JUST SAY YES (2/2) jeylan@earthlink.net This story is rated R -- See part 1 for headers and warnings. *NO ARCHIVE* except by request. ************************************************* Hotly electric, the sensation jolted right through body and into to her groin. Moaning, Mulder wiggled his hot tongue right down into the deepest part of her ear, and Scully bucked helplessly under him. She was at once violently aroused, and terrified. He started nibbling. His mouth was setting off a cascade of electricity, flowing through her body in waves, right down to her toes. Pooling between her legs. She was really helpless, and hated it, teetering on the verge of completely embarrassing herself. Of losing control. The worst feeling in the world, for Dana Scully. Her body tensed -- she heard herself gasping. "Stop it! Stop!" She was begging, almost crying. How had he done this to her, reduced her in a heartbeat to this gibbering mindless idiot? "God damn it, Mulder, let me go!" Her voice rose in panic. "Let me go! Let me go!" She was almost shrieking. "God, god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry --" Mulder fumbled furiously, trying with suddenly awkward fingers to undo the restraints. Then he was hugging her, wildly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Dana, god, I'm so sorry! Please don't be mad!" It took Scully a moment to register that she was free. She was sitting up. Her face was buried in Mulder's stomach -- that part was kind of weird actually. Why was her face in Mulder's stomach? It was hard to breathe in Mulder's stomach. Her arms were around him. She was engulfed in him. Immobilized. He was curled around her, his hot, huge hands stroking wildly at her hair, her back. She fought to turn her head, to get some air. To make sense of this. Her whole body felt hot, fiery. Flooded with light. Mulder was rocking her, murmuring over and over again, "please don't be mad, please don't be mad, please don't be mad." With an effort, she began sorting out the tangled sensations. She realized she was sitting up, her hands were free. And Mulder, who had been sitting across her hips before, had now slid down to sit across her thighs. Still crooning, "please, please, please, don't be mad." First things first. "I'm not mad," Scully gasped. Mulder stopped rocking. "You're not?" "No, I'm fine. You just startled me." She heard and felt him swallow. "Are you sure?" he whispered against her hair. "Mmmm. This feels good," she said. Her arms had started moving, sliding over his back. She liked the feel of the muscles under his T-shirt. Her hands slid further down, down his lower back, down his sides, and on down onto his hips, and over the tough fabric of his jeans. Then her elbows started to come back, her hands gripping the hard unyielding muscles of his thighs, exploring forward almost to his knees, then back again slowly towards his hips. She was breathing into his stomach, enveloped in his scent. He was sweaty from dancing, and the T-shirt seemed thin under her face. Mulder was sitting very still. She loved the feel of his legs under his jeans. Her hands slid up, back, around his ass, searching out the shape of his ass under the tight hard denim pockets. "MMmm, this feels so good." "Ah, Scully ..." Scully realized suddenly what she was doing, and stopped. She lifted her hands off his ass, guiltily, her heart beating fast and frightened again. He groaned. "You don't have to stop." Neither of them moved for a minute. Mulder's arms were still around her, and her hands were still held out frozen in the air, not touching him. Then she took a deep breath, and relaxed. Let herself hug him again. "Mulder, you're too big to sit in my lap," she said. "Sorry." She could hear the goofy, guilty smile in his voice. Slowly, regretfully, he climbed off her. Sat back and looked at her shyly. "They're going to be wondering what happened to us," she said. "We'll be the talk of the party." "Oh, god." "Wanna go back out, or ..." "Yeah," she said. Mulder swallowed. Hesitated. Then rolled back and straightened his legs, put his feet on the floor, and held out his hand to help her up. "You're not mad at me?" he said again. His eyes imploring. "No, I'm not mad. Really." She squeezed his hand. Let him pull her to her feet. She stood up into his arms, hugging him again. Bit his chest softly. My god, what was she doing. "Mulder ..." she murmured, confused. "We don't have to go back out there, you know," he said. His voice was very deep. She rubbed her face in his chest, back and forth. Sighed, and snuggled in and hugged him. Her mind had stalled again. She heard him swallow. "Scully," he said, tentatively, "if you want to, uh, I mean --" "We better go back out." "Yeah," he said. "We better go back out." They lingered for another minute, holding each other. Each waiting for the other to move first. Finally, sighing, the balance tipped, and they moved arm in arm towards the door. "Anyway, I still have to piss," Mulder said. "You *what*? How long have you been holding it?" "Too long." He grimaced. He opened the door to the hall, and the music met them -- They both looked towards the bathroom, and a wild, gamine face peeped back out at them from the crack of the door -- "Uuuooo! Fox, come and let me do your face!" Justin cooed. He was bent over the bathroom counter, poised with a mascara wand, caught in the act of doing his makeup. Mulder groaned. "Only if you'll let me pee first," he said. He headed for the bathroom, and Scully followed along unthinkingly at his heels. He shot her a funny look, but she didn't notice. Inside the bathroom, Scully perched against the counter in front of the sink, and inspected what Justin was doing with his makeup. Exaggerated eyeliner, and penciled brows. Eyes like peacock feathers with thick, feathery lashes. While she watched, he turned back to the mirror, and picked up a powder brush. "What are you doing?" she asked Justin curiously. He was brushing a rusty gold over his temples, and in the hollows of his cheeks. Under the line of his jaw. "I am attempting to piss," Mulder answered. "Wanna watch?" She blinked. Turned to look. Mulder was at the toilet, looking over his shoulder at her. "Not particularly," she said, and turned her attention back to Justin. Mulder sighed. "This is contour," Justin explained. "It's a drag queen's trick. Look, if I put the color on like this, here, see? It makes my face look more three-dimensional than it really is. It's a good trick for cleavage, too --" He raised his eyebrow and looked pointedly at her chest. "You know, if you wanted to wear something low-cut some time." Justin's face, already beautiful, was transforming before her eyes. Becoming something really unearthly. "Are you going to do that to Mulder?" she asked. "Sure! If he'll let me." Mulder groaned. He was taking an unusually long time about his business. Scully glanced at him, and then back to Justin. "No, I think I want to do Mulder," she decided. "You can do me." "OK." Another groan from Mulder. "I hope you two let me know when you get done deciding my fate." "You want me to turn the water on, Mulder?" Scully reached behind her for the tap. "No sympathy. I get no sympathy." "God, Justin, you look incredible!" Mulder sighed, let his head fall back, and then, long moments later, began buttoning up his fly. Scully registered his actions out of the corner of her mind while most of her attention was locked on Justin. Mulder turned away from the toilet, crossing over to her in a single stride. She was standing right in front of the sink, and Mulder stepped hard against her, pinning her bodily in place against the counter. He reached his arms around on either side of her to wash his hands. "Mulder! Ack! What are you doing!" He took his time. Turning off the faucet, he flicked water on her face and reached for a hand towel. "OK, what's the verdict?" he said. And then his expression twisted in a smirk, as his eyes fell on Justin. Justin had stripped off his shirt, and, to Scully's horror, she saw that he was now hooking her abandoned bra around his ribcage. Eyeing Scully pointedly, devilishly, Mulder said in a sweet voice, "Where'd you get the pretty bra, Justin?" "Found it under the sink." Justin started spooling toilet paper. "Here, help me stuff," he said. And Mulder helped him stuff. Scully's hot blush transformed into willful resolve. She chose an eyeliner out of Justin's kit, uncapped the pencil, and then caught Mulder's eye. Biting the tip of her tongue, she gave him a wicked look. Mulder groaned, but his eyes were sparkling. "Where do you want me," he said. His voice was throaty. Scully hesitated only for a second. If she put him against the counter he'd be too tall. Placing her hand on his chest she pushed him back towards the toilet, reaching past him to close the lid. "Sit," she said. Mulder sat. He watched with interest as Scully licked the side of her hand, wiped the pencil through the spit, and then pointed it toward his eye. She bit the tip of her tongue in concentration, and then stopped like that. "I don't know how to do this," she announced. Justin understood her problem instantly. "Pull on the corner of his eye," he said. "Like this." He came over and demonstrated. "Oh. OK." Got it. Setting her hand on the side of Mulder's face, she used her thumb to stretch his lid. His eyes closed. With exaggerated care, she began to draw on the eye liner. "Stop moving your eyes," she said. "It tickles." "I don't care." "Have him open his eyes and look up when you do the bottom," Justin put in. "Yeah, yeah." It was like trying to tie a tie backwards -- all her automatic muscle movements were wrong from this side of the face. Not to mention that she was plagued with the recurrent sensation that she was doing everything upside down, which was probably an effect of the weed. From the living room, the music drifted in -- There were so many little things about Mulder's face she'd never noticed. The tiny crinkles around his eyes. The fragile texture of his eyelids. It was weird watching Mulder's familiar features transform. Weird what just the barest dusting of eye shadow could do. Justin handed over a sampler tray of twenty colors, and she deliberated deliciously, finally choosing "Spungold Wine" for the shadows, and "Goldglow" for the highlights. "Where's that mascara, Justin?" Justin, who had finished his own makeup and was unwinding his braid, dug through his kit for the mascara. He put it in her hand. "Thanks," she said, and turned back to Mulder. "Look up," she told him. "Look down." "Why are you so agreeable, Mulder?" "I guess I'm used to it." "Having your makeup done?" "Being a guinea pig." Just then Justin came up behind her shoulder, and Scully jumped. He leaned in to inspect her work, his hair wild and streaming and his eyes uncanny. Squinting long feathery black lashes to study Mulder's eye-shadow, he took the tray of colors out of her hand, and her freed hand strayed instantly, of its own volition, into the flowing sunlight of Justin's hair. Deftly, Justin added a few swift touches of "Jade" to Mulder's makeup. Then he deepened some of the shadows with "Heather Mist," and all at once Mulder's eyes were ... well ... Scully leaned back and stared at Mulder. "Oh my god, you're beautiful!" she breathed. "Gee, Scully I never thought I'd hear you say that." "Lipstick?" she asked Justin, indecisively, ignoring Mulder. "Sure. Why not. Try this one." Scully looked at Mulder, and opened her mouth in a long "O." With a fiendish twinkle in his eye, he mimicked her, and she stroked the deep coffee color onto his upper lip. She grimaced, stretching her lower lip, and Mulder did the same. She began to dab the color onto that full lower lip. Scully pressed her lips together, and Mulder pressed his. She leaned back and looked at him critically. "I'm not sure about the lipstick," she said. "I don't think he needs much contour," said Justin. "Maybe just a little on the cheeks. He's got plenty of definition already. Want to just try a little blush?" Scully hesitated. "No, I don't think so. What do you think?" Mulder sighed. "When you're both finished with me," he said to Justin, "I want to watch you do her." When Justin pronounced Mulder's makeup a success, Scully took a last long lingering look at Mulder, and then climbed up on the counter, closed her eyes, and let Justin work on her. Mulder crossed his arms, and stood watching, memorizing stroke and color choice. Scully peeked at him between brushstrokes, and saw the look on his face. "You enjoying this, Mulder?" she said. "Your lipstick is too dark. Can we blot that lipstick, Justin?" Mulder made a kissy face at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Stop that, Dana!" Justin slapped her hand. "You have to sit still!" "He just called me 'Dana'," she complained, and closed her eyes obediently. "Mulder, why is everyone calling me Dana? You wanna explain that to me, please?" "Uh, uh ..." "*You've* even been calling me Dana, Mulder. It's really weird." "Does it bother you? I'm sorry, I ..." "Is that how you think of me, Mulder?" She forgot to sit still, and turned her head to look at him. Justin grabbed her face and directed it back towards the light. "Sometimes," Mulder answered, very quietly. "Yeah, I guess sometimes I like to think of you that way. Sit still, Scully, and let the boy work. This is great stuff." Scully's eyes drifted shut. Scully barely recognized herself when Justin was done. Were her eyes really that blue? That enormous? Did she really have cheekbones like that? It had been years since she'd last seen her reflection look back at her like this. Justin slipped back into his slinky soft lavender T, and then jostled with Scully for mirror-space. He was admiring his newly feminine figure. Scully crowded him right back, playfully, but Mulder, looking like a sort of twisted twin of himself, just stood there behind them both, watching Scully's reflection hotly. Mulder, she realized, was looking only at her. "Blot your lipstick," she told him, and handed a tissue over her shoulder. "Better yet, wipe it off." He did as he was told, slowly and obediently. His eyes never left hers in the mirror. "Seriously, Mulder, when did you get to be so compliant?" she asked his reflection. "Since I realized how much I love you like this." "Like what? The makeup?" "No. Stoned. Scully, you can do anything you want with me right now." His eyes left hers in the mirror, and he looked right at her directly, at the top of her head. "I mean, you *always* can, but ... *right now*..." Justin stopped his preening, patted Scully's shoulder encouragingly, and made a fast exit. Scully felt a rising heat of pride and excitement. She was still watching Mulder in the mirror, stunned by the tenderness on his face. Talking to the top of her head as he was, he must have forgotten she could see his face in the mirror. His hand reached towards her hair but only caressed the air, just short of touching her. Oh god. "Come on, Mulder, they probably think we were abducted." She grabbed his arm, and started to pull him from the bathroom. Then Scully paused. "Mulder, just stop for a second and *look* at yourself, would you?" She twisted and took his face in her hands, pointing him at the mirror. He looked. But he didn't look very interested. "Yeah?" he said, in a neutral tone. "Do you like what you see?" He shrugged. "Do you?" "It's weird, but ... yeah. I think it's kind of ... sexy." "Then I'm all for it. Definitely all for it." ************************************************* "Aaah, the delinquents return!" Jonathan announced when they got back to the living room. Then he took another look, and jumped up from the couch, with a startlingly shrill scream. "Oh, Laurie honey, take a look at this! Oh, you all look fabulous, darlings!" There was a strong fast beat starting up, with a wild piano riff, driving into the song, and Mulder grinned, tossed his head, laughed, and grabbed Scully by the wrist. "Excuse us!" he called back over his shoulder to Jonathan. And he dragged Scully almost bodily out into the center of the floor, swinging her around, provoking her. He moved with an urgent focus, his eyes burning. Locked with hers. And suddenly they were full-out dancing. Scully looked up into Mulder's shadowed eyes, and felt as if her body were fading out, as if her soul were rushing up through the crown of her head. She tried to swallow, felt her face go slack. Her body was moving in perfect synch with his, beyond her volition. And his eyes -- Mulder's eyes -- always deep -- always a mystery to her -- always hinting at visions she yearned to pursue -- and now his eyes were wild, hot, unfamiliar -- like a stranger looking at her, and yet still Mulder -- just the way she often felt about Mulder, in fact, except that -- -- his hands were gripping her hips, moving her where he wanted her, pivoting, making her yield to his direction -- The others were dancing too, now, but Scully didn't notice them. She was lost. All she could feel was the music. She was soaring, with music under her wings. All she could see was Mulder, and the light in Mulder's eyes. Mulder was moving his shoulders, pouting his lips. Goofing and making silly faces. She wanted to grab him and stop him and kiss away the last traces of his lipstick. The idea was fixed in her head now, obsessively, this desire to wrap her arms around his neck, pull him down, kiss his mouth. Kiss his face. But somehow she could no more have grabbed hold of him than gripped the music itself. She saw Mulder and the music as suddenly all one thing, all liquid and in motion and blindingly beautiful, and all she could do was watch and move with it. But when he put one hand on her neck she seized it, and clasping it in both of her own, she lifted it to her lips and put a kiss in his palm. Mulder's head fell back, and his eyes closed. A new drum beat started, simple and compelling. "'Twisted Sister'!" someone shouted. Mulder pushed back from her hands, back from her hips. He began dancing mostly with his shoulders. His eyes flashing madly. He made his hands into fists, and spoke the words along with the music. And Scully loved seeing him this way. This was her favorite way to see Mulder, with defiance like this sparking in his eyes. "WE'RE RIGHT! - yeah! "WE'RE FREE! - yeah! "WE'LL FIGHT! - yeah! "YOU'LL SEE!" They shouted the words with the music, pushing their fists at the air. And damn, it felt good. And then there was a thundering, a rising up of sound. An unhurried scale rising up and up, to come shattering down in a cascade of thunder and hissing. "Oh, no!" Mulder muttered, groaning. He made a move as if to cut and run, but hands reached out from all sides to hold him back. Bradley took Mulder by the shoulders, shifted him front and center, and made a remark that sounded like, "It's OK, pretty boy, you can still be our *man*." With long-suffering endurance in his eyes, Mulder stood where he was put, looking at Scully, and shaking his head. "Here we go," he said wryly. Laurie and Jonathan pantomimed microphones, lip-synching the words, while Bradley, with his shoulders tipped the other way, added his voice to the asides. "You better listen!" said Bradley and the music -- Laurie, Jonathan and Bradley began advancing towards Mulder in a choreographed line. Palms out, fingers up. Left hips forward, shoo-shoo to the left. Right hips forward, shoo-shoo to the right. Palms back, sweep it to the left, sweep it to the right. They'd done this before. Mulder just stood there docilely, waiting for them. The guys broke from the Ronettes routine to address their invisible microphones again, all of them lip-synching in perfect unison. <'Cause tonight for the first time - Scully skipped back out of the way, and watched in open-mouthed fascination as they converged on Mulder. They were all reaching for him, coiling their hands. Singing with the music. "It's raining men! Hallelujah! "It's raining men! Amen! "I'm gonna go out, I'm gonna let myself get - "*Absolutely soaking wet!*" Bradley fell heavy to his knees at Mulder's feet, raising up his arms and his face in supplication, invocation, reaching up -- And Mulder crossed his arms, planted his feet wide, looked disdainfully to the side. He pretended complete disinterest, but his eyes were twinkling. Mulder struck another pose, hand on hip, exaggeratedly casual. He caught Scully's eye. "GQ," he said, and tipped his chin up. Justin grabbed Scully's wrist, and pulled her into the fray. He was joining eagerly in the supplication of Mulder, coiling his beautiful slender arms towards Mulder's face, Mulder's body, in gestures of poignant importunity. But Scully just stood there. She couldn't do it. She was just at the edges of it, but laugher was bunching up at back of her throat. She couldn't do it. But she could *watch*. Mulder turned the other way, another pose. Very sultry and disinterested. Winked at her. The boys were choreographed again: Jonathan slid his hands under Mulder's T-shirt, and Mulder tightened his stomach, giggling. They others joined in, their hands all over him. Mulder just took it, feet wide, hands on his hips, head thrown back. Chuckling deeply. Eyes closed. Four pairs of hands groped him every place there was to grope, while Scully just stood gaping, trying to decide not to laugh. Mulder took two steps to the left, as if to walk away. They followed. Two steps to the right. They followed. He batted his heavily mascaraed eyelashes at Scully, coyly. Then the laughter broke open, and Scully laughed so hard she could barely breathe. And then an absolutely unmistakable intro -- Everyone in the room squealed, including Scully -- Someone cranked the music louder -- The focus was off Mulder, and Scully wasn't laughing anymore. She looked at him, and he looked at her. Was it a dare or an apology in his eyes? They started to dance. "Kick! Kick!" several people called out, and they kicked, right on cue. All of them. Mulder narrowed his eyes, but kept dancing. They were dancing with their hips, jiggling with it, flirting outrageously. Scully slapped her knees together, facing Mulder. He swallowed hard. Mirrored her. ("Ooh-ah, ooh-ah, ooh-ah!") They matched their thrusts, outrageously. Mulder was looking more fazed and glassy-eyed by the second. Scully, exultant, couldn't take her eyes off him. Purely exhilarating, this was exactly the rush she remembered, this heady rebelliousness of dressing up and sneaking out and knowing she had crossed the line, knowing she could catch shit for it, but asserting her freedom anyway -- As they all deflated down to the floor at the end, letting their bodies fall limply like spent puppets -- "God, Scully," Mulder said, "Where'd you learn to Time Warp?" At the sound of the flatulent balloon someone murmured, "beached whale," contentedly, and at that same moment, unexpectedly, Bradley rolled over on top of Mulder, full length, took Mulder's face between his hands, lowered his mouth over Mulder's mouth, and began to kiss him. Deep. For one shocked paralyzed second Scully couldn't move at all. Everything went into slow motion. Mulder's arms were flung out on either side of him, spread out on the floor. Delayed reaction, too slow to please Scully, Mulder started lifting his hands as if to push Bradley off -- But the flat of Scully's palm was faster, was in fact already swinging through the air, with a good momentum, to impact with an audible *slap* on Bradley's ass. Hard. Bradley yelped, and lifted his head from the kiss. Scully was dimly aware of Mulder gaping at her, glazed and dark eyed. She was more aware of spanking Bradley. She spanked him again, just as hard as she could. And again. Bradley tried to roll away, but she pinned him with her elbow, and brought her palm down again on his ass. Scully could get to enjoy this. Then several things happened at once: Everyone except Scully cracked up laughing; Jonathan got a hold of her from behind, stopped her hand, and wrestled her off of Bradley; the intro began for "Sweet Transvestite"; Bradley rolled off Mulder; and the floor below them went *thunk! thunk! thunk!* as if someone'd hit it with a broom handle. Mulder lay breathless and wide-eyed on the floor, staring at her. Laurie went over to the stereo, and turned the music lower. Justin sprang to his feet, dancing and lip-synching Frank N. Furter. Bradley was cowering away from her, raising his arms and knees as if to protect himself, and gasping, "Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!" between bouts of giggles. Mulder was still laying there on his back, gawking with his mouth open. "OK, my dear, you finished thumping him?" Jonathan laughed in her ear. "Can I let you go, now?" Scully just growled. -- Justin set one foot on Mulder's hip, and leaned forward to speak the words right at her, exaggerating with his lips and his tongue -- Jonathan was still holding her by the elbows, with one knee in the small of her back, and Mulder just kept staring at her, with incredulous, incredible eyes. Then Jonathan let her go, and at the same moment Justin shoved Mulder's hip with his heel, turning away with a flourish and strutting off, hands on hips, proclaiming with the music, "I'm a sweet transvestite, from Transsexual, Transylvania!" Mulder came up in a roll on one elbow and grabbed for her. He pulled her off-balance, pulled her right down on top of him, chuckling deep and throaty and nervous. "What the hell was that? Huh, Scully? What were you doing that for?" He was still breathless, wide eyed, his hand threaded through the hair at the nape of her neck. And then he kissed her. Or she kissed him. That part was a little unclear. But then Mulder rolled over on top of her and went right on kissing her. Someone in the room was clapping. Mulder's mouth tasted of pot smoke, and of himself, and his tongue was hot and insistent in her mouth. Flame ran through her whole body, and she clutched for his ass, dragging his hips greedily against her hips, his erection against her pelvic bone. He groaned in her mouth. The heat of her arousal ricocheted through her whole body, and Scully realized dimly that she was powerless to stop. And overlaid above that carnality, there was another sort of glow which radiated from her chest to her fingertips, from the crown of her head to her bellybutton. And she couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get close enough, fast enough. All coherence ceased, and the experience of breath and movement and the flow of blood became more like music than like consciousness. This was the kiss that rocked the world, the kiss that discomposed the rest of her existence. The kiss she'd always known was coming, someday, with Mulder. She held his head and kissed him deeply, as deep as she could, as if she might devour him. As if it didn't matter what happened next. And she felt the fluttering of the weed in her racing blood, as if she might rise right up out of her body now. "Well you got caught with a flat, well, how 'bout that? "Well, babies, don't you - *panic!*" -- Justin stood astride their bodies and bent his face down next to theirs, speaking right into the middle of their kiss -- "By the light of the night it'll all - *seem* all right - "I'll get you a satanic mechanic!" Scully barely noticed. She was submerged in Mulder. His mouth was hot and urgent in hers, his tongue searching out her mouth. He was heavy on top of her. She was dizzy with it, pressed helpless to the floor, but with a feeling like flying, like she might fall. Not necessarily fall down -- maybe fall up, or sideways, or into Mulder's mouth. But fall. And all she could do was kiss him. -- Justin was stalking away again -- "Hey, kids, move over! Move, move! Umph!" Hands were shoving at them. "Come on, just roll a bit, would you?" Mulder groaned into her mouth, and rolled, and then rolled again. Over and under, and they came to rest by the floor pillows. Still kissing. Scully came up on top, and there were advantages to being on top. Mulder's hands were hot and roaming, caressing and claiming her whole body, pulling her tighter against him, and she was still lost in his mouth. "Night!" said a voice near their ears. "Bite!" "Sex!" said a chorus of voices, in unison, and Mulder whispered it into Scully's mouth -- "sex!" "Sex?" Scully whispered, in a voice so dry that no real sound came out. She tried to look at Mulder. His eyes were hot, and there was something impish playing in them. "Yeah, sex," he whispered. He wiggled a little, suggestively, letting her feel his arousal. And then he winced beneath her. "Uuf," he said softly, and twisted around to reach beneath his shoulder-blade. He had been lying on top of the brass pot pipe, and now he held it in his palm, looking up at her wide-eyed and breathing hard. Scully tried to catch her breath, and the gears of her mind turned sluggishly, missing and catching. Floor. Mulder. Weed. Kissing. Rocky Horror. Stoned. Mulder's eyes, huge and dark and made-up, and looking deep into her soul with naked longing. Sweet Transvestite. Sex. The possibility of love-making hovering like smoke in the air between them, like a tangible awareness. Everything they had so long avoided was now rising up phantomlike to confront them, and it would be so incredibly easy just to dip her head down, taste his mouth again, slip her hands inside his shirt -- and forget the rest of the room. Too easy. She could make love to him here, and not care who watched. But she wasn't that person anymore. She hadn't let herself be that person for years, and never when she was with Mulder. Shaking, Scully withdrew slightly inside herself. "Mmm," Mulder hummed, "don't. It's all right. Just go with it. Relax, Dana." He was moving his mouth sensuously under her chin, nuzzling down her throat so that his beard stubble scratched her. His mouth was hot, and she moaned, and her eyes rolled up, and she was lost again. Every touch of Mulder's hands and Mulder's mouth set up a flowing wave of sensations that echoed through her blood, and resonated harmonically in her head, her throat, her heart, her solar plexus, and between her legs. Making out with Mulder, she forgot to notice the passing of time. Time didn't seem to matter. Mulder'd pulled her T-shirt out from her jeans to get his hands directly on her skin. She'd worked his T-shirt up almost to his armpits. Her whole awareness was filled with his taste, his scent, and the living, breathing reality of him wrapped tight against her body, stroking and groping her, and his hand under her shirt copping a quick feel of the side of her naked breast. "Anything from the market?" asked a voice in the air somewhere above. Scully tried to pull her head together. Room. People. Making love to Mulder here on the floor while other people talked about groceries. The song wasn't "Sweet Transvestite" anymore, and she realized dimly that it hadn't been for some time, now. She pulled away from Mulder's mouth, breathing hard, and stretched her neck to look up at Laurie. He was wearing a coat. "Let me come too," she cried, and scrambled up awkwardly off of Mulder. Everyone was staring at her. She ducked her head, blushing, and pointed herself towards the corner where she'd last seen her shoes. Mulder, dazed, lurched up after her. ************************************************* The air outside was a shock to the skin, like a slap. Sobering and silent. The pavement under Scully's feet seemed to float beneath her as an freakish distance, and then to come up too solidly. The heeled pumps changed her balance, and she grabbed the nearest elbow, which happened to be Laurie's elbow, to steady herself. He clasped her hand protectively, and tucked it more firmly under his arm. Mulder danced along behind them on the narrow sidewalk, skipping from side to side. "What are we shopping for?" Mulder asked. His voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet street. "Breakfast," Laurie said. "I was thinking eggs Benedict, how does that sound?" "In the morning?" Mulder wanted to know. "Or now?" Laurie laughed. "Will I need to feed you before I put you to bed?" "Could be." Scully's mind was rising up out of its stupor, and beginning to race -- flashing images of Laurie's bed, the floor cushions, the cold miserable hotel room on the other side of town. Mulder. Mulder. Oh, god, Mulder. She flushed against the cold air, and looked at her feet, burrowing impulsively under Laurie's arm. He pulled her snugly against his body. She felt safe with Laurie. He had warm, fuzzy, friendly energy, like a big teddy bear, and his touch didn't ricochet through her central nervous system, or make her heart race. "Laurie, what should I do?" she whispered. "Do what you want," he whispered back, conspiratorially. Mulder kept trailing along awkwardly behind. The little corner market was stunning in its brilliance. As they stepped inside, the fluorescent bulbs made a nervous throbbing in the air like walking through waves, or swimming in an atom- smasher. Scully didn't like it. She squinted, and stood rooted in a corner by the dairy case. Laurie, with a basket looped over his arm, was inspecting the contents of a carton of eggs, lifting each egg to check for cracks. Mulder had scooted up behind him, and was reaching past his shoulder for a carton of chocolate milk. He was jostling Laurie's elbow, bumping insistently against him. Playing. Scully heard a dry cough. A wizened old man with a grim mouth hunched miserably behind the till, looking out from hawkish eyes. Beady eyes. Glinty, expressionless brown eyes. The store was humming, and the old man was staring, and she felt a sudden, paranoid certainty that he knew exactly who they were and how stoned they were. Feeling a little frightened, she turned to Mulder and Laurie. "I'm going to wait outside," she told them, but no one heard. Her voice was in miniature. It never left her throat. She butted right in between them, up against Mulder's chest, and looked up into his eyes. "I'm going to wait outside," she tried again. And suddenly everything was obvious. Mulder was still in full makeup. No wonder the old man was staring. Scully almost smiled, and then her breath tangled in her throat and she couldn't quite look at him directly, couldn't go on meeting his eyes. She tried, but she felt unexpectedly awkward, and shy, and flirtatious. She felt like a girl, and Mulder seemed to notice, seemed to like it. He pivoted forward, pressing her back against the dairy case until there was no room to retreat. Still holding the chocolate milk in his left hand, he leaned his left shoulder against the case, and lifted his right hand to grip the handle of one of the doors. He pinned her there against the cold glass, and took his time, leaning slowly forward. His body was hot against hers. Her heart raced. She glanced quickly up at him, and away. Mulder stuck out his tongue, and without touching his mouth to hers, he licked deliberately along the line of her lips, taking special time to tease at each corner. Scully felt her knees melting, and her head starting to spin. Involuntarily, she found herself stretching taller, straining for up a kiss, but Mulder, intent on his teasing, kept himself just out of range. Scully moaned, very quietly. Then, hearing herself, she glanced guiltily past Mulder's arm. The old man was watching. His thin, wrinkled blue lips were pursed. Making a soft, nervous sound in her throat, Scully ducked under Mulder's arm and escaped. Outside, she sat down on a brick retaining wall. She wiggled herself into the coldness, spreading her knees a little wider to let the chill seep up into the core of her body. She concentrated on the cold. The solidness of things. Tonight, it was so cold that even the stars looked solid. Staring up at the sky, she took a deep breath, and tried to marshal her thoughts. "Hiya, beautiful," Mulder's voice purred in her ear. She jumped, startled. He'd snuck up right beside her, and he was sitting down. Squirming nearer. She edged away. Mulder gave her a curious look from the corner of his eye, and seemed to catch himself. He stopped short of reaching for her. He let his arm fall. "Chocolate milk?" he offered instead, popping open the carton. She accepted, and drank deep. Cold and chocolate, in a cold licorice and molasses night, under smoky stars. Sitting next to Mulder. She blinked. Lowering the carton from her mouth, she handed it back, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Mulder closed his eyes, setting his lips on the carton where hers had been, and drank. Then he sighed. Wiped his mouth. And she watched him, wondering if what she felt right now was only because of the weed. Wondering, more to the point, what he felt. What he really felt. When he wasn't stoned. Mulder, stoned, was beautiful, and it would be so easy to just... She bit back a sigh, and turned her face up again to the stars. It was really cracking cold, and the cold milk in her stomach didn't help. Her warm sweater was still lying in a heap on Laurie and Jonathan's floor, where Mulder had tossed it. For several reasons, Scully shivered. Mulder saw it, and offered his arm. He didn't say anything. He didn't touch her. He just reached for her, and his eyes asked permission. Sighing, Scully edged carefully closer, and snuggled in under his arm. They could do this. It was OK to do this. They did stuff like this all the time. Well, sort of. She burrowed in closer, pressing her face against his chest. "What'cha thinkin'?" Mulder asked, softly. "What to do with you." "This is a hard question, is it?" She hit his thigh, lightly, with the side of her fist. "Mul-der!" "Well, if it were up to me the answer would be easy," Mulder said, in a voice that was very quiet and gravelly. A voice she'd so rarely heard before. Scully's breath caught in her throat. "You're just saying that 'cause you're stoned," she said. "No, I'm not." She tipped her head, and started to look up at him -- "I don't know if you two love-birds have noticed, but it would freeze the balls off a brass monkey out here!" Laurie's voice announced cheerfully. Scully and Mulder, both taken by surprise, jumped to their feet and away from each other like guilty kids. Laurie, hugging a bag of groceries, looked back and forth between the two of them. Surprised at their surprise, he took his time noticing their blushing cheeks, and nervous eyes. "Let's get in out of the cold, shall we?" he said. And as they started to walk, he looped his free arm through Mulder's, and spoke clearly and quietly, in a conversational voice intended to carry: "Fox," he said, "it is my considered opinion that you have been behaving like a perfect cad. You should have swept this woman off her feet ages ago, and if you don't at least make a good effort at it tonight, then I don't want to hear one more word on the subject." "Uh," said Mulder. "Uh ..." And Laurie winked conspiratorially at Scully, behind Mulder's confused back. ************************************************* Inside the warm apartment, Scully shrugged out of her coat and kicked off her shoes. There was a slow song playing softly on the stereo. Laurie headed off towards the kitchen with the groceries. "You really must stay here tonight," he was saying. "We can have a good chat over brekkie, since this evening has got, well, a tiny bit out of hand, shall we say? And anyway, there's simply no reason you should be stuck in some dreadful hotel when we've got plenty of room for you. The couch makes out into a bed, or you can have the bedroom, if you'd prefer." Mulder gave Scully a taunting look, raising and lowering his brows. "We can have the bed," he mouthed, and followed after Laurie. Scully sagged back against the door, leaned heavily, and let herself slide down slow to the floor. Outside this door, behind her back, the cold night waited. The night where real things lurked. Where, if Mulder touched her, it was real. It counted. It was on the record. City night, filled with people and events and repercussions. Hard, and cold, and tangible. They could walk out now, get back on the 'T'. She tried to imagine that -- would they touch each other? Would they walk arm in arm? What would they say? They could ride the 'T' back to their hotel, holding hands. They could say goodnight, standing on the raised walkway, outside their two separate doors. Maybe Mulder would ask the question. Maybe (she cringed) maybe she would ask it. Maybe they would both be too cold and too afraid, by that time, to ask it at all. Maybe the question would remain unasked. Damn fucking awkward question, anyway, when you stopped to think about it. Much easier to avoid it, since they were both so good at avoiding things. They could just say goodnight, like nothing happened, and open the doors to their separate rooms. Cold rooms. Hard beds. An hour from now she could be lying awake, sleepless and alone, thinking of Mulder on the other side of the wall. One hour from now? Two? Next week? Next month? How many nights? How many years could this drag on? Elbows on her knees, Scully dropped her face down into her fists. Her thoughts and her whole life and all the mysterious meanings of things seemed to spin by in a vortex, with Mulder at the center. She wasn't in any condition to make a decision like this tonight, and she knew it. First rule of ... well ... whatever: Never make any important decisions while under the influence. The problem was, when she wasn't under the influence, her decisions always came out the same. So there was obviously something wrong somewhere. Nevertheless, she should wait until tomorrow, when she was thinking clearly, and then... Or, better yet, next week. She could think about all this much more sensibly next week. She could make an appointment with herself. 'Monday, 6 p.m., draw up a list of pros and cons, and decide whether to make love to Mulder.' She heard Mulder clear his throat, and her head shot up. God, he was gorgeous! It took her breath away to look at him. The long, elegant lines of his legs, the way his jeans molded across his thighs. The mound of his sex. He'd stopped moving, stopped talking. He was standing above her, with his hands on his hips, waiting. And she was staring, open mouthed, at his crotch. Scully gulped, swallowed, looked up slowly to his face, blinking through flyaway strands of hair. Her fists were still up like she was trying to protect herself, and her face felt hot. Mulder was looking at her with amusement and confusion in his eyes. "Scully?" he asked softly. Warily. She swallowed again. "Yeah?" "Do you want to go now, or, uh ... stay?" Her heart beat very fast, and her mind stopped. She wanted desperately to say the right thing, make the right choice, but she didn't know what that was. A new song was starting. "Dance?" she whispered, hopefully, and offered up her hands. Mulder hesitated only slightly before lifting her up. Scully slid her feet near his, and pulled against him, pivoting, letting him support her weight. She came to her feet standing directly against him, closer than he'd expected. She could feel his surprise -- surprise that she'd let him lift her, and pleasure as he responded to the way she was nuzzling close into his body, into his space, pressing her face against his chest, and into his armpit. Mulder's arms came around her, gently, carefully, and she slid her arms around his waist. Tentatively, they began to move with the music. She could hear the beating of his heart. Mulder, recovering a little, began to lead. He danced them slowly out away from the door, moving with an easy, graceful swing. Letting her drift in his arms, making her feel like there was no solid ground under her feet. In his arms, she could fly. Mulder was a wonderful dancer. She had always known this about him. Before she ever saw him dance, she had known. Why had she never danced with him before tonight? It was so easy to dance with Mulder. She could read his energy, his intentions. She had never felt so graceful before in her life. Never followed so well. It was a sensation like floating in a clear, warm current. When he moved, she moved, without needing to think. She felt weightless. No one else was dancing. Mulder was really moving them around the floor, swinging her easily in his arms. He wasn't moving fast or frantic, he was just flowing. He was testing the boundaries of the space they danced in, and letting her feel the effortless possibilities of motion -- tempting her to relax, to trust, and to let him lead. Was any of this grace her own, or was it all Mulder's? It felt like waking up inside someone else's dream. Mulder's dream? Did it matter? They'd already wasted so much time, dancing awkwardly around each other, month after month, pretending ... Scully's throat tightened up. Pretending ... It broke her heart. She only wanted to be here, like this, in his arms. Why had it taken so long to get here? Balancing herself against his balance, pivoting at his direction, her right hand clasped in his, Scully's left hand started to stray. Her left hand, of its own accord, started sliding down onto Mulder's ass. Mulder's right hand was huge and hot on her hip, and he seemed to enjoy moving her where he wanted her. Sighing, Scully slid her hand up, up his back, around his side, up his chest, and throat, and around to the back of his hot neck. Threading her fingers into his hair, she pulled his face down, to nuzzle her cheek against his. She couldn't remember ever feeling this way in her life before. When the song ended, the stereo fell silent, but Mulder didn't release her. And she didn't step away. They stayed close together, swaying slightly to unheard music, caressing cheek against cheek. The room was filled with quiet, sexy sounds. Scully closed her eyes dreamily, and wondered idly where the sounds were coming from. Not from her, she hoped. And not from Mulder, unfortunately. But it was as if the room around them was pulsing with their thoughts, moaning and breathing heavy. Was that possible? "What do you want to do?" Mulder whispered roughly into her ear. Her eyes drifted open, focusing on a skewed vision beyond his shoulder of Bradley and Justin on the couch, dry humping, groping, glassy eyed. Kissing wildly. She closed her eyes again, and snuggled back against Mulder. But his body felt tense, now. He was waiting for something. A decision. From her. "Scully?" He wanted her to say it, wanted her to make up her mind. Jonathan was crouching by the stereo. "How 'bout Duke Ellington?" he asked, but no one answered. The first strains of "East St. Louis Toodle-oo" insinuated themselves into the room. Mulder wasn't holding her as close anymore. Scully sighed. She took a long, envious look at Bradley and Justin, and ran the options through her head one more time. To allow it to be real or not, that was the question. To admit, or to deny. This whole night so far had only been a sort of digression. The question was whether to bring these feelings out with them into the real world tomorrow, or walk away. Whether to let the truth rise to the surface now, or push it back down. She didn't feel ready for the cold, solid world outside. She sighed again. "Let's smoke," she said. Mulder didn't move. "OK." He seemed unsure, waiting for her to take the lead. She took him by the hand, and drew him back to the floor pillows. Pushing him down with her fingertips, she scanned the room for the pipe and the baggie. Mulder flopped where she put him, and watched her, wide-eyed. She located what she was looking for. Picking up the pipe and lighter off the floor, she flicked at the lighter absently. Then her eyes came back to lock with his. "You sure you want to do this, Mulder?" She couldn't really say what she wanted to say, so she just had to hope he knew she wasn't talking about the weed. His eyes were dark and scared and excited, looking up at her. "Huh?" he said. "'Cause I'm in a dangerous mood. Maybe if ... if ..." She cleared her throat. "Maybe you should run. While you can." Wordlessly, Mulder swallowed. And shook his head. "I'm not running," he said. "Sometimes I worry about you, you know that?" Scully muttered, and went to get the baggie off the coffee table. Tapping the ashes out of the bowl, she helped herself to a swig of someone's drink, and stole a long, hard look at Bradley's hand shoved firmly down the front of Justin's pants. Then she went back over to Mulder, and flopped down in the pillows beside him. Efficiently, she began to refill the pipe under the hot watchfulness of his doting, astonished eyes. She offered the pipe. "Are you planning to get me stoned again, Agent Scully?" he murmured as he set it to his lips. She just smiled. "Trying to corrupt me? Lead me astray? Seduce me from the paths of righteousness and good health?" Scully, who had been offering the lighter, took it away again. "For your information, Mr. Smartass, this is one of the *less* stupid things I've seen you do! The most recent medical journals I've read argue pretty persuasively that there is no significant health risk, even from long term use. In fact, there has never been any solid research to support any kind of medical danger, aside from respiratory irritation. From a strictly medical standpoint, it's no worse than coffee or tea!" "Oh, do tell, Dr. Scully!" Mulder was laughing at her with his eyes, and that know-it-all tone of his just egged her on. "All right! Marijuana is less toxic than alcohol or tobacco. THC is a less powerful pharmacological agent than caffeine. You think I don't know this stuff, don't you, Mulder? No reputable study has ever been able to support any claim of brain damage. Even the risk for birth defects appears to be low. In fact, research shows a striking lack of clinically significant actions on lower brain function, and the negative physiological effects are minimal." "Well, then." Mulder had a devilish twinkle in his eye. "Not to mention the positive benefits to chemotherapy patients, and --" "But Scully, you forgot the most important part!" Mulder interrupted smoothly. He lifted the pipe as if giving a toast. "This is a *door*," he said. "Altered consciousness, consciously entered, is an enhanced state of perception." He set his big, warm hand over her hand which held the lighter, and pulled it against his stomach. In a soft, mumblingly hypnotic voice, he said, "It's a *better* way of using the mind than what we experience in the normal, waking state." "Oh, is that so?" Scully swallowed hard at the lump in her throat. She stared at his hand on hers, and then at his eyes, which were burning with happiness and on-ness, and there-ness. "Then shut up and smoke," she whispered. Mulder moaned. "Oh, god, I love it when you say things like that! Lead me astray any time you want, Scully!" Not quite meeting his eyes, she just laughed, and held the light for him. The jazz music was getting in around the edges of her mind, and she found that she liked it, found that she could get lost in it. As the weed hit, all the big science words lost their shining interest, and dissolved comfortably from her thoughts, leaving room for music. More music than she ever knew there was, before. The two of them laid back into the pillows side by side, passing the pipe between them, both absorbed in the jazz. The music was all full of patterns, intricate, winding patterns, spiraling sinuously deeper than she'd ever suspected, right down into the soul of everything. Scully knew what she wanted, but knowing didn't help. Now that she consciously intended to touch him, it seemed like such an enormous thing that she didn't know how to start. It was hard to even look at him, for fear he might be looking back. Or might not be. Musing, she set the pipe on the floor. She watched the smoke drift up, watched it coil and separate around Mulder's wrist as he reached to pick it up. The music was dancing the smoke into music coils, which was interesting. She watched the smoke-music for a while, and then accepted the pipe again, just for the joy of touching Mulder's fingers. Couldn't he feel it? The fine glow that threaded through things? The way the air between them was waiting for something to happen? Why wasn't he reaching for her? Couldn't he feel her anticipation? A sick chill settled down through her gut. What if he didn't actually want her? What if he'd kissed her only because he was horny and stoned, and nothing happening tonight meant anything by daylight? What if she touched him, and he let her, and then it fucked everything up? Scully breathed out, long and slow, counseling herself not to panic, and concentrating instead on Mulder's huge feet flung out in front of them. They were very nice feet. In fact, the more she looked at them the more she wished she could crawl right down and wrap her arms around his legs and lay her cheek against those feet. She was going to do just that, she was just getting ready to do that, and then Mulder rubbed his crossed ankles one against the other, and all she could do was stare, transfixed. There was something very significant about the shape of his feet, in his black dress socks. How had she never noticed before the exquisite rising curve of his instep? Warm stockinged man feet, hardwood floor, candle light. Jazz. Something indefinable and profound, slipping stealthily in between the cracks of reality. Wood. What an amazing thing, wood...when you stop to think about it. And music. A single pure phrase of music carried her up so sweet she forgot everything else and just rose up with it like flying. Lifting the pipe to her lips again, and grinning like an idiot to herself, sharing the secret of the gold, gold shimmering shininess of that one lucid note until the phrase fell down into dusky purple, and silken grey, she knew with clarity that Mulder could feel it too. Mulder could hear the secrets between the notes. She was sure of it. He'd let his head fall back, and his eyes had drifted closed, so she looked up at his face. She shifted her focus slowly, letting her eyes drag along his body as she went. Hip bone, the place where thigh met hip. That was nice. The rise and fall of his breath. The shape of his ribs. And then she came to the long curve of his throat, and the pulse at the base of his neck, and she was captivated. She studied it. Salty soft place, very kissable. Hungrily, she kept very still, and watched it flutter. She could see the light resting on his skin like a radiance, a clinging halo, and slowly she understood that there was light *inside* his skin, also. If you knew how to look. In fact, if she looked very patiently she could see the hidden whispering of his cells as they vibrated together, telling each other the mysteries of his body, the enigma of his soul. He was alive. She could watch the pulse of his blood through his veins, and the firing of his nerves. And she was in awe. It was as if all the veils were drawn away, and she really saw him for the first time. Saw him for himself, for what he actually was. A living being. *Mulder.* He was animate, and brimming with passion -- aware of the world around him and the stars overhead and all manner of things arcane and hidden. Mortal, yet unafraid to storm the halls of heaven. Not just a body, but a being -- with thoughts in his head, worlds in his mind, his brain wracked and bubbling over with dreams and nightmares and mysteries and monsters. And love. And compassion. And all the kindly gentle-hearted things that make up a Human being. She stared, and stared, and the certainty of it hit her hard between the eyes, half bowled her over. Migod, why had she never noticed before? It was so obvious! *Mulder was god.* His face was only a mask, a vessel for cosmic light. What was it Carl Sagan used to say? We are star-stuff. We are the Universe's way of looking at itself. All the gods in all the books were only fossilized, deceptive, decaying excuses for divinity, next to this, next to the pureness of the light that poured out of Mulder. Even in repose he was burning, on, radiantly intense. Overflowing and pulsing and defiant with life. She could see it in his skin, and in the shimmering breath that moved in and out of him. He was better than a god. Because he was breathing, and that made the difference. Breath is the real essence of divinity, when you think about it. Breath is a remnant of infinity. Gods are only ideas that turned stagnant. Mulder had ideas of his own. And Mulder had free will. She looked at him. And blinked. And realized she was seeing his soul -- the part of him that was eternal, and she felt dizzy, felt she might fall in -- "Oh, god, I think I'm really stoned," she muttered, not noticing she spoke aloud. Mulder turned his head. Opened his eyes. "What?" he asked, softly. "Fox," she said, "migod, Fox." And he did that thing he did, that nervous, shivery thing, and his eyes focused differently. And she understood briefly that however much he may have protested, he'd actually been waiting for her to call him by his real name. Which was too bad, really, because she liked calling him Mulder better, and she didn't even know why she said Fox in the first place, but this wasn't the time to think about it. It was just a slip, and her mind left it quickly behind, racing on, stumbling and rushing. "Migod, Mulder, I think you're god." She barely whispered the words, just the slightest sub-vocalized friction of sounds. She went on staring at him, just stared and stared. "You're god," she said more distinctly. His eyes were wide, dilated, dark and made up. Focused on her. He was impossibly real, more than three dimensional. The makeup and skin and Mulder-name were only trivialities, transitory shadows laid over the liquid, burning potency of what he was. "What?" He frowned and smiled and chuckled, all at the same time. "What did you say?" With an effort, in a husky voice, she said, "Migod, Mulder, you have the most innocent eyes I ever saw. Do you know that? Did anyone ever tell you that, huh? I don't think I ever knew anyone so innocent. Your eyes scare me sometimes." "Scare you? Why?" "Your soul is in your eyes. Adults aren't like this, Mulder. They're not, they're not. You can't just go around like this! Other people don't let their soul pour out their eyes, not like you do. Why do you do this, huh? Don't you know they can hurt you if you do this? God, I look in your eyes, and I don't know how you face the world every day. How do you look out through those eyes? Aren't you scared, huh? God, god, I look in your eyes, and all I want to do is to hold you really tight, and protect you from everything because you are so fucking innocent, and ..." "Hey, hey." Mulder reached for her hand, and she pulled it away. "Innocent?" he asked, watching her withdrawn hand. "What are you talking about, innocent?" Scully looked down, too. And stopped and stared open-mouthed at the air. The air between them was moving, shifting, wiggling. All the little air-energies were very busy connecting everything, like ligaments. Like nerves. Drawing everything together into a single collusion, weaving a weft that included her and him and the rest of the Universe all into the same thing, the same fabric of energy. The same conspiracy. All breathing together. And the air was glowing, just slightly. Oh, great. First Mulder in the role of god, and now she was seeing the little energy beings that live invisible in the air. And they were glowing. Very animate. "Mul-der," she breathed out nervously, raptly. "Do you see?" She was watching the way the air lit up, near his hand. Reaching out, carefully, tentatively, she combed her fingers through the glow, and swirled it around her fingers, and let it clot on her hand. Mulder was watching her carefully. He smiled. Then he raked his own hand through the air. The energy collected on it in a shimmering haze, and, reaching out, Mulder smeared it like a tickle over the skin of her arm, and Scully gasped. "Can you feel that?" he whispered. He wasn't touching her. "Yes," she moaned, softly. "Lay back," he said. And he waited, watching hotly, while she settled deeper into the pillows. He helped her tug a pillow more comfortably under her neck, and tucked the corner of another pillow to support her shoulder. She watched him. His eyes were very dark and focused. He smoothed his palms dryly against each other, and then soothed his hands through the air, gathering energy glimmer like static on his skin. "Ready?" he murmured. And he leaned forward, and cupped the crown of her head with his hands. He didn't actually touch her, just held his hands near enough to let the energy between his palms radiate into her scalp. She gasped, and closed her eyes. He hovered his hands there for a long time, touching her not at all, or just grazing her hair with his hands, and the pulse of brilliant energy grew in her head. Then he slid his hands down, crossing one hand over the other, palm against back of hand, focusing above her forehead, between her brows. The light glowed between her eyes, filling her. Scully had never imagined anything like this. Then one finger strayed down the slope of her nose, tickling the air above the tip, and the pulse of light moved there. It felt silly, and sensual. "What are you doing?" she breathed. "Sshh. Jin Shin," he said. "Just relax." "Jin Shin?" "Energy balancing. I've been wanting to try it." "Oh." The energy tickled down over her lips, her chin. And then his hands rested again, floating over her throat. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin, and she ached for him to touch her. But, at the same time, she could feel the energy itself, the pureness of it, flowing into her, through her. Like being washed through with light. And from her throat, it flowed up into her head, and down into her heart. Mulder's hands followed the buzzing flow of energy, as if by instinct or some sixth sense, down to the center of her chest, between her breasts. "Mul-der," she protested again. "Does this feel good?" He was speaking very softly, breathing a little fast. His hands shook as he permitted them a brief detour, suggesting the shape of her breasts in the air, still without touching her. She gasped. Felt her nipples stand tight. "Yes," she hissed. His hands moved lower. Solar plexus. He was starting to lose his resolve, now, breaking from his system and beginning instead to smear the radiant air all over her, into the hollows beneath her breasts, and above her hips, sliding one hand far up to caress the air at the curve of her neck. He never actually touched her, but with her eyes closed she could feel everything. She squirmed slightly. "This is balancing my energy?" Her voice was rough and breathless. She was becoming almost agonizingly aroused. "Well ... uh ... Do you want me to stop?" She made a gurgling noise in her throat. "No!" she said thickly. Mulder grinned a goofy grin. "OK," he murmured. "I won't stop." And his hands slipped lower again, coaxing flame into her belly. Scully moaned. It was a low, animal moan, and the sound of it made Mulder gasp. He gave up entirely on the protocols of Jin Shin, and began to rub frankly and steadily at the flaming fire of her aura, directing every hot vital vibration he could summon right down through his own hands, through the soul-space of air that separated them, and into her body. Scully began to writhe. Slowly. Sweetly. Very prettily. "D'ya like that, Scully? Like that? Huh?" Deep and throaty, she groaned. A heat was rising up in her, up and up. Her whole body was on fire, intensified by the elixir in her blood. Her conscious mind slipped its grip, and her body began to soar, to throb, to wiggle of its own volition in response to Mulder's hands, and to the thought of Mulder -- and her hips rose up, bucking in slow motion, seeking the heat that hovered tantalizingly close, without touching. It was as if ... as if... Oh god! The first spasms of her climax caught her off guard, the orgasm floating through her in rising waves, rising and rising, better and better -- Scully lost her head completely, and began to sob out loud. Mulder watched her, wide eyed and rapt. He wasn't touching her. Wasn't doing any of the many things he so much wanted to do. He was only *thinking* his caresses, really, and yet she was responding as if ... He gulped. As if he were really making love to her. She was crying out under his hands. She had forgotten herself, forgotten the other people in the room. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open, her hair a wild red riot fanned out across the pillows. She was radiantly beautiful, sobbing her pleasure into the air as if they were alone in the room. "Mulder! God! Mulder!" And the sensations just kept rising ... rising ... Oh god, another orgasm -- Scully screamed, and Mulder clapped his hand over her mouth. She sucked violently on his palm, and moaned, and bit, and he was quickly losing his grip, slipping his tenuous control. "Scul-lee," he gritted through his teeth, pleading. He wasn't sure what to do. Scully, dimly, with some residual presence of mind, realized that although she had peaked again, if she didn't find some way to break this cycle she would rise to another orgasm, and another after that. And this wasn't the right time. In desperation, she grabbed blindly for Mulder's hand, caught it, and slapped his palm down hard between her legs. Holding his hand there, she sighed and went limp. Mulder was electrified. The heat and pulsing of her sex streamed right through his blood, hitting his groin with a force that threatened to make him cream his jeans, and the damp, hot intimacy of the contact unhinged something in his mind, in his heart. But Scully was quiet, now, relaxed under his hand. She was grounded by his touch -- until, reflexively, he squeezed her. He squeezed her hard, and she moaned, arched up against his fingers. Her eyes flicked, half opened and half rolled up again, and she slapped at his hand, pressing it firm and still against her body. "Wait," she breathed out shakily, "wait." Mulder's breath was ragged, but he made his fingers relax their grip. Scully's body loosened, and laid back. She was still breathing hard. Then, slowly, she looked at him, dark eyed and electric, and he moaned and started to lean towards her. He caught himself. "Scully, what the hell happened?" he asked, plaintively, in a rough whisper. "I had an orgasm," she whispered back. "You --" Mulder's voice squeaked. "You --" "In fact, I had *two*." "Wow! Scully, I ... *Wow.*" "I told you, Mulder, you're god." "Oh, I am, am I?" His voice was shaking. "That's pretty cool. Will I still be god tomorrow, Scully?" She pulled him down on beside her, and snuggled into the hollow of his neck. "I doubt it." "Oh. Oh well. I guess that means I better make love to you tonight, huh?" He sounded hopeful. And shy. Scully felt a pulse of pure, electrical joy, and her heart raced. "Yep. I guess that's what it means," she said, in a small voice. "Deal?" "Deal." They hugged each other, protectively. "But not on the floor like this, OK?" She cracked a lazy eye, contemplating the situation on the couch. Bradley and Justin were snuggling innocently and talking, and she noticed that they were very carefully looking the other direction. "Mmmm," he agreed, nuzzling his face in her hair. Then for a long time, it seemed like hours, they just rested there quietly, tangled up with each other, listening to jazz, and the music of each other's hearts. ************************************************* Raiding the kitchen was one thing, but Mulder's idea of a midnight snack was something else again. After storming around ransacking cupboards, muttering, "crisps, crisps," like a madman, during which time Scully mostly just tried to stay out of his way, Mulder suddenly seized on a jar of prepared spaghetti sauce and waved it triumphantly. "Aha!" "Spaghetti? You're going to cook spaghetti?" She stared at him blankly. "Sure. Why not? There's gotta be a frying pan around here someplace." He started on the drawers, and lower cabinets. "You're going to cook spaghetti in a frying pan?" "Well, yeah. How do you cook spaghetti?" She tipped her head, and looked at him sideways. Then a little more sideways. "Don't you want to start with a pan of water, Mulder?" "Huh? Water? You don't start with water, you just --" "You're cooking spaghetti?" put in Jonathan, curiously. He'd come from the living room, and was standing in the door. "I was thinking of it. Where do you keep the crisps around here, anyway?" "Crisps?" Scully said again. She'd been saying it for a while, but Mulder hadn't noticed yet. He finally heard her. "Chips to you," he said. "No crisps. Diet, you know." Jonathan patted his stomach. "Minding our trim figures." Mulder snorted. "Ah, bugger all. How about some egg and chips?" "I could probably manage egg and chips --" Mulder's voice rose excitedly, and he turned back to banging drawers. "Where do you keep the basket thing? You've got potatoes, right?" "Oh, Lord, let's not have any hot oil, tonight, please!" It was Laurie, pushing past Jonathan into the room. "Sweetheart, what are you trying to do, putting him up to egg and chips? We'll have cheese and crackers. Almost as fattening, and considerably safer." Jonathan shrugged apologetically at Mulder. "Shall we have a demitasse?" asked Laurie. "No, no," Jonathan said. "I'll fix us some cocoa." "But egg and chips sounded good," Mulder was protesting. "I can't even remember the last time I had egg and chips." "No egg and chips," Laurie repeated firmly. He was already setting a stick of salami and a hunk of cheese out onto the table. "Somebody get us some plates, please. Oouu! Darlings, we forgot about the pudding! Look what I found -- there's a trifle in here!" "Trifle? Trifle?" Mulder was stopped in his tracks, and his head came up. He was frozen, seeming to sniff out the scent, with the jar of spaghetti sauce in one hand and a wire basket in the other. "I thought that might get your attention," Laurie laughed. "Fox, darling, we'll let you be in charge of whipping the cream. You do know how to whip cream, don't you?" Laurie put a small carton into Scully's hand, because she was closest. "There's an egg beater in the silverware drawer. Dana, sweetheart, can you help him, please?" Mulder got the egg beater in his hand, and then stood there looking at it curiously. "This is really cool," he said, turning the crank. "Oh, I know, I know. Isn't it dreadful? But there's really just no sense in buying appliances for 110, when we're only here for a year. We've been living like savages." Mulder was still turning the crank, and his eyes were starting to glaze. Scully took the egg beater away from him. "Come on, *Fox darling*," she said. "We're whipping cream." They took turns at it, while Jonathan heated milk for cocoa, and Laurie arranged beautiful plates of crackers and sliced cheese and salami. It was fun to whip cream, to make it move like a dream of waves, swirling hypnotically. When it was Scully's turn again, she found herself moving the beater slowly from place to place around the edges of the bowl. Mulder hadn't remembered to do that. He'd just gone at it with a sheer attack of energy, beating all in one place. But Scully always liked to have a system. Whir, whir, whir. Her arm was aching. Cream folding. Swirling and swirling, getting thicker. Around and around, folding in, petaling like a camera shutter. Mulder was holding the bowl steady so she had something to push against. She alternated crosswise for variety, like torquing the lugs on a tire -- whir, whir in this spot. Whir, whir in that spot. She'd forgotten this about hand-held beaters, how hard you had to push against the bowl. She wanted to lift it up, to see the cream make a whirling mountain, and she tried to lift and -- Oops. Scully stopped beating, and looked sheepishly up at Mulder. He'd been hanging his big nose over the bowl, hypnotized, and she'd splattered him wildly with cream. She bit her lip. Mulder blinked. He licked his creamy lips, slowly. "Are you going to clean me off, Agent Scully?" he murmured, in a bedroom voice. Then he leaned closer, and closed his eyes. She let go of the egg-beater, took his head between her hands, and shyly, carefully, she began to kiss away the cream. Scully was aware of the other men in the room, aware of the intimacy and territoriality of what she was doing with Mulder. His skin tasted salty and Muldery under the cream, and the stubble of his beard was rough against her tongue. He made a soft, happy noise deep in his throat. And that very softest of sounds pierced right into her heart, opening a wound so deep she was afraid it might never heal. And it hurt. It was actually a physical pain in her body. To hear from Mulder this quiet, gently contented, wordless low murmur of satisfaction made her want to wrap her arms around him, and hold him tight forever. Or else sit down and cry. Then Laurie finished arranging the plates, and at about the same time Bradley and Justin drifted in from the living room. In a companionable group they all ate cheese and salami together -- the best cheese and salami ever tasted in the history of the world. Scully felt her feet begin to reconnect with the ground again as she ate. The topic of conversation was shifting erratically, from E.B.E.'s to haute couture, to playful teasing, off-color jokes, and reminiscences of college escapades. Scully was only half listening. She was beginning to notice her hands again, and how her hands kept happening to stray to Mulder's thighs, and how no one seemed to mind. Mulder certainly didn't seem to mind. She set her hand on Mulder's knee, and Bradley watched her do it. An acknowledgement passed unspoken between them. Then she noticed Justin's voice, saying, "... but if you can't prove it, how do you *know*...?" "Well, uh --" Mulder started, glancing sideways at Scully. Bradley interrupted. "Those are two different things, Jussie, proof and knowing. The proof is just the stuff on the surface." He looked directly into Scully's eyes, as if for confirmation. "Right? The proof is just the window display." Without intending to, she felt herself nodding. Jonathan and Laurie both sputtered their cocoa, and Mulder guffawed loudly. "Hey!" Bradley complained, laughing, "Just 'cause I don't feel a need to dedicate my life to meditating around inside my belly- button like you head-shrinker-literary types...!" "Ah, but that's why you love us!" Jonathan laughed, and Mulder, also laughing, said, "Where would you be, without us, Brad?" "Paris!" Bradley said. "Fox, it was on *your* account I came back to this country, you know!" "Sorry," Mulder mumbled, blushing slightly and grinning a giggly grin. While they all laughed, Scully's eyes were drawn back in fascination to Mulder's long, lean thighs, to the hair on his arms, and the way his huge, graceful hands gripped a cracker. Then back to his thighs again, his hips, his ass on the chair. Totally perplexing to stop and think that she could just reach out like this, right in front of everyone like this, and slide her hand over his thigh, or even slip her hand right down between his legs. Well, maybe not too deep between his legs! He looked at her in surprise, and his eyes flashed hot. Happy. And she smiled despite herself, even as she moved her hand back to safer territory. And as she did, her gaze fell on his lap, and she couldn't tear her eyes away. Mulder was aroused. He shifted his knees further apart, to give her a good look. And she let him see her looking. She didn't care who noticed; they were with friends. Mulder was planning to make love to her tonight. Her breath came faster. The painful excitement wound tighter in her chest. She was coming back to earth. And she was still touching him. And it was all right. It was going to be all right. "But how do you *know*?" Justin still wanted to know. His voice cut through the others'. All eyes turned to Mulder, expectantly. "Sometimes, in our line of work, you don't," Mulder answered, absently reaching for Scully's hand. "Sometimes, *most* of the time, there isn't any proof, *all* the answers are ambiguous, and the only thing you can do is just take your best guess." Mulder's and Justin's made-up eyes met and locked across the table. Slowly, Justin nodded. "OK," he said. "Ambiguity. That's cool." "Which is precisely why I'm so glad it's *your* job, and not mine!" Bradley said. "Well, Brad, darling, we can't all be so lucky as to find our true callings the way you did!" Mulder shot back. "You bitch!" Bradley laughed, and swatted Mulder good-naturedly with the back of his hand. "Ouu, baby, you *know* it makes me hot when you talk like that!" Mulder grated the words out, smirking and blushing. His fingers were still laced with Scully's, and he was pressing the back of her hand against the warm crease of his hip. "But have you ever seen one? I mean with your own eyes?" Justin interrupted. "Have I seen an E.B.E.?" Mulder asked. "An alien, yeah. Have you?" "Well, I suppose you could say that everything I've seen is subject to interpretation." Mulder looked at Scully. She looked back, looked into his eyes past all the makeup, smudged eye-liner, and gloppy mascara, and she could very clearly see his soul looking out. Squeezing his hand, her heart felt very full. It wasn't Bradley, or Laurie, or Jonathan, sitting next to Mulder, holding his hand and sharing the burden of this mixed-up mixed blessing quest of his. It was her. And she was the only one at the table who really knew what he was talking about. And that thought made her ache, and turned her on. With her free hand, she rescued one last crumbled fragment of cheese off the hors d'oeuvre plate as Jonathan cleared it away. Then Laurie set the trifle in the center of the table with a flourish. Scully had never seen anything quite like it. It was in a huge glass bowl, red jello at the bottom with chunks of cake in it, and strawberries, and then a thick yellow custard on top. It was a beautiful dish. Laurie served with two spoons, digging down deep, and finishing each serving with a big dollop of whipped cream. It was heaven. Trifle heaven. The cakey bits were soaked in a sweet liqueur. The jello was cold and wiggly on her tongue, and the custard tasted as good as being a kid again. Scully closed her eyes, and appreciated the custard. Mulder kissed her while her eyes were closed, passing a chunk of jello unexpectedly from his mouth into hers, and she slurped at it. Sucked his tongue. Lost track of the rest of the world, for a moment. "Mmmm," she said, and swallowed Mulder's jello, and pulled away. She smiled. It was so easy to smile, tonight. But nevertheless, Scully was definitely coming down, definitely rejoining the ranks of the sober. Well, not quite sober yet, but getting there. Getting close enough that the idea of sobriety was starting to make sense again. She was starting to imagine that there might be a time -- oh, say, tomorrow afternoon, maybe -- when the world would be all solid and predictable again. When things would have their surfaces back, and the glow would go away, and everything would stop trying to jump out of its skin. She followed Mulder's face with her eyes, as he turned to say something to Bradley. She watched him as he laughed. It was good to see him laugh. Good to see him with his friends. It was good to take this ... time out. This ... what *was* this? What were they doing? What did this strangest of all strange nights *mean*? And the moment she questioned it, into her mind rushed the question of tomorrow. And next week. And work. And all the unavoidable potentials for things, the moments which she knew were certainly coming when Mulder would throw himself in over his head into some as yet unsuspected obsession, some newly invented danger, some irreversible experience of soul -- and every time, as he put himself out there, he would be dragging part of her heart along too. Abruptly self-conscious, she took her hand off his leg, where it had strayed again after she cleaned her plate of trifle. And instantly, when she took her hand away, the energy between them changed, and just a little of the sparkle went out of Mulder's eyes. She saw it happen. She saw him start to wilt, to cringe, to pull back in on himself, into whatever melancholy place he customarily inhabited. He was still smiling, but he was further removed. She tried patting his thigh again, reassuringly, but Mulder only looked at her sideways, with nervous, baleful eyes. And suddenly it was all there between them again, like a gaping void: Real life. Awkwardness. Uncertainty. Fear. The mood was broken. A chill came over her. Fuck this! Did it have to be like this? While they were all clearing the table, Scully gathered up her courage, and bumped Mulder with her hip, deliberately playful. For just one second, his eyes shone. And then he froze up again. Pulled back. Smiled a tight, careful smile. And Scully felt a gripping in her guts, a sinking, a helplessness. She turned away from everyone, braced the heels of her hands against the edge of the counter, and drew several slow, deep breaths. She felt sick. "Hey," she heard Mulder's voice several moments later, as if from far away. Her eyes were squeezed tight shut. "Hey, hey," his hand was suddenly hot on the back of her neck, sliding under her hair. She opened her eyes. "Why don't you drink some water, huh?" He was offering a glass of ice-water. "It'll help with the cotton-mouth." His voice sounded kind of worried and lost and apologetic, like a little boy trying to help. Mulder, in his own way, wanted to take care of her. Mulder, who got her in more trouble than anybody. And god help her, she loved him for it. Feeling weak at the knees, she turned a little, almost stumbling, and ducked her face into the hollow of his shoulder. He put one arm around her awkwardly, and patted her hair. And she knew with an anguished, unlooked-for, soul-rattling certainty, that she would rather be IN trouble with Mulder than out of trouble, alone. "Hey, 'sokay," he murmured sadly, "drink some water, huh?" Scully took a deep breath, lifted her head, accepted the glass of water, and drank. ************************************************* The apartment was dim and quiet. The stereo was off. Outside the cold windows, a new snow was falling. Bradley and Justin had gone home. Mulder had been kissed, and so had Scully. In fact, Scully had stood docilely and let herself be kissed, and had even put her arms around Bradley and kissed him back. She'd come to the realization that she actually kind of liked Bradley. But she was more sorry to say goodbye to Justin. Justin she'd held close and long, hugging him tight, and she'd kissed him on the lips, and pressed her face into his hair. He was still wearing her bra, when he walked out the door; she had been reminded of it when she hugged him. But in front of everybody, in the middle of goodbyes, hadn't seem like a good time to ask for it back. So she'd just kissed him again, and whispered, "thank you" in his ear. And now the party was over, and morning was coming. Mulder and Laurie had made the couch out into a bed, spreading it with clean sheets, and a heavy blanket. Scully was sitting cross-legged in the middle of it, dressed only in her T-shirt and panties. Jonathan had already said goodnight, kissed her on the cheek, and gone to bed. Mulder was in the bathroom. Laurie was sitting sideways on the edge of the hide-a-bed beside her, with his hand on her bare leg. "Now, is there anything else I can get you, dear? Are you sure you're quite comfortable?" "No, nothing," she murmured. "I'm fine. We'll be fine." Laurie's eyes slipped quickly towards the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom, and Mulder. He seemed about to say something, but caught himself. Then he kissed her on the forehead instead. "We're so very happy to know you, Dana. You mean the world to him, you know." Moving at the same instant, by the same impulse, they hugged, and Scully felt a lump of tears gathering up in her throat. She clutched Laurie tight. 'I'm scared,' she wanted to whisper. But she didn't. 'Don't be scared,' he wanted to whisper back, but he couldn't. "Dana, sweetie," he said instead, finally pulling away enough to look at her. "You know, sometimes I think that the moment when you know it's really love is when it hurts. Do you know what I mean?" She couldn't meet his eyes. Blinking and nodding, dumbly, she just sat motionless and stared at her knees. Laurie took her hands in his, and squeezed them. "Don't worry so much about it, my dear. Just -- trust it. Trust him. Trust yourself." She nodded. "Ah, well." With one last, affectionate pat, Laurie stood up. "Sweet dreams, Dana." And he went down the hall and left her alone. She looked wistfully around the darkened room. Everything looked so different to her now, so unlike the unfriendly place it had seemed at first. Now it felt almost like home. In a life too full of rooms without memories, this room was already clogged with them, filled to overflowing. Memories enough to keep her warm for many nights to come ... if she needed memories... Her heart raced, and the butterflies in her stomach made her feel a little queasy. "Mind if I climb in?" Mulder's voice asked quietly beside her. She jumped. Then nodded assent. Slowly lifting her eyes to look up at him, she almost forgot to breathe. He'd washed off all the makeup, and was her own Mulder again. No longer so exotic, but more beloved. Just Mulder himself, clean and sweet smelling and real. His hair was damp, and his eyes, resting in hers, were soft and familiar. Was he still planning to make love to her, tonight? "Is it all right if I, ah ..." He made a motion to unbutton his jeans. Scully nodded, slowly. "I think that would be a good idea," she said, trying to smile. Her voice came out sounding tight. Mulder made a choking noise that might have been intended as a laugh. Very deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he began to unbutton his fly. Scully sucked on her lip. Waited. Mulder stripped gracefully out of his jeans, and folded them, setting them on the floor. Then he put one knee on the bed beside her. And this might be the moment of no return. They both knew it. And something unspoken passed between them in the flicker of an eye. Some nervousness, or warning, or dismay. So smoothly that no one else would ever have noticed, Mulder's trajectory changed. He just climbed in beside her, and settled in to prepare for sleep. And Scully's heart sank. "So you like my friends," Mulder said. "You know I do. Mulder, why couldn't you just tell me?" "What, that they're gay?" She nodded again. "Ah, hell, Scully. What was I supposed to say? 'Some of my best friends are gay, but don't worry, because I'm not'?" His tone was sour. She laid back down in the bed beside him, sliding her legs luxuriously under the covers and propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. She felt very daring, and also very scared, and her hands and feet were clammy. For all the times they'd traveled together, this was the first time they'd shared a bed. There was a delicious feeling of intimacy and rightness about it, and at the same time a lurching, plunging, down-hill thrill like a roller coaster ride. An exhilarating, unavoidable "what-if?" What if he touched?/ she touched?/ they touched? What if they touched? Skin. Skin was only skin. Sex. Nothing more than sex. Nothing out of the ordinary, in the surfaces of things. Not in any way that anyone could see, or prove. But making love to Mulder would mean more than that, and run deeper. And she knew it. There'd never been any doubt. She didn't say anything, just looked at him, and drank him in. Her heart was pounding very fast, and she didn't trust her voice. Mulder, noticing her silence, turned to look at her face. A question waited quietly in his eyes. Scully opened her mouth, not knowing what she was planning to say, and -- "Knock, knock! Darlings, are you decent? Sorry to disturb you, my dears! Just dropping off some party favors! I'm not looking! My eyes are closed!" Laurie scurried in loudly, dressed in a floor length purple satin robe embroidered with black lilies. One hand covered his eyes, and the other waved an accordion pleat string of red condoms high in the air. He was peeking between his fingers. Tossing the condoms on the bed between them, he bent to kiss Mulder swiftly on the cheek. "I'm going, I'm going! No need to say another word!" He was gone again before either of them could say anything at all. And the room was quiet again. Suddenly quieter than it had been before. Shadowy and silent. Mulder cleared his throat. "Ah, sorry for that," he said at last. "No," Scully shook her head, feeling dazed. "No." She was still high. Not stoned, but high. Absently, she picked up the condoms, and looked at them. Strawberry flavored. She ran her thumbnail against the serrated edge of the wrapper. And very slowly she looked up at Mulder, with her heart in her throat. "I don't know what to say," Mulder said, still trying to apologize. Scully clutched the condoms into her sweaty palm. Timidly, eagerly, she looked up into his eyes, knowing it was forever. And in a very tiny, hopeful voice she whispered, "Just say yes?" *** FINIS **************************************** "All sex is the same ... The beauty you're born with doesn't count. The only thing that counts is the beauty you *make*." -- from the film, "Naked Tango" Or, as the drag queen said: "Darlings, we are all born naked, and the rest is drag!" ************************************************* THE FACTS: The facts about marijuana, mentioned by Scully in Section 8, do not in any way represent the personal opinion of the author. My primary source for factual information was Dr. Andrew Weil, whose insights also provided the basis for the opinion expressed by Mulder regarding mind-altering drugs. SOURCES: For Weil, in addition to his website, see, "The Natural Mind" (1973), and "Chocolate to Morphine" (1983). See also, "Marijuana Myths, Marijuana Facts," (1997) by Zimmer and Morgan. The "recent medical journal" Scully refers to is the British "Lancet," 346:1241 (1995). ------- OK, here's a complete playlist, in order: Walk Like an Egyptian, by the Bangles; Missionary Man, by the Eurythmics; Tainted Love, by Soft Cell; Can't Hurry Love, by the Supremes; Jump, by the Pointer Sisters; Faith, by George Michael; Every Breath You Take, by the Police; With or Without You, by U2; White Wedding, by Billy Idol; Don't Stand so Close to Me, by the Police; The Logical Song, by Supertramp; Goodbye Stranger, also by Supertramp; What I Am, by Edie Brickell & the New Bohemians; Major Tom, by Peter Schilling; Bette Davis Eyes, by Kim Carnes; Sweet Dreams, by the Eurythmics; Father Figure, by George Michael; These Dreams, by Heart; We Didn't Start the Fire, by Billy Joel; Addicted to Love, by Robert Palmer; Hotel California, by the Eagles; Holding Out for a Hero, by Bonnie Tyler; We're Not Gonna Take It, by Twisted Sister; It's Raining Men, by the Weather Girls; Time Warp, and Sweet Transvestite, from the Rocky Horror Soundtrack; Don't Answer Me, by Alan Parsons Project.