Chapter Text
Chapter One- Retire
He dreamed of a long hallway, white and sterile, smelling of the harshness of disinfectant and the bodies of the ill. He was running, running, trying to find room 874, but every time he glanced at a number on a door, it was the wrong number, sometimes too low, sometimes too high. Sweat streaming down his face, his tie flapping about him, he kept running, looking for her, knowing she lay dying.
She dreamed of nothing at all. She was suspended in a warm bath of repose, where she saw nothing, felt nothing.
When he woke, he realized he was still in bed with her. The sun was beginning to rise and like a thief, he crept out of bed and her bedroom to settle on the couch, pulling the quilt around his body.
When she woke, the bed seemed much too big and empty. Shivering in the early morning cold, she struggled to find a comfortable position for her aching body.
The next evening, Scully put down her book and yawned. "I think I'm off to bed," she announced, rolling her shoulders as if to get the kinks out.
Mulder looked up from his laptop and was surprised to find it 11 p.m. Another Saturday night in the lives of our two fun-filled Federal agents, he thought with a small smile to himself.
After Scully sequestered herself in the bathroom, Mulder automatically went for the closet to fetch the blankets and pillows for his couch bed. He'd adapted himself somewhat to her hours in the five days he'd been staying with her and he found himself ready to sleep, too.
Scully came out of the bathroom in her oversized flannel pajamas, the ends of her hair damp from face washing. He smiled to see her, drowning in material two sizes too large, face scrubbed free of makeup, looking like a teenage girl, the freckles standing out on her nose.
"What are you doing?" she softly asked.
"I'm getting the couch ready for bed."
She paused a moment, biting her lip, and he wondered what was running though her mind. "You don't have to do that," she finally said. "I mean, my bed's...um ...big and much more comfortable than that little couch."
Mulder blinked at her. "It's okay," he said. "I'm used to couches."
Her face melted into full smile that was all the more irresistible given the nervous eyes above it. "If you'd prefer the couch, I understand, but I slept really well last night with you there."
An offer nearly impossible to resist, Mulder thought. Scully, always so reticent, expressing need, and one that didn't involve being left alone. There was no way he could refuse, knowing that if rejected, she might never make such an offer again, as proud as she was.
He took a deep breath. "There's nothing I'd like better, Scully."
In the bathroom, while brushing his teeth, he thought about the night before, of sliding into her crisp cotton sheets that while clean, still smelled of her, of her skin and shampoo and soap. He had fallen asleep halfway through L.A. Confidential and only woke when the tape ran out and CNN began blaring the news. He switched off the set and sat up to return to his post on the couch but he was so comfortable, ensconced in her soft bed under the down comforter, that instead he turned off the lamp and rolled over.
It felt entirely natural to share a bed with Scully, as if they'd been doing it for years. As if it was an ordinary Friday night in the life of a couple, watching a movie and falling asleep in their shared bed. He wasn't at all surprised to find how much he liked it.
But now, he wondered if they had been on the same page when he'd asked, "When do you think it'll be our time?"
She had answered. "I think it is our time." They were words heavy with promise but her meaning had been left unarticulated, for she had fallen asleep just after saying them.
Time for what? To deepen their friendship? To finally push the boundaries and go further?
Mulder changed into a tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Ordinarily he slept in just a pair of boxers, but he felt uncomfortable going to Scully's bed with so little on. He didn't want her misunderstanding his motives.
He felt shy walking into the private refuge of her bedroom, like a virginal bride heading off to the marriage bed, not quite sure of what to expect. Scully was sitting up, propped by several pillows, her glasses on, flipping through a magazine. She smiled to see him and he realized she was as apprehensive as he was.
Feeling conscious of his every move, he climbed in bed, careful to keep on the far side. Scully let out a small chuckle. "This seems strange, doesn't it?"
Humor would help, he thought. "I won't tell Kersh if you don't."
"It's been hard for me to fall asleep. I've always gone to sleep on my stomach, but I can't do that right now."
"Soon," he said. "You're healing."
Scully switched off the light and the room seemed too dark to him, a strange room that smelled of her, a room in which he could hear her breathing. The night before had been a happy accident, now he was here on purpose and it felt odd. He heard her roll onto her side, facing him. "Thank you, Mulder."
"For sleeping with you? I should be thanking you."
"No. For all of this. This is above and beyond the call of duty."
He paused, frozen to the mattress. Did she truly believe that he was doing all this—running her errands, taking out her garbage, folding her laundry—because he felt it was his duty as her partner? If anything, his motives were entirely selfish, an excuse to be around her, to spend time with her outside of the strict confines of their professional life. And not so selfish, too. Scully was his friend and she needed help. End of story.
"It's not about duty and partnership," he said, pulse rate beginning to pick up. "I'd like to think it's more than that."
Her soft hand touched his bare arm and she sighed. "It is, Mulder. I think we both know that now."
Mulder's breath caught in his throat. "Is this our time?"
She moved closer. "We may have to face the distinct possibility that we may never get the X-Files back. I think we have to take a look at our partnership .and recognize the other things that keep us together."
"Such as?" Mulder had his own answers, but he needed to hear hers.
Scully paused a moment and he swore he could hear her brain actively thinking. Finally, "Things like friendship. Trust. Understanding." She paused again and he wondered if she had anything else to add to the list. And she did. A simple word. "Love."
His stomach tightened as he remembered her incredulous face when he told her he loved her in Bermuda. "Love," he echoed.
Her voice was gentle. "It's been there a long time. Now we have to decide what we want to do with it."
"It's a big step," he admitted.
"Yes, it is," Scully agreed and she took his hand, just as she had the night before.
He moved in closer to her and Scully rested her head on his shoulder. Automatically, his arm wrapped around her back and he buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply her clean, womanly smell. Mulder felt her breathing soften and become regular and he realized she had dropped off to sleep.
Smiling in the dark, he loosened his grip on her body. Scully had an impeccable sense of timing—an unerring ability to fall asleep in the middle of late-night conversations about matters close to their hearts.
They'd have to find a way to discuss such things in the light of day, not while sharing a bed.
Mulder had never been able to get a decent night's sleep while touching another body in bed with him. He needed his space, not to be bumped up against another warm body. But this time he was oddly unwilling to let Scully go, unwilling to do without her sleep-pliant flesh molded to his. After all, most nights the only thing he hugged was the leather back of his couch. He couldn't feel the heartbeat of the couch, nuzzle his nose into the soft skin of the couch.
Conscious of the smile still on his face, Mulder sunk into sleep, feeling surrounded by an emotion that had eluded him for more years than he cared to account. He felt loved.
Chapter Two- Gratitude
She blinked awake, realizing it was full morning and she had not awakened once in the night. Scully found herself on her uninjured side, with the unfamiliar press of human flesh against her back.
It had been shamefully long since she had awakened to that. She was surrounded entirely by him—the smell of male night-sweat, the soft rumbles of snores from his nose, the feel of his chest pressing into her and his erection firmly poking into her bottom.
It was intimate, terribly intimate to wake in such a fashion and she ruefully realized she and Mulder hadn't even kissed. Yet here they were, tumbled in bed together as if they had spent the previous evening making love.
She wasn't exactly sure how she felt about such intimacy.
It was easy to attribute the sudden rush of need for Mulder to a psychological aftereffect of her shooting. A sign of trauma.
Despite the warm body wrapped around her, Scully shivered.
She had told him she loved him, in so many words, before she fell asleep. She had not lied. Yes, she did love him, she had for many years, but she had never taken the luxury of stopping to fully consider the meaning of it. There are many manifestations of love and she did not know which form her feelings for Mulder took.
Mulder mumbled something in his sleep and moved against her body, his hard-on brushing back and forth across her bottom. She shivered again, but it had nothing to do with being cold, or being scared. Desire thrilled up her spine and as if against her will, she pictured being whole and strong enough to simply roll over and throw her leg over him. To, in one swift instant, thrust upwards and fill herself with him, rock against him, mindlessly take her pleasure and give him his. Just that mere thought and she felt her nipples stiffen against the flannel of her pajama top.
It's been too long, she thought. Too many years of denial and sacrifice. For one shimmering day, she simply wanted to make love, to have a strong, sound, unscarred body, to lose herself in wave after wave of pleasure. To drown in his skin, his hair, his smell, his muscles and sinew. To arch her back like a cat and call out his name as he surrounded her entirely.
But that wasn't their reality, their situation. Not yet.
Stealthily, she wiggled out of Mulder's grasp and he flopped onto his back, mumbling, "Bring more ammo." She stifled a laugh and got out of bed, feeling the now-familiar dull ache of healing injury and muscles overtaxed by physical therapy.
She didn't dare cast a backwards look at the man still lying in her bed, though she knew it was a pretty picture.
While standing under the hot needles of the shower, Scully decided to go to Sunday Mass. It had been far too long and she needed the ritual to feel centered and back in her routine. Normally she attended Mass with her mother, but she wasn't quite ready to start driving yet. St. Joseph's was just around the corner, not even a half block away.
She dressed as quietly as possible, pulling on a loose wool dress that wouldn't strain her sore abdomen. In the living room she scribbled a note to Mulder, explaining where she had gone. How strange it was to suddenly feel accountable to another, something she hadn't felt since Jack. A secure feeling, yes, but also slightly smothering.
It felt exhilarating to step outside of the house alone for the first time since her return from New York. The air was crisp and cold, but she was well bundled in her winter coat and hat. The sky was a Technicolor shade of blue and she felt somehow restored by the weak January rays of the sun. Slowly, she made her way to St. Joseph's, a process that took twice as long as normal in her weakened state.
She arrived at the small brick church in triumph and gratefully collapsed on a pew inside. The air smelled of dusty hymnals and incense and Scully felt immediately at peace. She was where she belonged.
The familiar and stately order of Sunday mass was a balm to her vaguely troubled soul. No matter how much trial and tribulation there was in her life, Mass was always the same, from the Processional, to the Homily to Communion. It brought back sepia-toned memories of the Scully family, lined up in one pew, scrubbed and starched in their Sunday best. Memories of the boys furtively nudging each other, of Maggie shushing them, her father singing off-key, of Melissa fiddling with the ribbons on the end of her braids and Dana staring at the stained-glass windows, wondering if God really listened when she prayed.
Now she knew he did. She felt his gentle presence in her times of greatest need. Her faith had supported her when Emily lay dying in the hospital, when she was on the ice with Mulder, wondering how they would survive. He was there, she felt it. It was at odds with everything she knew, her deep belief in the regular order of science and logic, but she had learned, over the past few years, to accept the duality of her beliefs. Yes, there was science, but it belonged to God.
After Communion, as the choir sang, she sat back down at the wooden pew and bent her head to pray. Scully didn't ask God for anything, she simply expressed her gratitude for being spared her life once again, for the love of her family, for having Mulder—however he was to fit into her life now.
When she rose with the rest of the congregation to receive the priest's final blessing, tears filled her eyes. No matter what happened in the future, it would be what was meant to be. It was as simple as that and she felt immense gratitude.
After the final hymn, she went to the small alcove at the side of the church and lit candles. When she did this after Mass, she always lit a candle for her father, one for her mother, one for Melissa, one for Emily and one for Charlie and Bill and their families. Then, she always lit an extra candle for Mulder. This time, she lit all the usual candles, but instead of one for Mulder alone, she lit one for the two of them.
She looked at the white candle, burning with a strong flame in its glass holder and she knew. At that precise moment she understood the form and shape and texture of her love for Mulder and she was no longer afraid.
A smile on her face, she walked out of the church and found Mulder, leaning against the railing of the steps, a white bag in his hands.
Chapter Three- Continental Drift
Mulder stood in front of the church, scanning the exiting parishioners for Scully. She had given him a minor scare when he'd woken to find her gone from the apartment, but he found her note sitting on the kitchen table soon after.
After the flood of churchgoers slowed to a trickle, he poked his head inside the church. He had never liked churches, or temples for that matter, associating them with a God who had turned his back on him at an early age. Still, he admired Scully's quiet surety in her faith, despite the horror she had witnessed in her life in the Bureau.
Sometimes he wondered if his faith was simply faith in Scully.
Eyes scanning left, he spotted her small figure, standing in front of a bank of flickering candles, holding a long taper in her hand. Mulder suddenly felt like an intruder on a private moment and stepped back outside to wait for her to emerge.
Scully walked out the big wooden doors a short time later, an oddly dreamy expression on her face. She stopped in her tracks as soon as she noticed him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, brows knitting together.
He fumbled the white bakery bag between his fingers. "I went out for bagels and I thought I'd pick you up on the way." Mulder didn't mention his small but nagging fear for her weakened health, realizing how deeply important her sense of independence was.
She flashed him a skeptical look and he knew she wasn't buying a single word of it, but she simply slipped her arm through his and said, "Bagels? Did you get cream cheese to go with them?"
Mulder tapped the bag. "I would never forget the cream cheese. You can eat this, right?"
They started down the church steps. "I hope so, because if I eat another bowl of cream of wheat..."
With slow, deliberate steps, Mulder and Scully made their way home.
After breakfast, Mulder washed the dishes and Scully insisted on drying. "I'm tired of being waited on," she said with her 'don't argue with me' look.
When the last coffee cup was placed in the cabinet, Scully turned to him. "Mulder?"
He put down the sponge in his hand. "Yes?"
The little line appeared between her brows, the line that indicated she was thinking hard. She bit her lower lip. "We never finished our conversation last night."
His hand found the sleeve of her blue dress and he stroked the soft wool. "Yeah, well, somebody fell asleep in the middle of it."
Scully tilted her head up to him, faint rosiness spreading across her cheeks. He noticed how much healthier she was looking, how the deep shadows under her eyes were fading. Vibrant, he thought. She looks vibrant again.
Her voice came out in a slight stammer that was foreign to him. "Mulder," she said. "I...want to ...but I don't know where to start."
Mulder nodded, heart skittering. "I don't think I do either," he admitted, shrugging.
"It's time." She raised on tiptoe. Feeling out of his body, as if he were watching himself from a distance, Mulder bent and met her halfway.
At first their noses collided, but a small shift of their faces and their lips brushed against each other, simply the merest graze. It was the most chaste of kisses, but Mulder felt the electricity just the same.
"It was about time we got that right," Scully murmured, and despite his nerves, he laughed with her. He drew her into his arms and held her close, careful not to hug her too tightly and hurt her still-sore abdomen. Her face pressed against his chest and he kissed the top of her head.
"Are we really going to do this?" he asked, feeling a little foolish for needing the reassurance.
Scully pulled away and he noticed the sheen of tears in her eyes, reminding him of that horrible, hot night in his hallway as he'd desperately tried to stop her from leaving. "I don't think we have a choice," she simply said, with a lift of the chin. "We are doing this."
Yes, he thought. It's all been slowly moving towards this. Scully and he were like two continents, moving at an infinitesimal rate towards each other, the collision inevitable. His hand found the back of her neck and he pulled her mouth to his again, nearly gasping at the
sensation of her lips against his, full and soft and tasting of cinnamon tea.
She let out a soft whimper and opened her mouth to him, her tongue venturing to tentatively touch his. Mulder remembered all the times when he had been so close to doing this very thing, but had backed off for one reason or the other. His reasons now seemed trite and childish, as he and Scully merged in a kiss.
He had never before known that an entire universe could be contained in a single kiss.
They pulled apart and opened their eyes, stared at each other in wonder. Scully lifted her hand to her flushed cheek. "Oh, my," she breathed.
"Are you okay?" He squeezed her hand, marveling at how small it was in his own.
Smiling and nodding, she lifted his hand and kissed it, a gesture far different than when he'd done the same for her so many times before. Her eyes no longer held tears. "I'm overwhelmed," she said, "but in a good way."
Mulder kissed her temple. "Overwhelmed is a good thing. And when you're healed we can overwhelm each other even more." He took a deep breath, wondering if he'd been too presumptuous.
Her answer was to smile more widely, teeth and all. "I'll ask my doctor next week," she said.
Tugging her hand, he pulled her into the living room and sat her down on the couch. "In the meantime, how about I try to beat you in chess?"
Scully arched an eyebrow. "As if you could, Mulder."
He went off to get the set from the closet.
Chapter Four- Reflected
Scully awoke from a fitful nap on the couch Tuesday evening, disoriented and with her neck aching. She grimaced, adding it to her rather long list of various aches and pains. She struggled to pull herself up off the couch and headed to her bedroom, deciding a hot shower might loosen up her sore muscles.
From her chest of drawers she pulled out a pair of dark blue flannel pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved tee shirt. She never thought she'd live to see the day but she actually missed her business suits. Oh, to be fully mobile and functional again, to zip down the halls of the Hoover Building in charcoal gray Ann Taylor, pantyhose and three-inch heels.
She unbuttoned the pajama top she had on and let it slide to the floor, along with the matching bottoms. Clad only in her panties, she walked to the mirror over her dresser.
The last time she'd looked at her torso in the mirror was right before leaving the hospital. She'd been avoiding the scar, pretending it didn't exist, but it was there and she knew it. With some trepidation, she allowed her eyes to stray to her abdomen.
The sight was not as horrible as she'd imagined. The scar was red and raised, but the doctors at NYU had done an excellent job of making the scar from the bullet hole, and the ensuing surgery, as small as possible.
Gently, she touched the scar. Almost healed, she thought. Soon I will be back to normal.
She touched her lips, remembering kissing Mulder in her kitchen on Sunday. She'd be back to normal soon, but their lives would never be the same.
Scully thought of young Agent Ritter. She wondered how his healing was progressing. The last time she'd seen him, when he came to visit her in the hospital, he'd seemed devoured by his own guilt. That and the fact that he'd been suspended without pay for 30 days and censured by OPR made her almost sorrier for Ritter than herself. Almost, but not quite. He'd been blinded by his inexperience and ambition and he would pay the price for the remainder of his career.
It didn't mean she hadn't hated him for his haste and stupidity. In her first few days of consciousness she had marinated in a pool of anger that he had done that to her, brought her down because he'd failed to follow simple law enforcement procedure. As fluids dripped into her arm via the IV and fluids dripped away with a catheter, she stared at the white ceiling tiles of her hospital room and wished an equally painful and humiliating fate for Peyton Ritter.
The rage had quieted somewhat when Ritter entered her room a week after the shooting, bearing an armful of hothouse flowers. The vibrant, cocky agent seemed a mere shell of himself, hollowed out by his guilt.
She'd touched the small cross hanging at her neck and realized it wasn't her place to hate him. Ritter was doing a good enough job of it by himself, hating himself enough for the two of them. The three of them, really, if you counted Mulder, who hovered outside her door like Cerebus at the gates of Hades.
As Ritter softly touched her hand and inquired after her health, she'd decided she had to make the effort to forgive him. It wouldn't be an instant process, for she was certainly no saint, but she had to be awarded points for trying.
Still staring at her reflection, Scully tried not to think of how close she'd come that day in Fellig's darkroom. She had cheated death many times, but this had been the closest yet.
She shuddered.
The door creaked open and startled, she turned to see Mulder stride in.
His face registered instant embarrassment to see her in such a state of undress. "I'm sorry," he said, face coloring. "I just got home and I thought you were in the bathroom, so I came in for my sweatshirt."
Scully smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Curiously, she found herself not upset by his invasion of her privacy. "It's fine, Mulder."
Mulder stripped off his coat and tie and laid them on the chair next to the bed. Slowly, he approached her until he was standing directly behind her. She stared at the two of them in the mirror and felt dwarfed by his height, noticing how her head barely cleared his shoulders.
"Is this okay?" he asked, fingers drawing a slow line down her spinal column.
She nodded, transfixed by their reflection, by the hungry expression she wore on her face and the reverent one on his. This is right, she thought. This is our time. Forget duty, forget the Bureau and what partners should as shouldn't be doing. It's the two of us now and this is right.
Mulder's fingertips lightly circled the snake on her lower back. "I've never really seen it before," he breathed. "I caught a glimpse in Antarctica, but I didn't get a good look." He bent his head to the tattoo and she felt his warm breath on her skin. "It's beautiful, Scully."
She shut her eyes and remembered the hot buzz of the needle in her back and the waves of pain and pleasure coursing through her as the serpent was etched into her skin. And later that night, the dull throbbing as Ed pulled her to him and their vodka-soaked mouths collided in a kiss.
Lifting his head, Mulder looked at her through the mirror, one hand rising to touch her nipple. She watched in fascination as it involuntarily hardened between his fingers. "Did you?" he asked, and she knew just what he wanted to know.
She half-wanted to lie, to tell him what he wanted to hear, but she found the truth spilling from her mouth. "Yes," she said, still watching as his fingers circled and lightly pinched first one nipple and then the other.
His face didn't betray any great shock, or even surprise. She bit her lip as his other hand found her right breast and started lightly dancing across her skin. "Why?" he asked, and drew her hair off the back of her neck to press his lips against her nape.
It was difficult to articulate her reasons in the best of circumstances, and even more so when he was touching her like that and kissing the back of her neck. Scully struggled for her words. "I could blame it on tainted ink or three vodka tonics, I suppose. I could say it was loneliness or a kind of rebellion against what I saw as controlling behavior on your part. I could say that deep down, I somehow knew I had cancer. But the real truth is that I wanted him and he wanted me."
Mulder pulled away from her neck and turned her around, looking directly into her eyes. His face was neutral, perhaps just a bit sad. "I wanted to know," he said. "Thank you."
She let out her breath. "It wasn't like me, not at all. It was just one of those things that happens. It had been so long for me, since well before you and I were partnered and for one night, I wanted to be touched."
He nodded. "I had a night like that, when you were gone."
Scully thought about how well they had learned each other's shorthand over the years, that she knew exactly what he meant by gone. The three months erased from her life.
Continuing, Mulder said, "It was my way of trying to forget, for just one night, that you were missing. I wanted to lose myself."
Her hand brushed the light evening stubble on his cheek. "Did it work?"
"Temporarily, while I was in the moment, but it all came crashing back afterwards and that made it worse in the end."
She wrapped her arms around his waist. "I don't think sex is good for forgetting. At least, I don't want it to be about that, a tool for avoiding the realities of my life. I want it to be about remembering, and honoring, what's good about you and me."
He kissed her lightly on the lips, a sadly sweet kiss that made her shiver. "We're really doing this, huh?" he asked in a tone of wonder.
Pleased to feel the same sense of wonder, she nodded.
He turned her towards the mirror again and she felt suddenly conscious of her nudity in his fully-clothed presence. But his eyes held nothing but respect. He touched her scar with light fingers. "This isn't so bad."
"I can live with a scar."
He unbuttoned his blue dress shirt and it floated to the ground. Scully looked in the mirror again and was struck by the contrast in their skin tones, hers light cream and his a warm gold, even in his winter pallor.
Mulder pointed to the puckering underneath his left shoulder. "Scars are a good way of remembering."
She let out a soft laugh. "Remembering that I shot you?"
"Well, that, too," he said with a sheepish grin. "But also for remembering how temporary life is and how important it is to live it. I forget that most of the time."
Scully kissed his scar. "I do, too. I want that to stop. When I die I want to be able to review my life and be able to say that I was loved."
His arms went around her and for the first time she felt the true security of being held. "You will be able to, Scully," he said hoarsely. "Because you are loved."
Against the heated skin of his chest, she smiled. "And I love," she said.
Chapter Five- Exhale
Warmed by her words, Mulder led her to the bed and pulled the comforter to the side. She lay down without a word of protest, he noticed. It was funny how awkward and stumbling they'd been when they'd kissed in the kitchen on Sunday, but now it felt much smoother. Perhaps it was because they were finally reaching a place where they could talk about dark places, like their past.
If truth be told, at that moment he wanted nothing more than to rip her little white cotton panties off and finally claim what he'd coveted for so long, but he knew it was not possible. Not yet, he counseled himself.
Besides, he thought, the slow dance they'd begun somehow felt appropriate, given the glacial speed at which they had approached that point.
Scully looked up at him, eyes a translucent blue from the light of the bedside lamp. It cast a warm glow on her pale skin and coppery hair, and for a moment he could only stare at the regal lines of her face, thunderstruck.
Her hand reached out to him. "Are you planning on just standing there all night?"
It would be enough, he thought, but he began to undo his pants with thick fingers. Clad only in his boxers, he moved across the bed to her and crouched over her slender frame.
"I know you're not ready," he said, tracing the hollow of her collarbone with his fingers.
"No, not yet. Not physically. Mentally, yes, I'm ready." A mischievous grin flashed on her face. "But it doesn't mean we can't play." Her soft hand strayed to the fly of his shorts, where he was hard as granite. He stifled a gasp as her fingers slipped inside and lazily ran up and down his cock.
Mulder couldn't remember the last time sex had been sheer fun for him, when it didn't involve guilt, obligation or merely plain need. This was a whole new side of lovemaking for him, a languorous exploration on an early evening in winter. All he wanted to was to slowly map and chart every inch, every nook and cranny of Scully's body.
After all, they'd been having a love affair of the mind for many years. Now it was time for the body.
He marveled at how small, yet how womanly she was. Scully had been so frail and emaciated-looking after her illness and he had been pleased to see her regain her curves in the year after. With more than casual curiosity, Mulder had watched as her hips and breasts re-emerged with her health.
"Kiss me," she demanded in the greedy tone of a child.
Again, he was reminded of a universe contained in a kiss. It was a full bore assault on his senses, the feeling of her biting and suckling at his lower lip and plunging her tongue into his mouth. He had to fight to keep his eyes closed, to not drink in the vision of Scully, after so long, kissing him with abandon.
Her hands pushed his boxers down and he struggled them all the way off. "Fully functional, I see," she quipped and he lightly bit her on the tip of the nose.
"I am not a Ken doll."
"And I'm not Barbie, either," she said and slid off her own panties and set them on the bedside table.
"Aww, but we'd make such cute action figures, Scully," he said, trying not to let his head explode with the knowledge that he was lying on her bed with her, not a stitch of clothing between them.
Again, she circled his cock with her hand. "We're really doing this," she said and he bent closer to nip at the sweet flesh of her neck.
"Oh yes, yes we are," he said in a half-groan as she began to run her hand up and down him, stopping to tease the head of his cock with nimble fingers. Mulder dipped his head lower and took a nipple between his lips. God, she was sweet. Scully arched her back in response and he noticed a grimace passing over her face.
"Watch it," he warned, once again aware of her limitations.
"It's hard," she muttered between her teeth.
"Yes, it is hard indeed," he said, wincing at his own bad pun and the maddening feeling of the dance of her hand. He moved his lips to her other nipple as she laughed at his lame joke, and grazed it with his teeth. Mulder felt her fight to remain relatively still and was pleased to hear her breathing quicken.
It was taking a large amount of mental fortitude to keep himself in check now that finally the day of reckoning had come. Her skin was so fine and she smelled faintly of her white ginger shower gel and even more faintly of her growing arousal. All he wanted to do was to selfishly drive into her, finding her slick and hot, and allow the pleasure to explode around him.
Slow, he thought. This has to be slow.
He thought he might lose his mind.
His fingers inched down her body and for the first time he felt the crisp patch of hair between her legs. As soon as his hand landed on her mound, her hand tightened its grip on his cock. After briefly kissing her on her open, panting mouth, he asked, "Is it okay if I touch you?"
Scully's eyes flew open, feverishly bright. "Oh yes," she sighed. Her slender white legs spread a bit, and reaching between the reddish brown curls, his fingertips found her clitoris swollen and already wet with her excitement.
This is really happening, Mulder thought, grimacing against the rising commotion in his own body. We are doing this and God help me if I fuck it up. He gently brushed her clit with his index finger and he felt the shudder run through her body. "Don't move," he whispered, "or I'll have to stop."
"No, don't," she gasped, her left hand now circling and cupping his balls, the right now stroking in earnest from root to tip. It was so much better, so much sweeter than the feel of his own hand, so much more exciting than solo sessions on the couch with his silicone bombshells cavorting on the TV screen.
He was close, dangerously close to the edge now. Redoubling his efforts, he plunged his index finger into her, finding her as warm and snug as he'd imagined. Scully whimpered and threw her head back, and he tried to keep pace with her fingers, still lavishing his mouth on her breasts all the while.
In desperation, he attempted to distract himself, to focus on all the background checks he'd have to do the next day, the conjugation of the French verbs etre and avoir. But he couldn't help being pulled into the present, to peeking at her flushed face, contorting in pleasure, to feeling the firmness of her nipples under his tongue. Scully's legs began to shake and he heard the breath sharply catching in her throat. Could it be? So soon? In his not-so-very-large wealth of experience, women just didn't up and have an orgasm after a mere five minutes of touching.
But it was real, she did, yes, she did, he felt her internal muscles rhythmically contract around his finger and heard the staccato cries from her mouth.
The triumph was enough to push him over the cliff, too. Even in the grip of her orgasm, Scully, bless her unselfish heart, had kept her hands busy on him and as soon as she started coming, he found himself past the point of no return.
His hands buried themselves in her silky hair and he clamped his eyes shut, running to and running away from release. But it was too late, he was there, he was there, God, he was there.
And then he opened his eyes, almost afraid to find it was a dream. It was no dream, Scully was lying beneath him. But he was ashamed to see he'd come on her stomach, like some pathetic teenager. Her poor abused abdomen, talk about adding insult to injury.
Still, Scully was a glorious sight, her hair fanned against the white of the pillow, a dusky flush rising in her pale cheeks. Mulder bent to kiss her mouth, stopping for a moment to admire the way her lips were slightly swollen and reddened with her passion. "Did I hurt you?" he hoarsely whispered, dropping beside her.
She shook her head, a tiny smile forming on her lips. "On the contrary. And sex is good for the healing process; it improves circulation."
Ah, the fun of bedding a doctor was finally revealed.
"I'm sorry about the mess." he said, face reddening.
Her head raised up a little and she appraised the small pool of semen on her stomach. "There's nothing to be sorry about."
"Hold on a second," he said and rolled off the bed and onto post-orgasmic rubbery legs.
Mulder returned with a damp washcloth and wiped her off, which elicited ticklish little laughs from her.
"I'll take it as a good sign that laughing doesn't seem to hurt much anymore," he said and rejoined her at her side. Mulder pulled the down comforter over them and sighed happily. He couldn't stop touching her, kissing her softly, to reassure himself that she was real, that it had truly happened.
"We'll have to do that again," she said with a most un-partnerlike gleam in her eyes.
He drew slow circles on her neck and shoulder with his tongue. "I have no objection," he said when he'd finally had his fill.
Scully yawned. "I just don't have much stamina right now..."
"Whenever you're ready, I'm ready," he whispered and she curled into him, damp and warm. He watched her fight her exhaustion, her eyelids and auburn lashes fluttering open and shut.
He smoothed her hair and held her as she let sleep take her away.
Mulder felt like he had been holding his breath for six years and had finally been allowed to let it out in one big gust of air.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, he breathed with her until finally he, too, slept.
Chapter Six- Revelation
Margaret Scully stopped by early Wednesday evening, just as the sun was setting behind the venetian blinds. Scully hadn't seen her mother since she'd left the hospital, as Maggie had come down with the flu. Now Maggie had been given the all clear by her doctor and arrived bearing Tupperware containers of chicken soup and loaves of banana and pumpkin bread.
They settled on the couch with cups of hot cider and some slices of the banana bread. "It's been difficult, not being able to see you all this time," Maggie said.
Scully looked at her mother's face, still beautiful, but creased with new worry lines. It disturbed her that so many of them must have come from worrying about her. "I know," she said, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. "I've missed you, too."
Maggie looked around the living room with an appraising eye. "The house looks nice and neat. Fox must be a better housekeeper than one would think, given that he's a bachelor."
Grinning at the mother's outdated terminology, Scully said, "He's been very patient and generous." She fought back thoughts of the night before, of the glorious release of finally being with each other on a physical level.
"Dana," Maggie said with a proud rise of the chin that reminded Scully of herself. "We need to talk about your future."
"My future?"
Maggie nodded. "I worry about you, about this life you're leading." Scully winced with pain as she saw tears glimmer in her mother's brown eyes. "I couldn't have borne it if I had lost you this time."
Scully was well aware that Mulder had been the one who'd had to call her mother with the bad news, shortly after he arrived in New York. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it had been like for her mother to pick up the phone that night and hear the news that another of her daughters lay gravely injured from a gunshot wound.
She took Maggie's hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry, Mom." Tears were beginning to well in her own eyes.
Maggie squeezed back. "I know you are, Dana, but I'm scared for you."
Just then they heard the rattle of the door lock and Mulder strode in, back from work. She smiled to see him, tall and imposing in his navy suit and red tie, her man now, her lover, her partner.
Her mother said a pleasant hello to Mulder but Scully caught Maggie giving her a sideways glance. She got an even more significant look when Mulder bent to kiss her cheek.
For a few minutes, Mulder joined the two women and pleasantly chatted about trivialities, but then he rose and announced that he might go see the Gunmen. He went into the bedroom and emerged a few minutes later in jeans and a turtleneck and after kissing Maggie and Scully goodbye, fled out the door.
Scully noticed yet another look from Maggie. She smiled at her mother. "You keep looking at me as if I've sprouted a third eye or something, Mom."
Maggie delicately dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "You and Fox seem...awfully close."
I'll say, Scully thought, picturing Mulder's warm lips on her neck. She chose her words carefully. "Mulder and I are close. He's been my partner for six years."
Shaking her head, Maggie said, "That's not what I meant, Dana, and you know it. I'd have to be a lot more nearsighted that I am to miss the way he looks at you, and you at him."
Scully inwardly sighed. Okay, time to fess up. She'd never been good at keeping the truth from her mother, even as a teenager. "Things are changing between us. They have been for a long time, but we've reached a new understanding about where we stand in each other's lives."
A faint smile quirked on Maggie's lips. "I'll take that as Dana-speak to mean you love him."
Scully nodded, feeling embarrassed to discuss the topic with her mother. As much as she loved Maggie, and she did wholeheartedly, she had never felt overly comfortable about discussing matters of the heart with her. That role had been reserved, since puberty, for Melissa, who was able to listen to her sister without dragging in Catholic theology or advice straight out of the 1950s. At times like this, she missed her sister's forthright, if New Age-tinged, counsel.
Maggie continued, "And he loves you. It's plain as day on that face of his."
"This is new to us, Mom. We're trying to figure everything out."
A pained expression passed across Maggie's careworn face. "On one level, I'm happy for you, Dana. You know I want you to be happy more than anything. But I can't help but want a more settled and peaceful life for you, for you to have a man in your life who doesn't represent so much danger."
If only it could be that simple, Scully thought. She set down her plate of banana bread, no longer hungry. "I know that's what you want for me," she sighed, "but it's not the reality of my life. My life is dangerous. It's often horrible and terrifying. I've been hurt and violated in ways I don't even want to fully consider." Scully took a deep breath, exhausted by the weight of her emotions. "However, what I'm doing is right and deep down I love it. I'm sorry for all I've put you through, but I can't give up on this and I can't give up on Mulder."
"That's what worries me, that you're in this because you want his love and approval, that you're doing it all for Mulder."
Scully shook her head. "No," she said, voice cracking. "It's not about Mulder, not entirely. I love my job, I love solving puzzles and answering previously unanswerable questions. I love how my science is being pushed in new directions. I love being an agent and being able to mix medicine with investigation. In the end, nothing makes me happier."
Maggie squeezed her hand, but said nothing.
She continued, "It's hard for me to tell you this, Mom, but I love him. I've never loved anyone like this, unconditionally. No one knows me like Mulder and no one loves me like him. No one possibly could."
Her mother smiled through the tears beginning to trail down her cheeks. "I know he's a good man, sweetie. I watched his anguish when you were taken. But I can't help wanting something easier for you."
Leaning over, Scully kissed her mother's cheek. "I know you do, but you're going to have to accept him in my life and hopefully you can learn to be happy for me."
Maggie kissed her back, smelling, as always, of Chanel Number 5. "I remember my own mother telling me that if I married your father it would be nothing but heartache for me, that I'd always be alone while he was at sea and I'd probably be widowed young. I think I told her many of the same things, Dana."
Scully felt a pang that she'd never have a similar conversation with her own daughter. The chain from mother to daughter would end with her.
She shook off the dark thoughts and smiled for her mother's benefit. "Come on," she said, handing her mother a tissue from the coffee table. "Let's heat up some of the soup you've made for me. Mulder is good at keeping my apartment clean, but no one will ever accuse him of knowing how to cook."
Maggie helped her up and they went off to the kitchen, a new level of understanding between them.
End of Part 1 of 5.