From: Fox Prose Date: Sun, 2 May 2004 16:28:26 -0700 (PDT) Subject: Performance Anxiety by FoxProse Source: direct TITLE: PERFORMANCE ANXIETY AUTHOR: FOXPROSE E-MAIL: FOXPROSE2003@YAHOO.COM RATING: NC-17 WARNING: Sexual situations and descriptions, but no acrobatics. Just grown-up lovemaking...on a bed... CATEGORY: MSR KEYWORDS: Slight Angst DISCLAIMER: They belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. FEEDBACK: Always appreciated! Send to foxprose2003@yahoo.com WEBSITE: Additional stories are available on my website: http://donnilee.tripod.com/foxprose/ But be careful! There's a sound byte that had my entire office thinking we had a new, sultry-voiced client. SPOILERS: Dreamland; mild for Arcadia. SUMMARY: Maybe it's enough to be normal. AUTHOR'S NOTES: As always, tremendous kudos to Carma, who actually makes me work hard, and to Donnilee, who brooks none of my excuses. Their beta skills always elevate my stories beyond my expectations. Thanks, too, to Lorraine for providing medical background. Any errors are misunderstandings on my part rather than misinformation on hers--though as an OB/GYN, she should be allowed some latitude! This is for FatCat, who gave me the idea! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX WEDNESDAY, 9:22 PM MONROE AVENUE YMCA ALEXANDRIA, VA I'd been planning the ambush for a couple of days. One of the guys on my team in the Wednesday night basketball league here at the 'Y' is a doctor, an internist. I figured I could ask him casually for a little help. I sure as hell wasn't going to ask my regular doc, the lovely Dr. Dana Scully, with whom I just happen to share a bed. I waited until the locker room started to clear. "Hey, Steve," I said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Can I ask you something?" "Sure, Mulder." "I've got a question for you. Are you prescribing Viagra for any your patients?" Steve's eyes narrowed and I could tell I wasn't fooling him for a minute. "Just curious, Mulder?" he responded. "Well...I've been thinking about it. I have some questions." I must have looked pitiful, because Steve's expression softened. He threw his gym bag over his shoulder, slapped me on the back, and said, "C'mon. Walk me out to the parking lot and let's talk." We made our way past the noisy crowds of teenagers clogging the hallways and walked briskly toward the door. I could feel the cool night air rushing into the warm, chlorine-smelling building. I took deep breaths and told myself that this conversation wouldn't be anywhere near as bad as some of the things I've had to do in life. Maybe. We crossed the threshold and Steve came right to the point: "So how come you're asking me instead of your doctor?" "Because I'm sleeping with her," I answered flatly. Steve threw back his head and laughed. "Okay, Mulder, that's a new one. I thought you and your partner at the Bureau had finally gotten together?" "Right, that's her. She's a physician, a pathologist. She's the one who has to deal with the hospital when I get banged up, so I just use her as my regular doctor." That amused Steve even more. "So what's the problem, Mulder?" he brayed. "If she spends all day with dead guys, you should look great by comparison." I must have looked distinctly unamused, because Steve sobered immediately and looked at me with concern. "Hey, okay, man. Listen, I'm sorry. Sometimes I'm not too sensitive during off-hours." "No, it's okay. I mean, it's not a serious problem or anything." I tried to toss off the remark in a careless manner. "So it's just occasional?" Steve asked, his face and voice transforming into clinical mode. "Well, I wouldn't even say that," I blurted out. "It's just that the job and travel get to me, and sometimes I'm afraid it's just not gonna happen. I don't want to start making excuses not to be with her." "Listen, Mulder, Pfizer isn't making a killing on this drug because it helps grow roses." He paused to make sure I understood. "A lot of us are hitting forty, stressed out at the job, worried about whatever, jet-lagged from running all over...it just helps you get over the hump, no pun intended." "Yeah, that's what I was thinking." "Drop by my office tomorrow or Friday. You don't need an appointment. Just tell my assistant your name and I'll squeeze you in." "Thanks, Steve. I really appreciate it," I answered. "I knew there was a reason I put up with your lousy jump shots," I said to diffuse the tension as I turned to go to my car. "Hoo, boy! You oughta be begging me for a drug to improve your lay-ups," came his rejoinder. We both laughed into the night as we folded our bodies into the drivers' seats. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX THURSDAY, 10:20 AM ALEXANDRIA HEALTHCARE ASSOCIATES ALEXANDRIA, VA "Any history of heart problems?" Steve sat on a low swivel chair and was marking off my answers on a checklist. "No." "High blood pressure? Taking blood pressure meds? Anything with nitrates?" "No." "Any history of low blood pressure? Fainting spells? Stroke? Anything like that?" "Sometimes I pass out when I get shot," I answered dryly. "Okay, okay, be a wise guy," he said with a smile as he finished the checklist. "I've gotta ask these questions just to make sure I don't miss anything, but you seem fine to me." He reached for a blood pressure cuff and I rolled up my sleeve. He wrapped and inflated the cuff, applied his stethoscope to my arm and was silent for a moment. "Excellent," he pronounced as he got up and crossed over to a small closet. He reached inside, removed a flat packet, and passed it to me. "Okay, I'm giving you a free sample. Now, there are some rules. First, take one pill about 45 minutes before you're ready. I'm giving you a normal dosage, 50 milligrams. It'll last a few hours, so you don't have to hurry. Second, if you have heart palpitations, dizziness, or your erection lasts more than 4 hours, you need to go straight to the ER. You got it?" "Yeah, thanks, Steve. I appreciate it." I buttoned my cuff and slid on my jacket. "You know, Mulder, you might want to think about finding a regular physician that you're not sleeping with. It's really better for one doctor to coordinate this stuff." "Okay. I hear you. Things have changed a lot since we were first working together." "By the way, this drug can lower your blood pressure, which is the same thing that happens with a gunshot wound. So don't take this if you think you might get shot," Steve teased as I headed out the door. "See ya on the courts. Better work on those jump shots!" I called as I rounded the corner to the exit. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX THURSDAY, 9:20 PM DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN Scully soaked in the bathtub while I lounged in bed, lazing in the afterglow: Better living through pharmaceuticals! High-fives! Because that's how good it was tonight! I left Steve's office this morning with a combined sense of embarrassment and excitement. I was embarrassed to have let performance anxiety affect me so much, but I was relieved to have the magic solution in my pocket. I'd been honest with Steve. I'd never had a true incident of E.D., the euphemism now used to gloss over every guy's greatest fear, but I was starting to avoid Scully sometimes. It was never anything dramatic. I'd push a late-night autopsy if we were out of town or plan something with Gunmen if we weren't. What Steve said about 'pushing forty' hit home. Ten years ago this stuff wouldn't have fazed me, but I couldn't always turn off all the crap in our lives anymore. I wasn't making excuses, but it had been a rough year -- no, a rough decade -- for us. We'd been on a professional and personal roller coaster. Let's see: nearly dying in Antarctica, losing the X-Files, being separated on the job, getting the X-Files back. Oh yeah, and Scully got shot somewhere in there, too. And then finally admitting that our feelings were a little deeper than collegial respect, sleeping together, trying to figure out how to make this work. And through it all was the interminable travel, the crazy hours, and watching over our shoulders for Kersh, or Krycek, or the Consortium, or whatever else was pursuing us that week. A few years ago when we were driving out in Nevada in Area 51, Scully asked me if I ever wanted to 'stop the car,' and live a normal life. I gave her some stupid, facile answer that wasn't really an answer because I was afraid to think about it too deeply. Now I thought of little else. Yeah, I was finally tired of running. I really wanted to stop the car. I told myself to wait to take one of these magic blue babies until sometime when I had that dreaded feeling that nothing was gonna happen on its own, but the sample packet was burning a hole in my pocket. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but this was one cat ready to howl! Fortunately, Scully was in the mood - she's always in the mood -- and I showed off my talents for a full two hours with hardly any desire to roll over and go to sleep. Impressed? So was I. More importantly, so was Scully. Like I said, better living through pharmaceuticals. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX THURSDAY, 10:30 PM DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN Scully had been out the bath for at least 45 minutes was now dozing peacefully on her pillow, curled on her side like a baby cat, kitten, whatever. I felt a little less peaceful, though. I thought the effects of the drug would wane afterward, but I was almost as hard as I had been three hours ago! I'd had quite a time adjusting the blankets and pillows to make sure Scully didn't notice this peculiar increase in stamina. This was starting to worry me a little. Steve said something about going to the ER if my erection lasted four hours or more. This was not funny. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX THURSDAY, 11:30 PM EMERGENCY ROOM, GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER GEORGETOWN I slid my insurance card and FBI credentials across the desk to the middle-aged, motherly looking triage nurse whose name was Betty, according to her name badge. I tried to look dignified as I braced myself for what was ahead. "Okay, Mr. Mulder. What's brings you here tonight?" she asked, her pen poised over a clipboard. I cleared by throat before beginning. "I think I'm having an unusual reaction to sildenafil citrate." I used my toughest-sounding special agent voice, the one I use on recalcitrant witnesses and uncooperative suspects. I may have mispronounced it, though, because Betty didn't look too impressed. "Well, what reaction are you experiencing?" she prompted. She spoke a little slower now, as if reserving judgment on my intelligence or sanity. "My, ah, doctor...he said I should...well, if I should..." I stammered. Betty was not actually tapping her pen against the clipboard, but it was just a matter of time. Gotta do this, I thought. "Okay, well, my doctor told me to go straight to an ER if I was still experiencing an erection after four hours," I spat out. "And are you?" "Yes! That's why I'm here!" Was the woman being deliberately dense? Betty wrote a few more notes on my chart, photocopied my insurance card and credentials, and asked me to follow her into an examining bay. She tossed a hospital gown at me and announced that she'd be back to check my vitals. Removing jeans in this condition is always treacherous, but usually guys have the promise of a reward at the end. I finally eased them off and attempted to don the hospital gown. The gown would have been perfect in the pediatric ward, but it failed to provide me with even conventional coverage, let alone disguise my situation. Betty was back in a flash, checking and re-checking my blood pressure, listening to my heart, and making more notations on the chart. She asked for details about when I'd taken the pill, whether I'd noticed heart palpitations, upset stomach, etcetera, which I answered dutifully. The gown had taken away any fight left in me. All I could do was alternately cross my legs and drape my arms over my midsection. "Okay, Mr. Mulder. Your vitals look good. Dr. Stevenson will be with you in just a few minutes." "Okay. Thanks." She left me to my ruminations. I wasn't sure whether to worry about my health or Scully. Do I need to mention that I excluded her from this little field trip? She had only stirred slightly as she'd felt my weight shift out of the bed. At the time I'd been scared and stupid enough to think that I could come to the ER, take care of this little problem, and get back to her apartment before she noticed that I'd gone. I'd already been here over half an hour, though, and I hadn't seen a doctor yet. My plan seemed more and more ridiculous in retrospect. What if Scully awoke and thought I'd left her in the middle of the night? Should I call her? But if she were still asleep, it would be stupid to wake her up. Plus, how would I explain being at the ER? Should I tell her the truth? What if she thinks it's her fault? I could see how far this was getting me. I had almost decided to get off the examining table and use the phone to let Scully know why I'd disappeared when chief urology resident, Dr. Claudia Stevenson, opened the curtain and introduced herself. Of course. Of course! Of all the ERs in all the hospitals in the Washington metro area, I had to find the one where late-night urology problems are under the auspices of someone named Claudia. Why does a Claudia specialize in urology? I know, I know. That was a stupid, sexist question to even think. Scully hears variations of it all the time, and it makes her crazy. Still, I was hoping for a 'Brad' or even an 'Irving' who would tell me there was nothing to worry about and send me home. Dr. Stevenson reviewed my chart, repeating the questions Betty had asked and adding a few of her own. She asked me to lie on my back and carefully listened to my heart, and then re-checked my blood pressure. Finally she spoke. "Okay, I know this is probably a little embarrassing for you, Mr. Mulder, but I see at least one case every day where someone has reacted a little strongly to Viagra. Your blood pressure is good, and I'm going to check you out to make sure your erection is starting to relax." Her voice was soothing and calming, and I might have been able to relax had she not proceeded to lift up the hospital gown. She palpated various points in my groin and explained that she was checking for 'blanching' or evidence of blood flow. I felt myself soften a bit when the cold air hit me, and Dr. Stevenson made encouraging noises. "All right," she said briskly as she lowered my gown. "You're going to be just fine, Mr. Mulder. You took a 50-milligram dose, which is normal. Some people are just a little more sensitive to the drug, though, and you happen to be one of them. Your erection is subsiding, just a little more slowly than we usually like to see. We're going to continue to monitor you for another 30 minutes to an hour. If we see everything is proceeding normally, you'll be free to go. However, I'd suggest that you speak to your doctor about reducing your dosage to 25 milligrams." Better living through pharmaceuticals. Was that what I'd said? Yet here I was, just a few hours later, thanking every deity I could remember that a beautiful woman had just informed me that my erection was subsiding. Middle age sucks! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX FRIDAY, 1:15 AM EMERGENCY ROOM, GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER GEORGETOWN I dressed myself and was signing a paper attached to Betty's clipboard that affirmed that I was fine but should cease and desist with the Viagra until I spoke with my physician about adjusting the dosage. Suddenly I heard a bit of commotion at the nurse's station about 50 feet beyond the confines of my curtained examining bay. "Scully, " the voice rang out, "Dr. Dana Scully. I'm Mr. Mulder's personal physician." I cautiously peeked outside and saw her standing in front of the nurse's station in all her 5-foot, 2- inch glory, brandishing her credentials. Betty looked at me for confirmation. It crossed my mind to make a run for it, but I chickened out and relinquished my last shred of privacy with a nod. "Right here," Betty called out, and Scully strode purposefully over to my examining bay, her eyes on fire and her jaw set. I thought back to Steve's joke about not combining Viagra with gunshot wounds. How accessible was Scully's weapon? She wouldn't shoot me right here in the ER, would she? Or would she figure it was more convenient that way? "Dr. Scully, we just dismissed Mr. Mulder, but you can use this examining room for a few minutes," Betty offered cheerfully. I had previously been aggravated by Betty's desultory execution of her duties, but now I hated her. "Thank you," said Scully imperiously as she snatched the chart from Betty and then grabbed my arm to pull me into the small, curtained area. She read for a few minutes before lifting her head to look at my quizzically. "Mulder, what the hell is going on here?" "Well, I just had a little drug reaction, and I figured 'better safe than sorry'," I ventured timidly. "Mulder, this was not 'a little drug reaction.' You took Viagra!" she snapped, lowering her voice to an enraged whisper. "Yeah," I admitted, unsure what details to add. "But I'm fine now. The chief urology resident said I was just a little sensitive to the medication." She continued reading for a few moments, and then snapped the papers back under the clip. "Okay, let's go, Mulder," she said, but she didn't look at me. She handed the chart back to Betty, who smiled ingratiatingly at her. She stomped out of the ER and into the parking lot without looking behind to make sure I was trailing her. We were silent in the car, and when we reached her building, I was unsure whether to slink home in my own car or go upstairs with her. She must have sensed my indecision, because she motioned to the steps and said, "Upstairs, Mulder. We need to talk." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX FRIDAY, 2 AM DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN "Okay, Mulder, spill!" she commanded as she took cans of ice tea from the refrigerator and tossed one to me. "About...the Viagra?" "No, Mulder, about your theories of intelligent life in the universe! Of which you are hardly representative tonight, I might add. Yes, about the Viagra! And the hospital!" She was sitting on the couch with me now, but instead of sitting on the cushions, she perched on one armrest, like a bird of prey. I looked at my shoes, searching for inspiration from the laces. "I mean, I wake up and you're gone. No note, nothing to let me know where you are! I step outside to check your car, and I run into my neighbor, Mr. Androsky. 'Hey, Dana,' he says, 'Is your friend going to be okay?' When I ask him what he means, he tells me that when he was walking his dog earlier, he saw you getting into a taxi and heard the driver radio that he was going to the Medical Center. What were you thinking?" She spat the words out, and it sunk in that I was really and truly in big trouble. Scully kept talking. She wasn't done with me yet. "That's without even getting into the reason behind your little adventure. Where did you get Viagra? And why? Why didn't you discuss it with me? This is serious medication, Mulder. It's not some kind of recreational drug!" "I didn't buy it off the street, if that's what you're suggesting," I snapped back with vehemence. "It was prescribed for me by a physician I consulted." I let my words sink in, and I watched out of the corner of my eye as Scully's expression softened. It struck me that I hadn't improved my situation much, though. Instead of thinking I was a jerk, she now thought I was an impotent jerk. "Why didn't you say something to me, Mulder?" she said, softly now. I barked a short, sarcastic laugh. "Sure, Scully. What was I supposed to say? 'Gee, Scully, I love you, but I can't do it more than once a night when we're on the road!' Or maybe just, 'Sorry, honey, I have a headache tonight.'" I turned my face away from her. Usually I leave the eye rolling to Scully, but tonight I borrowed a page from her book. Was she really that clueless about guys? Maybe she thought I'd go on 'Oprah' to discuss my feelings about it! "I'm sorry, Mulder. I didn't mean it that way. I never noticed any obvious problems, and I just didn't realize you felt pressured." There was a pause, and I didn't respond. "The funny thing is that sometimes I've felt pressured, too. You know, to make up for lost time," she continued, now staring contemplatively into space. "Because it took us so long to get here, you mean?" "Yes. I keep thinking about all the years we wasted, and I'm afraid I'll regret it if we don't take advantage of every opportunity," she elaborated, her eyes filling with tears. "I just keep thinking that if anything were to happen to you, I wouldn't want my last memory of our time together to be that I was too tired to make love," she whispered, and a few tears spilled onto her cheeks. She slid off the armrest, and I moved closer and put my arm around her. "I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to be so demanding," I cooed as I nuzzled her hair. I wasn't entirely sure why I was apologizing, but it seemed like a good strategy. "No, I'm to blame, Mulder. It's my fault you couldn't talk to me about how you felt, about the pressure you were under," she said sadly. "I guess this is the first really, well, grown-up relationship either of us has had," I mused. "We'll have to make allowances for the fact that we're not eighteen any more and that our lives can be pretty stressful at times." "Yes, you're right," she said, still sounding sad. "Do you remember that time out in Area 51 in Nevada, Scully? You asked me if I ever wanted to stop the car?" She nodded without looking at me. "Scully, I was too scared to answer you then, but the truth is I want to stop the car so bad I can taste it. It's not the work or the stress or the craziness. It's you. You're the best thing in my life. I mean, I used to think people who settled for normal lives were crazy, that they didn't have any passion. Then I met you, and I finally noticed how much better my life is now. You're the reason I want to stop the car. What I'm saying is, maybe we don't have to be perfect or amazing. It's all right just to be normal. Just to be normal together." I spoke quickly. This was the most private place I'd ever revealed to her. She didn't speak for a moment, and I wondered if I'd said something wrong. Then she spoke, barely above a whisper. "That's the most beautiful thing you've ever said to me, Mulder." I breathed deeply in relief as she curled up in my arms. We dozed lightly for a few minutes before we moved into the bedroom where we fell into an exhausted sleep. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX SATURDAY, 7 PM FOX MULDER'S APARTMENT ALEXANDRIA, VA We dragged ourselves into work on Friday morning, still groggy from our late night confessions. We were together Friday night, but neither of us mentioned the previous night's little contretemps. Scully wisely suggested an early bedtime. By 9 PM, we were unconscious in her bed. I was a little nervous. It had been two days since the incident at the hospital, and we hadn't touched each other except by accident since then. I didn't want her to feel pressured, so I was avoiding doing or saying anything even remotely related to sex. Knowing Scully, she was being just as considerate of me. Scully and her mom had plans for brunch this morning and I needed to catch up on bills and laundry, so we agreed to meet at my place this afternoon. It didn't matter to me much whether we did it tonight. Well, not very much. I just didn't want to have to talk about it with her! I've long subscribed to the policy of substituting videos for meaningful human interaction, so I figured we could always hide behind a good spy thriller if our sex drives didn't coincide. In preparation, I'd picked up tapes of several movies and old TV re-runs I thought we'd both like. Scully arrived around five o'clock, and we walked to the nearest grocery store to replenish my anemic offerings while she filled me in on the latest news in her family. We haven't 'outed' the new wrinkle in our relationship to Maggie or the sibs yet, so we had a conspiratorial giggle over her mother's latest attempts to advance my case as a romantic possibility. We ate hamburgers and salads in front of the TV, watching 'The Prisoner' episodes from the early sixties. "I remember that highway from when I was in school!" I exclaimed, actually rising off my seat to point a fork at the TV image. "Mulder, this show was filmed almost twenty years before you went to Oxford," Scully said, laughing. "Are you sure you're not confused?" "Well, maybe," I admitted. "The highways in the UK all look alike, anyway." She paused the video to ask a question about Oxford. I discreetly edited Phoebe out of a story of road trip to Wales, and I recounted bits of music, politics, and popular culture in Britain during the early 80's. "I guess the most memorable part was actually pulling off an escape from home," I confessed as I wound up my little junket into the past. "My parents had separated by then, but they still found plenty of ways to make life unbearable. I just wanted out." "Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up that part of your life," she answered, reaching over to stroke a lock of my hair into place. "It's okay, Scully. I know it probably affected me more than I want to admit. I just worry that we can still be hurt by stuff from my past, stuff my father did." "Remember what you said the other night about grown- ups? That this was our first really grown-up relationship? Well, grown-ups have problems, Mulder. Sometimes from childhood, sometimes from former relationships, and sometimes just because we're crazy ourselves. Don't apologize for your parents," she said, both firmly and sympathetically. "You're right," I said, looking down. The ready compassion that Scully took for granted in life was still a strange gift to me, and it always made me uneasy. "You can see why I didn't pursue clinical work," I joked. "I'd have been my only patient." "Well, as long as you paid your bills," she retorted. We returned our dishes to the kitchen and my nervousness dissipated in the process of cleaning up. Our banter made things seem normal again, and I found myself wanting to touch her - her hair, her lips. Not even in a sexual way. I just wanted the contact. Finished with chores, Scully curled up on the couch and pressed 'Play' to restart the video. I sat down closer than necessary and put my arm around her shoulders. "Mmm," she purred. "Move down and put your leg up." This was 'our' position. I'd lean against the end of the couch with a leg extended. She would position herself on the remaining part of the cushion and cuddle against my chest. We'd spent endless hours like that in the past few months. We'd even fallen asleep that way, but we'd learned our lesson. Our stiff necks and shoulders the next day were unwelcome premonitions of middle age. Still, the position was a ritual that connected us. On the screen, the Prisoner declared again that he was not a number; he was a free man. Scully began tracing her fingers lightly on my chest while nuzzling me. Much more of this, and I would not be a free man. "You're writing checks that your body can't cash," I teased. "Oh, yeah? Just try me!" She was looking at me with one eyebrow raised. Sometimes this is a bad sign, but her voice was lilting and her lips were parted. We kissed, a soft, gentle kiss that slowly grew more demanding from both sides. She turned herself to straddle my hips, a grinding movement that she should trademark, so foolproof is its ability to excite. My hands gripped her backside and ran up the inside of her shirt. After so many years spent fantasizing about her, I could never get enough of the feel of her skin under my hands. I stopped briefly to unbutton her blouse and my brain briefly regained control of my body. "Scully, we don't have to do this right now. We can stop," I offered, silently congratulating myself on this show of chivalry. "No," she said emphatically. "But how about you? You okay with this tonight?" "Oh, yeah. I'm definitely okay," I responded, grinding my hips against her to demonstrate just how ready I was. I would like to describe sexual acrobatics that lasted for hours, but it would be a lie. There were no shrieking climaxes, no moans that disturbed the neighbors. No furniture was broken, and no clothing was ripped to shreds. No one ended up in the hospital. Instead, we had the best sex I've ever experienced. It wouldn't make 'Penthouse Letters,' but I'll still remember it when I'm 80. Yeah, it was even better than my drug-induced performance Thursday night. We left the Prisoner to his own devices and took our party into my bedroom. I'd never been a slob, but Scully's new role in my life has made me more conscious of little things. I'd made the bed this morning and tidied up the bathroom. We undressed quickly, kicking our clothes away. Scully stretched out on the bed, her red hair contrasting dramatically against the navy comforter. I joined her and we wrapped our limbs around each other as if we were unconsciously trying to meld into a single unit. "I wasn't sure you wanted this tonight," I whispered. "I do. I need it so much. I need you so much," she answered. I entered her, and we rocked slowly together, letting the rhythm gain momentum. "Help me stop the car, Scully," I murmured. "Close your eyes, Mulder. We'll stop the car together." I closed my eyes and felt her envelop my entire body. I sank into her warmth as a thought crossed my mind: this was the difference between really making love and just having sex. Biology wins in the end, and the tempo gradually increased. We clung to each other, and I was reminded of Antarctica and how tightly I'd held onto her in the snow, literally holding on for our lives. I held her like that now, whispering, fearful of breaking the spell that contained us. When I felt her muscles contract, I lost all hope of delicacy and slammed into her. This time, though, I maintained the close embrace and forced my hips to do the work. I'm not usually a noisy guy, so the high-pitched mewl that accompanied my final thrust surprised me. I buried my face in Scully's neck and inhaled the scent of her hair, speechless after such an emotional coupling. She held me tightly, not saying a word. Finally she spoke. "You see. We can stop the car when we're together." I nuzzled her as my breathing slowed. I didn't say anything but the word that reverberated through my brain was 'normal.' I knew that 'normal' probably wouldn't be considered a ringing endorsement, except maybe in Sweden, where it actually is considered a compliment. Lying on the bed and cuddling with Scully, I was overwhelmed by my affection for normality. We hadn't broken any records. We hadn't experienced anything to transform our understanding of the universe. But until Monday morning, or at least until a cell phone chirped, we could pretend to be normal. Blissfully, boringly normal. I wasn't sure what I'd tell Steve on Wednesday. He would be curious, but he's too professional and discreet to ask. Maybe I'll tell him that I decided to hold off on the Viagra. I'll just say things are back to normal. THE END.