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

        This author's e-mail address has changed to: shalimar@attbi.com

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

TITLE:            A Dark Slide of Ecstasy

AUTHOR:           Shalimar

EMAIL ADDRESS: alcus@compuserve.com

CLASSIFICATION:   MSR, Story, Angst

Any other archiving--please check with me first.

WARNING:    ***NC-17***   ****RAPE****

This story is unsuitable for those under the age of 17 and may be

unsuitable for some adults.

More Warning: 

Contains strong adult content, violence, language, disturbing rape imagery

and sex.   (The rape is not by Mulder, however it is Scully who gets

raped.)

Author's note: 

I know many readers are not interested in stories that contain rape

content.  I agree completely.  Rape is a horrible thing.  Unfortunately,

once started, the rape storyline became important to the whole story.  It

has darker elements than anything I've written so far.  On the other hand,

I think it holds a positive message of two loving adults.

Disclaimer:  The characters here belong to FOX.  The story belongs to me. 

No infringement intended.

Spoilers:  This is set in an alternate universe where the events of Fourth

Season U.S. from Momento Mori onward do not exist.

Special thanks to Madeleine Partous who helped me with this above and

beyond the call of duty.  And to BeckyD  proofer- extraordinare.

A Dark Slide of Ecstasy

Mulder lay in the dark of his cell.  No matter how hard he strained his

eyes, he could never see anything in the moist blackness of the tropical

night.  Long ago he'd stopped trying.

He was naked.  The one small blanket on the dirty mattress barely covered

him.  But he wasn't really cold.  It was never really cold here.  Except

sometimes in the hour before dawn, and then he would curl up tightly

beneath the blanket and dream of Scully.

Funny how he always remembered her holding him, because she rarely had. 

Sometimes, in the half-reality between sleep and waking he'd be so sure he

could feel her arms, her arms around him and his around her.  His face

nestled in her hair.  He'd smile against her hair and pull her more tightly

against him.  Loving her warmth.  Loving her smell.  Pressing himself

against her and in her.  Burying himself in her as she--with a little noise

of love--would press back against him, then they'd ride out their passion

and their cries would mingle as they came together in a dark slide of

ecstasy.

And sometimes they wouldn't make love, but she would be there with her

comfort, her love, her arms wrapped around him.

But then he'd wake up.  His arms empty and nothing but his rail thin body

under a mangy blanket.

And no Scully.  No Scully ever again.  

Because she was dead.  

He'd watched her go over the cliff into the ocean a thousand times in his

mind.  Nothing could survive the two hundred foot drop into the sea.  No

one could survive the impact at the bottom.  And him standing on the

opposite side of the rift in the precipice, unable to do anything but

watch.  The walls of the cliff echoing back his desperate cry.   

Scul-leee.   Scul- leeeee.   Scul-leeeeeee.   Till the sound was lost in

the cries of the gulls overhead.

And she was gone.  

And then he'd been hit on the head from behind and could remember nothing

till he woke up in this cell.  She was the last person he'd seen.  He'd

never seen his captors, no one disturbed his solitude.  And how long had it

been?  Six -- no -- seven months, but that was only how many days he'd

scratched on the wall when he felt like counting.

They shouldn't have split up, but he'd told her to go that way, and she'd

gone, his Scully, just like she always had.  If only . . . .  

If only.

His mind wandered now.  He liked to think he thought about things, about

the reasons he was here, about the work they'd been doing, but he didn't,

not much.   He spent the daytime hours craning his neck and staring out the

tiny slit in the thick stone walls.  The desolate shore and the ocean were

all he could see.  He never saw another living thing cross his little bit

of view.  Not even the gulls, although sometimes he heard their high cries.

But the ocean was alive, it had its moods, and it kept him company of

sorts.  

And it had Scully.  

And then, when night came, he'd imagine her coming from the sea, slipping

through the tiny crack in the wall and into his arms.

When she'd first died, he'd been in shock. Everything had been blackness,

his mind refusing to work. His heart gone.  

But then the numbness had  worn away and the grief hit him.   As time

passed it hadn't gotten easier.  Her death had eaten away at him.  At his

mind, at his body.  His soul.  So finally--now--he'd lapsed into a state

where he pretended she wasn't dead.  It was a game he played in his mind. 

He realized it was all that kept him holding on.   He knew it wasn't real. 

He did.  But he wouldn't think about that now.  He'd try to think back and

remember how they'd been in love . . . but then, they hadn't really been in

love, had they?  He would spend hours examining all the little clues. He

could remember every little touch, or glance.  Sometimes he

thought--yes--they'd been in love, sometimes no.  

But now they were.

If he concentrated now he could feel her coming to him, the sea salty on

her skin, feel her arms go 'round him, her smooth cool hands gliding over

his chest, his back, stroking his penis, cupping his balls.  He gasped

softly as her fingers wrapped around him, caressing him, loving him.  How

many times had he made love with his dream Scully come back from the sea? 

A hundred times, a thousand?  It was the only thing keeping him sane.  If

this was sane.

He rubbed his hands over her ribs, cupping her breasts, squeezing the

nipples.  She seemed thinner too, his dream Scully.

A sharp creak from the doorway snapped him awake.  

Someone was at the door of his cell.  It was hard to wake up, but he made

himself roll off the mattress onto the floor and crouch.  No one disturbed

him at night.  Ever.  The only interruption to his solitary existence was

the food, shoved under the door of the cell once a day.

He rose slowly.  He was stiff.  He tried to exercise but he knew his body

was atrophying, rotting, gradually decaying in the moist tropical heat.

The door creaked again softly.  He sensed rather than heard or saw the

presence in the room.  Whoever it was, he was trying to be quiet.  

Mulder knew this space.  Knew the vibrations from every inch of stone.  The

intruder was standing by the door.  Waiting, listening.

Mulder backed up to the wall.  His bare feet made no noise.  He knew, if it

were the guards coming for him, they would assume he was asleep on the

mattress on the floor.

He had the element of surprise on his side.  He wondered if he should

attack first.  They'd taught him that in the FBI.  Hadn't they?  Did it

really matter anyway if he was killed?  Would it be better than this

haunted existence?  A last shred of his former life tugged at his brain.

Was it absurd to jump at attackers stark naked in the pitch dark?

The intruder made a slight sound.  A scuffing footstep on stone.  It was

just one person.

Mulder decided.  He jumped.

The person went down hard with a gasp, but not before instinctively hitting

back at him.  Catching him hard under the chin with an elbow.  Making him

see stars in the blackness.  Mulder went down hard, too, and landed across

the other's body, with a grunt.  His attacker turned and fought back

desperately, fighting dirty.  Digging at his eyes, twisting and grabbing at

his beard, his hair--anything they could yank.

Shit.  He warded off the attack.  Then, everything happened at once.  He

realized the person he was fighting was as naked as himself.  Another

prisoner--there were others?--Who?--Why?--went through his mind as he

struggled.  At the same time his hand encountered soft flesh, and after a

split-second's consideration he realized his hand was resting on what could

only be a woman's breast.  He went still with shock.  That was enough to

give his opponent the advantage and use the moment to twist from beneath

him and kick him in the balls.  Pain exploded through his body and he

rolled away.

His foe scrambled into the other direction, into the darkness.

A woman, he thought cloudily through the stabbing pain in his groin.  They

would have no reason to be keeping a woman here.  

Unless. . . .  He froze, his mind trying sluggishly to block the pain and

concentrate on the sounds coming from the other side of the room.

He could hear her short panting breaths, she was feeling along the walls,

trying to find the door.  He couldn't let her go, he had to know who she

was.  He rolled across the floor and grabbed at her ankles.  He caught at

one and got a kick in the eye.

He didn't let go and yanked hard as she gave a panting little sob and tried

to wrench her foot free.

Mulder felt yearning grip his chest like a vise.  Could it be her?  It

couldn't be her.  He'd seen her fall.  It couldn't be her.

Let it be her.

She sobbed again.

He didn't recognize the sob.

"Let go of me, you prick."  Her voice was low, rough, vicious.  She jerked

her foot, trying to twist it away from him.

He gulped back a throat full of tears and tried to make his unused voice

squeeze out her name.  He hadn't used his voice in months--it wouldn't

work.  

She lashed out at him--savagely--with her captured heel.

"Scuh-lee . . . ?" he managed, his voice just a breath of a whisper.

The ankle stopped dead in his hands.  He lay panting, waiting on the floor.

He let go.

Nothing.

Suddenly she dropped to the floor beside him.  And then her hands were on

him, touching him, feeling him all over--his arms, his chest--touching him

everywhere.  They moved to his face, stopping suddenly at his beard, then

traveling again, slowly and gently over his cheekbones, his eyebrows, and

his eyes, now brimming over with tears.  Her fingers paused again as they

felt the tears. He started to raise up, then she grabbed him by the

shoulders and hauled him up against her, her arms going around him hard,

her face buried in his neck as he wrapped his arms around her and crushed

her to him as if his heart would break.  It was breaking.  He hadn't

realized it could break from happiness.

"Mulder," she whispered against his neck.  Her voice completely different

now, thick with gladness, amazement and tears, her arms clutching him

tightly, frantically.

He could feel their warm tears mingling on each other's skin as they rocked

each other.  Relief shot through his blood as his hands ran over her back,

her body.  She was thinner, just like in his dreams.  He tilted her head

back and touched her face, feeling all over it with his fingertips.  He ran

his fingers into her hair, then stopped in surprise.  Her hair was short,

cropped, and was about an inch long all over her head.  Now it was much

shorter than his.

"Your hair," he whispered.  He felt her shake her head.

"Oh, my God.  Oh, my God, I can't believe it," she whispered as she ran her

fingers across his face, too.  Feeling his beard, feeling his lips, she ran

her fingers into his tangled hair, slowly following it to its

below-the-shoulder length. 

"I'm filthy."

"Oh, my God.  I don't care.  Oh, my God.  Mulder."  He could feel her gaze

in the dark.  Staring at his face, tying to see him as he tried to see her.

 "I thought you were dead."  Her voice broke on the words.  He stroked her

back.  Her skin felt dry and cold.  He could feel her start to shake in the

dark.

"You're cold.  Let me get the blanket," he said, his voice was coming back,

still rough, but working.

"Don't let go of me," she gripped him tightly and he pulled her to her feet

with him.  He led her through the dark to the mattress on the floor.

"Here," he said.  He sat her down and tried to drape the blanket over her,

but she wouldn't let him go.  He sank to the mattress, and pulled her onto

his lap, pulling the blanket around them both.

She was really shivering now, shaking convulsively in little bursts.  He

huddled his body around her and held her as close to him as he could. 

Trying to give her the warmth of his body.  He bent his head and pressed

his face against her hair.  His Scully.  His love.  Alive?  She was alive. 

He was in shock.  Or--was this the dream Scully?  His mouth was on her

hair, the strands in his mouth.  He realized he was kissing it.  He made

himself stop.  He did remember, he could remember when he had to.  They

hadn't been lovers.  If this was the real Scully, he couldn't kiss her. 

She was alive.

"Mulder, I thought you were dead.  I saw you fall off the cliff. I thought

you were dead," she gave a little sob.  "All this time."

"You saw me fall?  I didn't . . . fall . . . off the cliff. . . . You did. 

I watched you fall.  I thought you were dead. I saw you die."

"How?"

He tried to think back.  "Hallucinogens, maybe? In the food at the Swiss

Consulate that day," he said, realizing suddenly that was what must have

happened.

"And we had some kind of double hallucination?"

"I don't know.  Where were you?  Did they bring you now and put you in with

me?"

"No.  No.   I checked the door of my cell.  I do every night, but tonight

it was open.  I came out and felt my way down the hall. There were only two

doors--yours--and the other was locked.  I had no idea you were in here.  I

was trying to get out."

The hair on the back of his neck rose.

"You've been here since it happened?"

"Yes."

Right down the hall?  The thought made him sick.  

What had it been like for her?  He hugged her tightly.  She felt so

fragile, so small in his arms.  She'd lost weight.  A lot of it.  Ten

pounds, maybe fifteen.  She was still shivering, he had to make her warm. 

He pulled her still closer, tucked the blanket around her and began rocking

her gently and soothingly as much to comfort himself as her.  

He was scared.  It was one thing to be here alone, slipping in and out of

his dreams.  When she was dead she'd been safe.  Now she was suddenly here,

in this horrible place where he couldn't take care of her.  Couldn't take

care of himself.  He had to concentrate.

He couldn't talk.  His throat, his chest was still so full of tears that

all he could do was hold her close, his body aware of every inch of her

skin against his own as he rocked her gently.  Back and forth.  Back and

forth.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

She swam groggily up to consciousness.  Her head was splitting, pounding

terribly . . . she knew if she lifted it, it would break in half.  Her eyes

slowly focused in the thin light.  She seemed to be in a room made entirely

of stone.  Two slits high on the wall were the only source of light.  She

was bruised, her whole body painful, aching all over.  Painfully she turned

her head.  She was lying on an old musty mattress on the floor.  

She realized all at once that she was naked, how had that happened?  All

that covered her was a thin blanket.  She put a hand to the back of her

head and pressed gingerly.  There was a terrible bump, sticky with blood.

Mulder.  

Oh, God.  Suddenly she remembered.  Mulder.  Oh, no, Mulder, no.  The

cliff.  Tears rose in her throat and a sharp pain pierced through her.  Her

body was wracked with giant sobs.  Mulder. . . .  She scrunched herself

into a tight little ball and  wrapped her arms around her knees. 

She lay hunched over, sobbing, for a long time.  Gradually she became aware

of a dull throbbing pain from between her legs, too.  She reached down and

touched herself.  She felt swollen, bruised- -what?  She pulled her hand

away and looked at it.  Oh no.  Dear God.  No.  Frantically she looked

around the room for something to wash herself with.  A sink and a toilet

stood in one corner.  One tap let out tepid rush of rust-stained water,

desperately she splashed the water between her legs, washing and washing,

sobbing, gasping.  She had to get out of here.

She ran to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. She was afraid to

call out, afraid whoever had done this would come back. Frantically she ran

back to the sink and washed herself again and again, until at last she sunk

exhausted to the floor of her prison, pressed her forehead against the wet

stone floor and wept.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"Scully?"

She'd been quiet for a long time, curled up against his chest.

She shifted a little on his lap.  He adjusted her so she'd be more

comfortable.  He didn't know why it didn't seem stranger to be sitting here

naked with her in his lap, as naked as himself, skin against skin.  He

didn't care.  Her skin felt wonderful against his, as familiar as her

smell.

"The other door is locked?" he whispered into her hair.

She nodded against him.  She'd tucked her hands around him, lightly

touching his ribs.  Now they went around him tightly. He felt her give a

small shudder.

"Do you think we could force it?" he asked.  Now she shook her head, her

short hair tickling his chest.

"It's like the door to your room.  Heavy wood."

"Is it any lighter in the hall?"

"No.  I had to feel my way along the walls.  It'll be dawn soon.  Then

we'll go check it.  Just . . . hold me for a little while, Mulder."

"Okay."

He needed to hold her, too.  They'd go soon.  They'd go at first light.

Pressing her forehead against him, she opened her mouth against his chest

and kissed him.  She kissed along the curve of his chest until she came to

a nipple.  She took it into her mouth and bit it gently, then kissed it,

too.

Mulder let out a small gasp.  

It took him a moment to realize what she was doing.  Did she know what she

was doing?  He couldn't believe she was kissing him.  He reached down and

took her chin in his hand, gently stopped the path of her mouth and tilted

her face up to his.  She tensed.   He wished desperately for some light so

he could see her eyes.  Gently he smoothed his finger over her lips,

tracing their remembered shape, then cupping her face in both hands, he

stroked his thumbs along her cheekbones.

Her hands crept slowly, up his chest, his neck, her fingertips running

lightly across his beard, his lips, touching his cheeks, his eyelids, his

eyebrows, his forehead.  Burying themselves in his hair.  She gave a gentle

tug on his head, bringing it down toward hers, slowly, inexorably.

Her hands stopped.  Her lips were one breath away from his.  Mulder could

feel their warmth on his own across the air in between them.  For a long

moment they both stayed completely still, completely silent, completely

aware of each other in the dark, holding each other's faces, breathing each

other's air. He could feel her pulse beneath her skin.  It was beating

fast.

He didn't know who moved first, but all at once their lips touched.  He

brushed his lips against hers softly, tasting her gently, he kissed her

lightly, questioning.  Her lips were soft, smooth, warm.  He kept his mouth

gentle, tentative, asking her if this was what she wanted, what they both

wanted.

She rose to him on her knees and pulled his mouth more closely against her

own, answering his question.  Her lips told him how much she'd missed him

through all of the loneliness of her time alone.

Mulder rose to his own knees and gathered her closer, and he kissed her

back, his lips softly telling her, in return, of all the emptiness of his

time in the dark.  

Suddenly their mouths became hard against each other's and they were

kissing--wildly, desperately, intensely.

Her mouth opened, her hot little tongue reaching out to caress his lips,

stroke them open and stroke his teeth.  His mouth opened to her and her

tongue darted inside, seeking his own tongue, teasing it, tasting it,

sucking it.  He kissed her back recklessly, slipping his tongue in her

mouth, licking her teeth, lapping her tongue deeply.  Sucking it hard.

Oh my God, this was Scully.  This was Scully.  And she was alive.  Alive. 

The word danced through his brain.  Scully.  Alive.  

And they were kissing the hell out of each other.

He couldn't quite believe it was real, that it was happening.  But he'd

known how she'd taste, how she would feel.   He rubbed his hands across her

shoulders and down her back.  She hooked one arm around the back of his

neck and buried her other hand in his hair.  Pushing it back off his face. 

Stroking his scalp with her fingertips.  Grabbing the hair at the nape of

his neck and pulling him down, closer still, into the kiss.

"Mulder, Mulder," she murmured over and over again against his mouth.

Then he realized he was crying again and he could feel her crying too. 

Tears were spilling down his face and into his beard.  

He slid a hand gently into the short curls at the nape of her neck.  She

tilted her head into his palm and his lips moved across her face, covering

it with kisses.  Licking her tears away as more of his own fell to replace

them.  Using his tongue to dab them from her eyelashes, and out of her

ears.  He couldn't stop crying, but at the same time he found himself

smiling and he could feel her smiling, too.   

She ran her hands down his back and cupped his bare behind.  Startling him.

She gave a little yank and pulled him tightly against her hips.

He'd tried not to let her lower body get too close to his because he was

hard as a rock.  No surprise really, he was like Pavlov's dog.  He'd been

getting a hard-on for months just thinking about her, so he'd been ready

since she bit him on the nipple.  

Oh, well, the secret was out.  He moved his hips ever so slightly, rubbing

himself on her skin.  

Her breasts snuggled up against him.  A moment ago they were off-limits,

but now, with his and her mouths joined, her breasts were fair game.  He

slid his hands up her rib cage and cupped them, his palms recognizing their

heavy weight from his dreams.

He dropped his mouth to them and kissed each nipple lightly.

Scully drew in a sharp breath.  She dropped her hand between them and

grasped him.  And, impossibly, he felt himself grow harder.  She drew her

fingers lightly but firmly up to the tip then back down to the root and he

gasped, squeezing her breasts hard in response, then letting them go to cup

her bottom.  Her hand slid slowly up and down the shaft.  Something about

her breathing told him she was still smiling.

She wrapped one leg around him to fit him against her.  She pressed the

head of his penis between her curls and rocked her hips languidly, rubbing

herself against the tip.

"Wait," Mulder said.  He groaned and slid his fingers down to still her

hand.  He wanted her badly, but he wanted to see her face when he made love

to her. He wanted to know what was going on in her head.  He didn't want to

make love to her for the first time in this desperate rush in the dark.  

Hesitatingly, he reached down and touched the soft curls at the top of her

thighs, and ran his fingers across them gently, reverently.  Then he parted

the curls and let his fingers slip inside. Her nub was hard and swollen. 

He rubbed his fingers across it gently, stimulating it and teasing the

muscle above it, until she moaned and reached for him again.  He stopped

her.

Slowly, softly searching, he felt further into the curls, feeling her hot

moisture, her soft lips.  Gently, he stroked her, his finger marveling at

the texture.  He stroked her lips, smoothing them back, feeling the rush of

warm dampness coming from inside, as slowly as he could, he pushed first

one then two fingers up and inside her.  The hot wet heat closed around his

fingers, her muscles clenching them tightly.  His thumb continued its

gentle stroking across the sensitive nub of her clitoris.

Scully rocked against him, pushing against his hand.  She reached beneath

him and cupped his balls.  "Sorry I kicked you," she said against his

mouth.  "I thought you were--" She broke off.  "Just make love to me,

Mulder." 

Scully. . . .   His mind was full of swirling emotions, his balls in her

hand, his cock pressed eagerly against her leg.  It felt like it would

erupt any second.  His brain was tempted to close down every function

except the part that would let him drive himself hard into her and keep

driving until he reached an exquisite release.  But he couldn't let go.  He

had to take care of her.  

"We can't," he said, his voice rough.  He was breathing hard against her

forehead, his heart pounding.  "What if--what if we get you pregnant?  We

can't get pregnant here."

She was silent for a moment.

"I don't think I can get pregnant."

Mulder hesitated and looked down at her in the dark. "You don't?"

She took him in her hand and again began her gentle exploration, soothing

him softly with her fingertips.  They were separated slightly now, but

still he had his fingers inside her, and her hand's motions were sending

little shivers down his spine.

"I just don't think I--" she gave a little gasp as his fingers pinched her

gently, "--can. . . . Or I would be already."

He stopped moving.

"What?  Scully. . . .  Did they--"  He tried to find another word, but

there was only one.  "Did they . . . did they rape you?"  Damn this

blackness. He needed to see her eyes.  He slid his hand from inside her. 

Gently.  Scared.

"Please," she said, grabbing his wrist.  "Please.  Just erase it. . . . 

Just love me."

He slipped his arms around her, sinking back down onto the mattress.  He

hugged her against him, her head on his chest. 

"My God, Scully."  Helplessly he cradled her.  "More than once?"

She nodded against him.

"More than one person?"

"Please. . . . " she said.

"More than one man?"

She nodded again, sighing, and snuggled against him.  Her arms went around

him tightly.

Why was he asking this?  He didn't know.  He had to know.

"How many times?"

"Why do you have to know?  I don't know.  I can't remember."  She shook her

head, against his chest.  "Please.  Just love me.  Just erase it."

"Scully. . . ." She started to shiver against him, her body shaking.  Or

maybe he was the one shaking.  He felt more helpless than he had ever felt

about anything in his whole life.

"Now you don't want me," she said in a small broken voice.  She began to

cry, the soft sobs tearing at his heart.

"Scuh-lee," his voice sounded soft, unrecognizably tender. "Of course I

want you.  I'm just afraid, afraid I'll hurt you.

"You can't hurt me.  You would never hurt me."  Her voice was flat now,

toneless, belied by the tears dripping from her face onto his chest. 

"After awhile . . . they weren't . . . brutal.  They just used me.  Like a

whore.  After awhile I'd just pretend it was you."

His heart began beating unevenly, painfully.

"I pretended it was you, Mulder, it kept me sane."  

He felt something strange happening to the skin of his face; it felt like

it was burning in the dark.

Pretended it was him?  Raping her?

He felt her withdrawing.  He tried to hold her close but she was leaving,

withdrawing into her head.  He could tell.  He held her silently for a long

time.  For a long time she was quiet, until at last he wondered if she'd

fallen asleep.

Gently he lay down with her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her

skinny little body against him and tucking the blanket over them both.  He

stifled a groan as his still rigid penis brushed her warm skin.  Oh,

Scully.  It went against everything he'd ever learned or believed in to

have sex with someone who'd been raped.   So why the hell did he want to

roll on top of her and make love to her till the one thought left in her

mind was him and the only imprint on her body his own?  

He lay there in the dark with a straining hard-on, and wondered what the

hell to do.

After a few minutes he had to will himself to keep awake, staring into the

darkness.  He couldn't let himself fall asleep--he was still afraid she

might disappear.  To wake up and find that this had all been a dream would

be too much for him.  

He jerked awake.  Had he dropped off for a moment?   His arms tightened

convulsively.   She was still here.  His arms were still around her.  His

breathing quickened as if he'd run a race.  Now he wasn't sure.  She was

here, but--  Maybe this was the dream.  In the dark, it was hard to tell.  

The thoughts kept prodding at his mind.  If this was a dream . . . maybe it

would be better for her.  What had she gone through?  He didn't want to

think.  Was it better for her to be here or should he go back to sleep and

let her slip away?

No, he was selfish.  He wanted to keep her.  His arms tightened around her.

 But Scully, he had to think of Scully.  She'd never be the same.  She'd be

hurting and unhappy forever.   He had to let her go, back to her waves,

back to the welcoming, soothing waves of her sea.  He pulled her sleeping

body against him for one last hug.  She gave a little mew in her sleep and

fitted herself close against him.  Oh, God.  He couldn't let her go.   "I

love you," he whispered against her cropped hair.  He kissed her softly on

the forehead. 

He lay holding her for a long time.  Suddenly she began to move restlessly.

 She was mumbling, crying in her sleep.  The sound broke his heart and made

the decision for him.  He decided.  He had to let her go.  This Scully was

in too much pain.  She needed to go back.  "Shhhh," he whispered against

her ear to sooth her.  "Shhhh."  At last she quieted.  With his face

against hers, their dried tears sticking their skin together, he let

himself fall asleep.

He was dreaming. . . .  She was here, his dream Scully.   But she was lying

so still. . . .  Her body almost limp against him, her mind a thousand

light years away.  What had happened?

Raped. 

She'd been raped.  

He couldn't stand it.  He pulled her closer against him, pressing his face

against her hair, wrapping his arms tightly around her body, rolling her

beneath him.  He covered her with his body.  Shielding her.  Protecting

her.  He held her tightly.  Scully.  I've got you now.  I'll keep you safe.

 I'll defend you with everything I have.  My life.  My love.   He brought a

hand to her face and gently touched her cheek, her eyelashes.  They were

wet, he tasted the dampness.  It was cool, salty.  Was it tears or the sea?

 Oh, Scully.  Scully.  What can I do?  He bent his head and pressed his

lips to the cool skin of her shoulder, her neck.  He kissed her chin and

then her mouth.  I'm here.  I'll do anything, Scully.  You want me to love

you?   He pressed his erection against her.  I'll love you.  I love you. 

I've always loved you.

She rocked her hips against him softly, seeking.

It only took a little push.  "Ugghhh."  He groaned aloud and slipped inside

her.  Oh-my-God.  Scully.  He was inside her. . . she was so soft, so warm

inside.  His penis filled her.  Oh, God.  That someone had hurt her, that

someone had done this to her without feeling the rush of intense, sweet,

overpowering love that poured from his heart as he buried himself in her. 

He couldn't stand it.  He would erase it.  He would envelop her with his

love.  He pushed gently into her and stroked back.   She was so quiet,

barely responsive.  His Scully.   It was breaking his heart.

"Scully, it's me."

Her small hands came up and cupped his face, stroked his beard, and she

kissed him, her mouth soft.  She pushed her hips against him.

"I know."

Scully.  Scully.  He kissed her in return.  You're alive.  I love you.  He

kissed her harder.  Had they kissed her mouth?  Her lips?  Her lips were

his, he would erase it.   He'd make her forget.  He kissed her back harder,

licking her lips, pulling her lips into his mouth, sucking them.

Her mouth changed suddenly, and now her lips were hard, too.  Hungry.  And

her hands gripped his sides with desperation, pulling him close, her hips

pushing up to meet his.

And abruptly, like a wave, he felt her remember the pain. It seared from

her mind through his and he nearly cried out.  Oh, Scully.  No, no.  It

shot through his body like acid through his veins.  Oh, God.  No.  Oh,

Scully.  I'll do anything to stop these memories from hurting you.   I'll

stop them.  I will.  You'll only remember me loving you. . . .   He pushed

into her deeper, harder, faster now, pumping, raising her from the bed with

each thrust.  Pushing back hard on the pain with his mind.  Thrusting it

away from her, too.   She wrapped her legs around his back and cried out,

gasping his name, gritting her teeth, groaning.  She buried her face in his

neck.   He buried his in hers.   Her skin was warm now.  Hot.  Burning.  

Suddenly she arched against him, pressing her pelvis hard against his, and

he pushed himself into her so completely he was afraid he'd hurt her womb. 

She pressed her mouth against him and let out a stifled moan, her muscles

clenching on him hard.

"Scuh--leee," he gasped, and felt himself come into her, spurting the

pent-up juices of six months of solitude, drenching her with them. 

Cleaning her.  Claiming her as his own.  She was his.  His now.  No other

man.  Ever.  He felt himself clenching his teeth as he gave one last

stabbing thrust.

"Mine."  The words ground into her neck.  "Mine."

And then he kissed her, and she kissed him back and there was no way this

was his dream lover.  This was Scully, in the flesh, and he was kissing her

as he'd never kissed anyone or thought of kissing anyone in his whole life

or in any of his dreams.  And she kissed him back.  Harder, softer,

rougher, sweeter. 

This was it then.  This fierce thing was love.   It filled his mind, his

body, his whole soul and it was wilder than anything he'd ever felt.  They

had always loved each other, he realized now, of course they had.  Always. 

How could he have questioned it?  And this was just a continuation.  An

affirmation.  She was his.  What had happened to her in the dark. . . he'd

probably spend his life trying to erase it, but he'd do it.  And he'd

started tonight.  He loved her.  More than life itself.  And all at once he

knew that the words weren't a cliche.

He pulled her closer in his arms.  She shifted her body to accommodate his

and gave him a kiss on the chest, just beside his nipple.  She gave a

contented little noise, a sigh.  He smiled.  Scully.  Scully.  His

Scuh-leee. 

They slept.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

She lay on her mattress, staring at the wall in front of her.  Her blanket

wrapped around her.  Her eyes slowly following a pattern in the stone.  One

part of her brain was amazed.  The human body could go through a lot and

not die.  The mind could go through a lot and not break.

Her first worry, that she would get pregnant, never materialized.  Her

second worry, that she'd catch some kind of communicable disease, didn't

seem to materialize either.

Mulder.  She thought sadly.  I miss you so much.  I loved you so much.  I

love you still, so much.  I can't believe I never told you.  I think you

would've been glad.  I'm so sorry I never put my arms around you and held

you and told you how much you meant to me.  How much I loved your smile. 

Your laugh, your dumb jokes.  

She felt something twist softly in her chest.

Mulder.  I wish we'd made love.  At least once, so I could think of it and

remember it.  When I think of all the days and nights we wasted. . . .  If

I could just have you back for five minutes, I'd make love to you as fast

as I could.  Your lips soft on mine, kissing my neck, my shoulders, your

mouth nipping here and there, your hands, stroking caressing,  and your

cock slipping gently--then hard--between my legs. . . .

Slowly she rubbed a hand across her stomach, then down further,  smoothing

across her still damp curls, and soothing across her sore sensitive skin.  

The other slipped up to circle her nipples, cup her breasts.  Now her eyes

on the stone were blind, unseeing, shutting them she arched her head back,

rolling over on to her back, letting her legs fall open.  Her thoughts now

filled now only with Mulder.  Loving Mulder.   Her mind, her body, full

only of Mulder.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

*Scully?*

He felt soft fingers touch his cheek and then brush across his beard with

the gentlest of caresses.

He opened his eyes and realized dawn had arrived, because he could see her.

 She was still here.

Her blue, excruciatingly familiar eyes searched his and then she smiled.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he said.  She was still here.  He felt his face break into a smile

like he hadn't had smiled in a long, long time.   Maybe ever.

She was still here.  

Her hand reached up to his hair, combing it lightly with her fingers.  He

realized their other hands were linked tightly between them.

Her eyes moved back to meet his and she smiled again.

He could only stare at her.

If he'd met her on the street he never would have recognized her.  Her

gorgeous red hair was cropped and dull, curling around her face.  Her eyes

dark and sunken.  Her cheeks hollow.

She looked . . . haunted.

His gaze fell on the cross on the chain around her neck.  How had she

managed to hang on to that?

Her eyes searched his with an intensity that frightened him.

Her face was so thin.  Her nose sharp, her skin pale.  Her freckles faded. 

The beauty mark she'd religiously kept covered with make-up stood out

darkly stark above her upper lip.  Only her beautiful mouth was the same. 

Its voluptuous shape unchanged.  To reassure her, to reassure himself, he

leaned slowly forward and kissed it.  The barest of kisses.  She was warm,

she was real.  

She kissed him back.  Her lips were open and soft, her eyes were open and

still searching his.  There was something in their brilliant blue depths he

didn't recognize, but something else he did, and it consoled him.  Last

night had been real, then, too.  

"God, I'd never have recognized you, Mulder," she said quietly.

Or me you,  he thought sadly.  Oh, Scully.  In the light of day he felt

very shy.  He knew he must look terrible.   Plus he was embarrassed; he had

to take a piss, and he had a raging hard-on.  It was pressing against her

stomach, so she had to know about it.

"Do you suppose your door's still open?" she interrupted his thoughts.

"The door," he looked at her stupidly.  "Oh, yeah."

He glanced towards the door.

"Don't let go of me," she gripped his hands tightly.  He hadn't moved a

muscle.

"They haven't delivered my breakfast.  It's past time."

"Don't let go of me," she said, her voice husky, her head lowered.

He gripped her hand more tightly and looked down at the top of her bowed

head.

"I won't," he said softly.

He raised their linked hands to his mouth and brushed a kiss against her

inner wrist.  She looked up at him, her blue eyes dark and sad.

"But I've got to, um. . . . " he nodded at the toilet.

"Yeah, me too," she said.  "You go first." 

Reluctantly he let go of her hand and got up from the bed.  His body felt

frighteningly bereft without her.

She rolled away from him and looked at the wall.  

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

The door to the cell opened easily.  How long had it been unlocked?  It

brought him up with a start.  How far he'd come from his former self not to

have checked before this.

"Scully, do you think they're out there?"

"I don't think they stay here," she said.  

Mulder carefully looked out.  An empty stone corridor, not much different

than the cell, lit only by a slash of sun from a slit high on the wall.

A door at the far end was open. 

"Yours?"

She nodded.  

So close. 

Another door at the very far end of the hall was shut.  They slipped down

the hall and paused at the door to her room.

"Should we get your blanket?"

She was wearing his, and he was naked as a jay bird.  

"I don't have one." 

He leaned towards her.  "What?"

She raised her head and shot him a look through narrowed eyes.  The look

said: Don't go there.

Mulder looked into her eyes and felt scared again.  No, this wasn't his

dream Scully.  This wasn't the same Scully who'd been his partner either. 

He bit his lip and turned away.  His grip on her hand tightened.  Things

had been much worse for her.  The look in her eyes, her face.  He didn't

know what he could do for her, but right now he was going to get them out

of here or die trying.

"I guess I'll just have to go naked."  Maybe I can kill someone for his

clothes, he thought grimly. 

As he ushered her down the corridor he glanced back into her room.  Dark

like his own.  A bare mattress.  A toilet.  A sink.  Nothing else.  Like

his own.  A shadow crossed his heart.  

Scuh-leee, I love you.  I love you.

He glanced down sideways at her face.  It was shuttered, closed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mulder.  Think of Mulder, it's his hands gripping your hair, him pushing

inside you. . . .  It's his hands, stroking you, soothing you, erasing the

pain, his mouth on you, loving you, smoothing away everything and covering

you with love.  Mulder.  It's him, think only of him.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"Scully?"

"What?"

He looked down at her for a long moment.  She looked up at him, the anger

gone, the expression in her eyes now just  tired and sad.

"Nothing, just 'Scully'."

The door handle at the end of the hall stuck at first then gave with a

creak.  It opened onto a twisting staircase.  She looked up at him as if

she were about to say something.  He pressed his finger against her mouth

and shook his head, pointing down below.  They crept down silently.  Their

bare feet made no sound.  At the bottom was another door, this one ajar. 

He pushed her behind him and crept up to it.  He peeked out.  An empty

room. No furniture.  Nothing.  No one.  This one had windows and a door

standing open to the outside.

Scully peeked over his shoulder, he turned his head and looked in her eyes,

so close to his own. 

"They must've decided to let us go," he whispered.

"We must be worthless to them now."

Mulder felt a cold chill go down his backbone.  What horrible things had

been happening back in the real world in the time they'd been gone?  He

found he didn't really want to know.

Hanging behind the door was a jacket.  No pants.  He put it on.

"This is worse than being completely naked," he whispered, looking down at

himself. 

She looked at him and gave a little smile.  

No, he thought, not worse -- not if it made her smile.  Then he'd go

sans-culottes right into D.C.

"Try tying it around your waist," she said.

It covered him up.  Sort of.

They gazed out the door, eyes tearing at the unaccustomed light, even

though it was just the foggy grey light of dawn.   The small

ancient-looking stone fort they'd been held in stood on a rocky promontory

of land.  The closest vegetation was a hundred yards away.  There was no

sign of life or habitation in sight.

"We'll run for it.  If something happens, if we get split up, we'll meet at

those trees."  

He pointed.  

She just looked at him.

"I'm not letting go of you, Mulder," she told him.  Her eyes said the same

thing.

"Okay, let's go."

They ran to the clump of trees, hands linked.  Nothing stopped them. 

Nothing moved anywhere.

Both were out of breath.  "I'm really out of shape," he told her.  She just

breathed hard and nodded.  Not letting go of his hand.

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

From the promontory the land fell rapidly to ocean level. They followed the

shore till they reached a small house, a hut really, near the edge of the

sea.   No one was in sight.  Mulder snitched a pair of faded black

drawstring pants and an enormous pink flowered dress from the clothes line.

When they were a safe distance from the house they paused to put on their

stolen goods.  What was that on her shoulder?  A scar from a bite?  A human

bite.  He looked quickly at her face, she hadn't seen he'd noticed it.

"I'll swim in that," she told him.  

"What?  The dress?  Oh that's for me.  The pants are for you--you look good

topless."  He leered at her hopefully.  She reached up and lay one hand on

his cheek and just looked at him, for a long moment, then he helped her

pull the dress over her head.

The pink clashed horribly with her red hair.  It made her skin look even

whiter.  She looked filthy and bedraggled and exhausted.  God he loved her.

"I guess that village isn't too far from here."

"I remember."

"Was there a phone?"

"There has to be."

"Who do we call?"

"Skinner?"

"No."

"We don't trust Skinner?"

"We don't trust anyone."

"My mom?"

"She's not in a position to get us out of here."

"Who?"

"Frohike."

Unspoken agreement flashed between their eyes.

"Are you all right?  Can you make it to the village?

"I'm fine, Mulder.  I'm fine."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Scully looked dully at the bite mark on her shoulder.  It had broken the

skin.  She washed it in the rusty water.

If it got infected, she was in trouble.  Maybe she'd get lock jaw. Maybe

she'd get gangrene.  Maybe her arm would drop off and they'd leave her

alone.  Maybe she'd die.

Emotionlessly she went on washing it.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

It turned out that calling Frohike from the only pay phone in a little

village in Cuba wasn't hard at all.

Mulder made the call.

"Hello?"  Frohike's voice floating over the wire almost brought tears to

his eyes.

"Collect call from Earnest Hemingway," said the international operator's

voice.

Silence.

"Calling from Andira, Cuba."

It took Frohike exactly two seconds to get it.

"I'll accept the charges."

"Hi, how's it going?" said Mulder.

"Oh, my God, it *is* you."

"Yeah."

"We thought you were dead.  Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah.  We're fine."  Mulder tugged on their linked hands and pulled

Scully close to him, so she could hear, and so he could have her close

against him.

"We're?  You mean--she's with you?"

"Yeah.  She's okay too."  He looked down at her.  At least he hoped so. 

She wasn't looking very okay.

"Thank God."   

Mulder heard muffled explaining to the others. 

"We need some help."

"You got it."

"Tickets, money."

Pause.

"You shouldn't come back here . . . right now.  I'll take care of the

rest."

Pause.

Frohike's voice came again, conversational.  "I always thought Ernest would

like the movie Blue Velvet."

Scully looked up at him perplexed.  He looked down at her and smiled.

"I know what you mean.  Me, too."

"Better cut this short."

"Bye.  And thanks, man."

"Take care of my woman," Frohike said.

Mulder looked down at Scully and raised his eyebrows.  She shut her eyes

for a moment then opened them and poked him in the chest with her

forefinger.  Mulder grinned.

"She says she's my woman."

He heard Frohike laugh.

"It's about time." 

Click.  The receiver went dead.

"Okay, tell me."

"Our good friend, our VERY good friend, will have money waiting for us at

the Hotel Isobella in Havana."

Scully nodded slowly.  "You're good.  I'd forgotten *how* good."

"Is that why you're my woman?"  The question just popped out.  He bit his

lip and looked at her with trepidation.

"Partly," she said lightly, not meeting his eyes.  

She tucked her arm in his and pulled him down the street.  "Let's find a

bus to Havana."

"We need to figure out something for tickets."

She put a hand to the cross around her neck, "We can sell this."

Mulder's eyes rested on it briefly.  

"No, we can't."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Scully pulled her mattress away from the wall.  She thought she'd seen an

eight-legged something scurry quickly underneath it.  Her eye was caught by

the gleam of gold.  She dropped to her knees and looked closer.  Her breath

caught in her throat and her eyes filled with tears.  It was her gold

cross.  She pulled it out of the crack and saw that the chain had come

apart.  It must have fallen off that first day.  She'd thought they'd taken

it.

She held it cupped in her hand for a long time, then replaced it under the

mattress.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The bus ride was long and exhausting.  Luckily, they'd managed to get seats

after the first few stops.  The heat in the bus was unbearable, but they

still sat as close together as possible-- sides and thighs touching, his

arm around her shoulders--despite the constant lurching attempts by the bus

to throw them apart.  

They'd barely exchanged a word since they'd talked to Frohike.  But he felt

her pulse beneath his fingertips as he gently stroked the hair back from

her damp temples.

Back at the village, Mulder had used his terrible Spanish, trying to speak

it with a French accent to hide the fact they were Americanos, and bartered

his jacket for two bus tickets and a bag of fruit.  For the first time,

Scully had let go of his hand and tried to stay out of sight.  She said she

was afraid someone would recognize the dress.  

Mulder found he was the one who was unwilling to let go now; he was afraid

someone would recognize her.  She'd ripped a strip of the material from the

hem and tied it over her red hair to hide it.  She had still stuck out in

the little village like a sore thumb.  Every man in town, and every woman,

had eyed her curiously.

Mulder had watched her like a hawk to see if she recognized any of the men,

 if she had, well. . .  Mulder knew he would kill him.  Barehanded,

squeezing his neck until it snapped.  Maybe castrating him if he could find

something convenient to do it with.  

A thread of something dangerous had made its way into his blood.  It was

keeping him alert, bringing him back to his senses quickly, and Scully was

at its center.

She was steadily fading.  Whatever had been keeping her going had left her

when they boarded the bus, and she seemed content to lean against him, her

eyes closed, her cheek against his bare chest.  And he found that despite

her exhaustion, her simple presence next to him gave him strength.

He had to keep her safe.  He would keep her safe, no matter what, until

they were back on U.S. soil.  Not that that meant anything.  Maybe they'd

have to go somewhere else.  Maybe Canada.  Tomorrow he'd call Frohike

again.  

He rubbed his eyes, he was exhausted.  The bus, the heat, the noise, the

smells.  Everything was beginning to take on a feeling of heightened

reality, whirling around him.  He felt as if the only thing real was the

feel of Scully's small body pressed against him at the center of the

confusion.

He needed sleep, that was it.  But he couldn't sleep yet, not until til she

was safe.

The old bus finally bucked over the last kilometer of road between Andira

and Havana and came to a wheezing halt.  

Havana.  They'd stick out like sore thumbs here, too, until they could get

some clothes and look like tourists.  If anyone wanted to trail them it

wouldn't be very hard.   He glanced at the other occupants as they gathered

string bags and chickens from under the seats.  No.  No one was paying them

the least bit of attention.  No one had followed them.

"We're here," he said, his lips close to her ear.  "I think it's just a

couple of blocks to the hotel."

She looked up and him, and he realized he'd been waiting for just that

little half-smile.  His heart turned over as he helped her to her feet.

Scully stepped off the bus, Mulder behind her, his hand in the small of her

back.  She tripped on the last step and just about went down.  Mulder

quickly slipped one hand beneath her elbow.  She was exhausted.  The bus

ride had taken its toll.   He knew she felt like she was about to faint,

and she was trying to hide it from him.

She stumbled again and Mulder bent to take one look at her white face then

wrapped his arm around her to support her.   He wished he had money for a

taxi.  He felt her knees give slightly and he tried to pick her up.

"No, Mulder, we already look bad enough."

She was so damn stubborn. He managed to help her walk the last blocks to

the hotel and they practically staggered through the front door.

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

The desk clerk was expecting them.

"Senor and Senora Fro-hee-kay?"  He must be careful, the clerk thought, not

to let his expression give a hint that he was unaccustomed to registering

guests such as these--tall, shirtless bearded men and barefoot red-headed

urchins--every day on his job at the Hotel Isobella.  More loco Americanos,

sneaking into Cuba against the wishes of their government, smuggling out

cigars, maybe even drugs, probablemente.  He shrugged.  Well, it was none

of his business.

The tall bearded man nodded at him.  Although it seemed to the clerk that

the man had stiffened slightly at the mention of his name.  Perhaps he had

pronounced it incorrectly.

"Your brother called, Senor.  And told of your terrible accidente."  He

made a small sympathetic sound.  "And your honeymoon.  Such a shame that

you have lost--"  He eyed them, "-- everything."

He brought an envelope from beneath the desk.  "But--I hope my news will

please you.  Your travelers checks have already been replaced."  He handed

them over with a small flourish.  "Your credit card has been authorized to

cover the hotel and a replacement will arrive via Poste Expresse tomorrow. 

Meanwhile they are extending you a cash advance."  He presented the cash

with another small flourish.

"Now, if you'll just sign the receipts, por favor. . . Senor!"  His eyes

darted to Scully.  "Your wife!"   When her husband had let go of her,

Senora Frohike had swayed and looked for a moment as if she were going to

fall to the floor.

Sr. Frohike quickly supported her.  "She just needs some food."  He signed

the register with one hand, holding her against him gently.

The desk clerk's eyes flicked to the tall man's face.  He noted his intense

gentle expression.  A shame, really, to have such a terrible accidente

happen to them, cigars, honeymoon, drugs or no.  He made the sympathetic

noise again as he looked at Senora Frohike.

"Of course, Senor.  I'll send something to your room immediately.  We have

fish today, and rolls, fruit, coffee."

"Everything you've got," Senor Frohike looked down at his wife protectively

and she smiled weakly up at him.  "And cold beer, iced, a six pack.  And

wine.  White?"  She nodded. "White.  Something decent."

"Of course. Room 213," said the clerk, handing him the key.  "That way, up

the stairs, your bags. . . . " he trailed off.  "Oh si, no bags.  If we at

the Hotel Isobella can be any service to you during your stay, please let

us know."

"Gracias," said Mulder and ushered Scully quickly in the direction the man

had gestured.

At the stairs, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her, carrying

her up the staircase.

"Mulder. . . .  You're dead on your feet, too."

"Shush."

He pushed open the door of their room.  A very nice room.   Clean

white-washed walls reflected back the sun sparkle from the water outside

the window.  Frohike had outdone himself.  And to use his own name.  

Frohike was the king of paranoid.  It must have been the only way he could

get the cards and money "replaced" so quickly.  Or maybe it didn't matter

anymore.

He deposited Scully on the large bed.  A table with bottled water and fruit

drinks stood by the slatted doors to the balcony.  Mulder quickly uncapped

a fruit drink and brought it to her.  She took the drink and put it to her

lips.  Downing half of it in one gulp.  

She looked up at him gratefully as he polished off a bottle of his own. 

Her face was white and there was a delicate sheen of perspiration across

her forehead.  Her cropped hair was damp and stuck to her face.  She looked

like hell.

He brought two more bottles and sat down beside her on the bed.  He gently

removed the makeshift scarf and smoothed back her tangled hair.

"I don't dare look in the mirror," she said, her eyes searching his.

He grinned.  "Me neither."  Then sobered.  His eyes traveled over her face.

  He reached out and took her hand.

"You're beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world," he told her, and

he meant it.  He cupped his other hand along her cheek.

Scully covered his hand with her own and turned her cheek into his palm. 

She looked back at him seriously for a long moment.  Her blue eyes were

wide and just a little too bright.

"I love you, Mulder."

Mulder felt elated.  He felt fabulous.  He felt ridiculous.  He felt silly.

"I love you, too," he said solemnly.  " . . . Mrs. Frohike."

She threw back her head and laughed.  A delightful clear laugh and Mulder

thought for the first time that maybe everything was going to be okay.  She

looked back at him and smiled into his eyes, a wide smile, a happy smile, 

and he smiled back.  A silly goofy grin.

He was just about to kiss her when there was a knock at the door.

"Hold that thought," he told her,  kissing his fingertips and laying them

gently on her mouth.  She pressed her lips against his fingers, her heart

in her eyes.  

He went to open the door.

"Here we are," he said, returning with the overladen tray of food and a

bucket of iced bottles of beer. 

She reached up and was digging into the food with her fingers even before

he set the tray down.

"Wait," he said.  She looked up, her expression pitiful as she froze, a

slice of fruit at her mouth.  "Okay," he said.  "Food first."  He picked up

a slice of mango and put it into his own mouth.  "I'm going to investigate

the bathing facilities."

She nodded, mumbling something unintelligible, her mouth too full of food

to answer.  Mulder popped another piece of fruit in his mouth and mimicked

her.  "Mrrh, mmmrh, rrrh rrrh." he said.                                   

She gave him a swat.

The large old green-tiled tub looked more like a fountain than a bathtub,

but it was big enough to accommodate two.  The shower was a little low for

him.  The tub it would be.  He flipped open the tap.  Hot water.  He

sighed.

There were several bottles of shampoo and things; he started to dump a

bottle of one of them into the water.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The man held her hair and pushed her head down towards himself.  She

struggled like crazy and hit him, clawing him with her nails.  He slapped

her face and pushed her down again.  She sunk her teeth into his thigh,

hard.  The man cursed and slapped her hard across the face again, then gave

her a shove that sent her sprawling into the wall.  She lay there, panting,

gathering herself, ready to jump up and fight.  She stared at him through

the tumble of hair in her face.  

"You'll do it."

"Never," she said.

"You'll do it."

"Never."

"You will do it or I will force you."

"I'll bite it off."

"Then, I will kill you."

"So kill me."

But she saw in his eyes that he didn't have the power to do that.

That's when they cut her hair and shaved her head.

Punishment they said.  But she secretly was glad.  After that, they

couldn't hold her still by her hair.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"Scully?"

Suddenly he heard a soft sob from the other room.  He dropped the whole

bottle into the tub and ran back into the bedroom.  

She was sitting in front of the mirrored vanity.  Head buried in her hands,

sobbing as if her heart would break.  He knelt beside her and put an arm

around her shoulders.  When she looked up and caught his eye in the

reflection she covered her face and again bent her head.  He looked at

himself.   

Holy shit.  

His own mother wouldn't spare him some change.  His respect went up several

notches for the discretion of the staff at the Hotel Isobella.

"Come," he told her and drew her to her feet, leading her gently into the

bathroom.  He leaned down and tested the water, looking up at her.  She

wouldn't look at him.  Her downcast eyes were red-rimmed.  "Come on, we'll

feel better when we're clean."   He stood up and kissed her softly on the

forehead.  She shut her eyes.

He undid the neck of the dress and pushed it off her shoulder.  He pressed

his lips gently on the soft white skin he'd revealed.  

He pushed it off her other shoulder and stared at the bite scar, he kissed

her there, too.

She shivered and closed her eyes, but stood mute.  He loosened the dress

and it fell to the floor.  He held her arm and helped her step into the

tub.  Once she'd sat down he retrieved the tray of food and placed it

beside the tub.  She sank down into the water with a little sigh of

pleasure.  But she still wasn't looking at him.   He dropped his trousers

and stepped into the hot water with her.

Her eyes flew open before he could sit down and the first thing she saw was

his erection staring her in the eye.  She shut her eyes again quickly and

he sat down with a splash.  Oh, geez, he thought. 

Her eyes opened again and she met his eye.  Surprisingly enough, an impish

grin crossed her face.   

"I guess I should take that as a good sign," she said.

"You're beautiful."

"But on the other hand," she continued thoughtfully, "you haven't been out

much lately."

But he didn't take the easy way out.  "While we were in there . . . I could

have imagined anyone. . . ."

He searched for the words and she frowned at him slightly.

". . . but I only imagined you."

Her eyes told him she was glad, but then she remembered.  "But you were

only thinking about the way I was before.  Not--this."  She gestured,

frustrated, at her body.  Her face crumpled again into tears.

"Believe me, " he said dryly.  The sight of her breasts peaking out of the

bubbles was not helping his hard-on.  "This'll do just fine.  Wait.  That's

not what I meant, exactly.  I just meant, that in my dreams . . . you were

getting thinner, too."

"Mine, too." she said.  He realized she'd revealed a lot to him in that

statement.  He could see it in her face.

"Except I didn't know about the beard or your hair."

"Yours either," he said sadly, and shook his head.  "The beard really threw

me."

"Mulder!"  She picked up a handful of bubbles and threw it at him.  He

laughed and splashed her back, then leaned forward and gathered her to him

and they were in each other's arms, hugging each other tightly.  

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"You liked it," the man said

She just looked at him.

"I was thinking of the man I love.  I couldn't come thinking of a pig like

you," she said, disdain dripping from every word.  

He slapped her.

She reeled back from the blow, but steadied herself and held her head up

proudly and stared him in the eye.

"You," she hissed.  "Have a tiny little prick.  The man I love has a cock

this long."

And she held out her hands to show him.

That's when they took her blanket.  But that's when she realized she was no

longer afraid.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"Scully?"

At last, the tray of food empty, the bottles drunk, the bath water cooling

and both of them a couple of layers of skin lighter, Scully lay back

against Mulder's chest.  He was happy, his eyes were shut, his arms around

her waist.  His erection not an issue at the moment.  He wasn't sure if

she'd fallen asleep.  She seemed content.

"What are we going to do for clothes when we get out?" she said.  "I'm not

wearing that pink thing again."

"We could join a nudist colony.  Nobody would ever think of looking for us

there.  Besides," his arm tightened around her waist.  "I've gotten kind of

used to going without clothes." 

"I think they call themselves naturists, now, Mulder.  That's one of those

facts you of all people should know, not me."

"Naturists.  I like that.  I could get really used to you going without

clothes, too.  Those suits. . . . " he trailed off and shook his head.  "I

always wanted to take 'em off you anyway."  He opened his eyes to check her

reaction to that.

She smiled and turned in his arms and kissed him, a long slow loving kiss.

Well, maybe his erection was an issue after all.

"I don't want to get out."

"Me neither."

She was gazing longingly in the direction of the bed.  He could see it

through the open bathroom doorway.  It looked inviting.  But he couldn't

move.  He shut his eyes again.

"But the bed looks so empty.  So comfy," she said, her voice wistful.

"Mmm."

"Come on.  1 - 2 - 3."

She stood up and stepped out.

"Come on, darlin'."   She tugged on his hand.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.  "Darlin'."  He smiled.  I like bein'

your darlin'."

"You've always been my darlin'."

"I have?"

"Yeah," she said softly.  "Come on out."

"Mmm,"  he agreed.

"1 - 2 - 3."

He stood up and stepped out too.  Carefully she dried him off, neither of

them commenting on his not-so-flaccid state, then they made their way to

the bed.

Scully pulled back the covers.  Smooth clean white cotton sheets beckoned

them.

"Clean sheets," she sighed and climbed in.

"Clean sheets," he echoed and crawled in beside her.

He wrapped his arms around her, and she wrapped hers around him, every inch

of their bodies touching that could possibly touch, her face against his

beard, his nose in her clean-smelling hair, they slept.

Mulder was dreaming.  It was a warm dream, a cool dream.  She was there, as

always.  He smiled against her hair, the short ends tickled his nose.  His

dream love, she'd come.  His Scully.  He held her in his arms, she was soft

against him.  As he bent his face down to nuzzle her breasts, her fingers

enmeshed themselves in his hair, her lips teased his ear.  She whispered to

him, telling him words of love, telling him secrets of the sea.  He felt

himself grow hard against her, felt her touch him gently, felt her stroke

him, her hands warm, her hands familiar, knowing what pleased him, knowing

how to make him groan.  He reached for her, too, wanting her to want him. 

Wanting her to feel good, wanting to please her, wanting to erase the pain,

now that he knew.

He felt himself waking.  No.  He said.  No!  Not this time, please don't

make me wake up.   The longing to keep her with him was stronger than the

dream.  He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him tightly.  Please

let me stay sleeping, let me keep my Scully, let me keep sleeping, Don't

make me wake up from this dream.  I can't face another day without her.  I

can't face life alone without her.  Please let me keep sleeping.  Please,

please, don't take her.  Let her take me back with her, back into the

waves, down among the fishes, back among the caves, the cool caves beneath

the sea.  Where the sun sparkles brightly through the cool deep water, and

everything looks green.  And the fish swim by, on the way to wherever

they're going. . . .

She was running her hands down his body now.  Her touch more impatient. 

Her hands hot, fevered, insistent.  They touched him in places he hadn't

remembered existed.  His ribs, his sides, his neck, his shoulder blades. 

They soothed him, stoked him.

And he touched her in wonder, smoothing her and stroking her, touching her

like a feather, touching her like a dream.  He cupped her breasts and

brought them to his mouth, first one then the other.  He sucked them like a

baby.  First softly, then hard.

His Scully was crying out now and reaching down between them, she grabbed

him in both hands and gently began to guide him.   She wasn't

understanding, this Scully in his dream.  Oh, Scully, he tried to tell her,

it's your love I want, not just desire, it feels good, but I need *you*,

your warming, not the fire.  It's your loving that I live for, it's your

loving that I long for . . .  it's the longing, not the passion . . . it's

the loving . . . not the dream.

Mulder sighed and pushed his hips forward, she was being very persistent,

he'd go along with her right now, and tell her in a minute, meanwhile

searching with his penis for that place between her thighs, where he could

sink into her deeply and lose himself in brightness . . .  and they'd lose

themselves completely in a warm slide of love.

"I love you, Mulder," she whispered.

He smiled.

"I love you," he said, his eyes still shut.

"I love you, Mulder.  Wake up."

He opened his eyes and found himself looking into a pair of bright blue

ones, not six inches from his own.  

His Scully.

His love.

He smiled.

"I love you, Scully."

She smiled.

"I love you, too."

She was leaning on one elbow, resting her head against her hand.  The sun

was setting and the last of its rays slanted through the wooden shutters,

splashing across her body where she'd thrown back the sheets, washing her

skin with red stripes of light, lighting her tousled hair on fire and

shining sideways through her blue eyes, making them translucent.  She was

just looking at him.

"I love you," he said again.

"And I love you, too."  Her eyes traveled over his face. "I didn't want to

take advantage of you while you were asleep, Mulder.   But I was about to."

She smiled again and leaned forward slightly.  She sank her teeth into his

full lower lip, bit it then pulled it into her mouth and sucked it gently. 

Then kissed him where she'd bitten.  

Mulder moaned and shifted himself against her.  His penis was rock hard

between her legs, but not inside her.

"Mmmm," she said and kissed him there again.

She was here, she was alive.  It had been the dream that was the dream.

She reached up to push his hair back from his face with her other hand and

combed her fingers through it.

"You know, you're really, really sexy with long hair, Mulder."  

"Oh, yeah?" he said softly.  "You know, you're really, really sexy with

short hair."

She gave a little grin and nestled herself closer to him so the tip of his

penis was just brushing the entrance to her warm moist cave.

"Oh, yeah?" she said and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Yeah," said Mulder, and felt suddenly shy.

She still just lay there looking at him.  Looking up and down his body with

interest.  This was Scully for godsakes.  He felt nervous.  They'd made

love the night before in such a frantic rush.   They hadn't talked about

it.  It had been a wild mating of two souls.  A desperate finale to their

solitary time in the dark.  Affirmation.  Closure.  Consummation.  Promise.

 Now they were one.

But they hadn't had a whole hell of a lot of foreplay.

But now.  This was new, a new beginning. 

They were together.  There was no doubt about that.  But when faced with

the thought of making love to her. . . he was nervous.  Willing, but

nervous.

The thing he'd wanted most in the world, snuggled against him at last.

But he'd always been one to open his Christmas presents slowly.  

"Mulder."

"Yeah?'

Her eyes were serious.

"I really missed you."

"Yeah." he swallowed.   He didn't really have the words to talk about it

out loud.

He moved his erection slightly against the warm lips between her legs. 

"Mulder?"

"Umm?"

His gaze moved across her face like a caress.  The food and bath had done

wonders for both of them, her face was healthier already.  Her lips redder,

her eyes brighter.

Her eyes were traveling across his face, too, pausing here and there,

drinking in the sight of him.

"I mean I really missed you."

"Me too, Scully.  So much I can't even begin to say."  

Much as he wanted to slide himself into her, he pulled back.  

Her expression was suddenly worried.  "Mulder?"

He smiled at her reassuringly.  "I've got to look at every inch of your

skin."

"Oh," her voice was a soft little sigh, flattered, happy.  "Why?"

"Because I love you."

He rolled her over onto her stomach and slowly stroked his hand down the

curve of her back.  She rested on her elbows and looked at him sideways,

willing for the time being to go along with him- -he hoped.

He leaned forward and trailed kisses from behind her ear, down across the

nape of her neck, down her backbone, to the small of her back.  

"Mulder?"  She craned her head and looked at him.  "What are you doing?" 

He was carefully examining the tattoo on the skin just above her bottom.

"Nice tattoo."

"Thanks."

"Shh!"  He said, and put a finger to his lips, craning his ear to the

tattoo.  "It said something to me!"

"Mulder!"  She aimed a kick at his head with one heel.

Mulder caught her ankle in his hand and held it, pretending to listen to

the tattoo.

"Okay," he told it.

"Alright.  What did it say?"  She sounded more amused than exasperated.

"Kiss me."

And he proceeded to do so, making his lips as gentle as possible until he

heard Scully give a little gasping sigh.

He smiled.  He'd been dying to get a good look at that tattoo.  

He continued across the warm swell of her buttocks to the place where the

round softness of her bottom turned to the long smooth shape of the muscle

on the back of her thigh.  Gently he kissed that spot just below each

cheek.  Then his lips continued their trail down to the back of her knees. 

He placed a kiss on the back of each knee and she giggled.

"Mulder!  That tickles."

He placed one hand on the back of her calf as his mouth trailed further

down to kiss the soles of her feet.

"I haven't shaved my legs in awhile," she said apologetically. 

"It's sexy," he said.  Taking her toes in his mouth and sucking on them.

"Or my underarms either."

"Oh, really?"  Mulder rose to his knees and turned her gently over onto her

back.  He took her wrists in his hands and started to raise them over her

head.  She tensed, and he stopped.  But the look of wariness instantly

vanished.  He placed her arms over her head, but didn't hold them there. 

Then he lowered his head and kissed the soft tuft of red-blond hair in one

armpit, then the other.  Nestling his nose in it.  Smelling her smell. 

Then he kissed his way up to the peak of one breast.   Slowly and

contemplatively he stopped to suck at first one soft red tip then the other

before trailing his mouth down further, across her ribs, kissing each one

on one side and then each one on the other.  "We need to fatten you up," he

said between the kisses.  He looked up at her.  She was laying back against

the pillows, arms still over her head, watching him.

He grinned.  She looked so abandoned lying there, the setting sun warm

across her skin.

"You, too," she said.

His head slid further downward and his mouth encountered her flat stomach. 

He kissed it very gently and then slid down further still.  He reached the

red curls and kissed his way along one side of them, along the line where

the curls met the white flesh, then he kissed his way down to the place

where her thigh turned to her inner thigh.  

Cupping her buttocks he spread her legs and kissed down along the tender

hollow of her inner thigh, working his way back up to the top of the curls

and slowly started down the other side.  Briefly he buried his nose in her

hair.  These curls smelled warm and sexy and inviting, too.

He glanced at her face.  She'd pushed herself up on her elbows and was

watching him, an amused expression on her face.

When he reached the inner thigh he brought his hand in to part the curls

and see her soft folds of skin.  She was lovely, her skin a softly glowing

pink, her little clitoris swollen and straining to be touched.  He let his

tongue flick out and touch it briefly and she arched convulsively, letting

out a soft moan. "Mul-der."

He smiled and began to tease her with his tongue and then his lips,

alternately licking then sucking, until he couldn't hold her still, his

thumbs stroking the flesh of her inner thighs, lightly, gently in rhythm to

his sucking.

"Oooooooo, Mulder," she said, then gasped.

And now he left the nub and slid his tongue further down her, parting the

folds and slipping inside.  He licked her, tasting gently.  He knew what

she would taste like.  He recognized her flavor.  It stopped him for a

moment as he compared her with his Scully from the sea.  But she wasn't

having any of that, she buried her hands in his hair and pushed his mouth

back against her.  "More, Mulder," she whispered, "More." 

Gently he rubbed his beard over the straining little knob of flesh.  She

arched her back and let out a stifled shriek.

Mulder smiled against her warmth and kissed inside her, then kissed along

the folds.  He kissed her very softly, then moved up to suck on her nub

again.  

She rocked and bucked beneath his mouth, and he nipped her lightly.

"Yessss," she whispered.

He smoothed the skin back and sucked it even harder till her hips pushed up

in the air and she convulsed against his mouth and he sucked her so hard he

was laughing, laughing at her pleasure, and she laughed too, in a

breathless gasp, and said, "Oh, Mulder just come up here and make love to

me."

He looked up and crawled up over her, smiling into her eyes. 

"Patience, darlin'."

She just grinned at him, pulled her to him and kissed him long and hard. 

Mulder sat up and pulled her onto his lap, straddling him.  His erection

seemed to be having a mind of its own.  It slipped between her legs and

started pushing against  her where his mouth had been a moment before.  She

reached down between him, gave him one long firm stroke then guided him to

her and pressed the tip against her entrance.   

Mulder groaned and shut his eyes--this was going to be over quick.   She

stopped and looked at him and he opened his eyes and looked at her.  An

unspoken affirmation flashed between them and he tipped his hips very

gently and she tilted hers to meet him and ever so softly and smoothly he

slipped into her heat.  She was tight and inviting and he pushed a little

further till he was in as far as he could go.  She gave a little

"Ohhh-hhh-hh" of pleasure and he thought he was going to come right then.  

He didn't want to hurt her, he'd let her do the leading.   He wanted her to

be in control.  She began to rock down on him gently, their eyes not

leaving one another's.

She pushed and pushed against him until he couldn't stand it anymore, he

pushed back, too, harder, and he slid his hands beneath her bottom,

gripping it, kneading the flesh, lifting her until he was supporting her

with each thrust.

He slid a hand down between them and pushed hard on the center of her

desire, pinching it, rubbing it, smoothing back its little hood until she

clenched her muscles on him and screamed.

The feeling exploded over him.  He kept pushing harder until a  moment

later his own release came, and he kept looking in her eyes.  First he

whimpered then he shouted her name and then he came with a rush inside her,

her hips still rocking against his as her insides clenched on him again and

again and again, until the sweet waves of pressure from her insides milked

him of everything.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

He  was still inside her, although much smaller now.  They were laying back

on the bed, they had been for awhile, in an unidentifiable tumble of arms

and legs.    Although she felt kind of gooey she didn't feel like moving. 

In fact, she didn't care if she ever moved again.  If she squeezed her

muscles very softly she could feel him.

She stuck out her tongue and tasted his skin, licking the salty sweat from

the hollow of his neck.  Then she gave him another little squeeze.

"Uhhh," Mulder said into her neck.  

He raised his head and brushed a curl gently back from her forehead.  His

concentration on it intense.  Then he looked back into her eyes and smiled.

"Scuh-lee," he said.  His mouth moving over her name in a gentle caressing

tone she'd never heard from him before, a smile in his voice, a breaking

sound of happiness that squeezed her chest.  "We made love."

He sounded awestruck, amazed. 

My God, they'd made love to each other, finally.  Her hands slipped around

his forearms, feeling the skin, making sure he was real.

She smiled at him, hopeful that maybe things were going to be okay.

"It was about time," she said.

At the smile that lit up his face, her eyes filled suddenly with tears. 

She shut them tightly.  Her throat was full too.  She opened her eyes and

stared at him, scared.  

"Just don't let this be a dream," she said.

Mulder glanced around the hotel room, his expression startled.   She kissed

him to reassure herself.  He felt so real in her arms, his skin, so warm

against her, his warmth, her taste on his mouth.  Her breasts against him. 

He was still inside her, and half-hard again at that.  He ground his hips

against hers in a now familiar rhythm.

"I'm real," he said and ground against her again.  She tried to smile as

she felt him growing inside her.  

His eyes tried to reassure her.  She looked into them deeply, the large

black pupils, the yellow ring, the grey irises.  Memorizing every detail,

willing the picture of his face to burn itself into her mind.  Just in

case.

"You're real," he said, and pushed into her a little harder. 

Yeah, he was real.

Languidly she pushed back, her eyes glued to his, her hands finding his,

then their fingers intertwined as they gently pressed back and forth. 

Softly, slowly, sweetly, drowning in each others eyes, sinking, sliding,

falling, in a bright slide of love.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The end.