From: Drop Dead Red <quinquin@pacbell.net>
Date: Sat, 14 Nov 1998 16:32:49 -0800
Subject: "A Couple of Agents Sitting Around Talking" by Octavian

TITLE: A Couple of Agents Sitting Around Talking

AUTHOR: Octavian

RATING: PG (Adult Subject Matter)  V/H/A

KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST, Character Exploration

SPOILERS: Pilot, Beyond the Sea, Irresistible, Duane Barry,
Ascension, One Breath, Anasazi, Syzygy, Pusher

SUMMARY: It's the ubiquitous 'Friday night at Scully's
place doing paperwork.'  What would happen if our intrepid
duo finally talked?  Really talked?

TIMELINE: Takes place late third season.  I'm playing a
little fast and loose with Scully's educational history.
Mea Culpa. ;-)

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, it's characters and situations are
the property of 10-13 Productions and Fox Broadcasting.  No
infringement or offense is intended; and no money is being
made from this story.

Marie LeBiavant, Aaron Howe and Chrissy Lewison belong to
me.  Please do not use them without my permission.

ARCHIVE: Gossamer's okay.  Anywhere else: please keep my
name attached and let me know about it.

CONTENT ADVISORY: This story contains discussion about, but
no description of, homosexuality.  If the idea of Scully or
Mulder ever engaging in a same-sex relationship offends
you, please leave now.  Also, brief mention is made of past
violence.  Again, nothing too descriptive.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: I grovel at the feet of my amazing
friends and beta-readers.
To Tracy for being a great sounding board - and for
constantly insisting that I post my stories.
To Carrie for her curious eating habits and all 'round
ability to annoy until I 'get the damn thing done!'
To Janet for her eagle eye when it comes to typos; her
intimate knowledge of UCB; and for always bringing ice
cream and gummi bears to our Sunday night hootenannies.
And to Connie for her encouragement and degree in Political
Science which has saved me from a potentially embarrassing
situation. :-D
Anything you don't like about this story is my fault, not
theirs.
Thanks kids.
To those of you who wrote to me about my first story, "Dawn
Patrol", I want to reiterate my appreciation for your
encouragement.  You all made my day/week/month with your e-
mails.  Thanks again.

FEEDBACK: Will be welcomed like the Prodigal at
Taverl@yahoo.com.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: At the end, if you're interested.



A Couple of Agents Sitting Around Talking
by Octavian

"Scully, have you ever had a homosexual encounter?"

Fox Mulder looked up from the case file on his lap and
turned to face his partner seated on the couch next to him,
being careful to keep his expression neutral.  Every time
he asked her these kinds of questions he got a mental
picture of himself as a kid, knocking on the front door of
her mother's house and asking if Dana could come out and
play.  Of course, the answer was usually no; and when it
was yes, the game was brief, and the subject matter was
always safe.  So he knew what to expect this time: a
piercing stare, the arch of one auburn eyebrow, and a
reprimand to finish his work.

Dana Scully kept her head down and her gaze focused on her
half-finished expense report as she contemplated her
partner's comment.  The overtly sexual nature of the
question didn't bother her.  Their relationship was loaded
with double entendres and flirtatious remarks - virtually
all of them from Mulder, though.  She considered it an
indication of just how comfortable he was with her, and she
knew that he'd stop immediately if she ever showed any sign
of being upset about it.

She also knew that he didn't expect her to rise to the
bait.  After all, she rarely did, and on those occasions,
the exchange was usually brief.  It wasn't that Scully
couldn't give as good as she got - far from it.  It was
just that the timing never seemed to be right.  At the
beginning of their partnership, she was too concerned with
simply establishing herself as an honest and professional
agent, not the Bureau spy he assumed her to be.  By the
time he had learned to trust her, she realized that he
expected her to simply smirk or at least let him have the
last word - she always had before so why change things now?
So she was content to let the words roll off her and
occasionally grin or glare, as the situation warranted.

But tonight... tonight was different for some reason.  He
had never asked quite so personal a question before, and
she decided she didn't want to let this opportunity slip
by.  Besides, this could be fun.  She looked up from her
report to find him watching her, waiting for her reply.

"Have you been watching 'Debbie Does Della' again, Mulder?"

Mulder's lips twitched slightly as he tried to suppress a
grin.  Well... it appeared that Dana just might come out
and play after all.  A small part of his brain wondered if
this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"No, actually it was 'Emmanuelle In Dresden'.  And the
woman who played Dresden was amaz......"  He let the
sentence die a slow and painful death as Scully stared at
him.  It was all he could do to keep himself from turning
around to see if two holes had been burned into the wall
behind his head as her look shot through him.  He waited
expectantly as she continued to stare.  Was she sizing him
up, preparing for battle?  He couldn't keep himself from
fidgeting slightly at the thought.

Scully was starting to enjoy herself.  It wasn't often that
Mulder's cool demeanor cracked, but she thought that
pursuing this line of inquiry just might do that.  She
mentally clapped her hands together and cracked her
knuckles.  Oh yes, this was going to be fun.

"So how would you define a 'homosexual encounter' Mulder?"

Mulder moved the file from his lap and placed it on the
coffee table as he shifted slightly on the couch to face
Scully more directly, and to give himself a chance to
consider the direction in which this conversation was
headed.

"Oh, you know..." he waved his hand vaguely in front of him
as if that somehow completed his sentence and got his point
across.

"No, I don't know..." she mimicked his gesture before
continuing.  "I mean could it be something like going to a
gay bar?  Watching an 'Absolutely Fabulous' marathon with a
bunch of drag queens?  What?"  She was frankly curious
about how a man with his admitted taste for pornography
would define the statement.  After all, they'd never
discussed anything sexual to any great extent before and
she got the impression that to do so - especially with her
- just might make him uncomfortable.

For his part, Mulder was starting to reevaluate his choice
of topics.  Man.  When Scully decides to play, she plays
rough.  The question certainly made sense though.  The
concise and analytical Dr. Scully would demand clearly
delineated parameters before answering any question,
especially one like this.  Was she going to answer the
question? he asked himself.  And, if so, did her request
for more information mean that the reply just might be in
the affirmative?  That was something he really didn't want
to dwell on right now.

He glanced away for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and
then returned his attention to his couch-mate.  "Well, I
would define it in rather broad terms, actually.  Anything
from a same-sex kiss or caress that engendered feeling of
romantic affection or arousal, to engaging in the sex act
with an individual of the same gender."

Scully gazed at him with an amused expression for a moment
before replying.  "The Sex Act?  With your taste in visual
entertainment, I would have expected your description to be
a little less... clinical.  You make it sound like a
Constitutional amendment; it's probably listed right before
the Sherman Act."  She smiled at him as she reached over to
grab her teacup off the coffee table.

Mulder smiled right back.  "Actually, Scully, the Sherman
Act - which was really the Sherman Anti-trust Act of 1890 -
was the federal government's feeble attempt to control big
business' monopolistic practices.  Therefore, The Sex Act,
or any other Act for that matter, isn't the same thing as
Constitutional Amendments - which are also called Articles.
Congress passes bills that become laws which are sometimes
given the title Act, but Amendments are different."

She stopped her movements and stared at him for a moment,
trying to look annoyed even though he could tell she wanted
to smile.  "Thank you very much, Professor Mulder, for
enlightening me."  He smirked at her use of the title as
well as her feigned irritation.  "Should I be taking notes?
I'd hate it if there's going to be a test later and I'm not
prepared."  He chuckled softly as he watched her take a sip
of her tea and return the cup to it's saucer.  He saw this
side of his partner and best friend far too little, and was
thoroughly enjoying himself.  Although his ego was warning
him that it might get a bit bruised tonight, he figured it
would be worth it.

"Don't worry about it, Scully."  His grin widened and he
gave her an exaggerated leer.  "Just pay me a visit during
my office hours and I'm sure we can work something out."
This time she didn't have to fake annoyance as she gave him
a long look and he simply shrugged in response.

Now it was Scully's turn to set her paperwork aside and
change her position on the couch so as to make speaking
with her partner easier.  Her expression remained amused,
but her voice took on a slightly more serious tone.  "Have
you ever played 'True Confessions' Mulder?"

Oh boy.  Mulder suddenly realized just what he had gotten
himself into and was beginning to worry.  She really
intends to answer his question, he realized.  And he knew
that meant that he might have to answer it as well.  There
was so much about his life that he'd never told her, much
of it because he was afraid of how she'd react.  Would she
be appalled, upset, disgusted?  No.  No she wouldn't.
After all, he reminded himself, this was the woman was not
only fully aware of his video collection and magazine
subscriptions, but was comfortable enough to joke with him
about them.

Hell, he could probably confess a predilection for farm
animals and she wouldn't think less of him.  Of course, he
thought with a silent chuckle, she probably wouldn't ask
him to help her chaperone her godson and his friends on a
trip to the petting zoo again.  He started to laugh and
covered with a cough.  Actually, that was probably a
perfect - if not incredibly desperate - way to get out of
playing baby-sitter for the next outing.  He realized she
was waiting for an answer.  This is what you get for
opening your big mouth, Mulder, he told himself.  "No, I
haven't."  He grinned harmlessly at her and asked her in a
husky whisper, "You wanna play?"

She smiled and leaned towards him slightly.  "Are you sure
you're up for it, Mulder?"  Her voice had also dropped in
volume, the timbre a warm contralto.

His smile grew wider as he replied, "I'm always 'up for it'
where you're concerned, Scully."

She rolled her eyes - okay, she'd given him a set-up too
good to ignore.  She looked at him again and began to lay
out the ground rules.  "We each take turns asking a
question, any topic; and we *both* have to answer each
question.  Complete honesty, of course, or there's no
point."  She look at him again, but this time with more
intensity and less playfulness.  "Can you be completely
honest with me about your private life, Mulder?"

He understood her question.  It wasn't that she doubted his
trust in her; he knew she was aware that he only trusted
her.  But he was a stingy SOB when it came to details about
his personal life.  The only time he opened up to her about
the private Fox Mulder was usually when they were in some
kind of danger or if it held some relevance to a case they
were investigating.  She was his best friend, his partner;
but in the end, she knew less about him than his friends
the Lone Gunmen did.  Pathetic, he thought to himself,
really pathetic.

Here was a woman for whom he'd been willing to risk
everything to have returned to him; who came back from the
brink of death for him; whom he, literally, came back from
the dead for - and yet she didn't even know his favorite
color, the name of his first girlfriend, his favorite
subject in high school.  Well, it was time to start
changing that.  His gaze became serious.  "You know I
wouldn't lie to you, Scully.  More importantly, I won't
hide the truth from you."

She nodded.  While there was no question in her mind that
he would ever lie, she knew he could just try to avoid a
delicate topic by making some sarcastic remark.  With this
admission, he'd promised her the honesty she'd asked for.
She also knew that she owed him the same level of honesty
in return.

There would be no secrets from him about anything tonight.
While the game was in play, she would not avoid any
question he might ask.  This thought made her more than a
little nervous, but she was determined to follow through.
With everything they'd been through with, and for, each
other, it was time to finally start sharing some closely
held secrets.  After all, she trusted Mulder with her
physical life - now it was time to prove that she trusted
him with the details of her private life as well.  "Okay,
Mulder, you go first."

He cleared his throat and thought, briefly, about asking a
completely different question.  But he started this, and he
wouldn't back down.  She was giving him an unprecedented
opportunity to get to know the 'real' Dana Scully, and
there was no way in hell he would let it pass him by.  He
cleared his throat and leaned back into the corner of the
sofa.  "Okay, Scully."  He took a breath.  For some reason
the question didn't roll off his tongue with the same ease
as it first had.  C'mon Mulder, he told himself, she knows
what you're going to ask, just ask it!  He took a quick sip
of his tea and looked back at the open, expectant
expression on her face and felt himself relax.  This was
going to be fine - titillating maybe - but just fine.

He set his cup down and turned back to her.  "Have you ever
had a homosexual encounter?"

Her expression didn't change.  "Yes.  Have you?"

Yes, he wondered.  Yes?  Even though he had asked the
question, he just assumed the answer would be no.  With her
strict Catholic upbringing and rather obvious (at least to
him) heterosexuality, he thought it had never even occurred
to her to have a lesbian relationship.  Well, it seemed he
was wrong.  Now he started to imagine the nature of the
affair, but quickly put a damper on those thoughts.  Don't
*even* go there, Mulder, he chastised himself.  Besides,
you don't even know the extent of the involvement yet.
Don't let your imagination run away with you.  Again.  He
looked up at her and realized she was waiting patiently for
him to process this new and startling piece of information,
as well as answer her question.

He took a breath, closed his eyes briefly and steeled
himself.  Oh well.  In for a penny, in for a pound.  He
opened his eyes and locked gazes with her.  "Yes."

Scully's expression didn't change much, except for the
slight rise of an eyebrow and a nod of her head as she
looked away.  To Mulder it seemed she had expected a
positive answer.  Jeez! he thought, what kind of a slut
does she think I am?

Contrary to Mulder's impression, Scully was quite surprised
by his response; she was simply better at hiding her
emotions than he was.  I wonder what the guy looked like,
she thought.  She was certainly aware that her partner was
an attractive man; and this line of discourse had started
her thinking about the sight of him with another attractive
man.  Stop, she told herself, this is not this time for
libidinous thoughts like that.  After Mulder went home,
however...

She cleared her throat and hoped to God that Mulder
couldn't tell the turn her musings had taken.  She looked
back at him and quickly decided on her question.  "How
many?"

Mulder's eyes widened and he couldn't keep the pitch of his
voice from rising slightly as he said "Times?" with just a
hint of panic.

Scully couldn't help but chuckle at the faintly hysterical
note in her partner's voice.  "No, Mulder.  I don't think
even your memory is good enough to hold all that
information."  She laughed harder at his shocked
expression.  For an admitted pervert, his sensibilities
could be amazingly delicate at times.  She also realized
that she was thoroughly enjoying beating - or at least
keeping up with - Mulder at his own game.  She calmed
herself and clarified her question.  "How many men?"

Great, Mulder thought as he tried to regain his composure,
she really does think I'm some kind of slut.  For some
reason, he didn't feel he could look at her when he
responded.  "Two," he said and finally raised his eyes to
hers.

Again, she didn't seem surprised at his response.  He
wondered how many male partners she thought he'd had.
Five?  Ten?  Twenty?  Hell, he hadn't even slept with that
many women.  He felt hurt that she would think he would
have slept with so many people, of either gender.  As a
result, his question came out a harsher than necessary.
"How 'bout you, Scully?  How many babes have you bagged?"

Scully was taken aback by the tone of Mulder's voice as
well as the way he'd framed his question.  She stared at
him for a long moment; her expression a mixture of
curiosity and hurt.  If you couldn't handle this then why
the hell did you start it? she wanted to scream.  But she
just looked at him a little longer and said quietly: "Maybe
we should just forget this and get on with work."  She
turned her attention back to the files on the coffee table.

At first, Mulder thought she was trying to avoid answering
Him, but he quickly realized her statement was more a
question that a suggestion.  He'd snapped at her because he
was feeling awkward, and she wouldn't continue if the
situation made him uncomfortable.  Good going Mulder, he
said to himself - open mouth, insert foot.

He gently took hold of her wrist as she reached for a
folder.  When she stopped to look at him, his hazel eyes
were soft with apology.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  I didn't mean
to snap at you, I just..."  He released his hold on her arm
and let his hand fall back in his lap.  He tried to smile,
but it didn't make it to his eyes.  "I just didn't want you
to think I was easy or anything.  Might ruin my
reputation."

She leaned back on the couch and smiled at him.  God, he
was so fragile at times!  "Mulder, I think you're many
things - most of them completely contradictory, by the way
- but easy has never been one of them."  This time his eyes
smiled when his mouth did and his shoulders relaxed as the
tension he'd been holding there dissipated.

Easing his upper body toward her on the couch as his grin
Widened, his eyes positively twinkled as they locked with
hers.  "Oooh, Agent Scully, would you care to list some of
those things?"  His voice was barely above a whisper - soft
and rough at the same time.

Scully was prepared for the teasing come-on.  When you
worked with a man like Mulder, you had to be ready for
anything.  But that still didn't mean she wasn't distracted
by his closeness and the way is tongue flicked out to wet
his lips.  Unconsciously, she licked her own lips as she
leaned toward him, her face mere inches from his.  Matching
her tone of voice to his, she said: "I think, Agent Mulder,
that that's a game we'll have to play some other time."

While it seemed like minutes to Mulder, it was really only
seconds before Scully broke eye contact, moved away
slightly, took a sip of her now-cold tea and said: "One."

Mulder just stared at her, confused.  "One what?"

"One woman, Mulder.  Remember the question?"

"Oh yeah."  He followed her lead and backed away, leaning
on the arm of the couch.  It was time to get back to the
game at hand.  One woman, huh?  But when?  Where?  Who?
Did you take any pictures?  Where the Hell did that last
one come from? he wondered.  As he tried to keep himself
from envisioning the scenario, he kept wondering how young
she had been at the time.  He cleared his throat.  "How
old?"

"Who?  Me or her?"

"Both of you"

"I was twenty-one, she was twenty-two."

Scully watched him process the information, wondering just
what kind of scenes he was imagining about her.  Bad idea,
she told herself, *very* bad idea.  Considering his
imagination, he was mentally casting her in one of his
videos.  She spoke up to derail his train of thought.

"How about you, Mulder?  How old were you?"

He shook himself out of his reverie and thought for a
moment.    "The first time, I was twenty-two; he was
twenty-one."  He seemed to hesitate for a moment before
continuing.  "The second time, I was thirty; he was thirty-
three."  He watched her closely to gauge her reaction.

She thought about what he'd said for a moment.  He was
probably twenty-two when he finally was able to get away
from Phoebe.  It made perfect sense.  That woman could send
any guy running for the arms of another man.  But thirty!?
He'd been thirty when they were first partnered together.
Could he...?

He could tell by the expression on her face what the nature
of the question would be.  She looked back at him and said:
"How long?"

"Scully, I'm shocked you'd ask such a personal question!"
he stated with mock outrage.  "Besides, I'd never do
something so crass as to measure it."  It took considerable
self-control not to laugh.  He felt a little bad about not
answering her question immediately.  But when presented
with a soft slider right over the plate, sometimes you've
just got to smack that sucker right out of the park.

While her eyes showed amusement, Scully's overall
expression was one of disinterest.  "Oh please, Mulder, of
course you have.  All men do."  She made a dismissive
gesture in his direction as she continued.  "Both flaccid
and erect, length and circumference.  And you probably have
a name for it, too."  She then favored him with her best
don't-mess-with-me-Mulder-or-I'll-hurt-you-and-I-know-how-
because-I'm-a-doctor stare.

This time he couldn't help the shocked expression that came
over his face.  In his head heard a little voice say: 'Pop
fly, you're out!'  He quickly regained his composure and
replied: "While I honestly don't have a name for it, I
would like to claim my Fifth Amendment rights regarding
measurement issue.  Especially since I don't think your
delicate sensibilities could handle the idea of such an
impressive organ."  The humor and self-mockery were clearly
evident in his tone and Scully had to stifle a giggle at
the turns the conversation had taken.

She laughed as she said: "Please, Mulder, I'm a doctor.
Trust me, there's nothing you have that I haven't seen.
Many times."  She shook her head and tried to quiet the
chuckles that still emanated from her throat.

"Yeah, Scully, but you're a pathologist.  Your patients are
dead by the time you get to them."  No sooner had he said
it, than Mulder realized he had just thrown *her* a soft
slider over home plate.  The little play-by-play announcer
was back in his head screaming: 'It could be... It might
be...'

Scully tried to keep her expression as serious as possible
as she faced him.  "My point exactly, Mulder."

'It is!'  The voice crowed in triumph, 'And the crowd goes
wild.'

<End 1/5>

Mulder threw his head back and let loose a full-throated
belly laugh.  It was something he did far too rarely, and
he was always surprised at how good it felt.  He looked
back at his partner who was laughing just as hard as he
was.

Skunked.  He, the master of the witty one-liner, had just
been well and truly skunked by his lady-like, business-
like, by-the-book, professional partner.  As he watched her
try to get her laughter under control, he realized that he
didn't mind at all.  If it could get her to enjoy herself
like that, he'd gladly let himself be the target of her
good-natured ridicule.

He found he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes
as he worked to regain his voice.  He laid one arm across
his stomach as if he'd been punched, and let his head loll
against the back of the couch.  "Oh, Scully, that hurt.  I
think I might have to call a time out before I'm well
enough to continue."

She was busy wiping her own eyes as she got up from the
couch.  Smiling down at him she asked: "I'm going to get us
something else to drink while you regain your composure.
What would you like?"

He kept his eyes closed as he played the injured athlete
roll to the hilt.  "Oh, don't worry about me, I'll be fine.
I just hope there's no internal bleeding."

She chuckled as she walked around the couch, ruffling his
hair as she passed.  He heard her voice from the kitchen.
"I've got a bottle of white wine open.  Would you like a
glass?"

He opened his eyes and stretched his arms over his head.
"Sure, that would be nice."  After unbuttoning his cuffs,
he rolled up his sleeves and removed his tie. Scully
returned with the wine, handed him one and sat cross-legged
on the couch.  Reaching over, she touched her glass to his
before taking a sip.  She watched Mulder closely to gauge
his reaction.

As he inhaled the bouquet of the wine, his brow furrowed.
It didn't smell like any wine he'd ever had before - roses
and orange blossoms.  Just from the aroma, he expected it
to be sweet.  'Wine with training wheels', a connoisseur
friend of his would say.  He took a small taste and was
surprised to find the wine dry and tart, but with all the
fruit the bouquet had promised.  He took another sip, this
time letting the liquid roll around his mouth before
swallowing.  He set his glass on the table and looked over
to find Scully watching him expectantly.  "That's
delicious.  What kind of wine is it?"

She smiled with relief and set her glass on the table next
to his.  "It's called Gewrztraminer; it's my favorite.
It's made mostly in Germany and the Alsace region of
France, near the German border.  My father was stationed in
Europe for a short time when I was very young and he
brought some wines home with him.  For his first dinner
after he'd returned he opened a bottle and gave us kids a
little bit."  She smiled at the memory, her gaze distant.
"When I first smelled it, I thought it would be sweet -
like communion wine.  When I took a sip, I was so
surprised that I guzzled half a glass of water to get the
taste out of my mouth.  Dad and Mom were in hysterics over
it, and I was so embarrassed that I asked to be sent to my
room before dessert!"

She looked up to find Mulder laughing silently, smiling at
the thought of young a Dana with her face puckered up after
tasting the wine for the first time.  She reached for her
glass again and took another sip before continuing.  "Of
course, as I got older my tastes changed and I came to love
it.  It's hard to find Gewrztraminer like this that's made
in the States.  Most of it is pretty sweet, but I prefer it
dry."  She held up the glass, the yellow-gold liquid
refracting the light from the end-table lamp.  "It's a
contradiction: it smells like sugar and flowers, but tastes
tart and like fruit.  Dichotomy in a glass."

"Kind of like us," Mulder said, interrupting her
ruminations.  She nodded her head in agreement before
turning her attention back to him.  "Except I don't think
we'd fit in a glass very well, Mulder," she gave him a
pained grin at her obvious observation, "but you're right.
Not only are we opposites of one another, but I think we're
both rather contradictory people in our own rights."

Mulder took another taste from his glass, thinking about
Scully's observation.  He was flattered - no, honored -
that she would share so much of herself with him.  He
wished he had enough courage to tell her some of his own
childhood memories, but most of them were too painful.  He
tried so hard to hold on to the good ones (and there were
good ones); but the bad ones seemed so much clearer and
easier to remember, while the happy ones faded a little
more each day.  Someday, he thought, I'll share some of
those with her.  I promise I will.

But right now he was supposed to be sharing information
from his more recent past.  He stared at the amber fluid in
the goblet he held as he began to speak.  "The first time
was right after Phoebe - as I'm sure you guessed," he
started.  He looked up at her to see her nod her assent.
"It didn't last very long.  Two, close to three months.
The second one..."  He took another sip of wine, bracing
himself before continuing.  "He and I were together for
about ten months.  We broke up just a few weeks after you
joined the X-Files, actually."  Scully seemed surprised as
she considered his statement.

"Did my being sent to 'spy' on you have anything to do with
it?" she asked before she could stop herself.  She didn't
think her presence would warrant him breaking off the
affair; but the timing seemed a little too coincidental.

He smiled slightly and nodded his head.  "The relationship
was already winding down by the time you came on board.  My
realization that I was being scrutinized more closely than
I'd originally suspected simply made me decide to end it
sooner."  He paused, as if considering whether or not to
say something more.  Scully waited for him to make his
decision, hoping he felt safe enough to say whatever it was
that was on his mind.  He took a deep breath.  Well, she
thought, it appears that he does.  "In many ways," he
began, "that was the most healthy romantic relationship
I've ever had.  In fact, it's the last sexual relationship
I've had that could be even remotely considered long-term."
He shrugged and looked away, smiling sadly.  "Maybe I
should just stick to guys, huh Scully?"

She gently placed her hand over his.  The unexpected
contact startled him slightly and he returned his attention
to her.  She gazed at him fondly for a moment, squeezing
his hand.  "You should do whatever makes you happy, Mulder.
Everyone deserves to be happy.  Especially you."

He simply stared into her clear, blue eyes for a moment,
absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.  Her
infinite kindness and patience towards him never failed to
make him emotional.  It took a moment before he could
speak; and when he did, his voice was low and wavered
slightly.  "Thank you, Scully.  You too."

They continued to hold hands for a moment longer, sharing a
contented silence.  Mulder effectively broke the mood when
slowly released her hand, and turned his attention away to
set the wineglass on the table.  As he did this, he said
casually: "And speaking of relationships, how long did
yours last?"

"Oh, about three years."  Her response was off-handed, but
she watched her partner closely knowing he would be
surprised by her reply.  He didn't disappoint.

Well, said his tiny internal narrator - who now sounded
like the Church Lady for some reason - isn't that special?
This wasn't an encounter, this was an honest-to-God,
capitol-R Relationship.  He tried to imagine Scully arm-in-
arm with another woman and, frankly, he couldn't.  "So.
Bull dyke or femme?"  That piece of information would
certainly help him develop a mental picture.

"Oh, God, femme all the way.  Marie's a definite 'lipstick
lesbian.'"  She relaxed into the cushions as she enjoyed
Mulder's reaction.  He may not use facial expressions much,
she thought, but when he does, they're impressive.

Meanwhile, Mulder was having trouble getting his mind
around her answer.  She couldn't mean...  Nah.  Marie?  The
stunning woman with the flawless complexion that always
reminded him of rich milk chocolate, deep brown eyes and a
face that could easily grace the cover of any high fashion
magazine?  He'd met her when she'd appeared in their
basement office several months earlier.  She'd been invited
to present a paper at a conference in Boston and, on the
spur of the moment, decided to swing down to D.C. to visit,
as she put it, 'her best med school pal.'  Mulder was
instantly mesmerized by her low, husky voice, and the way
the clicking of the tiny wooden beads at the end of the
dozens of braids in her hair seemed to act as an
accompaniment to her musical Jamaican accent.  The three of
them had shared a delightful lunch together, and he
mercilessly grilled her for details about the young Dana
Scully.  Except it seemed she left a few details out.

He was still trying to absorb this information when he
turned back to her.  "Marie?  Do you mean Stanford-
instructor-liver-transplant-specialist Marie?"  She simply
nodded her head and he laughed.  "Man, Scully, you've got
*excellent* taste in women.  Certainly much better than I
do."  And certainly much better than your taste in men, he
wanted to add, but thought better of it.  "Maybe I should
ask you for your help in getting dates."

She shook her head as she responded.  "I could try Mulder;
but I'd probably just end up finding women who would rather
go out with me than you."  She held up her hand at his
mock-stricken look.  "No offense, of course."  She said,
the corners of her mouth rising in a half smile.

"None taken, of course."  Mulder mimicked her semi-serious
tone.  He reminded his ego that it was worth the abuse he
was suffering tonight in order to see his partner enjoy
herself.  And the new side of her he was getting an eyeful
of didn't hurt things either.

"So, Mulder, were your boyfriends butch or more...
flamboyant?"  Mulder winced slightly at her choice of
words.  While he was willing to admit he'd had affairs with
two men, the term 'boyfriend' seemed just a little too
permanent.  "One of each, actually."  He decided to follow
her 'enigmatic' example and not elaborate; at least, not
without a little encouragement.

Scully waited a few moments until it became clear that her
partner wasn't going to volunteer any more facts.  One
thing she'd learned about him was that, to a certain
extent, he liked to have information dragged out of him.
She thought that maybe it made him feel better when someone
showed such an interest in him.  Well if that was going to
help his self image, then she was more than happy to
oblige.  "Which was which?  Details, Mulder, I'm looking
for details here."

He chuckled at her insistence and smiled at her.  "Well,
Chrissy was the first."

"Chrissy?"  Scully was starting to wonder what Mulder was
up to.  Last time she checked, Chrissy wasn't a man's name.

He could tell she wasn't happy with that bit of
information, so he rushed to fill in the gaps.  "At the
time she was what you would call a 'pre-operative
transsexual'.  She had the operation just a year or so
after we met.  Remember the friend of mine back in the UK
who invited me to her wedding last year?"  Scully nodded
and remembered that Mulder had wanted to go, but then his
father was killed and, well, things just fell apart from
there.  "That was her.  In fact, I just found out last week
that she and her husband are going to be adopting a baby
soon.  She'll make one hell of a mom, but the poor kid's
going to have a terrible time when it's a teenager.
Imagine trying to shock your parents when one of them used
to be another gender."

Scully laughed.  "Yeah, sneaking cigarettes just doesn't
seem all that rebellious when you realize your mother could
have been your father."  Mulder smiled back at her.  "So,
Mulder, was this your own personal 'Crying Game'?"

He shook his head.  "No, not quite.  I had gone to a pub
not far from the university to try and drown my sorrows
when Chrissy struck up a conversation with me.  I wasn't
interested in a date, but she really did just want to talk;
and we seemed to have a lot in common.  After a while I
started to noticed that she looked... odd, for lack of a
better word.  You know - her neck was a little too long,
her hands were too big, things like that.  She noticed that
I was looking at her strangely and admitted she was a man,
but that she wasn't trying to pick me up.  I figured I was
enjoying our conversation too much to walk out just because
of that."  He grinned.  "Hey, I was a sensitive '80's kinda
guy, y'know?"

Scully grinned back at him and he continued.  "Anyway, we
became friends and after a few months the relationship
changed from platonic to... not.  It didn't take long to
realize we made better friends than lovers.  She's really
the only friend from my college years that I still keep in
touch with on a regular basis."

Scully couldn't help but feel a little sad as she listened
to the melancholy tone in her partner's voice.  She could
easily imagine Mulder in college: on the outside, the cocky
American kid; but in reality, the shy, quiet and frightened
boy who was alone in a strange country and desperately
wanted to make friends, but was too afraid of rejection.
And of course the one time he really let himself open up
and fall in love, he had his heart cruelly broken by that
conniving, selfish, two-timing...

For what was probably the thousandth time since she'd first
met her three years earlier, Scully wished Phoebe Green was
here just so she could beat her senseless.  When she
thought of how her intelligent, sensitive, kind-hearted
(and obsessive, driven, often annoying, etc.)best friend
had been used and abused, anger flared and her thoughts
turned homicidal.  Taking a deep breath to calm herself,
she grabbed her glass and took another sip of wine while
she collected her thoughts.

"Do you think she'd ever visit the States?" she asked as
she set her goblet back down.  He thought for a moment and
looked over at her.  "Curious, Scully?"  He smiled at her
and continued.  "She's mentioned it from time to time; but
if she does, it'll probably have to be before the adoption
happens.  I should ask her next time we speak.  I know
she'd really like to meet you."

Scully couldn't help the way her eyebrows reached for her
hairline as she asked: "You've spoken with her about me,
Mulder?"  She wondered just what he would have to say to
his ex-boyfriend/girlfriend about his partner.

For his part, Mulder was a little shocked at her surprise.
"Of course I have." he said a tad indignantly, "I spend
more time with you than anyone else, why wouldn't I talk
about you with other people?"

"It's not that." Scully amended, "it's just weird to think
you've been telling someone about me who I've never even
heard of until now."  She wondered why this idea made her
uncomfortable

He shrugged.  "Yeah, I can see how you might feel that way.
I guess I just assumed you talked about me sometimes, too."
He felt a little hurt thinking his best friend never spoke
of him with her friends.  He gave her a sad look,
purposefully exaggerating it so she hopefully wouldn't
realize he was upset.

She wasn't fooled and quickly placated him.  "It's not
that, Mulder.  You should know I've mentioned you to my
friends often.  It's just that I've also mentioned them to
you as well."  He started to speak, but she cut him off.
"Even Marie."

"You're psychic, you know."  He said with a smile.  "You're
just too stubborn to admit it."  She favored him with one
of her best 'Looks' and he immediately pictured her as a
female Mr. Spock - her delicate, pointed ears and peaked
eyebrows the only outward physical difference.  He decided
she'd look best in a blue uniform.  Besides, didn't the
scientists always wear blue?

Her voice interrupted his musings.  "What about Number
Two?" she asked as she reached for her wine.

"Huh?"

"Man Number Two.  The butch one."  She finished the wine,
then leaned over to place the empty glass on the coffee
table.

"Oh.  For a minute there I felt like Patrick McGoohan," he
said with a smirk.

She smirked back, leaning against the arm of the couch.
"Well Number Six," she said with a rather convincing
British accent, "what is the story of your association with
Number Two?"

He chuckled as he said: "Not bad, Scully.  Although I never
took you for a 'Prisoner' fan."  His look was one of
admiration for her obvious taste in television programs.

She propped her elbow on the back of the sofa, and leaned
her head against her hand.  "Well, Mulder, there's quite a
bit you still don't know about me; but there's probably
even more I don't know about you.  So keep talking."

He smiled widely at her as he said: "Well, Scully, you'll
be pleased to know that Number Two is someone you *have*
heard of before.  In fact," he glanced away from her as he
leaned down for his wine glass, then looked back at her,
raising the glass toward his lips, "you've met him." he
watched her intently over the rim as he drained the glass.

He couldn't help but be amused at the surprised look that
crossed her face, followed quickly by one of intense
concentration as she tried to guess which one of his
friends was Number Two.  He could almost see the gears in
her head working as she considered and discarded various
possibilities.

While she'd seen for herself what kind of women he was
attracted to, she realized she had no idea what kind of man
might be his type.  Was his interest piqued by some kind of
male version of Phoebe? - now *that's* a truly frightening
image, she thought - or was his taste in men completely
different.  She felt Mulder's eyes on her as she tried to
pick 'Mr. Right'; mentally visualizing Mulder with any of
dozens of men.  She recalled the criteria a friend of hers
used when trying to decide if a couple looked right
together, and every man failed the test - she just couldn't
picture them 'doing it'.  Oh well, she decided, might as
well start saying names until I get the right one.
"Regie?" she asked, although she felt certain he wasn't it.

Mulder frowned.  "Uh, no.  I mean, I loved the guy and
all," he gave her a little smirk, "just not in *that way*."

His declaration of love for his, now deceased, friend and
mentor surprised her; she couldn't help but wonder if he
had ever used the word 'love' in describing his feelings
toward her when he spoke of her to someone else.  She knew
they loved one another; but did they love each other 'that
way'?  This was dangerous territory, she realized, and
quickly tried to think of another potential candidate for
Mulder's affections before she could dwell on it.

It was difficult for her to keep from laughing as she said
"Jerry?" knowing full well that that wasn't even a remote
possibility.

His scowl was combined with a look of distaste.  "I'd like
to think I have better taste than that, Scully.

"Oh, in that case," she said, grinning, "I guess that rules
out one of the Gunmen."  Despite herself, she laughed at
his grimace.

"Scully, I may have no life, but I've never been *that*
desperate."  His eyes flicked toward the ceiling briefly,
as if asking some benevolent Being to give him patience.

She continued to smile at him.  "Okay, Mulder.  Just
examining every possibility like the trained investigator
that I am."  Her smile diminished as she returned to her
mental inventory of Mulder's friends and associates.  She
was certain that he could tell by the look on her face that
she thought she had a real possibility.  She was
apprehensive as she said quietly: "Skinner?"  Her voice
held an almost fearful note that made her wince when she
heard it.  Please, God, not him, she said to herself, or
I'll never be able to look him in the face again.

Mulder considered for a moment.  "Well, while Skinner
certainly has his good qualities, I prefer a little more on
top."

She relaxed considerably at his negative reply and
responded: "You know, Mulder, there seems to be a direct
correlation between male-pattern baldness and increased
testosterone production."  Her mouth twitched with the
effort she made to keep from smiling as she stared
pointedly at her partner's thick, dark hair.

He glared at her with mock annoyance.  "Thank you very much
*Doctor* Scully for that enlightening bit of information."
Running his hands through the object of her scrutiny, he
continued, trying to sound stern.  "Keep it up, and I'll
never tell you who it is."

"Okay, okay..." she gestured for him to calm down and
continued to search through her mental inventory of
candidates.

He was fascinated as he read her every thought clearly in
her face.  Brow furrowed as she thought of another name -
Him?  No.  Eyebrow raised as she questioned each choice -
Perhaps?  Nah.  Mouth thinned when she decided that one
wasn't right, either - Maybe?  Uh-uh.  Forehead creased
again in concentration as she considered the next suspect -
What about...  Oh my God.  He knew the second she hit her
target by the way her eyes grew wide and her mouth gaped
slightly as she looked up at him - her face a study in
disbelief.

"Aaron?"  She hated the high, almost squeaky sound of her
voice almost as much as the envy apparent in her tone.
Aaron Howe was one of the most singularly gorgeous men she
had ever laid eyes on, and she was not alone in her
admiration - he even had the nickname to prove it.  He was
in his late thirties or early forties; tall, with a well-
muscled and perfectly proportioned body; not unlike
Skinner's, now that she thought of it.  His face was
classically perfect: square jaw, full mouth, aquiline nose,
soulful green eyes; all topped with very short, midnight
black hair.

It had long been whispered that Howe - now an ASAC with
Bank Fraud, if she remembered correctly - was either bi or
gay.  He had never married and the ever-lively rumor mill
at the Hoover building had never matched him with anyone at
the Bureau, male or female.  She really didn't care either
way; but it would certainly be disappointing to hear that
yet another attractive, intelligent, compassionate, and
sensitive man was gay.  As she watch Mulder's expression
change from impassive to insufferably smug, she knew it was
true.

"Good call, Scully."  He applauded her and smiled.  "Bet
you didn't think I could catch the 'Greek God'."  He
couldn't help but tease her a little by using the title
that the 'God' himself didn't realize had been bestowed
upon him.  After all, Aaron was lusted after by most of the
women, and many of the men, in the Bureau.  Even though
he'd probably never tell another living soul about their
relationship, he had to admit that it gave him quite an ego
boost that someone as desirable as Aaron was interested in
him.  It wasn't that Mulder didn't think he was attractive.
He'd been hit on enough times by members of both sexes to
know he was physically appealing; it was when they got
beyond the exterior good looks and had to deal with what
lay underneath that most prospective lovers took off.

Not Scully, a voice in his head told him and he quickly
tried to silence it.  He felt no surprise that his mind had
placed her in the 'prospective lover' category.  They
certainly did love one another, but the exact nature of
that love was still a question.  Until they both had an
answer to that one, he would keep her in a category all her
own - not 'partner', not 'friend', not even 'best friend'.
Just 'Scully'.

<End 2/5>

She saw his pensive expression and wondered what he was
thinking about.  Deciding that was a futile effort, she
spoke up.  "So, how'd it happen, Mulder?"  She was not only
curious to know how he came to have a fellow agent as a
boyfriend, but also how they were able to keep it a secret
for so long.

He shrugged.  "Aaron's one of the brightest field agents in
the Bureau."  She nodded her agreement.  "So he and I ended
up working together a few times while I was in Violent
Crimes and we became good friends.  Y'know - hung out,
played basketball, all the things we do now, really.  As
far as I know, I'm still the only person at the Bureau he's
come out to."  It didn't even occur to him to ask Scully
not to tell anyone; he knew she'd never tell a soul.
"Anyway, we were friends for a couple of years and then,
one night, bang!"  He winced at his choice of words,
smiling at Scully's barely suppressed giggle, "it just
happened."

He paused for a moment, a small frown on his face,
considering what to say next.  Scully waited patiently for
him to speak, knowing somehow that it would be important.
After studying the cushions intently for a few moments, he
looked back at her, his eyes sad.  "You know the toll
working in VCS took on me."  She nodded her head in
agreement, her expression solemn, as she thought about just
how close to the edge being a profiler took him.
Suppressing a shudder, she recalled his brush with madness
during the Mostow case they had worked on not long ago.
How did he stay sane through four years of that? she
wondered.

He could tell by the unfocused look in her eyes and the
downturn of her mouth that she was remembering his behavior
during the 'gargoyle' case - it had claimed Patterson's
sanity and came perilously close to taking his as well.  He
never wanted Scully to see that part of him, and he was
more than a little worried that she would leave after
watching him practically self destruct before her eyes.
The fact that she didn't was just another testament to her
acceptance and understanding; one more example of their
trust.  Despite her attitude toward him after the episode,
it still embarrassed him to remember it; and it made him
even more uncomfortable to know Scully was remembering it,
too.  "Hey, anybody home?"  His voice was a mixture of
amusement and worry as he waved his hand before her eyes,
distracting her.

The sight of his fingers dancing before her eyes broke her
out of her trance.  She realized she'd been staring at the
coffee table and turned to face him, chagrined.  "Sorry,"
she said with a small smile.  "I really wish I'd known you
then, Mulder."  While he had never told her the details of
his time as a profiler, she knew he'd never had the kind of
support he needed; the kind of support she provided him.

He shook his head quickly.  "I don't," he said vehemently,
upset by the wounded look that appeared on her face.  "It
was a nightmare, Scully.  *I* was a nightmare.  I still
don't know how Aaron put up with me through all that."  He
lapsed into silence again and turned his head to stare at
the coffee table his mind swimming with memories of that
time and the effects it had on him.  The topic was becoming
too much for him and he suddenly needed more room to
breathe.  Grabbing their empty glasses, he said: "More
wine?" but didn't look at her as he started to rise from
the couch.

"Mulder..."  Her voice was half annoyance and half fear as
she took hold of his wrist, stopping him.  He turned to her
and gently pulled his arm from her grasp.  "Don't worry,
Scully," he reassured her, "I just want another glass of
wine.  Honest."  His expression was calm, but she could
tell from his tone of voice that he was upset at her hasty
reaction.

Straightening up, he walked to the kitchen as Scully
remained on the couch, thinking about what had just
happened.  She'd misjudged him.  He simply wanted something
more to drink and she had panicked, thinking that he was
trying to back out of their conversation.  Nice going Dana,
she thought to herself.  Making a decision, she stood up
and followed him.

He was standing with his back to her - hands flat against
the countertop, head bowed.  As she approached him, she
reached forward and gently placed her hand on the small of
his back.  "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, unconsciously
rubbing his back in small circles.  "I didn't mean to jump
at you like that.  It was silly of me, and I'm sorry."

She watched his shoulders rise and fall heavily as he
sighed.  "There's nothing to be sorry about, Scully; I
would have reacted the same way if I were you."  He was
silent for a moment, then he shook his head.  "We both know
that I have a talent for avoidance when it comes to
personal topics."

"And I don't?" she asked incredulously.  She could tell he
was still upset as she slid the hand which had been
rubbing his back around his waist.  Bringing herself flush
against him, she hugged him loosely and rested her head
against his back.  Feeling him stiffen, she gave him a
quick squeeze around the middle and he relaxed
considerably.

For a moment, Mulder was in shock as he felt Scully press
her tiny frame against him.  Full-body contact with her was
rare, and he wasn't sure how to react.  "Mulder, you
weren't trying to avoid anything," he heard from the
vicinity of his shoulder blades. "You simply wanted to step
back for a moment, and I panicked.  Please forgive me."

He shook his head slowly in disbelief at her apology.  He
was the one who had tried to run away, and she was
apologizing.  Amazing.  He straightened up, moving to face
her.  He felt her arms loosen their hold on him and, before
he could reconsider, he had turned around and pulled her
into his embrace, his chin resting lightly on the top of
her head.

While he understood that her capacity for guilt almost
equaled his own, he still couldn't blame her in this
situation.  He was the one who had bolted, not her.  But he
also knew that this was an argument that neither one of
them would win, and he didn't want to debate this with her
any more.  Running his hands gently up and down her back,
he sighed quietly: "Apology accepted." feeling even more
guilty for letting her take the blame.

She hugged him tightly and then relaxed against him, her
voice relieved.  "Thank you, Mulder."

He opened his mouth to tell her that there was nothing to
thank him for, that she shouldn't apologize, but then
thought better of it.  "You're very welcome, Scully."
Impulsively, he placed a light kiss on the top of her head
and squeezed her to him.

She chuckled softly at the feeling of his chin coming to
rest again on her head.  "You're just too tall," she said
with a smile as she loosened his hold on him.  He took a
small step back and she felt a chill at his absence.

He straightened up, exaggerating the height difference
between them, and bent at the waist until his head was
level with hers.  He smiled as he said: "No I'm not.
You're just unnaturally short."

He began to straighten up again, but she grabbed him by the
collar, pulling his face so close to hers that their noses
were almost touching.  "Well, I can wear heels.  What are
you going to do, walk on your knees?"

"At least I'd be almost closer to your height then," he
said with a laugh and she released her hold on him.  He
adjusted his collar and stepped back slightly, still
smiling.  His laughter increased as he watched her stick
her tongue out at him.  He reciprocated and she giggled
again.  He hadn't seen Scully this relaxed in... he didn't
think he'd ever seen her this relaxed, actually.  If there
had been a more enjoyable evening in his life thus far, he
couldn't remember it.

"Since you're such a giant, why don't you reach up and get
down a bowl from the top shelf behind you," she said,
indicating one of the cabinets.  Her voice still shook with
quiet laughter and her smile was wide.  She hadn't felt
this good in a long time, and she didn't want the evening
to end any time soon.

He stared at her for a moment and then said: "You're
supposed to sip wine, Scully, not lap it."  She gave him a
glare, but the effect was ruined by the smile which still
played around her lips.  Then she opened her mouth, as if
she were laughing, but no sound was heard.

"Very funny, Mulder.  It's for popcorn; I'm hungry."
Giving him a light shove, she moved to another cupboard and
got down a bag of popping corn while he stood behind her,
reaching over her head for the bowl she had requested.
Their height difference was so pronounced that his body
barely brushed hers as he retrieved the container.  "Show
off," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear and felt
his answering chuckle when he leaned forward slightly,
pressing himself more firmly against her.  Her mind was
occupied with the feeling of his body draped over her, so
she was surprised when a large plastic bowl appeared on
the counter of front of her.

He rested his head on her shoulder and whispered softly in
her ear: "Oh, Scully, I haven't even *begun* to show you
what I can do."  The tiny shiver that ran through her made
him smile and, not without regret, he stepped away from her
before she could reply.  His body was very much aware of
her and he was afraid it would start to react accordingly.
He was a little worried that she might be upset with him
for being so forward, so he decided to lighten the mood.
"So, do I dare to hope that we get butter with that?"

Working hard to keep her expression neutral, she turned and
looked at him.  She understood their constant game of
flirting and sexual innuendo, but it had never gone quite
this far before.  By the look on his face, she could tell
he was anxious about how she would react to his behavior
and she quickly moved to put him at ease.  As she smiled,
she could see him relax, a grin of his own appearing on his
face.  "Mulder, you *know* that popcorn is simply a vehicle
for butter and salt."

His response was a soft chuckle.  "Ah, a woman after my own
heart," he said as he stepped over to the refrigerator.  As
Scully plugged in the air popper, Mulder took the bottle of
wine and a stick of butter out of the refrigerator, handing
the latter to her.  He refreshed their glasses, emptying
the bottle in the process, while she poured the popcorn
into the machine.  "Recycling?" he asked as he held the
empty up for her inspection.  She pointed to a plastic bin
on the floor at the end of the counter and returned to
cutting up the butter and placing the pieces in a small
pan.  Mulder leaned back against the counter watching her
graceful and efficient movements as she prepared their
snack.  "While I was with VCS, Aaron was the only one who I
talked to about it."

She turned to face him, walking away from the popper so
they didn't have to shout to be heard over the noise.
Keeping her expression as open and encouraging as she
could, she asked: "Didn't you all discuss things, or at
least see counselors regularly?"  It was hard for her to
imagine doing what he had done without being able to talk
to someone about the effect the work had on her.  Delving
into the minds of killers on a day to day basis was job she
couldn't imagine doing, much less keeping all the trauma it
would cause locked inside.

Mulder shook his head slowly.  "No.  Patterson didn't
believe in expressing emotion."  He shrugged.  "Emotion was
weakness, and he didn't tolerate weakness."  His behavior
during those days were still distinct in his perfect
memory.  Pushing himself to the point of breakdown on every
case; determined to stop the criminal before another
innocent person died.  If a suspect he was chasing killed
again, Mulder took it personally.  Patterson let him.  How
many times had he worked himself to the point of collapse,
knowing that he was *this close* to breaking the case.  How
many times had he handed Patterson the suspect on a silver
platter only to be rewarded with 'Good work Mulder' and
another case file more horrifying than the last?

The touch of Scully's hand on his jolted him out of his
reverie.  Taking a deep breath, he squeezed her hand
briefly and smiled sheepishly at her.  "Sorry about that."
The concern in her eyes made his throat tighten and he
forced himself to look away from her.  "Uh, Scully, I think
you might have a bit of a problem," he said with a tiny
smile as he watched the last popped kernels of corn fly out
of the chute of the machine, bouncing off the edges of the
bowl and littering the counter.

She quickly ran to the source of the popcorn hurricane,
turning off the popper and picking the stragglers off the
counter top.  Mulder had moved to the stove and pulled the
butter off the burner before it scorched.  Grabbing a
wooden spoon from a ceramic container, he stirred the
butter slowly as he watched his partner finish cleaning up.
"Well, at least none of them ended up on the floor," she
said as she nibbled on the freshly popped kernels.

"Not that it wouldn't be fun crawling around on the floor
with you," she added with a smirk.  His surprised
expression delighted her and she could tell he was
struggling to find just the right comeback.  Gently pushing
him away from the stove, she picked the pan and wooden
spoon, turning away from him as she drizzled the butter
over the fluffy white kernels.

"Why, Agent Scully," he said with a smile, "I do believe
you're finally coming on to me."  Without her having to
ask, he'd grabbed the salt and moved it next to the bowl
where she could reach it easily.

She stopped tossing the popcorn and met his gaze directly.
Deliberately lowering her tone of voice, she said: "Trust
me, Agent Mulder, when I decide to come on to you, you'll
know."  A small quirk of the lips, and she returned her
attention to the task at hand even though she was dying to
see the effect her response had on him.  She added the
salt, all the while wondering how he would respond to her
teasing.

She didn't have to wonder long.  She felt the warmth of his
body as he leaned against her back, reaching his arm around
her as he took a few pieces of popcorn out of the bowl.
The feeling of his breath in her ear was the next thing she
noticed and it was almost impossible to keep from shivering
as he whispered: "I can't wait."

As quickly as he had come up behind her, he was gone.  By
the time she had calmed herself and turned around, he was
happily munching away as he walked back to the couch, both
glasses in his hands.  She just stared for a moment,
watching his slow, graceful movements as he sat back down
and got comfortable.  After grabbing a few napkins, she
picked up the bowl and joined him.

Once she had settled in, he started picking at the popcorn,
waiting for her to continue.  He knew they'd opened up a
whole new can of worms with this discussion and she
wouldn't let him get away without telling her everything.
It wasn't Aaron he was uncomfortable talking to her about,
it was himself.  And he had to admit, it did feel good to
get some of the old demons out in the open.  His wait ended
abruptly when she said: "Did Aaron ever try and get you to
quit VCS?"

Mulder finished wiping butter off his fingers as he
replied: "Never.  He knew me better than that."  The moment
the words left his mouth, he knew he'd phrased that wrong.
It took only a quick look at Scully's hurt expression to
confirm his fears.  "That's not what I meant, Scully," he
quickly amended.  "Aaron knew me almost as well as you do."
She looked at him doubtfully as he groped for the right
words to make her understand.  "In the four years we've
worked together, have you ever once considered suggesting
that I leave the X-Files?"

She realized where he was going with his line of
questioning, and responded: "Yes I have.  More than once,
to be honest."  He seemed to have expected her positive
response to her question and it didn't surprise her.

"But you haven't said anything about it," he said.  She
nodded her head in agreement.  "Why not?  After all,
working on the X-Files hasn't been easy on either of us."
He smiled ruefully at his gross understatement, his
eidetic memory quickly cataloging every threat and injury
she had ever suffered as a result of their partnership.

For her part, Scully was immediately aware of the direction
of his thoughts.  The longest relationship this man's ever
had is with guilt, she thought to herself.  Now if she
could only breakup that one, she'd be happy to call herself
a homewrecker.  Reaching out to grasp his hand, she said:
"No it hasn't Mulder, but I wouldn't change a thing and I
would never ask you to leave."  His grip tightened and he
looked directly at her with that pitiful, guilt-ridden
expression that never failed to make her wince.

"Why not?" he repeated.  He had never dared to ask her
about this before because he was deathly afraid she would
start to question her own motives for staying.  And when
that happened, would she finally realize that she'd made a
mistake and leave him?  That was something he simply could
not consider; so he chose to ignore the possibility.  After
all, she didn't own the copyright on denial.

After considering her response for a long, tense moment,
she continued: "No matter how dangerous this quest might
be, it is a large part of who you are."  She paused,
searching for the right words.  "And it has become a large
part of who I am."  She almost grimaced as his hand crushed
hers more tightly.  "To ask you to leave the X-Files would
be to ask you to change who you are."  She smiled at him
and his death grip eased.  "And despite the fact that you
can be a pain in the ass," she laughed, "I would never
change a thing about you."  He chuckled at her response and
started to look away, but she grabbed his chin with her
free hand and brought his stare to meet hers.  "More
importantly, taking away the X-Files would hurt you and,
even though I can't control much in this world," she
cleared her suddenly tight throat, "I will always do
everything in my power to make sure that nothing and no one
ever hurts you again."

The moment she finished, he felt her hand leave his face
and he bowed his head to his chest, breathing deeply as he
tried to control his emotions.  Her hand was still clenched
in his and he heard her clear her throat as she fought the
same battle with tears that he was.  "Besides," he heard
her say in a slightly unsteady voice, "you know we'd both
be bored senseless if we ever had to get real jobs."

He smiled at her attempt to lighten the mood and gave her
hand one last, quick squeeze before finally releasing it.
Rubbing his eyes roughly, he coughed and cleared his
throat.  "Okay, Scully, you know everything about Chrissy
and Aaron," he reached over, picked up his wine glass and
leaned back against the couch, resting his head on his
hand, "let's talk about Marie."

She chewed a few kernels of popcorn, washing it down with
her wine.  "I would have to say that my relationship with
Marie was the first 'adult' one of my life."  She glanced
up from putting her glass back on the coffee table to see
Mulder nod his encouragement.  "I'd only had one lover
before that, and we were both only 19 at the time."  She
caught his raised eyebrows and said: "That's another story
for another time, Mulder."  He smiled and she continued.
"Anyway, there I was: not yet 21 years old, my family had
just transferred to Alameda a few weeks earlier, and my
nearest friend was in San Diego.  It was a rough," she
added, relaxing back into a corner of the couch.  "I only
had two more days to familiarize myself with my new city
before classes started, so I spent the day wandering around
and finally ended up at the Ben & Jerry's across the street
from the campus.  The place was packed and I desperately
wanted to sit down for a while.  I must have looked like a
little lost lamb standing in the middle of the store,
turning in circles, searching for an empty chair, while
melted ice cream dripped down my fingers."

Mulder immediately saw Scully in his mind's eye: young and
fresh-faced, looking more like a high school freshman than
a pre-med student, licking New York Super Fudge Chunk off
her slim fingers.  Now *there's* and image he'd be
replaying quite often, he said to himself.  He heard her
call his name and refocused his eyes on hers.  Busted.
"Uh, so what happened then?" he asked quickly and bowed his
head as he reached for the popcorn, trying desperately to
hide his blush from her.

She noticed the color suffuse his face, but decided to say
nothing of it.  "Then I heard a beautiful, melodious voice
ask me if I would like a seat.  I turned around and saw
this gorgeous dark-skinned woman sitting at a small booth
with open textbooks strewn on the table around her.  I
noticed that they were all medical texts, so I figured she
was a med student like myself."  Scully paused to eat and
drink a little more, all the while gathering her thoughts.
"I really don't think I was physically attracted to her at
that point," she mused, "while I certainly noticed her
looks, it didn't occur to me to see her as anything more
than a potential friend."  She shrugged her shoulders and
grinned at her partner.  "Let's face it Mulder, I grew up a
Navy brat in a Catholic family.  I think I was a junior in
high school before I learned that 'gay' was more than just
a synonym for 'happy.'"

Mulder laughed and she enjoyed the rarely-heard sound.
"So, Marie and I ended up sitting in Ben & Jerry's for
another four or five hours, talking about life, school,
politics, ex-lovers..."  Her expression became distant as
she recalled the conversation.  "She was very open about
her orientation, and I tried hard not to act surprised,
although I'm sure I failed miserably.  I had met a few gays
and lesbians during my two years at San Diego State, but
they all seemed to fit the stereotype of queen or dyke.
Then she started to tell me about her family," Scully
continued.  "Did you know her mother opened the first free
women's health clinic in Kingston and her father was the
French ambassador to Jamaica?" she asked.  Mulder's
eyebrows rose and he shook his head.  Scully laughed
quietly, "I had never met anyone with such an interesting
history and I think that's when I started to develop a
crush on her."  She couldn't help but chuckle at his
shocked expression.  "Although at the time, I thought it
was just fascination with someone who had led such and
interesting life.  She spent her childhood in Jamaica, her
adolescence in the south of France, went to boarding school
in Switzerland, vacationed in the Mediterranean, and did
her first two years of pre-med studies at the University of
Genoa in Italy.  You can't imagine what kind of a dream
life that is to someone who spent her life inside one Naval
base or another."  Scully stopped herself short and looked
at her partner with an apologetic expression.  Nice move,
Starbuck, she reprimanded herself.  With his family
history, almost anyone else's life would seem a dream to
him.

Mulder could tell she felt uncomfortable about what she'd
said and he quickly spoke up.  "It's okay, Scully, I know
exactly what you mean.  I've seen base housing." he gave
her an exaggerated grimace and she smiled gratefully at
him.  He returned her smile and waited for her to continue.

"Anyway, we hit it off really well and became good friends.
She introduced me to a lot of people, and was incredibly
helpful with my studies as well.  I knew she was planning
to go to med school back East, probably Johns Hopkins, and
she encouraged me to consider it, too.  Even though I had
made several intense friendships, there was a very good
chance my father would be permanently stationed back East
and I didn't think I was ready to live so far away from
them just yet.  I even found myself missing East Coast
weather if you can believe it!"  She shook her head,
wondering how she could ever have honestly *wanted* to live
through another New England winter.

Mulder watched her face change from amusement to something
else, something that worried him.  She looked upset and he
waited for her to speak, but she remained silent.  "What's
the matter?" he finally asked.  She shook her head again
and sighed heavily, making his stomach clench with concern.
"Talk to me, Scully," he said quietly as he leaned toward
her.

For her part, Scully was debating with herself.  She hadn't
planned on mentioning this to him, but now that she was
telling her story, she felt guilty about keeping such an
important, if painful, part of her life from him.  He had
shared some of his most difficult and gut-wrenching moments
with her, now it was her turn.  Taking another deep breath,
she looked away from the him to stare at the coffee table
before continuing.  "You know I was only at UC Berkeley for
a year."  She could see him nod out of the corner of his
eye.  "Well, I never told anyone, except Marie, why I left
so soon."

Mulder's stomach was in knots with the knowledge that what
his best friend was about to tell him was most certainly
not going to be good.  He had never considered why Scully
had spent so little time in the Bay Area, but he was about
to find out.  She had been silent for several moments and
he scooted closer on the couch, moving the bowl of popcorn
from between them and setting it and his wine glass on the
coffee table.  "Whatever you have to tell me, Scully, you
know I'll listen."

She nodded and was shaken by the effect these old memories
still had on her.  Taking a few deep breaths, she began.
"I didn't date much - too busy with my studies to have a
social life, you know?  I did go out with a few guys, but
none of them became serious.  About a month before finals,
I agreed to go out with Don."  She closed her eyes briefly
before continuing.  "Anyway, he and I went of a few dates
and I really thought things were going well.  He was very
good looking, intelligent, witty, and charming, and a
physics major to boot.  He was always a little aggressive,
but when I told him that I didn't want to rush into
anything, he capitulated and backed off."  She grew quiet
again and felt Mulder move to slip his arm around her
shoulders and pull her to him gently.

She relaxed against him and resumed her story: "Until our
fifth date.  We had gone for a walk around the campus after
dinner and ended up in a eucalyptus grove not far from the
amphitheater.  We sat under the trees, talking and making
out, and then he got rough and when I told him to stop, he
got even rougher."  She closed her eyes and felt Mulder lay
his head on top of hers as he began to rub his hand up and
down her arm.  "He held me down and tore my clothes.  He
was a football player, for God's sake, so he had no trouble
overpowering me, but I kept kicking and screaming and was
able to get in a few good shots.  A couple of students
walking nearby heard me and came running.  Don knew he
would get caught, so he settled for punching me in the face
and stomach a few more times and then ran off."  She
shuddered and Mulder kissed the top of her head, muttering
that it was okay now and she was safe.

Scully turned slightly and encircled his waist with her
arms, burying her face in his neck.  He brought his other
arm around her and held her close but not too tight, so
she knew she was secure but not restrained.  It was killing
him to think of her being brutalized like that, and it
suddenly made him realize why control was such an important
issue to her: it had been wrested from her before, and she
never wanted it to happen again.  But it had happened
again, he reminded himself; it's happened many times since
she began to work with me.  "I'm so sorry, Scully," he
murmured into her hair.  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."  He
repeated the mantra as he rubbed her back gently, and she
relaxed against him.

Scully simply let herself enjoy the comforting weight of
Mulder's arms around her.  She believed she had dealt with
this particular horror years ago, but following her return
after being abducted by Duane Barry, the nightmares were
back in full force.  She recalled vividly her first night
home: Mulder had insisted on staying with her until she was
ready to go to bed, finally leaving just before midnight,
grumbling all the while.  She had fallen asleep quickly;
and that's when the dreams began.  Every horror she had
ever encountered in her years with the X-Files was replayed
with terrifying clarity.  And through it all was Don, his
blonde-haired, blue-eyed good looks twisted with hate as he
pinned her down atop the rotting eucalyptus leaves and tore
at her clothes.  She could hear his voice, low and
dangerous, as he ordered her to shut up, stop struggling;
telling her she was a liar because he *knew* this was what
she wanted.  The sound of her own screams had awakened her
and she clutched at her pillow, burying her face in it as
she began to wail.  Great, wracking sobs, punctuated by
screams and curses for those who had taken her and,
thereby, taken her control.  She railed against everyone
and everything that had ever hurt her and her loved ones -
Don, Boggs, Pfaster, the cabal of shadow men who seemed to
control her and Mulder's every move.  Through it all, she
wished that Mulder were there to hold her, comfort her and
make it all go away.

The memory of that first of many lonely nights full of fear
made her shiver and she immediately felt herself pulled
closer to Mulder's lean frame.  He continued his chant of
apology as he nuzzled her hair and she hugged him tighter,
shaking her head slightly at the guilt she could hear in
his voice.  "It's okay, Mulder," she said quietly.  "It was
a very long time ago and I've gotten over it.  Considering
what could have happened, I was very lucky."

She felt him sigh as he continued to stroke her back
soothingly.  "What happened after that?" he asked quietly,
his voice slightly muffled by her hair.  She took a deep
breath in preparation for what was to come.  The attack was
bad enough; what came after only compounded the pain.

"With the help of the students who had interrupted us, I
gathered up my torn clothes and we wandered around until we
found a phone.  I called UCPD; they arrived not long after
and took me to the station house.  Then they took me to the
clinic; I had a black eye and several cuts and bruises.
Then we went back so I could give my statement."  Not
without regret, she loosened her hold on his waist and
started to pull away; it was lovely to be held, safe and
secure, in Mulder's embrace, but she needed some breathing
room.  With the exception of campus police, she had only
told one other person her story and that was just after it
had happened.  It surprised her how difficult she was
finding it to tell it again.

<End 3/5>

Mulder watched with trepidation as Scully gathered her wits
about her.  It was obvious from her body language that she
was preparing to talk about something painful.  The thought
that what she would have to say could be any more traumatic
than the replaying of her attack made his stomach clench.
As much as it hurt him to hear these things, it had to hurt
her far worse.  So, despite his fears, he waited patiently
for him to continue, keeping his eyes focused on her,
silently encouraging her to continue.

"The police immediately went to arrest Don at the frat
house where he lived.  I guess when they got there, he was
passed out in his room and his buddies all told the
officers that he'd been with them the entire evening."  She
shook her head sadly.  "They arrested him anyway."

She took up her glass again and sipped the now tepid wine.
"The reason I'd gone to Berkeley in the first place is
because my family was living in the Bay Area.  But after
only six months, we got word that Dad had been transferred
again - to Maryland.  I loved where I was and decided to
finish my BA at Berkeley, so my parents moved back East in
March, just two weeks before the attack.  I was working and
had gotten into school on a scholarship, so I was able to
afford a place of my own.  Unfortunately, that also meant
that I had no one to go home to.  After Don was booked, one
of the officers took me home, and for the first time, I had
time to really think about what had happened and try to
figure out what I was going to do."

Scully leaned back on the couch, her head lolling against
the cushions, shaking her head  as she spoke.  "I couldn't
tell my parents.  My father would have hunted the bastard
down and beat him within an inch of his life."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Mulder whispered.
Realizing she had heard him, he smiled sheepishly and
motioned for her to go on.

Grinning at him, she continued.  "Be that as it may.  I
knew they would both be adamant that I leave as soon as
possible and move back in with them.  As much as the idea
may have appealed to me at that moment, I was determined
not to let this keep me from finishing what I started.  So
I couldn't tell my parents."  She ticked off the point on
her finger.  "And even though I had some good friends at
school, I didn't feel comfortable calling any of them at
one o'clock in the morning, especially about this."
Another point.  "I didn't know you then."  She rolled her
head to stare at him, smiling.  Another point.  "So, I
called the only person who was close enough emotionally and
distant enough physically to allow me to talk about had
happened to me without fear."

"Marie," Mulder said quietly as she nodded in agreement.

"I wasn't thinking when I called her; it was almost four
o'clock in the morning in Baltimore, but she didn't say a
word about it.  I rambled on for almost five hours, talking
about the attack, my family, school, my feelings for her,
hopes, fears, dreams..."  Scully laughed quietly at the
recollection.  "I had no idea I'd made her miss her first
period class, and she never brought it up."  Scully picked
up her glass and took another sip of her wine.  "She
offered to come out to help me, but I couldn't let her do
that.  She was still in her first year at Hopkins and she
couldn't afford to miss her classes.  Just talking with her
really helped and we ended up calling each other at least
once a day from then on.  I don't know what I would have
done without her."  She fell silent again, remembering how
Marie's warm, quiet voice helped her through every day and
night that followed.

Mulder studied her as she seem to lose herself in her
thoughts again.  He was loathe to interrupt her, but he
knew from her earlier comments that there was much more to
the story.  She continued to stare at the glass in her hand
and Mulder got the feeling she was trying to delay telling
him the next part of her story.  Although he knew this was
painful for her, he also had found out first hand how
sharing these memories had been such a relief for him; he
wanted to offer her that same comfort.  "What happened to
Don?" he asked in a whisper.

Her brow creased and an expression of distaste crossed her
features.  This was the hard part, but she was determined
to get it out in the open.  Taking a deep breath for
courage, she replied: "He was released on bail the next day
with the caveat that he had to stay a thousand yards away
from me.  He complied.  They began the process for
indictment and kept me informed of everything they were
doing.  As I said, it was nearing finals time, so I poured
myself into my studies.  All my time was spent either at
home, in class, or at the library; I didn't go out with
friends at all, especially at night.  If I was still on
campus after dark, I made a guard walk me to the street so
I could catch a cab."  She smiled ruefully at her partner.
"All in all, I was a wreck.  If it hadn't been for Marie, I
would have dropped out and run back home in a second."

"Did Don every try to approach you?" Mulder's voice was
strained with worry.  He didn't like the direction her
story seemed to be headed.

Scully shook her head.  "No.  He obeyed the terms of his
bail and, in fact, I never saw him face to face again."
She found herself becoming angry at the memory of what
happened next.  "A week after the attack, the charges were
dropped."  She heard Mulder gasp softly and turned to look
at him again.  "Don was a scholarship student from a
middle-class home; he had no money or power.  His frat
brother on the other hand..."  She shrugged.

"As I said, all his housemates swore Don had spent the
entire night drinking with them.  They even told the police
that he had gotten into a drunken fight with one of the
other guys, hence his injuries.  He was arrested and
charged anyway, and he would have been prosecuted too, if
it hadn't been for Brendan James III."  Her tone held a
combination of bitterness and resignation as she recalled
the man whose intervention allowed her attacker to escape
justice.

Sighing heavily, she said: "James' father was a study in
cliches: eldest son of an old money family, president of
the family's company, married his college sweetheart, had
two kids - boy and a girl," Scully said with an ironic
twitch of her eyebrow as she counted each point on her
fingers, "divorced his college sweetheart when the children
moved away from home, got himself a trophy wife, drove
luxury cars, and lived in a mansion in the Oakland hills."
She shook her head and smiled, then turned to face Mulder.
"Sounds like the hero in a Jackie Collins novel or the
villain in a Harlequin romance."

He returned her grin, silently encouraging her to continue,
which she did.  "And, the best parts: he was a Fellow and
large contributor to the University, as well as having a
son who was the president of the same fraternity his old
man had been in charge of when he was at Berkeley."  Her
face was grim as she shook her head.  "All it took were a
few phone calls, and suddenly the evidence wasn't
substantial enough to indict.  God forbid one of the Alpha
Phi Kappa boys be accused of attempted rape."  After
draining her glass and returning it to the table, she
curled her feet up under her.  "I was told that nothing
more could be done, but that Don was on a list of students
to be watched, so he'd never have the chance to do it
again.  That was it."

Mulder was shocked.  "What do you mean 'That was it'?  They
just let him get away with it?"  Even after everything he'd
seen in his years with the X-Files, it still hurt to hear
of the abuses of power that allowed evil to flourish with
impunity.  He though he would be used to it by now; he was
wrong.  Already, he was planning his next move.  How many
physics students named Don were there at Berkeley in 1985?
If he was lucky, the arrest record would still be on file;
once he had a last name and Social Security number, the
rest would be easy.

"Cut it out, Mulder."  Scully's voice broke through his
musings and he turned his attention back to her.  "I know
what you're thinking, but there's no point; he's already in
prison."  He just stared at her for a moment longer,
abashed at her reproof and a little upset that he had been
so easy to read.

Shrugging in defeat, he said: "Hey, you can't knock a guy
for trying," and was rewarded with a smile.  He became
serious again.  "What's he in for and how long?"  If there
was a chance this monster would ever get the opportunity to
come near her again, Mulder wanted to be ready.

"He was convicted on three counts of rape and two of
aggravated assault and battery in '90," she said, her voice
tinged with anger.  "One of the women, the last of his
victims, was in the hospital for almost four months.  Even
with parole, time off for good behavior, and the sex
offenders rehab program he's participating in, he still
won't be out for a very long time."  She couldn't help
wondering how things might have been different if he had
been prosecuted for his attack on her over a decade
earlier.  How many women might have been spared?

Mulder watched her expression change as she fell silent
again.  Her brow was crinkled with a frown as she nibbled
slowly on her lower lip.  "It's not your fault, you know."
He wasn't the only one who was easy to read.  She quickly
looked back at him with a shrug and a grin before reaching
for her now empty glass, apparently disconcerted with it's
lack of contents.  "Got any more?" he asked after finishing
his wine.

Shaking her head, she replied: "Not chilled.  But there's a
bottle or two of red in cupboard if you're interested.  She
began the process of unfurling herself from her cozy
position, but was stopped by his hand on her arm.

"I'll get it, Scully; just point the way."  He didn't want
her to move from her spot on the couch.  With her legs
curled up underneath her, she looked more relaxed and
comfortable than he could ever remember seeing her.  The
last thing he wanted to do was change that.  She flung her
arm over the back of the couch and pointed towards the
lower cabinets to the left of the sink.  Following her
directions, he found a few different kinds of wine and
grabbed the one nearest him.  "Zinfandel okay?" he asked,
looking back over his shoulder.  She nodded her assent and
he rose from his crouch searching for the corkscrew and any
snacks she might have.  Once the bottle was opened, he
returned to the couch, bottle in one hand, a bag of fat
free pretzels in the other.  "I have no qualms with your
wine selection, Scully, but we need to talk about your
snack options."  He smiled at her as he filled her glass
and then his own, placing the open bag on the cushions
between them.

Her answering smile was ironic as she responded.  "This
from the man with nothing more than a stale bag of Fritos
in the cupboard and box of marshmallow Peeps in the
freezer."  Taking a sip, she let the burgundy liquid rest
in her mouth a moment before swallowing, appreciating the
intricacies of the wine.  "Why do you freeze them anyway?"
she asked, reaching for a pretzel.

He placed his goblet back on the coffee table after
sampling its contents and leaned back on the couch, then
turned to face her, his expression blank.  "Peepcicles," he
said simply, filling his hand with pretzels as he watched
her efforts not to laugh.  As her smile grew larger and
small chuckles started to emerge from her mouth, he tried
his best to remain stoic.  "They're a delicacy, Scully; if
you've never had one, you're missing out on a tempting
taste treat."  He couldn't keep himself from grinning as
she began to laugh in earnest.

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat and said: "Sorry,
I must have missed the article on that one in last month's
'Gourmet'."  After taking a few more sips of her wine, she
giggled quietly and sighed as she leaned back into the
corner of the couch.  She began to feel uncomfortable as
she watched Mulder laughing softly to himself as he took a
healthy drink from his glass.  These were things that
happened long before their partnership began; they didn't
owe it to each other to share.  But she did feel they owed
one another the truth about things that had happened since
they became partners, and she knew hadn't been entirely
truthful.  Speaking quickly to keep from censoring herself,
she looked away and murmured: "Don called me just after
Thanksgiving last year."

Mulder nearly gagged on his wine, sputtering into the
glass.  Wiping the red droplets from his chin, his voice
was hoarse as he choked out "What?!" as he bent his head to
try and catch her eye.  That was six months ago, and he
couldn't help but wonder if she ever would have told him if
they hadn't begun this conversation.  His anger at her
omission was tempered by his knowledge that there were
plenty of things he's learned and experienced over the last
four years that he hadn't bothered to tell her.  Anger,
hurt and guilt battled within him as he watched her take
another long draught of her wine while continuing to avoid
his gaze.  "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked in a tight
voice.  She seemed to be staring everywhere but at him.

"If you recall, we weren't exactly on the best of terms at
the time, Mulder."  She finally gave him what he wanted and
looked directly into his eyes, unblinking.  The staredown
was over in a flash as he quickly looked away and picked up
the increasingly empty wine bottle.  Sighing, she reached
out her hand as he topped off her glass, stilling his
movements.  "You do understand why I couldn't say anything,
don't you?"  He nodded stiffly as he upended the bottle,
sloshing wine into his goblet, filling it nearly to the
brim before he could stop the flow.  "Sure it wouldn't have
been easier just to drink it straight out of the bottle,
Mulder?"  She was grinning as she spoke and he flashed her
a sheepish look before carefully lifting the glass to his
lips and sipping enough to reduce the risk of spilling it
all over her floor.

He recalled that time just six months earlier when their
friendship had appeared to be headed for collapse.  It
had begun with a seemingly innocent case involving two
teenage girls in a small town in New Hampshire.
Unfortunately, the cosmic events which had brought out
homicidal tendencies in the girls effected everybody in
town - including him and Scully.  They never dealt with the
animosity they had exhibited toward each other during that
case and several that followed.  Then came their first case
after the Thanksgiving holiday: a young boy who appeared to
spontaneously bleed from previously nonexistent wounds in
his hands and feet.  Stigmata - the wounds of Christ.
Mulder was convinced it was simply the boy's desperate plea
for attention; but Scully, his ever-skeptical partner,
believed.

After three years of her need for empirical evidence, for
proof, he couldn't help but feel hurt by her easy
acceptance of the validity of the boy's claims.  The fact
that all the circumstantial evidence appeared to indicate
her belief to be correct only exacerbated his anger.  It
upset him to think that she could so readily believe in the
seemingly impossible, but not when it came to any of *his*
theories.  His hurt manifested itself in his attitude; he
was terrible to her.  He knew that he was being petty and
childish, but he couldn't seem to help himself.  Of course,
she remained logical and cooperative throughout the case,
which only made him feel worse about his behavior.  Instead
of simply apologizing, though, he became even bitchier
towards her.  Her theories led to the identification of the
killer and saved the boy's life; and he actually found
himself mad at her for being right.

It wasn't until the case was finally closed that she called
him on his actions.  They had argued, debated, butted
heads, locked horns, and disagreed on a continual basis
since the beginning of their partnership.  But what they
had never done was fight - until that case.  What started
as an attempt to clear the air between them quickly became
a shouting match.  They stood toe to toe, both refusing to
give ground, as they hurled recriminations back and forth.
He accused her of working against him, of choosing to
believe because he had shown signs of doubt.  What an
egotistical asshole, he thought to himself as he recalled
their argument.  She in turn, told him he had been childish
and petty; and she was right.  Then she called him an
'intellectual elitist'; compared him to people who only
liked something because it isn't popular, quickly coming to
despise that which they had once admired when it became
beloved of the 'unwashed masses.'  He could still hear her
accusations ringing in his ears, made all the more hurtful
because, in some ways, they were true.

His already erratic sleep habits became even worse as he
felt their friendship disintegrating before his eyes and
he believed he was helpless to stop it.  Every night, he
relived the details of Scully's abduction.  Except this
time, she never came back to him; or worse, she was
returned, comatose, and died without him.  He lost count of
the times his dream self sat on the floor of his ruined
apartment, waiting for the phone to ring, snatching up the
handset before the caller could leave a message and hearing
Mrs. Scully's quiet, broken voice say simply: "Fox... she's
gone."   He would wake with a start, his face covered with
tears and sweat, and reach for the phone, desperate to call
her and reassure himself that she was still alive.  Her
number would remain undialed, his rationalization being
that it would just annoy her and bring her that much closer
to leaving him.

Every day that followed began the same way: he would arrive
early and search his inbox for the Request for Transfer
form he just knew would appear, empty his voice mail,
anticipating the message from her that she was leaving him,
and then wait for her to arrive to break the news to him in
person.  None of these one of these possibilities were ever
realized, and a month later they began to heal their
partnership.  The catalyst: a man who could control the
thoughts of others and who took over Mulder's mind, making
him an unwilling participant in a game of Russian Roulette
that ended with him pointing a gun at Scully, the fatal
round in the chamber.

In typical Mulder fashion, it never occurred to him that he
might not be the only one suffering; that, maybe, she was
having problems of her own.  No wonder that she hadn't felt
comfortable sharing such things with him; if she had told
him of Don's call, then she would have had to tell him
about the attack as well.  Hell, he said to himself, there
were days that they exchanged no more than two words:
'hello' and 'goodbye', much less painful details about
their pasts.  If he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own
personal miseries, maybe he would have noticed something
was wrong and been able to help her.  That is, if she was
willing to admit that she was something other than 'fine'
for a change, he thought.

"I'm sorry you had to go it alone, Scully; I'm sure it
would have helped if you'd had someone to talk to about
this."  She watched as he settled back into the cushions,
quietly munching pretzels and looking distinctly morose.
With an exasperated sigh, she took another sip of her wine
and rubbed her free hand across her eyes.  This was the
primary reason she had hesitated to tell him about the
attack tonight.  It wasn't her pain at reliving the event,
it wasn't even her guilt at keeping it a secret from him
for so long, it was the sure and certain knowledge that he
would take her pain and heap it on his already overburdened
shoulders.  When they first began working together, she
thought it was purely egotism on his part - that he felt
the world revolved around him and everything that happened
in it came back to him.  But she soon realized that it was
only the tragedies in the lives of those he cared for that
he felt were his fault.  For a brilliant, successful,
attractive, caring man, his self-image was execrable.

Sighing again, she tried to explain.  "We were both acting
foolish and petty; we let the pressure of our work get in
the way of our... partnership."  While at first she wanted
to say 'relationship', it sounded too much like they were
talking about a capital-R 'Relationship' and they didn't
have that.  Did they?  "That time was bad for both of us
and we were both equally to blame."  Mulder shook his head
in disagreement and she felt herself getting angry with
him.  "It takes two to argue, Mulder, and I certainly did
more than my fair share; I was closed-minded and combative.
It was a rough spot; we got through it and we moved on.
Okay?"  She glared at him, as if through will alone she
could *make* him believe he wasn't entirely to blame.  He
nodded his head meekly and she didn't buy it for a second.

To hell with it, she thought, God Himself could descend
from the heavens, with the Choir Invisible singing 'Don't
Go Changing' in the background, and tell Mulder that
nothing bad that had happened in his entire life was his
fault, and he'd thank Him for trying to be nice, but He was
wrong.  "Anyway..." she said, too tired to argue the point
further, "the fact that Don called was certainly rotten
timing, but it was still something that I really had to
deal with on my own."  She looked over to see him nodding
slowly, his gaze still focused on the floor.

"How did he find you?" Mulder asked suddenly, his worry
evident in his voice.  If this guy were still in prison,
how had he been able to track down one of his victims, his
mind cringed at the use of that word in relation to Scully,
and find out where she worked?  If it had been that easy
while he was incarcerated, Mulder feared what would happen
when he was finally released.

Sensing his unease, Scully said: "Actually, it was his
therapist that called me first.  She looked up all his
previous arrest records and tried to contact every one of
the women he'd assaulted."  Mulder looked at her, his
confusion written clearly on his face.  "Her approach is
kind of like 'Alcoholics Anonymous' in that she encourages
the patient to apologize to every person he'd ever wronged.
She and I spoke for quite a long time about it.  She wasn't
a bleeding heart about Don; she knew his record very well.
She admitted that there were convicts she counseled who
were beyond rehabilitation, but she also believed that Don
wasn't one of those."  She paused, trying to organize her
thoughts, grabbing a few pretzels to eat in order to buy
her some more time.  "Christianity played a very large part
in making me who I am today, and even though my faith in
Science my have superceded my faith in God, I never
completely abandoned the latter."  She rubbed her forehead
absently; she felt like she wasn't articulating herself
well and it frustrated her.

Finally, she turned to him, trying a different tack.  "If
you think about it, our penal system is based on religious
ideals.  I mean, what are the Ten Commandments but a set of
laws?  'An eye for an eye' is the basis of the of crime and
punishment; and the idea of parole says that once a person
has paid for his or her crime, that individual has the
right to resume life like a normal human being.  Absolution
and redemption in legalized terms."  She watched his
expression change as he thought about her words, beginning
to understand her meaning.  "If I am to remain true to who
I am, then I can not abandon the part of me that learned
about the divinity of forgiveness in Catechism all those
years ago.  Despite the horrible things he had done, I owed
it to *myself* to at least talk to him and see if I could
find it within me to forgive him for what he had done."

He sat quietly, absorbing her words, as he sipped at his
wine.  This to him was the core of Dana Scully: the ability
to let go of past hurts and grudges; to forgive, to move
on.  He envied her that gift and wished that she could
somehow teach him to be more like her, to accept past
wrongs and live only for the present and future.  How
different a man would he be?

"So, after a long talk with his counselor, I agreed to call
her during one of their sessions," she said, purposefully
raising her voice in order to break through his musings.
"We spoke for about thirty minutes.  It wasn't easy; in
fact, it was one of the most difficult experiences of my
life.  I'm glad I did it, though.  I believe that he has
learned just how much he hurt his victims and that his is
truly sorry for it.  I can't forgive him for what he's done
to other women, it's not my place, but I did forgive him
for his attack on me."  Her tone was quiet and
introspective as she recalled their conversation.  He had
even sounded different; the overly-confident, arrogant man
she had known was gone and a humbled, guilty man had
replaced him.  After her initial talk with the counselor,
she had by no means determined to accept Don's anticipated
apology.  Although what he had done to her was mild
compared to the violence he'd inflicted on several other
women, it had still changed her for life.  She was no
longer so quick to trust and she was suspicious of anyone
who tried to get close to her.  No wonder she and Mulder
got along so well, she thought with an ironic grin.

Before the call, she had steeled herself for histrionics:
tears, pleas, desperate begging, attempts to play on her
sense of guilt.  What she had not been prepared for was the
quiet, honest way in which Don told her how sorry he was,
how he now realized how much he had hurt her and how he
never expected or deserved forgiveness from his victims,
his family or himself.  She had broken a little then,
telling him just how much what he had done still affected
her, how he had changed her life and irreparably damaged
her faith in her fellow human beings.  While the physical
attack had been terrifying and painful, the aftermath was
something she lived with to this day and would carry with
her for the rest of her life.  Once she began, she couldn't
stop; she told him of the fear and the nightmares he had
awakened in her, of the fact that came to doubt herself and
her instincts.  After all, if she had been that wrong about
Don, how could she trust her judgement in regards to other
people?  A large part of her realized that she could very
well be playing right into his hands; sexual assault was
not about lust or passion but power and fear.  By
confessing this to him, she was letting him know just how
much power he still had over her and how much fear he had
been able to make her feel.

Although unpremeditated, she realized that she would judge
Don on his response to her confession.  Would he be pleased
at her continued fear or would he really regret the damage
he had done to her life?  Before he or the counselor could
speak, she amended that she *had* survived his assault and
put her life back together.  As she told them how she had
found people in whom she had complete and utter faith and,
more importantly, that she had the same degree of trust in
herself and her instincts.  Even as she said this, her mind
conjured up images of Mulder, reminding her that she had
not placed enough faith in their relationship to tell him
about the experience she was now forced to relive.

"I'm so sorry, Mulder," she whispered as she stared quietly
at the seemingly vast expanse of sofa that separated them.
"We were going through such a hard time and were treating
each other so badly that I didn't know what to do.  It felt
like my only option was to keep this from you and, as hard
as that was to do, I still think it was for the best at the
time."  She was tired and scared as she spoke; not because
she didn't trust him, but because she didn't trust herself.
Every time she lost control of her body or her emotions,
she felt an overwhelming sense of fear that she would never
regain that control.  So when she saw and felt her
connection with Mulder falling apart during those terrible
months, she grabbed on to her only lifeline: her self
control.  If she couldn't effect any change in the way they
were treating one another, at least she had herself to rely
on.

As the chasm between them grew, she found herself
constantly thinking that all things end; all bonds are
eventually severed; all trusts inevitably betrayed.  Don
had done that to her.  And just as it was Dana that pulled
herself out of the depression and fear-filled nights that
followed her attack, so it was Dana that reminded herself
that all things do not eventually end; some bonds remain
unbroken; not all trusts are betrayed.  Taking in Mulder's
expression, she noticed more than sadness in his eyes:
there was guilt of course, fear, a hint of anger, more than
a hint of hurt, and a decent helping of something she
couldn't immediately define.

<End 4/5>

Taking another long draught of his wine, he asked her:
"When exactly did you speak with him?"  He had an idea, but
he had been steadfastly ignoring her, so the subtle change
in her behavior went unremarked.  Selfish bastard, he
thought to himself fuzzily as he sipped his wine and stared
at the half-empty bag of pretzels.

Scully sighed and followed his lead, taking a long drink
before answering.  "The Tuesday after we got back from Ohio
on the Kryder case," she said quietly.  She watch him
nod his head and play with the edge of the plastic bag
between them, a scowl marring his features.  "What?" she
asked, gently pulling the bag away from him.

He sighed as looked up at her.  "I noticed something was
bothering you after we got back from that case, but I was
too self-absorbed to do anything about it."  He shrugged
his shoulders, giving her a wan smile.  "Par for the
course, really."

He opened his mouth to speak and Scully just *knew* that he
was going to apologize.  Again.  Holding up her hand, palm
facing him, she forestalled any comment he might make.
"Don't say it, Mulder."  He looked at her, confused.  "If
you say 'I'm sorry' one more time, I swear to God I'm gonna
hurt you."  She smiled so he would understand she wasn't
upset, but her tone was entirely serious.

He shrugged, a small grimace playing on his lips as he
spoke.  "I'm... HEY!"  His head spun slightly from the
impact of the pillow against his cheek.  Scully sat calmly,
the weapon clutched firmly in one hand, wine glass in the
other.  She looked pissed.  Amused maybe, but still pissed.
"What the Hell was that for?" he whined, rubbing his the
side of his face and pouting for all he was worth.

"Put the lip away, Mulder; it isn't going to work this
time."  She had to laugh at the shocked look he gave at her
reprimand even as he pulled his lip into his mouth, tugging
on it with his teeth.  Unconsciously, Scully mimicked his
actions, her mind going places that, if she were a little
more inebriated and a little less careful, her body would
willingly follow.  Clearing her throat, she said: "You were
going to apologize for apologizing, weren't you?"

His gaze shifted warily between her face and the padded
square of fabric she continued to hold, poised to strike
again if necessary.  "Well, what do you expect me to say,
Scully?" he was exasperated with his seeming inability in
her eyes to do anything right.  "If I just sat here and
listened without comment, you'd call me an insensitive
bastard; and if I try to comfort you, then I'm smothering
and overprotective.  Just tell me what to do and I'll do
it, okay?"

He threw himself against the corner of the couch,
exasperated and angry as he emptied the bottle of wine into
his glass and took a healthy gulp.  Why was it that every
time she opened up to him and tried to share part of her
past with him, they always ended up talking about him and
his reactions?  Did she think he was trying to monopolize
the conversation by making himself responsible for
everything that happened to her?

*Was* he monopolizing the conversation?

Scully watched patiently as he worked through his thoughts.
After a few glasses of wine, his normally closed expression
was easy to read, so she just sat back and enjoyed the
show.  After a few moments of brow-creasing concentration,
his head popped up and he stared at her, looking ashamed
and, of course, guilty.  "Finally, the light begins to
dawn."  Her voice was light with humor and understanding
and he grinned sheepishly in response.  "The world doesn't
revolve around you, Mulder; it doesn't revolve around me,
either.  But by trying to assume responsibility for every
bad thing that's happened to me, or anyone else you care
about for that matter, you also assume that you had some
kind of power or authority to prevent it."  She smiled
fondly at him and placed the pillow in her lap so she could
take his hand.  "You're only human and there is far more
beyond your control that within it.  Trust me, you're
talking to the queen of control issues."  Her smile was
wide and open as she gave his hand a final squeeze before
returning it to his lap.

"I'm..." Mulder paused, smiling as he watched Scully grab
the pillow, pulling it back in preparation to deliver
another blow.  He held his hand up to her in a placating
gesture.  "...*not* sorry for caring about what happens to
you."  She grinned at him and nodded in approval as she put
the pillow back on her lap.  He noticed that she didn't
release her hold on it, though.  "And I will make an effort
to be less apologetic, but I make no guarantees."  She
appeared to consider his statement for a while before
finally uncurling her fingers from the pillow.  Not primed,
but still ready.  "Okay, now that I have been granted a
stay of execution, why don't you tell me about Marie."

He watched, fascinated, as her expression quickly changed
from amused to wistful.  "Marie was great.  She helped me
through an incredibly difficult period in my life and I
will always love her and be her friend."  She gave him a
contented smile that he could never recall seeing before.
"That's about it, really," she said with a shrug of her
shoulders.

Mulder waited for her to continue, but she appeared to have
said her peace.  Oh no, he thought, there was no way she
was getting out of this that easily.  "'That's about it,
really'?  That's all you have to say?"  His voice was
reaching octaves he never thought he'd heard himself use in
normal conversation.  "You have a three year - *three year*
- admittedly non-platonic relationship with another woman,
and that's all you have to say about it?"  He put his glass
back on the table, afraid that his increasingly frantic
gestures would cause him to spill good wine all over her
equally good furniture.  "Three years, Scully.  I may not
be 'family', but even I know that, in gay terms, three
years is a long time.  I mean, I've known couples who've
bought the house and the four-by-four, hung the rainbow
flag and adopted a dozen cats before their second
anniversary."

If pressed to describe the look on her face at that moment,
'appalled amusement' would probably be the best choice of
words. "I think there may have been a few cliches you might
have forgotten, Mulder.  What about buying Doc Martens
together?  Or getting identical buzz cuts?"  Her voice
dripped with sarcasm as she searched her memory for even
more worn out stereotypes.

"Then tell me about you and Marie and show me just how far
off the mark I am."  He grinned as she glared at him for
turning the tables.  "I'm assuming you didn't buy a house
or a car together."  She nodded her agreement.  "And I
somehow doubt you were very open about it, so that rules
out the rainbow flag."  Another nod, followed by a smirk.
"And you're allergic to cats.  So, what was it *really*
like?"

His crossed arms reminded her of his mannerisms when he
questioned suspects and she didn't particularly like the
feel of being the one under scrutiny; but he did have a
point.  He had been open about his relationships and now it
was her turn.  "Well, like I said, I concentrated on just
getting through finals after the incident with Don.  I had
already determined to transfer to another school as soon as
the semester ended and the University of Maryland, while
not necessarily as challenging a school as Berkeley, is
still a good choice.  And the application process was easy
enough so that I was able start classes that fall and not
risk putting my education on hold.  Marie was trying to
convince me to apply to Johns Hopkins after I got my BA,
and I was seriously considering it.  Add to that the fact
that my parents were settled in Baltimore permanently, and
College Park seemed like the place for me to go."

She remembered the myriad feelings surrounding that time:
the anticipation of being on a new campus with new
professors and students; joy at knowing that she would once
more be home with her family; anger at the brutal attack
which had forced her into moving; and disappointment with
herself for running away.  She knew she was making the
right decision, but part of her felt that she had failed
because she let one act of violence change the course of
her life.  "I moved back in with my parents, with the
understanding that I would be getting a place of my own
eventually.  As much as I loved them and felt safe living
there, I just couldn't stay for too long.  They were always
caring and supportive, but also a little too
overprotective."  She smiled at Mulder with a knowing
expression.  "And you know how I feel about people being
overprotective of me."

He gave her a sheepish grin and motioned for her to
continue.  "Anyway.  Marie and I saw each other every week
and spoke on the phone almost daily.  I was rather forward
about being interested in starting a relationship with her,
but she demurred."  At Mulder's surprised expression, she
continued.  "She was afraid that I was running away, that I
had been so hurt by a man that I was turning my back on the
gender as a whole and she just happened to be the most
convenient person for me to run to."

Scully shook her head as she remembered how forward she had
been in her declarations of love and passion for the older
woman.  In hindsight, she realized she had no idea what
she'd be getting herself into.  Luckily for Scully, Marie
knew better.  "She was right to be wary of course.  While I
honestly didn't hate men in general because of what Don had
done, I don't think I ever would have allowed myself to
explore how I felt about Marie if it hadn't been for the
assault.  So, we took it very slow; our first real date
didn't happen until the following year.  We quickly became
inseparable and I knew it would be impossible for us to
continue our relationship, even covertly, without my
parents finding out.

"Marie had this great three bedroom condo in the Inner
Harbor area that her parents gave her.  It was just as far
from the university as my parent's house and it was only
blocks from the train station.  I moved in a few months
after we had started dating.  I had my own room, my own
bathroom, even my own phone line; just like regular
roommates."

She became pensive again and Mulder couldn't help but be
concerned that something had happened during her time with
Marie to upset her.  She was quiet for a while longer,
staring at some distant point over his left shoulder when
she spoke again.  "I think my father knew or at least
suspected."  She looked directly at him then, holding his
gaze and understanding his silent question.  "I never lied
to my parents about going out on dates with men or anything
like that.  If either of them asked, I simply reminded them
that I had a heavy class load and I needed to keep my
grades up if I wanted to get into Hopkins.  After a while,
Ahab stopped asking me about men and dating; instead, he
asked me about Marie.  How she was, how we were getting
along, if I liked living in Inner Harbor, if I was happy.
When my folks would come over to visit and Marie was there,
Ahab would give us both a hug before he left and he would
always say the same thing to Marie: 'Take care of her.'
When we finally broke up, Mom simply acted as if I'd lost a
roommate; Ahab treated me as if I'd lost a lover."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair.  "I sometimes
wish I had told them about us; it was hard to keep such and
important part of my life from them, but I was afraid of
how they'd react.  Besides, Marie was heading to Stanford
after she graduated and by that time I had my heart set on
Johns Hopkins.  Living on opposite sides of the country is
usually fatal to a relationship; so we just took each day
as it came, knowing that our time together was limited."

She could easily read the confusion on his face and she
tried to clarify.  "After a year, we were behaving more
like very close friends than lovers; it was a comfortable
arrangement, but neither of us wanted that kind of
relationship for the rest of our lives.  I think..."  She
paused to try and organize her thoughts.  "I think we both
knew that this was an experiment for me, not a permanent
lifestyle choice.  I mean, I had men asking me out once in
a while, and sometimes I was definitely interested.  Marie
had women asking her out all the time and occasionally she
wanted to take them up on their offers."  She shrugged.
"We settled for comfortable friendship instead of taking a
chance on something deeper and more passionate.  It was
good for both of us, though, and I don't regret a day.  In
different ways, it was a rough time in our lives for both
of us and our relationship was very healing for her and me.
But after two and a half years of living together, it was
time to move on.  Mare was offered a position at Stanford
as she'd hoped and I was accepted at Hopkins.  And that was
the end of that."

Mulder nodded his head in understanding and held his nearly
empty glass out to her.  "To absent friends," he said
softly and she brought her own glass to his, the gentle
chime of the crystal goblets sounding loud in the stillness
of the room.  He drained his glass and she followed his
example, mesmerized by the way a single blood red drop
clung stubbornly to his bottom lip.  Without thinking, she
reached out and wiped it away with her thumb and he stilled
at the contact.  She realized what she was doing and pulled
her hand away with a start and leaned back against her
corner of the couch, looking up into his eyes.  They were
dark and wide, but also a little unfocused and slightly
watery.  He stared intently at her and she knew that it was
time for this conversation to end before things got out of
hand.

Breaking his gaze, she looked over at the coffee table and
the empty bottle thereupon.  Didn't they just start that
bottle ten minutes ago?  Glancing back at her partner, she
now easily identified that mysterious look in his eyes she
had noticed earlier.  He was tipsy.  She knew Mulder wasn't
a drinker and he had made quick work of the Zinfandel, of
which she had only had a glass or so.  She smiled fondly at
him, realizing that he had been trying to give himself the
Dutch courage to listen to her tale of physical and
emotional trauma.

"Mulder," she said quietly.  His head lolled back against
the sofa cushions as he lazily stared at her, eyebrows
raised in response to her question.  "I think we've had
enough to drink, don't you?"  He blinked slowly and nodded
in response.

"Yeah, it's late and I should be getting home anyway."  He
was loathe to leave; there were so many more things about
her that he wanted to know.  But it was late, and they had
made huge strides in getting to know each other better; he
was grateful for the opportunity.  He placed his empty
glass on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch,
raising his arms over his head and arching his back off the
cushions as he worked out the kinks in his body from
sitting for so long.  He relaxed for a moment, trying to
draw out the process of leaving for as long as possible
when she placed her hand on his arm.

Even though she didn't think he was legally drunk, she was
not about to let him get behind the wheel of a car.  She
would never be able to live with herself if something
happened to him.  "I don't think you should be driving and
a cab would cost a fortune, and it would take forever to
get one out here at midnight on a Friday."

He was secretly thrilled to hear her suggestion.  Spending
the night at Scully's - what could be better?  Spending the
night *with* Scully, his mind replied, but he steadfastly
ignored it.  Giving her a rather sloppy leer, he asked:
"Why, Scully, is that a proposition?"

"Yes it is, Mulder," she replied and laughed at the
startled expression on his face.  She realized her hand was
still holding his forearm and she gave him a little pat
before removing it.  "I propose that you sleep on my couch
instead of yours tonight.  Sound like a plan?"  Before he
could respond, she uncurled herself from her snug position,
stretching as he had earlier, and stood up to start
gathering the remains of their late night snack.

As she raised her arms over her head, the side of Scully's
blouse came untucked, revealing a small patch of pale skin
at her waist.  Immediately, Mulder's perfect memory
recalled the feel of her flesh as he knelt behind her in a
darkened motel room, his face inches from the small of her
back, and ran his fingertips over her skin, marveling in
its softness even as his rational mind screamed that she
was an enemy and probably trying to trap him.  Suddenly, it
felt very warm in the room and he wondered if staying the
night was really the wisest thing for him to do.  "Uh,
Scully," he began, his voice cracking slightly.  She looked
back at him, from where she was bent over the coffee table,
neatly stacking the files and other papers they had been
working on.  Unfortunately, she was facing him, which meant
her blouse was hanging open, revealing more of her than he
thought she meant to reveal.  Ivory silk, he thought to
himself before clearing his throat and looking intently
into her eyes.  "Maybe me staying here isn't the best
idea."

She noted the quick glance he gave to her now gaping blouse
before he spoke and felt and odd combination of
embarrassment and humor at his reaction.  Trust Mulder to
feel bad about looking when I'm practically flashing him,
she thought.  She was touched by his attempt at chivalry,
but was having none of it.  "Nonsense.  We both know you
shouldn't be driving and it's no problem at all to make up
the couch."  She straightened up, her arms full of dirty
dishes, and gave him a wide smile.  "Besides, I fully
intend for you to thank me for my hospitality by taking me
out to brunch tomorrow."  She was rewarded with grin as she
headed for the kitchen while Mulder finished putting away
the paperwork.  "Go ahead and use the bathroom first," she
called over her shoulder.  "You're in luck, I even have a
new toothbrush in the drawer to the right of the sink.
It's all yours."

"Thanks, Scully."  Mulder closed his briefcase and in an
out of the way corner.  Satisfied that everything was put
away neatly, he asked: "Need me to dry?"

"No thanks, I'm almost done."  He nodded and went to wash
up.  After putting the dishes away, she grabbed some sheets
and a pillow from the linen closet and made up the couch.

"You didn't have to go to all that trouble on my account,"
he said as she finished stuffing a pillow into it's case.
Whatever she was about to say was forgotten as she turned
and took in the sight of her partner is his tight, white T-
shirt and gray cotton boxers briefs.  He was oblivious to
her scrutiny as he carefully folded his pants, laying them
over the back of one chair and hanging his dress shirt on
another.  He took his time arranging his clothing and
Scully finally made herself look away before she was caught
gaping at him.  Down girl, she reminded herself as she
pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and laid it on
top of the sheets.

"Don't worry about it, Mulder, it's my pleasure."  And then
some, she added silently as she made her way to the
bedroom.  "If you're thirsty, there's ice water in the
fridge," she said as she walked past him on her way to get
ready for bed.

He turned around to thank her, but she had already
disappeared into the bathroom.  After grabbing a coaster
off the end table, he poured two tall glasses of ice water
and took one into her room setting it on the nightstand for
her.  He returned to the kitchen and proceeded to down one
glass while standing in front of the refrigerator; then he
refilled it and took it with him to the couch.  Pulling
back the covers, he was unsurprised at the pale blue
pinstripe pattern of the sheets; no frills and flowers for
his partner.  He smiled and climbed between the soft
cotton, inhaling the rare scent of fresh linen that hadn't
been cleaned by a hotel laundry service.  It almost made
him want to get a bed again.  Trying to get situated wasn't
easy; Scully had given him two pillows, so he sat back
against them on one end of the couch and slid down until
his feet were braced on the opposite end.  He wasn't fully
horizontal, but he was comfortable.

"Sorry I don't have a longer sofa," he heard her chuckle
from the bedroom doorway.  Her pajamas were lavender silk,
cut to look like men's sleepwear, but there was nothing
manly about them.  She walked into the living room, a half
empty glass in her hand.  He simply stared as she made her
way past the couch on the way to the kitchen, watching the
fabric glide over her limbs as she moved.  "Thanks for the
water, Mulder; alcohol does tend to dehydrate you."  She
returned after refilling her glass and stood behind the
couch, looking concerned.  "Will you be comfortable enough?
I can easily sleep out here if you want to take the bed."
She grimaced as she realized the memories her offer would
conjure up.  Mulder had slept in her bed once before - the
night his father had been murdered.

He smiled at the contrite look on her face.  While the
circumstances might have been tragic, the simple comfort he
found in sleeping in her bed was something he looked on
with joy, not pain.  "That's okay, Scully.  I'm really very
comfortable, but thanks for the offer."  She smiled back at
him and went to the door to check the locks, turning off
the lights as she passed.  The only illumination came from
the door to her bedroom.  Almost like a beacon, he thought
wistfully.

His attention was focused on the door, so the light touch
of her hand on his head surprised him.  She stood again
behind the couch and as he turned his head to look up at
her, she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the
forehead.  "Sweet dreams, Mulder."

She was almost gone before he found his voice.  "Scully?"
he called out softly.

Turning around, she leaned against the door frame.  "Yes?"
Her voice was equally quiet.

"Would you do it again?"  Even back lit by her bedroom
light, he could see the bemused expression on her face and
he smiled.  "Not the goodnight kiss; although it *was*
nice."  He heard her chuckle and he grinned wider.

"Do you mean if I had it to do over, would I have dated
Marie, or would I consider dating another woman now?"

"Another woman."

She thought for a moment.  If an intelligent, attractive
woman were to ask her out, how would she react?  It had
been so long since she'd been on a date of any kind, that
she found it hard to predict her response.  After a few
moments she said: "Well, I'm not *looking* to become
involved in another same-sex relationship.  But if the
opportunity arose, I don't think I'd dismiss it out of
hand."  He laughed softly at her stilted phrasing and she
responded in kind.  "How about you, Mulder?"

He gave it a moment's consideration, staring at his hands.
Would he go out with a man again?  Dating and romantic
relationships seemed so foreign to him these days, that he
wasn't sure what he'd do.  He looked up from his lap to see
her watching him intently, the light filtering through her
hair creating a halo.  Smiling again at the image of Scully
as an angel, he said: "I think you summed it up nicely,
Scully; I couldn't have said it better myself."  She
absorbed his answer for a moment and nodded.

He watched her retreat to her bedroom, but she didn't close
the door.  The light was extinguished and he heard the
faint sounds of her moving in the other room, setting down
her water glass, and climbing into bed.  It was easy for
him to picture her snuggling into her soft bed, trying to
find the most comfortable position.  After a few moments,
there was silence and he whispered: "Goodnight, Scully."

He closed his eyes; the powerful combination of good wine,
soft sheets and Scully's proximity making him feel relaxed
and safe.  Then he heard her voice - a barely audible sigh,
as if she were speaking while in the midst of a dream.  It
was the last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep and
he smiled at the sound.

"Goodnight, Mulder."


THE END

<End 5/5>


AUTHOR'S NOTES: 'SFDSFN' stands for 'San Francisco Days,
San Francisco Nights' - a proposed series of stories, some
of which will feature Marie LeBiavant as well as new
characters Scully will meet in The City by The Bay in 'New
Friends, Old Lovers' by Tracy Aiken.  This next story will
be posted a few weeks.  Tracy and I will alternate stories
in this universe, exploring Mulder and Scully's
relationship and the effects of the events that happened
there and the people they met.  Stay tuned! <g>

This was the first fanfic I ever wrote, almost a year ago
Now, and it never would have been posted without the help
and encouragement of my beta readers - especially Tracy,
who was the first person to ever read any of my work.
And now that you've read it, please tell me what you
thought.  Comments, critiques, questions, and quarrels can
be directed to me at Taverl@yahoo.com.  As always, flames
will be ignored, so please don't waste my time or yours.

Thanks for reading!

Octavian