Disclaimer: All characters, settings and stuff are the property of Chris 
Carter, 10-13 and Fox.  I kind of doubt they were intended for this 
purpose, but hey, such is life. 

Episode references: Anasazi/Blessing Way/Paperclip.  All quoted dialogue 
is also the property of the abovementioned parties.  Readers should 
assume spoilers for these episodes.

Warnings: I don't like to rate my stories, because I'm bad at it.  If the 
idea of Mulder and Scully being together bothers you, you might want to 
miss this one, although it's not really a love story.  If reading a scene 
depicting sexual activity in some degree of detail disturbs you, you 
might also want to skip this one.  Consider yourselves warned.

Comments: Yes, please!  Let me know how I did with this story.  I *think* 
it works now.  My email address is eponine119@att.net and I would love 
to hear from you.
_________________
Dangerous Purpose
by eponine119
eponine119@att.net
September 2, 1996
__________________

It was hot.  She could feel the sun beating down on her head, the sweat 
beginning to trickle in tiny streams along her back, making her shiver.  
The sun was blinding and she raised her hand to shield her watering eyes. 
 Her heart was pounding.  She was afraid.
	
But then he was there.  Standing there, strong and proud and tall and she 
couldn't help smiling.  "In here," he said, taking her arm and helping 
her step across the rough spots.  She wouldn't have fallen, but sometimes,
 she had to admit, it was nice to feel his support.  Just the presence 
and the warmth of his hand there on her arm.
	
It was cool inside and dim.  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust 
after the bright sunlight and she stood still, her body tensing to feel 
his closeness behind her.  She could hear his rough breathing.  Rough...
why?  Over in the corner, a shaft of light streamed from his flashlight, 
lying on the floor.  As though dropped.  Her breath caught for a moment.  
These were not things she wanted to see.  She turned her back on them.
	
And found herself practically standing in his arms.  Kindness touched his 
eyes as they looked down at her and a small smile formed on his lips.  
Shy yet bold at the same time.  She couldn't look away.  It wasn't the 
first time she'd been mesmerized by this man.  His hand stretched out, 
touching her hair, smoothing it back and she raised her face to into his 
touch.  His hand slid down to her shoulder and across her back, pulling 
her into his arms.  His embrace.
	
For a second, out of habit and worry for her emotions, she resisted, 
jerking back and away.  "We shouldn't."
	
"It's all right."  His tone convinced her; she felt safe in his arms.  
She lay her head against his chest and felt his heart.  It was beating 
fast.  Strong.  He breathed.  This is life, she thought, drinking in the 
scent of him.
	
There was no music, so they weren't really dancing.  It was all pretend...
and yet this was more real than any of the ridiculous things she'd seen 
in the last two years.  And the place was just as unlikely, an old boxcar,
 long buried in the desert sand, filled with horror and death.
	
But she couldn't think of that.  Not now.  Not with him so vital, so male,
 in her arms.  "Stay with me forever," she whispered, the words barely 
making a sound in her throat.
	
"We have tonight," he told her.
	
"I want forever," she said back, knowing it was crazy and impossible, 
that things didn't work that way.  Nothing was forever.  Life was not 
forever.  People changed and they went away and they died.
	
He kissed her and she felt her knees melting even though it wasn't all 
she'd imagined it would be, those few times she'd allowed her mind to 
wander to the subject.  First kisses were always a little awkward, but 
that was what made them sweet.  Figuring out how it worked, where the 
noses went, what he liked...that made it all the more exciting.  She 
could feel her hunger and her passion growing as she made the kiss deeper.
  It had been such a long time since she'd allowed herself to feel 
passion for anything - a man, a piece of chocolate cake sneaked at 
midnight, an ideal, justice.  Anything at all.  For such a long time 
these things had been lost to her, denied by her rational mind.  Now she 
had to ask herself why.
	
Because it felt so good.
	
She pulled off his shirt and paused a moment to brush her cheek against 
his bare chest before she reached for the buttons on his jeans.  He 
brushed her hands away, holding them a moment.  "We have time," he said, 
meeting her eyes, drawing her by some awesome power into another kiss.  
As his tongue explored her mouth, teasing her sensually, she felt his 
fingers on the buttons of her blouse, skimming over her skin as he slid 
it back over her shoulders.
	
There was a printed blanket over in the corner, faded by dust and time.  
She didn't think about it, though, as she lay down on it with him, his 
mouth and his hands seeming to touch every spot on her body at once, 
sliding down her throat to claim her sensitive, tight breasts, stripping 
her of the rest of her clothing, his fingers kneading her thighs and 
moving up, making her gasp against his mouth.
	
Her body jerked at that brush of his fingers and once she recovered from 
the powerful surge of sensation, she turned her attention to him.  She 
could feel him straining against the thick denim of his jeans, and he 
nipped her earlobe with his teeth as she touched him, exploring, making 
him suffer deliciously in the moment before she worked the buttons free.  
The jeans tangled around his ankles and his hips ground against hers as 
he struggled to kick them off.
 
The silence between them was more powerful than speech as he braced 
himself above her and met her eyes, burning into them with words unsaid 
but heartfelt.  He kissed her again deeply, his mouth open, hot and wet 
as he drew reason away from her, leaving her consciousness nothing but 
emotion. She cried out, shuddering as he possessed her with his body.
	
Her back arched and her knees clenched around him, seeking more.  Wanting 
everything he had to give.  Blindly she sought his mouth again, seizing 
it only for a moment.  Her eyes opened and found his.  Concentrating.  I 
love him, she thought and didn't know why it surprised her, even as she 
drown in the madness of her desire for him.  I love you, she thought 
again with an intensity that seemed almost telepathic.  He had to know.  
Lightning snaked through his eyes and they closed. But he was right there 
with her.  Holding her, loving her... Her thoughts stopped as she came, 
too, her body convulsing on and on, her brain overdosed with pure 
pleasure.  
	
When she opened her eyes, she was alone.  Her nightgown was drenched with 
sweat and her pulse still raced, but she was in her bed in her chilly 
apartment in Washington DC.  Damn it, the feel and taste of what he'd 
done with her still lingered inside her skin.  But she was alone.
	
Just a dream.
	
Memories came too fast for her to stop them.  Her eyes locked with his in 
a dark alley when she'd known what she had to do and pulled the trigger.  
The fear she felt only for herself as she stood in a motel room with him 
and asked him to do this for her.  His voice in her ear through the 
cellular phone, suddenly cut off into silence.  The smell of smoke still 
clinging to the burned out boxcar in the heat of the desert that offered 
no chance at survival.
	
She'd been selfish and now she would pay for that.
	
She curled on her side in the lonely bed, feeling vulnerable and exposed 
as she pulled her knees up against the empty ache in her chest, where her 
heart still pounded from that too-real passion that had only been a dream.
  Passion that she would never feel in her waking life. 
	
She loved him.
	
But he was dead.
	
"Please, God," she whispered, she who hadn't found it in her heart to 
worship or pray in six years, why would He listen to her? "I'd give 
anything..."
	
But it was too late.  Because of her selfishness and her fear, he was 
dead.
	
Fox William Mulder had died for her.  And she couldn't even cry.

xxx
	
The sponge left a trail of cool water evaporating on his heated skin.  He 
opened his dry mouth and moaned for her again.  The coolness touched his 
forehead and the corners of his mouth and he relaxed.  The tenderness in 
the gentle touch, he knew she was there with him.  As she had been with 
him in the boxcar.  But why couldn't he open his eyes and see her?  Why 
wouldn't she speak to him?  "Scully," he cried again, and then succumbed 
back into the depths of his fever tainted dreams.
	
The old man placed the sponge on the dirt floor of the hogan and covered 
the FBI man's fever chilled body with a blanket.  He chanted a few words, 
relieving the man's distress.  The FBI man would recover.  He knew this 
now.  His will to live was strong.  The holy people had told him to come 
back and he had.  The FBI woman would need him soon.  "You will go to her,
" he murmured to the FBI man, then picked up the sponge and left the 
small structure.

xxx

"I have stood on the bridge that spans two worlds, the link between all 
souls by which we cross into our own true natures.  You were here today 
looking for a truth that was taken from you, a truth which was never to 
be spoken but now binds us together in dangerous purpose.  I have 
returned from the dead to continue with you but this danger is now close 
at hand and I may be too late."
	
She broke through the bubble of the dream and sat upright in bed.  For a 
second she could still see him there in front of her, the stars shining 
in their infinity behind him.  But the image was gone.  She slumped back 
against the headboard, disturbed to find herself alone once more when 
she'd been so certain of his presence.
	
But his presence was still close to her rapidly pounding heart.  Somehow 
her prayer had been answered.  He wasn't dead.

xxx
	
She was still shaky from the gun that had been held on her, from having 
to hold a gun on a man she knew she had to trust so soon after having 
shot the man she loved.  How would it have ended if he hadn't returned, 
and at that exact moment?  Would her superior have killed her?  A bullet 
entering her brain in a hot flash, like the one that had grazed her flesh 
in that same apartment mere days ago?  Someone was trying to kill her.  
She knew that, but she couldn't think about that now, as she looked at 
him, safe and strong and well standing before her.  A miracle.  "Mulder -
"
	
"Scully, whatever you're going to say..."
	
He must have read the look she was giving him.  Quickly she gathered her 
thoughts, tried to find a way to say what she needed to without sounding 
stupid.  Or in love with him.  "I went to your father's funeral," she 
said.  "I told your mother you were going to be all right."
	
"How did you know that?"
	
What could she say with him looking at her like that, here in the very 
public hallway?  "I just knew."  The elevator dinged and the doors slid 
open.  She walked into the tiny space and he followed her, turning to her 
as the doors slid closed.  They were alone.  And for one moment, safe.  
Together.
	
"'You just knew'?" he asked
	
She nodded and managed a smile.  Then she couldn't hold back any more and 
went to him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight.  Tight 
enough to feel the blood rushing in his veins, to sense the heat of his 
skin, to smell the scent that was his and his alone.  He was alive.  He 
tensed and she knew he was surprised by her sudden display of affection.  
"I'm sorry," she murmured as she reluctantly released him.  When the 
elevator doors slid open again, she was standing a proper distance from 
him again, her eyes focused straight ahead.
	
So she didn't see the intense look he was giving her, his eyes following 
her as she moved across the lobby, the memory of a dream stirring deep 
within his mind.

xxx

It was quiet in the dim room as she stared at the beige wall in front of 
her.  Not seeing and not feeling.  Not smelling the antiseptics in the 
cool air.  Not hearing the echoes of her mother's screams before the 
doctors sedated her.
	
There was only calm and nothing.  Like death.  So much like that phantom 
that was all around her, every minute of every day, and yet never touched 
her with its cold and rotting fingers.  She was always safe.  Almost 
magically untouched.  A few bruises, a few cuts and scrapes, that was all.

	
Oh, and the microchip that had been planted in her neck.  When she'd lost 
three months of her life to a coma and nearly died.
	
But that had been nothing.  Even that had been like sleep.  It hadn't 
hurt.  It had been like drifting on the water, floating away from life.  
And she had come back.  It as though she had never been touched.
	
It was nothing like the violence of a gunshot.  Nothing like the trauma 
of surgery.  Death was noisy with screams and pain and blood and the 
tense conversation of emergency room doctors.  She'd seen it so many 
times, witnessed it, stood outside of it.  Feeling a hollow pain in her 
chest that could not compare.
	
She wished she could feel that pain.  Something more tangible than this 
stupid emotional pain.  She wanted to feel the cut of the knife, the 
agony of the bullet tearing through *her* muscle and bone and brain...
	
A soft touch on her thigh and she turned her head.  How long had he been 
there, crouching on the floor next to her chair?  Looking at her with 
tears in his eyes because this was her fault?  He pulled her against his 
shoulder and she let him, and the feeling of him against her deepened the 
emptiness in her chest.  Where the sobs should be.
	
Because she remembered her prayer.
	
"Please God, I'll give anything..."
	
Why had He taken her up on it?  She who was unworthy and didn't believe?  
Why hadn't He taken her and sent her straight to hell?  When she'd said 
anything, she'd meant her own life.
	
But nothing ever touched her.  She always emerged unscathed.
	
Melissa Ann Scully had died for her.  And she couldn't even cry.

The End.

Please send comments!!!!
Thanks for reading.
eponine119 
eponine119@att.net