll."

He groaned through clenched teeth. Oh God, a few more abortive attempts at his

name and it would be all over. Tick tick, Scully. He winced, biting his lip to

distract himself. "Do it," he breathed, trying to squash the madness that was

quickly supplanting his self-control. "Scully, please."

Oh, Christ. The sight of her hand moving to and then through that auburn tuft was

almost enough to drive him right over the edge. *Oh God, don't move, don't

breathe, don't come don't come don't come ...!* Her breathing quickly became

labored, and a deep crease appeared between her cinnamon eyebrows. His thumbs

kept up their gentle dance when he felt the storm inside her break and rage. She

gasped his name as she arched, transfixed.

That's my cue, he thought as he locked his arms around her waist. One, two, three

hard stabs with his hips and he was coming. Stars exploded in his head, burning his

tight-shut eyes and searing any rational thought from his brain. He did his best to

muffle his cry against the ivory curve of her shoulder, but he was sure the

neighbors would still have something to talk about over breakfast. He felt a vague,

distant pain, but damned if he could pinpoint where it was coming from. She was

writhing on him, panting his name when sanity returned, and he found himself

wondering exactly what it was like for her, able to roll with it as long as the

stimulus was there. Pretty damn impressive, given the size difference of the

respective organs. Oh God, did he always get analytical at times like this? No

wonder they called him Spooky ...

At last his body failed him and he slumped, dazed and spent. She collapsed

helplessly around him. For a long time he didn't - he couldn't - move. Oh, it was an

effort just to raise his arms! Slowly he swept his hands up and down her back.

"Scully," he murmured. "Come back to me."

She stirred, sighing. "Mmmm," she moaned softly in protest.

He stroked the tangle of red hair. First a Scully blinded with passion, then one limp

and speechless and sated. Mmm, he could die a happy man. "C'mon. Rise and

shine."

At last she lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes. "Mmm,

Mulder," she breathed, dropping her head to kiss his neck.

He stretched a little beneath her. There it was again, that little pain. Mmm. Must

be getting old. Funny, but just at the moment that thought didn't bother him.

She sat up then, and gave a little gasp. "Oh, God."

Okay, that scared him a little. Visions of hospital waiting rooms, of trying to

explain to Skinner just how he'd managed to rupture his partner, flashed through

his mind. He caught at her shoulders. "What? Are you hurt?"

She shook her head quickly. "No. I - I bit you."

He blinked at her, then searched himself for signs of injury. Being far-sighted did

not make the task an easy one. "It's okay. I just - I can't see it. Is it bleeding?

Where is it?"

She cupped her hand over the injury. "No, but it's gonna be a hell of a bruise. It's

right here on your trapezius."

He smiled as he shook his head. "Oh. Well, okay then. Just so it's my tapezius. No

harm, no foul. Guess I won't be wearing a tank to work for a while." He kissed her

cheek, then let his mouth slide down to the point of her jaw just below her ear.

"C'mon, you didn't do that much damage. Just don't do it again,'kay? One third

degree hickey is enough."

She shook her head, clearly dismayed. "No, it's not okay. I lost it, I let go and I

hurt you. Jesus, I-"

He stopped her with a finger over her mouth. "You let go?" he repeated softly,

smiling as he held her gaze. "Of course you did - wasn't that the whole point of this

little exercise?" At that he saw grudging agreement in her eyes, and he allowed

himself a smile. "You gotta quit worrying about control. You marked me, Scully.

I'm now officially yours."

At last she nodded. "Well, I'm still sorry for it. There's nothing you can do about

that."

He shushed her as she settled her head on his shoulder. Mmm, the smell of sex

hung over them in a heavy cloud. God, it felt so good to hold her. He carefully

tucked that unruly lock of hair behind her ear. "You're forgiven," he murmured, his

hand tracing a lazy path down her back. "Totally and completely. Now shut up."

She giggled. It was a wonderful sound, one he hoped to hear a lot in the future.

"Bite and be forgiven? Is that sex etiquette according to Fox Mulder?"

He nuzzled his face into her hair. "Well, yeah. Miss Manners never addressed

conduct between friends following mind-blowing sex."

At that her giggles stopped, and he felt a stab of anxiety. Slowly she lifted her head

and looked at him. She was smiling, he was relieved to see, though it was an

anxious one. "We are, aren't we?" she asked, lifting a hand to his face.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"Friends." His eyes dropped to her mouth, and he found himself salivating as he

watched her lips frame the words. "We're still friends, right? Before we're anything

else - lovers, or even partners - we're friends."

He smiled. I thought I was the insecure one, he wanted to say. I'm the needy one,

I'm the one who wants constant reassurance about where I stand with you. Well, I

guess turnabout's fair play. You need a little stroking, girlfriend? No problem.

None at all. He nodded. "Yeah, that's right," he replied quietly. He tipped his head

toward the front door. "I remember a morning not so very long ago. I was leaving

to find you, and you were coming to see me. We both had news, terrible news, and

a phone call just didn't seem the way to go. Remember?"

She stared at him, and her eyes misted a little as she nodded slowly. For just a

second it seemed her voice would not cooperate . "Yeah," she murmured at last. "I

do. You needed to tell me about Albert, and I had to tell you ... I had to tell you

about ..."

He cut her off, not so much to avoid hearing the name as to spare her the grief of

uttering it. "You said you were sorry, and you started to cry. And you held me."

He touched his lips to her temple, smoothing away her frown. "I told you about

where I'd been. And how for so long everyone had told me first what I wanted to

hear, and then what I was most afraid to hear; and then you showed up with your

eyes blazing, and you told me what a prick I'd been for ditching you again..."

A smile reappeared at the corner of her mouth. "Your story's changing, Mulder.

That isn't how you told it before."

He shrugged a shoulder. "Dramatic license. It was my hallucination, I'll do with it

as I see fit." He touched a finger to her chin. "My friend, remember? You meant

more to me than ... than everything else I'd *thought* I wanted. You do mean

more." The finger stroked her smooth cheek. "And you know the rest."

She nodded slowly, and he could see by the distance in her eyes that her thoughts

were very far away. "Funny," she murmured, shifting a little on him. "I know the

rest, and yet I don't. I don't understand what I saw in Africa, or how I could have

possibly seen Albert. I don't understand what happened to you. I don't understand

what they took away from you, or how it could have reversed your condition."

Her focus shortened, and she looked at him again. "I don't understand, and for

once in my life, I don't care." Her kiss was gentle, an affirmation from one friend to

another, and when she sat back, the anxiety had disappeared from her cornflower

eyes. "They gave me back my best friend. That's really all that matters."

His heart fluttered painfully in his chest when she smiled. She did it so much more

readily now, and he was going to make it his goal in life to see that it happened

even more. "Well," he murmured, cupping his hands around her face and stroking

her lips with his thumb, "it certainly doesn't rate with that, but something else kind

of matters right now. That pizza's gonna knock on the door any minute now, and

neither of us is exactly dressed for it."

Her eyebrows twitched upward. "We're not?" She let her hand trail across his

shoulder and up his neck, lingering over that spot, and she smiled again when he

shivered. "What are we dressed for then?"

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. God, she was beautiful. It took him by

surprise sometimes, which by itself was a surprise, because how could he possibly

forget from one moment to the next? Her eyes were dancing and full of mirth, her

fair complexion aglow even in the pale blue light from the fish tank. Her skin felt

decidedly cool beneath his hands. Well, small wonder. Sex had a way of working

up the most delicious sweat. He felt that flutter in his chest again. Sex with Scully.

Jesus ...

He smiled. "We're really here, aren't we?" he murmured. "This is real, not some

sort of ... drug-induced fantasy." The smile broadened. "Not that I haven't had this

particular fantasy a time or two ...."

She smiled as she finally peeled herself away from him. He moaned a soft protest.

"Don't tell anyone," she whispered, leaning close and kissing him a last time, "but

I've had thoughts along this line myself."

His eyes widened in delight. "Ooo, do tell, Agent Scully."

She chuckled as she pushed herself to her feet. "You think you have some sort of

monopoly on the subject, Mulder?" She stretched her arms over her head as she

walked back to the kitchen, and he couldn't help but stare at her aplomb. Not

everyone could be so poised when so utterly naked. Well, he probably could, but

he'd always been something of an exhibitionist. Hmm. What did that make her?

She reappeared a moment later, once again draped in his shirt and now sporting a

bottle of beer. "God, what time is it?" she asked, taking a swig and then handing

the bottle to him.

He squinted at the tiny numbers on the VCR. "2:21."

She grunted at the sudden knock on the door. "No, Mulder, don't get up. I'll get

this one."

He sat in the darkened living room and listened to the snippets of conversation.

Yes to the peppers and parmesan stuff. She'd give the kid a healthy tip, no doubt.

Not like the one she'd given him, of course ... He smiled, bemused. This *was*

real. He was covered with the most delicious of scents, and his skin still vibrated

from her touch. And she'd admitted to fantasizing about him. Ooh, a little cajoling,

a little prying, and maybe she'd divulge a few details. It wouldn't be like he could

use any investigating techniques on her, he mused; she knew him too well for that.

But think of the ego boost, hearing how she'd lusted after him for so long in total

and puritanical silence ...

She appeared a moment later, her arms laden, her cheeks flushed. "I think we've

been found out," she said as she set the pizza box down on the coffee table. "That

kid definitely had some ideas about what's been going on here."

He snorted softly. "Couldn't be the way you're dressed, could it?"

She looked down at herself and then back at him, a smirk starting. "Complaining,

Mulder?"

"God, no. C'mere. You've got something on you already."

She leaned over him obediently. "Well, get it off me. I don't know what it could be,

we haven't even opened the damned pizza yet - hey!" She yelped in surprised when

he tugged her down into his lap. He smiled as her own arms found their way

around his neck. "Is this what I think it is?" she murmured as he kissed her neck.

"Don't tell me - do I have a horny federal employee on me?"

He kissed her lightly. "Not horny," he whispered. "Hungry. Sorry, too weak for

horny. Gimme time."

She snickered as she wriggled out of his embrace and settled beside him. "I think

we can do something about that." She handed him a wad of napkins, then opened

the box with a practiced flick of her wrist. Her eyes widened minutely as she

studied the prize. "Oo, good choice, Mulder. I can feel my arteries hardening just

looking at it."

He watched as she tore into her first piece. Never in his life had he been jealous of

a bit of food, but here he was, drooling over her just because she was putting

something in her mouth other than him ... He groaned softly.

She eyed him curiously. "Why aren't you eating? You have to be hungry. You're

not jet-lagged, are you?"

He shook his head slowly as he watched her chew. "No," he said absently. "I don't

think I was in England long enough. And I did sleep through most of the flight

home." Hunger nudged at his belly then. She was right. First things first, he

thought as he reached for the box. "Mmm. How many of these do you think we've

put away over the years, Scully?" he asked as he wolfed a slice.

She shrugged as she started on another piece. "Dunno. How many gallons of

chinese take-out have we consumed?"

He took a swig of beer. "How 'bout we get back to that other thing?" He nudged

her with an elbow when she looked at him blankly. "Indulge me. How long have

you been harboring impure thoughts about me? And more importantly, just how

impure were they? Come on, you can tell me. I'm a psychologist."

She grinned, but a rosy glow was darkening her complexion. "You also happen to

be full of shit."

He leaned a little closer. "I told you one of my favorites." She gave him one of her

looks, and he half-shrugged. "Okay, so you made it a reality on your own, which

certainly made the fantasy pale in comparison. Tell me one of yours." He leaned

still closer, close enough to kiss her. "Tell me," he whispered, letting his breath

caress her cheek.

She sighed and let her eyes sag shut for a moment. "All right. I, uh, I don't think

women fantasize the way men do. I never thought of screwing you in a public

place, or getting away with it someplace we weren't supposed to be. It isn't the

thrill of the conquest that gets my heart racing."

He pressed her when her silence threatened to stretch out too long. "Okay, I'll bite.

What *do* women fantasize about?"

She glanced at him, and he saw that rosiness spread a little further up her face.

"Well, it isn't ... it's really more ..." She hid a smile behind her hand. "All right. You

remember that case in Southern California? That planned community?"

He shrugged and nodded. How could he forget near-dismemberment by a mobile

landfill? "Sure, Gene Gogolak. What about it?" He frowned. "You don't mean him,

do you?"

She swatted his arm in feigned irritation. "Oh, grow up. When we were there I - I'd

had a particularly strong impulse and I really, really wish I'd had the chance to act

on it." She shrugged. "It isn't quite sex in the front of a commuter train or

whatever guys might consider tantalizing, but it made my heart skip a few beats."

He eyed her in exasperation. "Would you just tell me what it was?"

She sighed and pushed the pizza box away as she sat back. "This is really

embarrassing, Mulder."

He caught her wrist when she started to rise. "Scully ...."

She bit her lips anxiously, then nodded. Decision made: plow ahead. "I stood in the

hallway one night and listened while you took a shower. In those days we were

having trouble relating on a personal level, if you'll remember - but it was such a

temptation ... I went in and watched. Well, close enough to see you without you

knowing it. Those glass doors look opaque, you know, but when they get wet ..."

She sighed as she looked at him, all traces of discomfort gone. "You have a

beautiful body, Mulder, even when you are being the perfect ass. And I wouldn't

have admitted it even to myself, but I was already pretty far gone over you. If I

hadn't been so pissed, I might well have opened that door and climbed in with you,

case or no case." She leaned closer. "All those years of watching your back - and

your ass - in those jeans and Dockers and Chinos and those damn Armanis, and

then that crack you made about us being married now ... I think I should be

commended for my self-control."

Her eyes were calm and steady, and despite her humor, he could hear the pain and

regret in her tone. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he studied her anew. "Those were

such bad times for us. Losing the X-Files was bad enough, but then the bastards

almost succeeded in making us give up on each other." He picked up her hand and

pressed it to his mouth. After a long moment she gently pulled away and turned

her attention back to her food. He followed suit.

Shouldn't have pushed, he told himself as the silence dragged out into moments.

Can't make her give what she isn't willing to offer freely. He said nothing as he ate,

fearing that any veiled attempt at humor would fall flat. Besides, he couldn't make

light of anything so important. And she was important. Vitally so.

But he couldn't stand much more silence. What was she thinking? Where had her

thoughts gone? Those were dark days indeed, but even then they'd had their

moments. Not everything was black. Jesus, where had this tension come from?

Why was he so afraid to speak? Was she still pissed at him? Had he misstepped

somehow and managed to dredge up shit that would prove too difficult to deal

with even after so long?

He said nothing when she rose and went to the fridge for an second beer. He

looked at her uncertainly when she returned and took her place beside him. Jesus,

she looked miserable! What the hell was going on? He leaned toward her

cautiously. "What is it?" he murmured. "What are you thinking about?"

She looked at him a moment before answering. "Cancer," she said simply, and

dropped her gaze back to the bottle she held. One quick swallow and she set it

aside with a grimace.

He closed his eyes as the old pain settled like a rock in his gut. Christ, she doesn't

do anything by halves, does she, he thought. It was agony to think of her then.

She'd gotten so thin. What the chemo and radiation didn't do to her, the headaches

and nosebleeds did. The smudges under her eyes were so stark some days, he was

sure some stranger was going to stop him on the street and accuse him of

wife-beating. But it was the shadows he saw *in* her eyes that were the worst.

She was afraid, afraid of death and yet afraid of carrying on, of knowing that no

matter how bad she felt, it was only going to get worse. She never once

complained about how lousy she was really feeling, though he could see it in her

movements, could hear it in her silences. Once in a while she'd let him hold her, but

that was bad too because he started finding strands of red hair - her beautiful hair -

clinging to his clothes, to his stubbled chin. And what was worse, as time passed,

he realized she wasn't just afraid for herself, she was afraid for him. Afraid he

wouldn't find a way to live when she was gone. And then that final case with

Kritchgau and Osselhoff and that cigarette-smoking bastard, and seeing her in that

ICU bed, so damn weak she couldn't even draw a breath on her own. He realized

as he stood there that he was looking at his own death, because if she died, there

would be nothing to stop him from drawing his gun and blowing his brains out

right there in her hospital room.

Did she know about his will? What would she say if she knew his final

arrangements were that he was to be cremated and buried atop her own grave?

Then the miracle of her remission. That chip, the function of which was still to be

explained with any satisfaction. She would live. And so, by extension, would he.

How did that song go? He'd heard it on the car radio coming in to work just

recently, and it stuck in his head because it seemed so perfect for the situation: his

dependence on a person who had through the years become more than just his

working partner. 'I cannot *be* without you ...'

Something in his expression evidently caught her eye, because he heard her say his

name softly as she reached for him. His eyes were stinging, and he fought back

tears as he melted into her embrace. "Mulder, don't. God, I'm so sorry I brought it

up. Listen, I'm fine." She pressed her lips to his temple as she gently rocked him. "I

am fine. I know how sick you got of hearing those words then. I know how

frightened you were. Dammit, Mulder, listen to me. Everything we've done,

everywhere we've been, has made us what we are. *Everything*. If we hadn't gone

through that hell ... if we hadn't done it together ..."

He couldn't look at her, but he managed to nod as he held her tighter. Bad times.

Such bad times. They're gone now. They're gone and she's here and whole and she

loves me. The day comes when someone tries to take her from me again, they'd

better flat out kill me first, because that's the only way they'll get her.

At last her arms relented a little around him in an unmistakable signal. He let her

go reluctantly, then sat back and stared at the pizza. Its appeal was gone. She

followed his gaze and chuckled as she stroked his bare knee. "I'll stick this in the

fridge for later," she murmured, closing the box and gathering up the soiled

napkins. He heard her moving around in the kitchen, running water and washing

their few dishes. She reappeared a moment later with a glass of water. "C'mon,"

she said, beckoning with an outstretched hand. "Come with me. No more death

and gloom. We have better things to do."

He frowned as he joined her. "What's that for?"

She handed it to him. "You. Drink. Don't argue."

He complied, draining it in a dozen gulps, then handed it back to her. "And why

did I do that?"

She shot him a look as she set the empty glass down on the dining room table. "Do

you want the long version or the short version?"

He felt a slow smile start. The imp was back. The imp was fun and joyful and sexy,

and he wanted much, much more of her. "Does the long version include you

reciting facts from a medical school textbook?"

"Mmhmm."

"And does the short version have something to do with the fact that you're leading

me by the hand to the bedroom?"

She flashed him a smile over her shoulder. After the bleakness of fears so newly

revisited, it was nothing short of dazzling. "You really are good, Mulder. Have you

considered doing this for a living?"

He smiled as he followed her. His skin tingled where she touched him, and he felt a

warm flush starting up in his gut and groin. Jesus, how could she do this to him?

He was almost forty. This just wasn't supposed to happen.

Or was it?

Since when had anything fallen within the realm of normality for them?

She closed the bedroom door, then turned to face him. He smiled as he looked at

her. It felt ... right. It was as if they had been lovers not for hours, but forever. He

shivered as her hands rose to stroke his face, then trailed back down his arms to his

own hands. Their fingers meshed. She shook her head when he started to speak.

"No," she breathed, slipping her arms around him and pressing her cheek to his

shoulder. "I said too much out there. No more sorrow."

He pressed his cheek to the top of her head and groaned very softly. They stood,

unmoving, for a long time. He could feel her heart beating against his abdomen,

could feel her pulse everywhere their bodies touched. He wanted to say something

tender, something about her illness and how the agony had been worth it because it

*had* brought them together; but there were no words to adequately convey what

he was thinking and feeling. God, he'd missed her these past few days. He'd missed

her sarcasm and scathing glances; missed the way she could, with a few practical

words and without so much as a patronizing smile, render any of his

carefully-wrought theories damn near invalid.

He touched a finger to her chin, lifting her gaze to his. Her smile was slow and

wistful. "You," he murmured, caressing an errant lock of hair off her forehead.

She tipped her head to the side and looked at him askance. "What, me?"

He devoured her with his eyes. "You changed everything. How're we gonna deal

with this?" He touched his lips to her forehead. "I've tasted you. I want more."

Her chin rose, and he saw a familiar spark in her eyes. "We're going to do what we

always do, Mulder. We're friends. We're partners. All that's changed is .... we're

lovers, too." She pressed her mouth to his throat and smiled when he shivered. "In

our spare time, that is. Not when we're working. We have to agree on this. The job

has to come first."

He smiled and nodded. "It won't be easy, keeping my mind out of bed when I'm

with you. But I'll try. I promise." He drew her closer then and found her mouth

with his, for a moment savoring the indefinable essence of Dana Scully. Mint tea

and ... sunshine. A lingering melancholy plucked at him though, and he groaned

softly into her hair. "You're not going to be here when I wake up, are you?"

She looked up at him again, her gaze unwavering. So many things between them

did not have to be declared. How did they do it? No wonder people thought they

were spooky. "No. Not this time. Sorry, but I do have to get ready for work."

He kissed her again, slow and deep. "Next time?" It was little more than a breath.

She smiled under his mouth. "Sure, Mulder. I promise."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dark when she opened her eyes. Had she slept? Maybe a little; the clock

beside the bed read 3:56. She breathed slow and deep, absorbing these last few

minutes before she had to move, to get up. To leave. She didn't want to. She knew

he knew that. She also knew it was necessary. It was Tuesday. Neither of them

had made it to the office yesterday. She hadn't even called Skinner to explain their

absences. Taking another day off was not an option.

If only ...

She felt him move a little against her, felt his arms tighten around her, drawing her

back against him, and she smiled. He knew more about her now. It was strangely

comforting. There had been shock in his eyes, as much at her sudden candor as by

the nature of her revelations. No doubt he attributed this new openness to

Waterston. She had reached some closure, the Oxford-trained psychologist would

reason, thus allowing herself to move on. And that might well be, to a certain

extent. The past few days had seen a great many changes.

Few of them, however, related to anyone beyond herself and Mulder.

Waking alone, as she had earlier, was nothing new. Finding herself on his couch,

likewise, came as no surprise. She remembered dozing off to the sound of his

voice, feeling safe as she did only when she was with him. It was the blanket that

had effectively been her undoing. He didn't know that something had changed

during the evening; he *couldn't* know that some part of her had already decided,

whether it happened tonight or next week, some time soon she would go to him.

He'd covered her with the blanket because it was all he could do. Its warm

embrace smelled of him, and it had entered her dreams so thoroughly that she was

actually surprised to wake and find him gone. She lay there for a while with that

blanket wadded and bunched around her, and breathed in all she could of him. In

the end, it was not enough. She needed more. Was he asleep? How long had she

hovered in that doorway, listening to him? His breathing was too fast and shallow

for sleep; she knew he was awake, watching her, wondering what she was

thinking. She knew she was ready, but was he?

How easy it was to slip into his bathroom and strip off her clothes. How simple to

sit on the side of his bed, to reach for him and touch his face. And how surprised

he was when he realized her intent. Her disquiet at his non-response was fleeting.

She knew he loved her. For months he had taken damn few pains to conceal it

from her. He just needed a little quiet encouragement.

And how easy it was to make love to him. How basic to lie beneath him, to accept

his body into hers. It hurt a little, of course - after all, it had been a while - but after

the initial discomfort of penetration, it was as if he'd been born to make love to

her. As perhaps he had, if what she'd seen in the temple was anything to trust.

They belonged like this.

Their first time was ... Scully found herself smiling behind her hand in the darkness.

It was spectacular. She could see his soul in his eyes as he moved in her, changing

his rhythm, his speed, his angle, doing anything and everything to satisfy her before

he lost himself in his own climax. She came twice, first at his gentle persistence,

and then in the wake of his own orgasm. They were linked in a way that was

ethereal, yet very tangible; what happened to one by necessity affected them both.

Why should it be any different when they made love?

God, she did love him.

She loved the sounds he made when they made love. She loved the way he sobbed

her name when he came. She loved the look on his face when she drew him into

her mouth there in the kitchen. The smell of him, and the taste - it had acted like an

aphrodisiac. *Mulder. She was doing this to Mulder.* Back on that couch, once

again cradled in that blanket, she couldn't get enough of him. The sensation of him

filling her, the exquisite pressure setting off all those nerve-endings in her pelvis,

his hands on her breasts, the love in his eyes; and then touching herself, knowing

that he was watching, realizing what it would do to him, knowing his expression

even without looking at him ...

She shivered within the warm circle of his arms. The first two ... incidents ... had

been powerful and satisfying in their own rights, but this last one was almost

overwhelming in its intimacy. The small bedside lamp stayed on, and in its soft

light, they kissed a long, leisurely time, exploring mouths and bodies and souls.

Twice she had invited him in; now it was his turn to ask. They both knew it. She

held his gaze as, for the first time, he nudged her thighs apart. His libido being

what it was, he had no trouble maintaining an erection, even though she knew he

had to be getting tired and was probably a little desensitized. He wanted to try

different positions and angles, of course, but in the end they came back to the

basics. It was what she was designed for, this face-to-face lovemaking. And as it

turned out, they were good at it.

His endurance was remarkable, and he very capably drove her into a frenzy of

orgasm before giving in to his third of the night. She watched, breathless and

teary-eyed, as he succumbed. His expression was utterly joyous, and the words

that tumbled from him were sweet and without thought or censure. With a last

quivering gasp, he slumped around her. She could feel his penis, a shadow of its

former glory, shrivel and withdraw, leaving its warm, wet offering inside her.

Slowly he let himself go and sprawled on his side gracelessly, one long arm still

draped over her. She wanted to hold him, but her own arms were leaden. Some

part of him was in her still, she mused as she looked at him. He said nothing as he

held her gaze, merely blinked with growing languor. She closed her eyes lest he

see her thoughts in them.

She had neither time nor room in her life for a baby, and so it was no loss that she

couldn't conceive, at least at the moment; but it was impossible not to think of

herself with fat cheeks and swollen ankles and a big, round belly, full of her best

friend's child ...

She mentally shook herself. Enough of this nonsense, she told herself firmly.

Carefully she peeled his arms back, then wiggled away from him and slid carefully

to the edge of the bed. He groaned softly as he snagged her pillow and cradled it

to his chest. A car's headlights briefly illuminated the room, and in the stark light

she had no trouble seeing the bruise on his shoulder. She had marked him. He was

hers now.

She smiled as she looked past him to the clock. It was almost four-thirty. If he

woke before she left,

chances are he'd find a way to make her stay.

How she wished she could. *Next time,* she promised both herself and the

sleeper. *There will be a next time, Mulder. I promise.*

The faucet was dripping, slow and soft, in the bathroom. She eyed herself in the

mirror as she drew on her clothes. Thoughtfully she zipped her skirt, straightened

her sweater over it, then brushed her hands a time or two through her hair. With a

sigh, she turned away.

Next time. Next time she would not leave.

She moved quietly over the bare floor, taking care lest her heels clunk too hard

and disturb him. She reached for her jacket and slowly pulled it on, then stood for

a long moment at the foot of the bed and watched him. He had kicked the

comforter off one long leg in his sleep. A small, private smile tugged at her mouth

as she turned away.

A new path lay open before her. This one was wide enough for two.

~~~~

End