From: md1016@aol.com (MD1016)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: New: Words
Date: 17 Dec 1995 06:14:03 -0500


If I'm not posting this correctly, I hope some one will be kind enough to
let me know.  This contains some sexual content, but it's by *no* means
NC-17.  Probably a good PG-13 rating would do.

Words
By MD1016

Mulder sat alone on the concrete steps of the apartment building eating
sunflower seeds and absentmindedly tossing a few to a couple of quarreling
squirrels.  The sun was drowning in a brilliant orange over the city
scape, which only added to his dolor.  Sunsets depressed him.  They meant
an inevitable night that he would have to spend alone . . . again, trying
to fall asleep with the TV playing old movie flicks and infomercials.  And
this sunset, being particularly beautiful, royally pissed him off.  The
orange reminded him of Scully.

"Damn!" he gritted his teeth for remembering her again.  He had sworn that
he would put the fight and Scully out of his mind until tomorrow morning. 
That, he decided, would give both of them enough breathing time to deal
with their "disagreement."  Then, when they were thinking more clearly,
they would sit down like partners and discuss their different theories on
how the five victims were lifted twenty feet off the ground and 
spontaneously exploded.  "Laws of Physics, my ass."  

He popped a few more seeds in to his mouth and chewed slowly.  Why was she
so stubborn?  Mulder shook his head and ran a hand through the thick, dark
hair.  The tension in his neck and shoulders caused a wince.  Just relax,
he told himself, you're letting her get under your skin.  In truth he knew
that he was.  Mulder relished his time with Scully and he trusted her
completely, but more importantly he respected her and her opinions.  And
when she had laughed - LAUGHED at his "ghostly revenge" theory, the hurt
flowed out of his mouth as abusive anger.  Not that she hadn't given as
good as she got.  "Adolescent pervert!" she had screamed at him - somehow
working his video and magazine collection into the argument as well.  And,
of course, when he roared back at her with, "Oh!  Coming from the Ice
Queen, herself!" he knew that things had gone too far.  The hurt,
humiliated look in her eyes told him as much.  

With the heel of his hand, he rubbed his achy eyes.  Why had he said that?
 He had never intended to use the office gossip against her.  In all
fairness, he didn't often pay attention to what the other agents said, and
he was nearly as shocked as she was when the insult fired out of his
mouth.  And in the few seconds it took him to recover, she had backed away
from him, with her pouty mouth gaping open, and hissed: "You have no right
. . . you don't know . . . "

Mulder leaned forward, elbows on knees.  He mused, know what?  What didn't
he know?  He didn't know how to keep his big mouth shut, that's what. 
"Damn," he muttered again.   The deep cleansing breath he forced in to his
lungs felt like a weight.  There was no way he was going to put Scully out
of his mind tonight.  He threw the rest of the seeds at the squirrels and
retreated in to his dark apartment.

*************************

Scully laid sprawled on her back, head hung over the side of the bed,
watching the sunset outside.  The smell of the popcorn from the kitchen
caused her jaw to clench even more.  She had thought that watching a movie
on cable would help her calm down, but the Guide reported the only thing
playing was a Twilight Zone Marathon and The Blob.  "How can there be
seventy-seven channels and nothing on?"  In a fury, she hurdled the Guide 
across the room and broke a lamp.  The sound of the ceramic base
shattering had shocked her - she was out of control.  After a moment of
collecting her composure, she decided to lie down for a while.  

She closed her eyes.  Why was she so upset?  Just relax, she repeated to
herself.  This wasn't the first time they had disagreed over a case. 
Disagree?  He was being ludicrous: ghosts causing people to explode.
Riiight, and ghosts had caused the Gulf war and the whole Michael
Jackson/Lisa Marie thing.  Hell, ghosts had taken over her television
programming as well!  Scully rolled to her stomach and buried her head in
the thick, firm pillow.  "Ahhhhhhh!"

He had just been an ass.  That's it.  Scully loved Mulder's off the wall
theories and his ability to warp anything and everything in to paranormal
or extra terrestrial.  She found herself looking forward to starting new
cases so she could get another peek in to his odd mental processes. 
Today, though, he was defensive and hateful.  The slight chuckle she gave
him, straightened his face.  "You have any better theories?"  he had asked
smugly.    Her theory was much more plausible than his, but he had
attacked her with, "single-minded" and "naive."  He knew just the right
buttons to press.  He knew exactly what would hurt.

And his insults caused the blood in her to boil.  She didn't deserve that,
and she didn't have to take it.  Her belly twinged as she replayed the
hateful things she had pounded back at him.  "The blood-sucking, vampire
thing was way out of line," she muttered under her breath.  "But he called
me . . . how did he know?  How could he possibly know?"  Mulder hadn't
known Jack that well.  And anyway that wasn't her fault - Jack was just
too big.  He was hurting her.  She had to stop him.

"No!" she sat straight up in the bed.  "I'm not going to think about this
now."  She got up and stomped in to the living room and seeing the lamp
(or what was left of it) on the floor, she stomped right in to the
kitchen.  
The popcorn had long since finished popping when she reached in to get it.
 But the searing hot bag burned her finger tips while she tried to rip it,
and she yelped as it flew out of her hands.  The kernels landed
everywhere, including her hair, and tears of frustration began to surface.
 But she gulped a breath of air and stuffed them right back down again.

"I'll deal with this later."

************************

Mulder tossed the basketball up in the air and caught it again.  The
rhythmic thump of his hand catching the ball created somber mood music in
his apartment.  Scully was probably asleep by now.  He could see her all
snuggled in that queen-sized bed, dreaming sweet dreams about whatever it
was women dreamed about.  He slammed his fist against the orange ball and
it flew across the room, bouncing off the bookshelf and pulling several
volumes with it.

"Damn."  The silence that echoed his voice cast a dark shadow over his
face.  Why had he made that crack about her theory, anyway?  "The laws of
physics can explain a lot, but they'll never tell me why I put up with
you!"  Now that he thought about it, it really didn't make that much
sense.  Mulder never felt like he was putting up with Scully.  He needed
her.  She wasn't a stray cat that he'd taken in, she was his partner.  His
equal.  And he had rejected her thoughts simply because she had laughed at
his.  But she did laugh at him first.  She had started it.

"This is ridiculous," he wailed.

**********************************

Scully sat in her comfy chair staring at the clock on the wall slowly tick
off the seconds.  "This is ridiculous," she growled.  Replaying the
argument over and over couldn't be healthy, she decided, but there was
nothing else to do.  "I need a hobby."  Mulder was right when he told her
she had allowed her work to become her life, and that she brought the
Bureau's strict rules in to her home as well.  "Always playing by the
book," he had screamed as if it were an insult, "Never daring to take a
chance . . . "

"Maybe I'll take up smoking," she mumbled through the daze.  She wasn't
really serious, but the idea put a smile on her face.  Mulder would have a
coronary.  But, she sighed, it really wouldn't be worth it just to get
back at him.  She hated the taste of cigarette, and she knew her allergies
wouldn't allow it.  

But she could drink.  Just for tonight, anyway.  Just to get to sleep. 
"Medicinal," she giggled, opening the cabinet above the fridge.  "Ah,
Stole's."  She held the bottle gingerly.  Scully actually hated Vodka.  To
her it tasted like wax stripper, but that single bottle made up the extent
of her wet bar.  She poured a whole glass.

*******************************

Jogging was a good idea, Mulder had decided at quarter past midnight.  He
figured it would clear his head and tire him out at the same time. 
Perfect.  Only now it was one and he was clear across town.  He sat on a
bench to catch his breath.  There was no way he'd make the forty-five
minute jog back to his place.  God, nearly and hour!  Where had the time
gone?  How many times had he replayed the entire fight in his head while
his feet were on auto pilot, pounding the pavement?  And it always ended
the same way: with Scully throwing the mechanical pencil sharpener at him
as he slammed the door.  Mulder leaned forward and braced himself on his
thighs.  His head was light from the exertion, and he had to blink to
orient himself.

That's when he looked up and saw her silhouette in the window.  It took a
moment for the realization to sink in, but as it did he couldn't help an
ironic chuckle.  He had literally run to Scully.  Shaking his head,
knowing this probably wouldn't be a smart move, he crossed the street and
rang her bell.  
And then rang it again.  No response.  Mulder's eyes rolled back in to his
head.  Of course.  She was asleep.  But her lights were on... .  He leaned
against the wall, trying to decide what to do next.  His hand fished in to
his pocket and reluctantly he picked Scully's building key out of the
bunch and opened the door.  He'd just crash on her couch and in the
morning, they'd have a chance to talk before going in to the office on
Monday.

Just outside Scully's apartment door, Mulder paused.  It suddenly seemed
immoral to just let himself in to her home.  Especially with her there. 
He took a chance and knocked.

Scully sat up, and from between the couch and coffee table she chirped:
"Hello?" 

Mulder was surprised to hear any response at all.  "Scully it's me."

Her face screwed up in earnest concentration.  "Mulder?"  

"Yeah, Scully, let me in."

"Okay . . . " she promised as she struggled to her feet, holding her arms
out for balance.  Once she had successfully achieved the upright position,
she felt confidant enough to attempt to make it to the door.  Now, if she
could just remember where she left it.

"Scully, are you all right?  Let me in."  He rested a hand on the wood
barrier.  "Scully?"

"Mulder, where are you?"  She turned around and spotted the entrance door.
 She stumbled toward it as the room dipped and swayed like air turbulence.

His eyes grew large.  Where am I?  "Scully?  Scully, I'm coming in!"  He
thrust the key into the lock and turned the knob just as her hand fell on
it.    The door opened abruptly and smacked her squarely on the forehead. 
She fell backwards, landing hard.

"Scully!  Oh, geez.  I'm sorry . . . sorry . . . " he knelt helped her to
sit up.  "Are you okay?  Scully," a deep frown creased his face, "You're
drunk."

"Oh, my head," she whined.

This was not what Mulder had expected.  And the small, helpless woman
lying next to him on the floor wasn't what he was accustomed to, either. 
The fierce, attacking she-devil that he had been cursing all night was
gone.  Vanished.  Maybe, he allowed himself to think, I over reacted. 
Guilt permeated every ounce of him.  "Come on," he coaxed, "Let's get you
in to bed and sleep this off."  He stood her up, though her feet were
barely supporting any weight.

"Oh, I'm so light!"  She cooed with delight.

"I wouldn't exactly say that" he moaned and scooped her legs up.

She pushed a hand to his mouth.  "Shhh! They're listening!"  

Mulder froze and questioned her doubtfully: "Who?"

"Shhh!" she insisted, staring at the corners of his mouth that had become
the immediate object of fascination for her.  The bottom one was so much
thicker than the top one, she noted.  To her, it looked like a sweet,
juicy strawberry.  She wondered if it tasted like one, too.  Her arms
wrapped themselves around his neck and she slowly moved her face close to
his, completely transfixed by his lips.  

Mulder's eyebrow shot up.  "Scully?"  She jumped in his arms.  Then, she
broke in to hysterical laughter and twisted in her hips in an attempt to
break free from his hold.  He had to struggle to keep her from falling
head first to the floor.  Scully's face went the color of whitewash.  The
sudden change in altitude was more than her stomach could handle and the
inevitable happened.

Scully vomited.  All over herself, and Mulder, the carpet, and the door.  

Humiliation and disgust allowed tears to surface in her eyes.  She wasn't
sure exactly what had just happened, but she was pretty sure it ended with
indignity.  Then Mulder was in her face again.

"Feel better?" he coddled and swept the putrid hair back from her sticky
cheek.  He figure that he was atoning for what he had said to her earlier.
 Something about avoiding vices and a leading a sheltered life.

"Mulder, I think I'm dying," she whimpered.  The tears spilling down over
her cheeks left hot, wet paths on her face.

Again he lifted her.  His leg muscled twitched involuntarily from fatigue
as he carried her to the bathroom and, ever so gently, placed her in the
tub.  When he  turned on the water, she yelped at him: "Cold!" 

"It'll warm up," he handed her a bottle of pink bubble bath, "Take off
your clothes."

Scully giggled and relaxed back against the slant of the tub, "Ask
nicely."

"Oh, boy," Mulder exhaled.  "You know, Scully, drinking doesn't become
you."

"Drinking?" she asked innocently, shifting her weight to sit up on her
knees, eye level with him.  "That" she said matter-of-factly, "is why I
don't drink."

"Well you were drinking tonight."  He scolded while he unbuttoned her work
blouse.  The water was already an inch thick in the tub.  "Scully, if you
don't help me get you out of these clothes, they'll be ruined."  He looked
to her eyes,  recognizing the half-lid steadiness that was registering on
her face.  His voice quivered slightly.  "You've already ruined the carpet
in there, and my shirt. . ."  He looked down to see her hands pulling up
his sweatshirt allowing her fingertips to brush up his stomach. The hair
on the back of his neck turned over.

He grabbed her wrists.  "Stop it."

Scully looked down at him holding her arms.  "Stopped."  Her eyes climbed
back to meet his and she leaned in to him, resting her breasts against his
fisted hands.   "Do I feel like the Ice Queen, now?"   The grin on her
face got him to his feet.

"I'm going to find you something to sleep in."  He left the room.

In the top drawer of her dresser he found panties of every hue and print
imaginable.   He tried not to look while randomly snatching up a pair.  He
moved on to the second drawer: frilly night things.  This was more
information than he really thought was safe, given recent events.  Mulder
chose a conservatively cut, functional pair of pajamas.  Couldn't go wrong
with those, he figured.  On his way back to the bathroom he stopped at the
linen closet and added a bath sheet to the pile.  

By the time he had returned to the bathroom, Scully had fallen asleep in
the warm water.  Somehow she had managed to get her blouse and skirt off
and toss them in to the sink.  Mulder knelt next to the tub, and turned
off the faucet, not sure exactly what to do next.  He couldn't leave her
like this.  The decision was made.  He wasn't sure whether it was kosher
or not, but he picked up the bath sponge and carefully cleaned away the
sick from her face and hair.  Then he moved down her body until she was
clean.

After removing his own messy shirt, he lifted Scully out of the water and
laid her in the center of the bath towel.  She moaned gently and muttered
something unintelligible.   Okay, he thought, now the tricky part.  What
would Scully do?  

He took a deep breath and as quickly as he could, in one movement, he
stripped her of the wet hose and panties.  Then he picked up the fresh
undies and realized that this wasn't going to be quite as easy as he had
originally thought.  Dressing a limp body with small pieces of satin,
without touching anything, might actually be a physical impossibility. 
"Oh, god."  

Well, how important was underwear, he thought?  Not very, he decided. 
Mulder ran back in to her bed room and searched through her drawers at
breakneck speed for an oversized tee-shirt.  "Please don't let her wake up
now," he chanted.  He wasn't sure he could explain all of this so that it
sounded as innocent as it really was.  He found an extra large grey shirt
in the bottom drawer and darted back in to the bathroom.  She hadn't moved
a muscle.

After removing her bra, he slipped the shirt over her head and pulled her
arms through.  There.  He sat back on his heels in relief, everything was
covered.  Finally, with a great deal of effort, he carried her to bed. 
Scully shifted in the cool cotton sheets, but she was down for the count. 
Mulder covered her and gently kissed the blue bump forming near her hair
line, "Sweet dreams, Scully."

But the night was not over for Mulder.  He went into the living room
intent on cleaning the carpet.  It became obvious after the third  roll of
paper towels, however, that he wasn't any good at cleaning.  How do people
do this?  The more he scrubbed, the more he seemed to rub it in and the
larger the stain grew.  Must be some sort of Chinese mysticism.

The lamp was considerably easier to sweep up (once he found the broom) and
the popcorn took him no time at all.  When the clock read five twenty-
five, he went back to the bathroom and showered himself.    Scully had all
kinds of soaps and shampoos in delicate little bottles lining the tub.  He
selected the least flowery scents and scrubbed away the putrid odor he'd
been carrying around for hours now.  As he stepped out of the shower and
on to the bath sheet and realized that there was another problem that he
hadn't anticipated.  No clean clothes.  He sat on the edge of the tub and
rested his head in his hands.  Mulder was exhausted.  He could run a load
of laundry, but that would take an hour.  And he'd have to go down to the
basement.  The humor of the situation was completely lost on him now.

Mulder surrendered to the couch with a towel around his waist.  His eyes
closed and a look of serenity melted over his features.  He mused idly as
he sank in to the arms of sleep, "I smell like Scully."

********************************

Scully swam through the warm water; the white linen dress flowing around
her like smoke.  As she broke the surface of the water, she opened her
mouth and allowed the cool air in to her body.  Everything moved in slow
motion.  She blinked and glanced to the edge of the small lake.  Whispy
vapors rising from the water's surface shadowed the form lying on the
shore.  

Wading closer brought a soft lake bed below her feet, and with every step
she took, she rose an inch from the water.  Where the wet dress clung to
her body, it became transparent.  Scully smiled at the naked feet that
waited for her on the grass just beyond.  And every movement of her hips
brought her closer.  The sight of soft brown hair on the masculine legs
created a deep tingling with in her.  As she reached them she lowered
herself to the ground and kissed each toe, ankle, and calf, in turn.  Each
kiss rising higher and higher up the legs until her body was between them.
 She kissed his navel, allowing her hands to explore their way across his
stomach and chest.  Slowly she pulled her self up his torso and ran her
tongue over the hard lump on his throat.  He swallowed and it jumped in
her mouth.   She moved up and kissed the small clef at the base of his
chin.  He was thick beneath her body.  Her legs parted and the warm, wet,
linen bulge pulsed between them.   Her hands ran up his neck and cradled
his head, lifting it closer.  She caressed his lips with her own.  

The man beneath her moaned, "Oh, Scully."

In a flash her eyes shot open and she sat erect in the bed.  "Mulder!" 
she gasped.

And in another flash, he was there in her bedroom - towel around his waist
- ready to pounce on whatever it was that caused Scully to call out.  

"What?" he demanded, "What's wrong?"  His scan of the room told him it was
empty. 

"Mulder!"  she screamed, "What the hell are you doing here?"  The surprise
of seeing him caused her voice to waver.

He looked at her with hesitation, and then amusement.  "I've been here for
hours.  Don't you remember?"   

Scully's eyes became enormous as they lowered to his towel.  Her hands
jumped to her hips only to confirm what she already knew: no panties. 
"Oh," was all she could get out before the breath caught in her throat. 
Oh, god.

Mulder could see she didn't remember anything the flirting in the
bathroom.  He smirked, "Yeah, you were pretty out of it."   

Out of it?  Her mind was spinning, trying desperately to remember the last
five hours.  Vodka.  Carpet.  The tub.  But Mulder wouldn't . . . not
while she was drunk.  She looked at him questioning, begging him to tell
her it wasn't true.

He caught the look and reassured her, "Oh, don't worry, I cleaned up the
living room.  Oh," he said apologetically, "I used some of your scented
soap.  I didn't think you'd mind.  After all," he ribbed her, "it was your
fault I got all sticky."  

"Oh, god."  She shrieked and dropped her head in to her hands.  The dream
was true.  Her hair was even damp.  In the tub?  There was something vague
about her hands up his sweatshirt - Mulder's weight on the bed startled
her and she pulled the blanket to her chin for protection.  
She seemed terribly flustered about the vomiting incident, he thought. 
"Scully, you don't have to be embarrassed, you're just not used to it,
that's all."  He put a hand on her blanketed foot, "I won't hold it
against you . . . this time."  Her heart sank as she tried to put together
what must have happened.  A deep red worked its way across her face. 
Mulder winked wryly at her, "But let's not do this again, okay?"

Her mouth dropped, as did all of the color in her face, "What?!?"

"Well, " he was confused by her  response, "it's not that I mind-"

"Mind?!?"  She began to shake.

"No, I enjoyed it.  Well, most of it," he added quickly.  "You're just so
small . . . you can't handle that much at once."

"You pig!"  She howled at him fighting to keep control of the aching flood
of tears that were working their way up her throat.

"Pig?  I'm just worried, Scully.  It would damage you, if you did it
often."  He could see that he wasn't getting through to her, "I'm just not
wanting this to become a habit, that's all."

"Oh!  You don't have to worry about that!"

"Good."  The relief in his voice echoed the relief in his heart.  He had
seen what liquor had done to his father.  And, although he was reasonably
confidant that Scully wasn't going to become an alcoholic after one night,
now that the subject had been discussed, he wouldn't give the matter
another thought.

"Get out!"  She hissed at him with knives in her words.

His brow frowned.  Was she still mad at him?  What had he done now?  "What
. . ." he began, but the pillow in his face knocked him off the edge of
her bed.

"Get the hell out of my apartment!"  Her voice was shrill and
uncontrolled.

Mulder looked up at her, "Uh, if this is about the panty thing, I can
explain that-"  he stopped when he saw the tears in her eyes stream down
her cheeks.  He had done this.  He had made her cry.  He should have left
her in the tub, or before, at the door, when he saw that she was drunk. 
He should have left then.  Why was he even here?  Just get your clothes
and leave, he told himself.  Avoiding her eyes, he stood and left, pausing
only momentarily at the door to whisper, "Sorry."

*****************************

The two-hour walk home was, for Mulder, a time of revelation about his
life, and women, and Dana Scully in particular.  He had always believed
her constant strength was what he most admired in her.  It was also the
trait that caused him the most distress.  When he could see the fear or
pain in her eyes, she rarely let him in to ease her through it.  He knew
that she kept things from him.  Little things that bothered or worried
her.  She made it clear that she didn't want his comfort or his care.

Obviously, Mulder reasoned, Scully was still upset at him from the
previous day.  And, he considered, adding that to the knowledge that he
had taken care of her - and in a very "intimate" way - it was no wonder
that she was so livid.  Moreover, the alcohol wasn't completely through
her system yet, so she still wasn't thinking clearly.  That would just
take a little time.  She should be back to the rational, level tempered
Scully by lunch, he figured.

By the time he reached his apartment, he was convinced that all would be
mended Monday.  He would profusely apologize for whatever it was that he
had done, and she would accept it and sheepishly offer up an apology for
her over reaction.  Then he'd take her out to an early dinner at a decent
restaurant and get her to laugh and tell her again that he was sorry. 
Then they would go back to the office and start fresh on the case.  

He knew Scully.  She would take control of the whole situation.  He had
nothing to worry about.  And he felt that she trusted him as much as he
trusted her.  Hell, she'd make the perfect wife, if she wasn't already his
partner (which kept her off limits.)  Actually, he might have ignored that
little rule of his if not for the fact that Scully didn't want a family. 
Her career was more important.  Which was fine with him.  That meant she'd
always be with him; he could always be with her.  

He didn't regret what he'd done last night.  If he had it to do over, he
would scrub her carpet, and clean her beautiful face, and dress her naked
body.  He did lament, however, that she was upset.  This meant, plainly,
that the only relationship she wanted from him was a professional one. 
This one realization kept him from sleeping the next two nights.

*********************************

===========================================================================

From: md1016@aol.com (MD1016)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: New: Words Part 2
Date: 17 Dec 1995 06:20:42 -0500


I'm giving this a PG-13 rating.

Words  Part 2
By MD1016

Margaret met her daughter for lunch at The Lunch Pail, just as she did
the third Saturday of each month.  The moment she'd spotted Dana at
the table, she knew something was wrong.  Dark circles hung low under
the red eyes that avoided her gaze.  Throughout ordering, Dana
nervously fiddle with her napkin until it inevitably ripped.  Margaret
couldn't wait for her to bring up the subject of her distress.  She
had never seen her youngest daughter this broken before and it raised
every alarm in her maternal instincts.

"Dana, obviously there is something wrong."  She started slowly in a low
voice.  "Now, if you don't want to talk about it -"

"Oh, Mom," Dana placed her fingers over her trembling lips, "I . . . I
slept with Mulder."

Margaret's jaw dropped.  That phrase was not what she had expected.  And
from the devastated look on her daughter's face, Dana hadn't, either. 
Margaret gave her a moment to recover before asking, "Do you want to
tell me what happened?"

Through gasps and the battle to keep the tears down, the story began
to unfold, and Margaret sat quietly taking in each layer.  "I really
don't remember it happening, Mom."  She shrugged and wiped her nose,
"But the worst part . . . the worst . . . part is what I do remember.
He said . . .  mom, he said . . . " she bit her lip and swallowed her
pride in a tortured effort to get the sentence out.  Her voice was
pinched to a whisper: "He said I was too small.  He said he didn't
want to . . .  again . . . with me."  Dana's head collapsed in to her
fists, and convulsing sobs shook her frame.

Margaret was shocked.  She could believe what she was hearing.  After
raising as many children as she had, Margaret considered her self a
fairly liberal, "hip" mother.  But this was uncharted territory and
she felt she had no right (not to mention desire) to be here.  As much
as she loved her daughter, there were just some things she didn't want
to know.  But Margaret's need to see her daughter's suffering ended
won out.  "Mulder really said this to you?"  Dr. Spock had some how
missed this chapter in his last book.

"Mom, I don't know what to do."  She wasn't exactly asking for advice,
and she didn't really expect to get any.  Dana knew this was something
she was going to have to deal with.  With Mulder.  Which meant she'd
have to face him again.  She took a deep breath and wiped her cheeks
dry.  "Do you think there's any chance that I might die before work
Monday?"  "I wouldn't count on it."  Margaret folded her arms.  "Dana,
I'm not sure I should be asking this, but, are you in love with him?"

As the weight of the question sank in, Dana sat back and stared
blankly at her mother.  "He's my partner," she stated evenly, stuffing
the fear and hurt down in to her stomach.

"Uh-hmm."  Margaret looked down at her shoe, "But that doesn't answer
the question."

Dana exhaled and closed her eyes.  A sharp pain in her chest created a
whimper in her throat.  Her head nodded once.  How could this happen?
She hadn't meant to care for him in that forbidden way.  Forbidden by
whom, she wasn't sure.  But the way his smile force one on her own
face - surely there was a law or a rule against that somewhere.  Those
little moments of elation left her with an empty, regretful feeling.
She worked hard to avoid them.  She had worked hard to avoid him
. . . beyond the office, anyway.  This was a nightmare.

"I'll put in a request to be transferred on Monday."  It was the only
solution she could come up with.  She simply could not bare to face
him everyday knowing not only that he didn't love her, but that he had
tried to love her and couldn't.

"Dana," Margaret shifted to the edge of the chair, "you will talk to
him first, won't you?"  The only response was Dana's fixed look at
some undefined point in her memory.

******************************

Monday came with heavy clouds that threatened to rip the very air
clean through.  The day light seemed condensed and focused.
Everything waited in anticipation for the storm to break.  Including
Scully.  She sat, arms folded, on the concrete steps from one of the
many walkways near the J.  Edgar Hoover building.  Mulder had to take
those stairs to get to the office, and she had been waiting for more
than an hour.  A chilly breeze lifted her perfectly shaped hair back
from her face and neck.  She shivered, and shoved her hands deep in
the pockets of her overcoat.

The night before, Scully decided it would be best to clear things up
with Mulder before she went to Skinner.  No matter what had happened,
she felt she owed him that courtesy.  And hopefully, she could keep
the tone low and calm.  She had no desire for her last words to this
man to be malicious, and she didn't think she'd survive if he were
hateful to her.  The need to leave him on amicable terms consumed her.

Mulder rounded the corner.  He spotted her on the steps almost
immediately and his pace slowed considerably as he approached.  She
thought he even looked a little scared.  Pensive might be a better
word.  In any case, he stopped ten paces from her and offered a
noncommittal: "Hi."

"Hi."  

"Is this step taken?"  He lightened and settled himself next to her.
Well, he thought, she met me on neutral territory, she's ready to
talk.  But he couldn't decide how to start.  She was sitting so still
next to him.

The awkward silence became too much.  Scully shifted, deciding it was
time to take the plunge.  "I just thought I should tell you, Mulder,"
she exhaled, "I'm not mad about the other night."  He closed his eyes
in relief.  "I hope you're okay with it, too."

"Yeah," he nodded like an idiot, "I'm okay . . . if you are.  Thank
god, Scully.  I'm sorry, you know.  And about the fight last Friday,
too.  I'm just so glad you're . . . not mad."  The words that he had
rehearsed in front of the mirror for hours the night before were now
hiding at the back of his throat.  His heart thumped in anticipation
of her next response.  She shifted again and slid one hand out of its
pocket and to push some stray hair behind her ear.  "You are okay with
this?  Right Scully?"

Reluctantly, she nodded and he saw a single tear swell in her eye and
then work its way down her profile.  "I'm okay."  She stared across
the lawn at a leafless tree planted inside a small circular fence.  It
twitched in the steady gusts.  "I'm different from you, Mulder.  And I
need different things."

Mulder's eyebrow raised involuntarily.  Where was this going?  "Yeah,
of course -"

"I don't do one night stands.  When I sleep with a man," she
whispered, "it means something.  I can't just rationalize it as
chemicals and hormones."  The wind twisted her hair as she inhaled
deeply and continued: "And the other night . . . I can't pretend it
didn't happen, Mulder."

"It didn't happen."  His tone was firm and shocked; his eyes fixed on
hers.  It forced her to turn to him.  His face was drawn and serious.
"I don't know why you think - Scully, it never happened."

She blinked, "Uh, we . . . we did it, didn't we?"

"No."  He studied her confused stare, and then something in him
snapped like a light switch.  "You think I slept with you while you
were drunk?"  The hurt in his voice was only surpassed by the sheer
disbelief.  She knew him better than that, didn't she?  Didn't she
trust him?  "You think I forced myself on you?  That I took advantage?
Look here, Dana, " he stood and loomed over her, "you threw yourself
at ME!  You came on to me and I -" he clenched his jaw so tight the
muscles quivered, "I cleaned up your vomit and put you to bed!  I took
care of you, because I DO care about you.  And you think I - " he
leaned in to her face, close enough to feel her breath, "how could you
think that?"  A second later he stood back and looked at her huddled
and shaking on the step.  Her eyes were large with disoriented horror.
"I thought you were upset because I dressed you after the bath.  But
you thought I raped you."  His words bit through to her soul.

The look of torment in his eyes squeezed her stomach. At this point,
she figured she had nothing to loose.  Her head shook in objection, "I
thought you loved me."

"What you think I . . . that's not love, Scully."  

"I thought you - WE tried and I . . . I was too . . . "  Her eyes
followed the little tree twisting, trying to sprout feet and run to
shelter from the storm that was nearly on them.

"Too what?" Mulder demanded.

She stated plainly: "Small." 

"What?"  He shifted feet and for a moment tried to imagine where she
could possibly have gotten this, "What are you talking about, Scully?"

She inhaled deeply as a small limb broke from the top branch and flew
passed the walkway.  "And you didn't want to do it again with me."
Her face was stone white.  Only her lips moved as she said: "But it
never happened."  The relief that she should have felt was missing.
In its place was absolutely nothing.

The rain finally broke.  Mulder pulled the back of his overcoat over
his head.  Scully hadn't flinched.  "Let's go in to the office and
work through this Scully."  He had to raise his voice to be heard
above the roar of falling water.

"No."  

"Scully, come on, it's pouring out here."  He reached out for her hand
and pulled her up to standing.  She seemed so lost.  Her eyes and
mouth hung open, but there was nothing inside.  He couldn't bare this.
He knew he should he angry and hurt, and he should be the one who
retreated from contact, but the sight of her caused such a profound
sadness in his heart.
 
Mulder took her head in his hands and gently placed his lips over
hers.  He shivered as her soft, smooth mouth stifled a deep sob.  When
he pulled back to look at her, their bottom lips clung together a
second longer, opening both mouths.  Mulder saw her eyes searching his
for answers to questions she couldn't think to ask.

Her fingers slid down to the hands that held her head.  "I don't
understand, Mulder."

"I don't understand, either."  He lowered his head to kissed her again
and this time she responded.  His mouth opened to her and she entered
him with such hunger he couldn't help the rush of arousal that bulged
against her.  Repeatedly their lips met and parted, only to meet
again.  Scully pressed her body to him, her hands trying desperately
to pull him closer.  He responded with a moan that sent her in to a
frenzy.  She couldn't taste him enough.  And with each touch of her
tongue, the overwhelming desire for him grew.

"Mulder, we have to go some place."  Her breathy plea wiped a grin
across his face.  "Not the office."

He pulled her toward the parking garage, "Your place or mine?"

"No," she resisted, "that'll take too long.  I don't want enough time
to think about this."

The smile on his lips faded.  What did she mean by that?  Was she
hesitant?  Would she change her mind if she had some time to think?
"Well, maybe we should.  I don't want to make a mistake with you."  He
couldn't risk losing her completely, because he was impatient and
impulsive.

"You think it would be a mistake?"  She pulled her hand from him,
terrified to receive a response.

"I want more than just a fling with you, Dana."  Why was he confessing
this to her?  He felt naked with his arms hanging at his sides,
opening himself to her.  An anxious ache knotted his stomach as he
forced himself to say: "If you don't want to do this, this is the time
to stop it."  God, he pleaded, don't let her stop it.  "We can walk
away now and consider this a misunderstanding -"

"No," she reached for him and grabbed the lapels of his coat, "I want you
inside me, Mulder.  Love me."  

Her voice grabbed his heart and brought tears to his eyes.  Never in
his dreams had he thought she would look at him with such longing and
tenderness.  "Scully, " he pressed his mouth to her quivering lower
lip, "I always have."

The End