Title: My Third File
Author : OneMillionAndNine
Feedback: kokotheuberchimp@hotmail.com
Category: V, A, MSR, post-all things
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Scully's POV on the events in 
'Premature Ejaculation'
Archive: Sure
Disclaimer: I can surf, but I still ain't CC - 
and if someone can find a way to make money off 
of fan fic they're a lot smarter than I am
Note: eternal undying gratitude to Maybe 
Amanda. If it weren't for her, I probably 
wouldn't post at all, and if I did manage to 
work up the nerve to get anything on the net, 
all my fic would look like it was done by 
e.e. cummings on mescaline. Really. Scout's 
Honor.

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I'm going to open a new file and place it with 
the ones Mulder started.  I'll file it right 
behind the glossy photos of my tattoo - I'll 
file it behind my own back.  It will read 
'Secrets: Dana K. Scully.'  No, that's too 
strong.  How about 'Little Known Facts About 
Dana K. Scully?'  That's more appropriate; the 
word 'secret' sounds too sensational.  They're 
not exciting, just difficult to get out.  

Little Known Fact #1:  Mulder is the more 
civilized member of our partnership.  My 
natural inclination is to be somewhat brutish.  
Mulder imagines I am wholly without intuitions 
or gut reactions, when few things could be 
farther from the truth.  I am assaulted by 
unreasoning hunches at every turn.  I simply 
choose to ignore them.  They are dangerous and 
untrustworthy, the key to all my inner chaos.  
They might seem right today, but that doesn't 
guarantee tomorrow.  Mulder is complicated, but 
I am simple.  Like a flat worm in a tank, I try 
to avoid the parts of the floor where I get the 
painful shock.  He seeks truth.  Ironically, 
all I seek is the absence of pain and panic.  
That being inescapable, like a cornered dog, I 
am now in the process of trying to rip the 
throats out of those who have harmed me and 
mine.

Little Known Fact #2:  I am very emotional.  In 
all reality, my feelings do dips and curves 
that, if he only knew, would make my partner's 
head spin.  But he doesn't know.  I learned 
in childhood to rein them in - suppress a blush 
as I felt it rise, stifle a laugh until I felt 
my blood cold in my arms, hold my tears in my 
throat until all I had left in my chest was 
tundra.  In a large military family, undue 
histrionics were not encouraged.  Sentiment is 
unreliable at best, and my passions tend to 
border on insanity.  Science and reason are 
perfect for me.  A framework to superimpose on 
every situation in order to find the right 
answer, the right response.  I like rules 
because, without them, I'd unravel like a cheap 
sweater.

Little Known Fact #3:  I do not have romantic 
feelings for my partner.  I hate romance.  
Romance is cheap and false.  No one over the 
age of 18 should have romantic feelings.  The 
idea of sitting with Mulder in an overpriced 
restaurant while he hurls expensive gifts and 
poetic promises embarrasses me, makes me feel  
uncomfortable, disgusted, and vaguely nauseous.  

Mulder is a romantic.  It's one of the things I 
hate about him.  Not that there are lot of 
things I hate about him, but that is definitely 
at the top of the list.  He's a romantic.  He 
always embroiders, always sees things that 
aren't there, imagines what could be instead of 
accepting what is.  I can just barely deal with 
the world when it's stripped down to facts - I 
don't need anything added.  The fact that my 
partner is so often right only makes things 
worse.

Dana K Scully Fact #4:  I'm not certain whether 
it's little known or not, but I love him.  He 
was right when he said it so many years ago, 
but as with so many other cases, his foresight 
was bordering on telescopic and I had to wait 
for the truth to become indisputable.  Well, 
seven years later, I believe in the existence 
of extraterrestrials and I believe my partner 
loves me.  I love him and it feels like a 
crushing weight in my chest where, at one 
time, there was nothing but cold air.  I don't 
want flowers or grand gestures.  Want to know 
about my wildest dreams? My wildest dreams 
involve a neat, well-furnished apartment, 
honest, meaningful work, a few close friends, 
and maybe a little, a very little, baby.

There's never going to be any baby, though.  
Our last attempt failed, and there aren't going 
to be any more.  

I doubt Mulder and I would ever move in 
together, either  We are both riding up on 
middle age and are most likely too set in our 
ways to accommodate another adult.

See what dreaming gets me?  All dreams can do 
is break my heart. 

Little Known Fact #5:  I've never been in love 
with any other man.  I have had sex with other 
men.  I have lusted after other men.  I've been 
excited, intrigued, even thrilled by other men.  
I felt a certain sentimental attachment to both 
Daniel and Jack, but I never knew what other 
people were talking about when they blathered 
on about feeling a passion that was anything 
other than sexual in nature.  Now I have a 
tsunamis worth of feeling that nine times out 
of ten has nothing to do with the urge to ride 
Fox Mulder until my ears ring.

Love was hard for me to get to, hard for me to 
Know, even when it devastated me.  He was only 
six and a half years ahead of me, after all.

God, I remember that day.  I thought I was safe 
in pajamas and bathrobe after he'd seen me in 
my underwear.  He kept making his needling 
little remarks about Tom Colton until I 
laughed.  Then, somehow, just like that, I was 
kissing him.  Yesterday, time stretched, but 
that morning, the morning I went to bed with my 
partner, it coiled up tight before returning to 
its rightful shape.

My tongue went into his mouth without a second 
thought.  Without a first thought, really.  It 
was tactile fulfillment, and all my higher 
brain functions had already shut down.  

The Mulder I know now, my Mulder, is just a 
man.  A large man, granted, but not abnormally 
so.  The Mulder I was with that day was larger 
than life. A giant. It was like I was being 
made love to by a giant.

Made love.  Fucked.  Screwed. Consorted.  Had 
congress.  None of those words describe what we 
did accurately.  It was electric and purely 
physical, at least on my part.  The minute he 
pinched my nipples in the hallway, I had an 
orgasm.  He wedged his fingers between my 
labia, and I had two more.  Then, in his purely 
Mulder half-awkward half-artful way, he 
penetrated me, and within seconds, I came so 
hard I could hear nothing but the roar of my 
own blood in my ears.

It terrified me.  All at once I remembered the 
accountant who was trying so hard to hold my 
attention.  I thought about Daniel and Jack and 
my disconcerting habit of sleeping with my 
immediate superiors.  I thought about laughing 
at the wild tales of 'Spooky Mulder.'  I 
quailed at the idea of being tarred with the 
same brush.  About that time I realized that, 
not only was I having sex with the laughing-
stock of the FBI, I was having unsafe sex with 
the laughing-stock of the FBI.  I had never 
gotten so caught up in something so obviously 
wrong so very quickly before. 

What if I caught something?  Omigod, what if I 
got pregnant? 

I don't remember much of what we said to each 
other, but I do remember him assuring me he 
could pull out in time.  I remember very 
clearly wondering exactly how stoned on 
hormones I was that I didn't argue with him.  
My stupid body had the temerity to have another 
orgasm.

More excuses, punctuated by thrusting hips, 
followed, but I can't recall any 
specifics.  I do remember that, after a lull, 
he shuddered in what was not an orgasm, and 
told me he loved me.

I panicked.  I had to get him off me.  I had 
never been so sexually excited in my life and 
the thought of that, coupled with emotion, was 
unbearable, even in theory.

He was brilliant, attractive, committed, and 
decent.  I could see how an undisciplined woman 
might develop all sorts of fantasies about a 
man like that, how she might fantasize it into 
that convention called 'love', especially if he 
was trying to make her come until she blacked 
out.  

I was not that kind of fool.  I didn't want to 
know if I was capable of those feelings or not.   
I wanted to keep them, like children, a 
definite plan for some indefinite day in the 
future; I didn't want to spend it all on some 
fanatic in the basement of the Hoover Building.

It took some time for me to learn that the 
fanatic in the basement could give me more than 
I ever imagined, that while I was capable of 
love, I would probably never learn to wear it 
very well, and that the baby I was so afraid of 
conceiving that morning would ache in my chest 
for the rest of my life.

Sometimes I look at the priggish, callous, 
self-important person I was and hate her.

Sometimes I wonder how much I've changed.  

Last night, I came to him in his bed.  I came 
to him in his bed, and sex between us was 
everything it should have been.  Perfect.  Time 
didn't rush in over my head.  Instead, it 
stretched out beautiful before us.  We made 
love so well.  I couldn't imagine it better 
than it was.  Skin on skin, tongue on tongue, 
eye on eye, followed by every possible 
combination. 

Yet, when he spoke, when he poured himself out 
on me with his "I've loved you so long," for 
all the words inside me,  for all the feelings 
crashing like waves on a rocky shore, all I 
could force out was a grunted, "Me, too."

I don't know how to say any of the things I 
feel for him.  Not one.  Certainly I can say I 
love him, but it seems meaningless when 
compared to what I felt with him inside me.  If 
I had stayed until morning, I would have felt 
compelled to say something, and it inevitably 
would have been stupid.  Awkward.  Wrong.  

I just don't have words to tell Mulder what 
this thing I have for him actually is.  So I am 
sitting in our office at 4:30 a.m. making a 
file.  A file of facts.  Facts are something I 
can understand.  

Little Known Fact About Dana K. Scully #6:  She 
is too inarticulate to ever be able to express 
her feelings for her partner.  The emotions are 
huge, and she is just not big enough.


End
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