From: "Trixie ." <scullymulder1121@hotmail.com>
Date: Tue, 01 Feb 2000 23:33:30 GMT
Subject: xfc: NEW: "Quis Si" (6/19) by Trixie
Source: xfc

From: "Trixie ." <scullymulder1121@hotmail.com>

~

Chapter 5- Love Shack, Baby, Love Shack (my apologies for the title, to 
Mulder at least.)

"Reflect upon your present blessings, of which every man has many; not on 
your past misfortune, of which all men have some." - Charles Dickens

~

"Are you still listening to me?"

Mulder started slightly, glancing guiltily at Scully. "Do you hear that?" He 
cocked his head to the side.

She mimicked his movement. "Hear what?"

"It sounds like . . . 'Love Shack?'"

A grimace crossed her face. "That's Charlie, he's . . . um . . . being 
intimate." She sighed. "It's a homemade compilation CD - 'the best of love,' 
he calls it."

"My baby sister is getting it on to the B-52's?" He was aghast.

"Could you let this go and focus?" Ooo, he detected exasperation. But . . .

"I can't. I can still hear it. It eats at my brain."

Rolling her eyes, Scully strode to his side and shut the door firmly behind 
him. "There. No more neural disintegration."

He could still hear it, but decided to let the matter drop. It wasn't nearly 
as loud, and the fact that she'd shut them inside her bedroom was making him 
light headed. Besides, he got the distinct impression she was about to lay 
something =very= heavy on him. He didn't need her frustrated with his 
intense dislike of certain pop artists, to boot.

Her voice was almost brisk when she began. "About ten years ago, I met my 
husband. He was handsome, intelligent and kind. We had an affair while I was 
going through the Academy. It ended, but we remained friends. About three 
years later, I was given my first field assignment: I was one of the agents 
staking out a bank we'd gotten a tip was going to be robbed. We went in, 
caught the bad guys, but in the process, Jack was shot. He was dead for 
nearly two minutes. But he came back."

Her voice cracked slightly. There was a wealth of pain in her tone, and in 
her eyes. It cut him to the core to see her look so lost. It was obvious she 
had loved this man at one time. He felt an irrational pang of jealousy. Of 
course she'd loved him; they'd been married. If his brain were operating 
properly, he would have realized she had to have loved him the moment she 
said she was married.

"I was . . . dissatisfied with my career in the Bureau. However, I was 
totally unwilling to admit it, to my family or to myself. It caused a lot of 
pain when I gave up a career in medicine to be an FBI agent. My father 
didn't speak to me for months, my mother had a disapproving but ultimately 
loving look on her face whenever I saw her, and my two brothers branded me 
as good as a traitor - they were navy boys, the least I could do is be a 
doctor. Melissa, my sister, was the only one who didn't persecute me, but at 
that point, she'd also distanced herself from the bosom of the family."

"By choice?"

She nodded. "Melissa has always been different. She lives life by her own 
rules."

They were silent for a moment. Then: "You said you were married. Present 
tense."

Again, she nodded. "I am," she confirmed in a voice he suspected was steady 
only through great leaps of strength and control on her part.

"I owe you an apology, then, for what happened last night." Her eyes widened 
at him. "For kissing you," he elaborated.

She almost looked amused. "Your reticence is endearing, but I kissed you."

He shrugged. "I still kissed you back. And I knew something was wrong with 
you. I've never kissed a married woman before, and whether I knew it or not, 
I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted and appreciated, but I still maintain the blame lies 
squarely at my feet."

"No, really, it's all my fault." She looked ready to protest again. He 
forestalled her. "I'm irresistible," he confided, offering her an out. It 
was okay, he longed to soothe gently. You don't have to apologize for 
anything with me; what you feel, what you think, who you are, what your past 
is. See how ridiculous it sounds when you try? Every piece of you is all 
right with me.

He said nothing, of course. She wasn't ready to hear it, anymore than he was 
ready to say it out loud. At least not until she finished her little 
confession.

"Anyway," she continued, "he was relentless this time around. He wanted me 
to marry him. He was so different from the man I knew before. As though he 
had a new lease on life. Which, to be honest, I could understand, under the 
circumstances. I confided in him that I was thinking of leaving the Bureau, 
and he made me an irresistible offer. We would get married. He would support 
me while I went back to school. I wanted to research cancer, help to find a 
cure. I'd seen some very ugly things at Quantico, and I wanted to make a 
difference early on."

"Is that what you do now?" He couldn't stop himself from asking. He was 
fascinated with her and, even though he knew she wanted distance, all he 
wanted was to soak up as much of her as he possibly could.

It frightened him a little, to tell the truth. He'd never felt this before. 
Not with any of the women he'd dated, slept with, lived with or come close 
to committing to for life. He'd only known her a few days, and already, he 
felt like she was imprinting her identity on his heart. And the damnedest 
part of it was, she didn't even mean to. She didn't even =want= to. Judging 
by the deer-caught-in-headlights look that she seemed to wear half the time, 
he was willing to bet she was feeling the same way and was equally - if not 
surpassingly - scared by it.

At least, that's what he was telling himself. And, until she proved him 
conclusively wrong, he was going with it.

"Yes," she answered, and he'd almost forgotten his question. "I think my 
work has been the only good thing I've had for a long time." A cross between 
a smile and a grimace crossed her face. "Or, at least, it was before the 
Mulders came into my life."

Oh, that one cost her a lot. His admiration for her increased a few more 
notches. At the rate that kept happening, he'd be worshipping at her feet in 
a few days. "I think I can say with certainty that we're very happy to be 
here," he murmured quietly.

His words prompted a teary eyed smile from her. He watched her visibly push 
down her reaction and regain control. "Things were fine while I went back to 
school. Or, at least, I thought they were. I was extremely focused on my 
career, but so was he. I'll admit things weren't ideal, but I never . . . it 
never occurred to me things were as bad as they were." Her tongue darted out 
to lick her lower lip nervously and he refused to allow his imagination to 
place the movement in a different context.

"Ten months ago, I came home from work and found a woman sitting in my 
living room. She told me she'd been having an affair with Jack since before 
we were married. Then she introduced me to her daughter; their daughter." 
She ran a shaky hand through her hair. "I've never felt so stupid in my 
entire life. I wanted to believe in him. I wanted to be sure he'd never do 
anything like that to me. But somewhere along the way, I realized that I had 
lost faith in him." The muscles in her throat convulsed and constricted as 
she swallowed. "He didn't deny it."

Mulder got the distinct impression she wasn't telling him something. She 
kept averting her gaze from his and she was fidgeting.

"And so you left," he concluded.

"I left," she confirmed in a voice that was barely there. "But not before he 
gave me one last going away present."

"What?" he questioned when she made no move to continue. "Scully, what?"

"He killed her. The woman he'd been having an affair with. He killed her and 
then he came to me and said he'd done it for us. Now we could raise Kelly 
together." Tears gathered in her eyes. "I can't have children," she 
whispered hoarsely. "I became sterile during my research a few years ago. I 
found out barely a month after Jack and I were married. In some twisted way, 
he thought he was doing something I wanted. I . . . managed to get away from 
him." She was back to hiding her eyes from him. "I called the police and 
they arrested him. He's in jail now, contesting the divorce I so desperately 
want, and I'm raising a six year old little girl who isn't even mine."

"You kept her?" Damn, his voice was trembling. He was in utter awe of this 
woman; her courage and her compassion were indescribable. People like her 
were the reason he'd wanted a career in law enforcement in the first place 
and, ironically, the very reason he'd quit.

"I found her," she explained in the most pained whisper he'd ever heard. Her 
eyes finally met his. "She was there when her father killed her mother. I 
think . . . I think she witnessed it, although I've never been able to get 
her to talk about it." Her mouth worked a few times as she searched for 
words. "I'm all she has. And in a strange way, she was all I'd had then, 
too. She was a very good reason to open my eyes again, to keep putting one 
foot in front of the other."

"I'm a little surprised the state gave you custody," he commented. God knows 
that hadn't been his experience with the system. Give a child to someone who 
would love him or her, and ultimately be the best place for them? Perish the 
thought. My sarcasm and disillusionment runneth over, he thought bitterly.

"Actually . . . Jack gave me custody. And as his wife, they didn't contest 
it. I think they were just glad to be rid of the whole situation." She took 
a calming, steadying breath. "Right now, Kelly's staying with Melissa. It's 
been a week and I already miss her like crazy, even though I have to agree 
with both our sisters' assessments - I needed the break."

"You know you don't have to feel guilty for that," he couldn't help adding. 
"Everyone needs some time to themselves, to remember how to breathe every 
now and then."

"I know." She didn't sound like she did, though. She did, however, sound 
like she desperately wanted to believe.  "So . . . I guess you can go now." 
A thin smile spread across her face. "Try not to leave a cartoon cutout by 
actually running =through= the door in your haste to escape."

"I have a new goal," he proclaimed, amazed at her capacity to underestimate 
him.

"What?" He'd never heard someone that wary.

"To seriously elevate your faith in me." Very slowly, so she could deflect 
him easily if she chose, he stretched his hand out and pressed his palm to 
her jaw. His thumb stroked along her cheek lightly and he offered her the 
gentlest smile he was capable of.

"Who am I to warrant God sending you into my life?"

He barely heard her. White noise was filtering through his head from the 
look in her eyes. His throat was tight and his heart was beating far too 
fast to be normal. She was crying without shedding a tear and it was amazing 
to watch. Moisture gathered all around her eyes, but not a single drop 
spilled over. His thumb traced a feather-light trail across her bottom lip 
as he leaned even closer to her.

When did they get so close? He barely remembered sitting next to her on the 
bed. But here they were, leaning toward each other at a rapidly increasing 
pace. He brushed his lips to hers and he felt her trying to hold herself 
back. He also felt the moment she gave in. With only a hint of trepidation, 
she leaned into him and the kiss. All the while, he continued to stroke her 
cheek gently with his thumb, her jaw cupped securely in his palm.

Their lips slid slowly and sweetly over each other, teasing, learning, 
loving. While it was certainly the most intimate kiss that he'd ever 
experienced, it retained a certain level of innocence. He couldn't even 
classify it as sexual, though he wanted her desperately. It was as familiar 
and comfortable, as it was new and exciting. Her palm brushed his cheek a 
few seconds before she gently pulled her mouth away from his. He chased her 
lips for a half second before realizing she wanted to speak.

A shy smile tugged at her lips as an almost teasing glint appeared behind 
her eyes. "You knew I was married that time."

Her voice was husky, an alto caress he had to ignore to focus on her words. 
When he did, a slow smile spread across his face. "I don't care," he told 
her, surprised to find it was true. Legally, she might be someone's wife, 
but she certainly wasn't emotionally. That bastard rotting in jail didn't 
deserve her. "But if you do, you should tell me now."

She seemed to consider him for a moment. With agonizing slowness, she leaned 
toward him until their foreheads rested against each other lightly. "Part of 
me cares," she confessed softly. "The guilty Catholic part, I think. But 
it's not enough to make me stop whatever this is. I can't . . . I can't 
promise you anything yet. I don't even know if I ever will . . . I don't 
even know what I'm saying, I'm sorry--"

He cut off her rambling apologies with a quick, hard kiss. He took a moment 
to remember what it was he wanted to say. "No apologies. I won't ask you for 
anything that you're unable to give. I give you my word."

"Sleep with me." Her voice was a plea, raw need coloring it. Her eyes 
widened, as though she just realized what she said. "I mean . . . I don't 
mean . . .I just want to =sleep=--"

He couldn't stop laughing as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Get under the 
covers, Scully," he whispered quietly. "I feel like I could sleep for fifty 
years."

"I think I'll join you, Mr. Van Winkle. But I'd like to change first. I 
don't relish the idea of sleeping in my good clothes."

A grimace passed over his face. "I don't relish the idea of sleeping in my 
jeans, but I don't exactly have a plethora of opportunities."

"You could borrow something of Charlie's," she offered.

Again, he grimaced. "Open relationship or not, there is nothing short of 
nuclear war that could get me to interrupt whatever's going on in that 
bedroom."

Scully chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. Head bowed, hair obscuring her 
face from him, she looked like a child. "If you give me your t-shirt," she 
mumbled, "I won't take offense if you shuck your jeans."

Anyone but Scully, and he would be suspicious. He'd wonder if she were 
playing games with him, trying to use sex as a weapon. But Scully was 
guileless. He could tell on an instinctual level. Not to mention the fact 
that his sister would never attempt to set him up with a manipulator. Some 
distant part of him wondered if he'd ever figure out how he seemed to know 
her so well, so soon.

Mulder peeled his shirt off over his head and handed it to Scully. He then 
turned his back to her while she changed. Taking the opportunity to lose his 
jeans, he almost groaned at the relief his spine felt when he finally 
slipped beneath cool sheets, clad only in a pair of gray cotton boxers. He 
turned toward her again, observing her with his head propped up on one arm. 
She was staring at him and the bed with more than a little apprehension. 
Briefly, he registered that her knees were cute.

He pulled the covers on her side of the bed back, silently encouraging her 
to lie down. When she made no move forward, he began to feel doubts assail 
him. "Scully, if you're not ready for this, I can go downstairs and sleep on 
Sam's couch."

"No," she answered quickly. Only the complete lack of fear in her voice 
convinced him she meant it. "It's just been . . . a very long time since 
I've slept next to a man." She took what he was now coming to think of as a 
trademark breath - quick, fortifying, and infused with strength and control.

The next thing he knew, she had shut the curtains tightly, flipped the 
bedside light out, bathing them in darkness, and slipped into bed beside 
him. They weren't touching, and their breathing was unnaturally loud in the 
small room.

"Good curtains," he commented nervously.

He felt her nod. "Very helpful when I've been up all night working on 
something and need to sleep in the morning."

"I bet," he replied lamely.

Silence descended upon the room again. He could barely even hear their 
breathing. My God, he realized, they were both relegating their breaths so 
when he went in, she went in. As though they were loathe to disturb the 
others presence with the sound of breathing. An offense surely punishable by 
death, he mused, not without a hint of amusement.

Something pulled at his mind, kept him from sleep. He wasn't sure what, 
though he certainly didn't think it was Scully's rest, or lack there of. It 
was . . . damn, it was a song he could barely hear coming from Charlie's 
love tape. He couldn't get the words clearly, but he =knew= that song . . .

"Just an old fashioned love song . . . coming down in three part harmony . . 
. just an old fashioned love song . . . one they wrote for you and me . . ." 
Scully's voice, supplying his mind with what it couldn't process. She had a 
soothing voice. Horribly off key, but comforting, to him, at least.

Quietly, he began singing with her. She faltered for a moment, as though she 
hadn't been aware she'd been singing out loud. But it was only a moment, and 
they both continued to sing softly, not even approaching the proper key, but 
delighting themselves, nonetheless.

He must have drifted off before the song was over, because he had the 
strangest dream where he was a bullfrog, and Scully was helping him drink 
wine. And they were stranded in the middle of nowhere, her voice comforting 
him then, though it was no more melodic than it was now.

That was the last time he stayed up for twenty-four hours straight.

~

Date: Tue, 01 Feb 2000 23:34:15 GMT
Subject: xfc: NEW: "Quis Si" (7/19) by Trixie
Source: xfc

From: "Trixie ." <scullymulder1121@hotmail.com>

~

Chapter 6 -Ruminations of a Life in Progress

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly embracing 
each other." -Luciano De Crescenzo

~

He was so beautiful when he slept.

The urge to touch him was nearly overwhelming. Only the knowledge that it 
would wake him, thereby interrupting her silent study of his features, 
prevented her fingers from fluttering over his forehead, or sifting through 
his hair. When she looked at him, she thought of something her mother would 
say.

"He's a good man, Dana," was what she'd always said when Ahab stayed away 
longer than he was supposed to. When her husband seemed to love his sea more 
than his family, and her youngest daughter wanted to know why Daddy didn't 
love them enough to be home, Maggie would always answer that he was a good 
man.

For years, Scully didn't know what that meant. Viewing it through a child's 
eyes, she of course knew her mother could tell her no lies. And her father 
was a hero, someone beyond reproach. To actually voice the concern she felt 
had taken a Herculean effort. Her mother's only answer had comforted her 
then. Her daddy was a good man. Of course he was, that explained everything.

It was only as she got older that she began to question the validity of that 
hypothesis. At her father's funeral, an old family friend approached her, 
offered her a kind smile and a few words: "He was a good man, Dana." Yes, of 
course he was. But what was it, exactly, that made that true? What separated 
her father from the absentee fathers she saw in this world every day?

His heart, for one, was pure. The love of his career nearly equaled the love 
he felt for his family. And though it seemed he chose the sea over them 
every time he left, she knew, deep down in her heart, that wasn't the case. 
Their understanding enabled him to have both his loves. His heart's true 
purpose pursued, he lived a sailor's life for months out of the year, and 
came home whenever he could to be an almost ideal husband and father.

They read "Moby Dick," she believed, in what was his effort to combine these 
two loves: His little girl, and his sea. She had been Starbuck to his Ahab, 
but in name only. Little Dana had never been welcome or allowed on his 
adventures. That had hurt, viewed through the eyes of a child. She hadn't 
understood things like Naval protocol. All she saw was her father saying one 
thing, then doing another.

But he had been a good man.

Since his passing, she hadn't met another like him. Her father's loss, 
coming so soon before Jack re-entered her life, served to push her closer to 
him. She desperately needed to re-capture that relationship and, in her 
grief over Ahab's death, she didn't accept that trying to find that sort of 
love in a husband or life partner wasn't remotely plausible. She would never 
be able to replace her father, she had realized less than a year into her 
marriage. Trying would only bring with it more pain.

And hindsight was twenty-twenty.

This was another good man, she thought again, finally giving in to the need 
to touch. The very tips of her fingers traced the furrows in Mulder's 
forehead. His eyes were moving rapidly behind his eyelids and she worried he 
was having a nightmare. Leaning her head down toward his, she pressed her 
lips against his scratchy cheek.

"It's okay." She breathed the words against his skin. "You're safe. 
Everything's okay."

Slowly, his breathing evened and she watched him slip into a peaceful sleep 
once again. This had happened earlier. Only before, he'd whimpered a word: 
"Rachel." Scully suspected that meant Rachel Hayes. She didn't know who that 
was, but she planned to find out. If he was going to drag all her secrets 
out, she would damn well be doing the same to him.

She still couldn't believe how much she'd told him earlier. Not everything, 
of course. She didn't =want= to tell him everything. Everything meant he had 
her trust, and she wasn't ready to give that yet. Not her complete trust, at 
any rate. But he did inspire trust, even from a woman who could never trust 
again. How she wished that didn't describe her, that she was more than 
something broken, never trusting anyone enough to let them heal her.

Already, his face was so dear to her. Just looking at him made her smile, 
she realized, her face unaccustomed to the feeling of smiling, just because 
she could. Earlier, they'd fallen asleep within seconds of each other. For 
the first eight-hour block in months, she'd slept without dreaming. What had 
finally woken her, was Mulder. His head had been resting a few inches above 
her breast and she'd been holding his body to hers in sleep.

Frozen in place, she hadn't moved until he had, a few minutes later. He 
rolled to his back and since then, she'd been lying like this, propped on 
her elbow, just staring at him. His understanding and easy acceptance of her 
stole her breath away. Most men, upon learning the woman they'd been 
harmlessly flirting with had not only a husband behind bars, but a small 
child to raise, that wasn't even hers, wouldn't have stayed around long 
enough to pronounce the "buh" sound in bye.

But not Mulder. No, Mulder didn't even hesitate. The thought of saying "bye" 
never even occurred to him, she didn't think. He was her friend now, no 
matter what else they might be or become to each other. And Fox Mulder was 
there for his friends. Even when he obviously wanted more than friendship, 
he was still willing to curl up in bed with her and do nothing more than 
sleep . . .

Tears pricking the backs of her eyes, she leaned forward and brushed her 
nose against his cheek. Her hand flattened over his bare chest, and she felt 
his life beat beneath her palm. Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt 
moisture gather on her lashes, even though the tears still wouldn't come. 
"You are such a good man," she whispered into his ear.

"You aren't so bad yourself."

His sleep-roughened voice, like liquid gravel, startled her. Her eyes opened 
quickly and she found a sleepy hazel pair staring back at her.
One of his arms was stretched out above their heads, and she felt his 
fingers brush over the very top of her hair.

"You weren't supposed to hear that." Was that her voice? Low and intimate, 
familiar, like they'd been waking up next to each other for years.

"Why not?" For some reason, they were both paying their respect to the 
silence. Their voices were hushed, barely loud enough to be heard.

Without giving her body permission to do so, she moved in closer to him. So 
we can hear each other better, she explained to herself rationally. It was a 
very practical, reasonable thing to do. So what if she slid her feet until 
they touched his under the covers? Hers were cold and his, by some magic, 
were blessedly warm. His feet met hers under the blanket, and she could have 
sworn he was cradling hers between both of his.

Were they playing footsie under the covers? It didn't feel like it. It felt 
more . . . the only word that came to mind was, once again, intimate. How 
was it everything they did together felt so comfortable and intimate? She 
wasn't supposed to feel like this, ever, ever again. But really, marriage or 
not, had she ever felt like this? She didn't think so. He was just a man, 
she tried to tell herself. Just a man . . .

Why were her thoughts so jumbled?

"Because when you hear me say things like that, it encourages you."

"And you don't want to encourage me?" A teasing smile curved his lips and 
his fingers sunk further into her hair. "What if I promise not to get my 
hopes up? Would you consider saying more things like that out loud?"

Lips quirking in reluctant amusement, Scully moved her hand an inch, so it 
now rested on his stomach, just above the covers. It was an innocent touch, 
she assured them both silently. "I don't think your ego could handle any 
additional . . . stroking."

Did I just say that?

She could tell Mulder was wondering the same thing. The slightly startled, 
but infinitely pleased look in his eyes gave him away. "I could say 
something right now," he began, then slowly let the words fade away. They 
both smiled at each other again.

"Go ahead," she dared. "Say it."

He shook his head. "No, it's bad. It's a bad line, it's . . . bad." His 
smile turned sheepish.

"If you won't tell me . . ." Courage, Dana, courage. "Show me." The words 
were breathed against his face.

Mulder had turned on his side, causing her hand to slide from his stomach, 
to his lower back, her arm resting over him. One of his hands was still 
nestled in her hair; the other rested over her hip, unnaturally hot, even 
through the blanket and her borrowed t-shirt. Closer still, her stomach 
brushed just below his mid-section, and she felt something hard prodding her 
. . .

An eyebrow crept up her forehead slowly, her expression purposely neutral. 
She really started to enjoy herself at his obvious embarrassment. Why was he 
embarrassed? They were sleeping in the same bed. From what Samantha had told 
her, he didn't get laid on a regular basis. It was only natural he would 
have a significant physical reaction to their proximity . . .

She thanked any and every God that existed for keeping her from vocalizing 
that last thought out loud. Neither of them needed her scientifically 
analyzing his current state of obvious arousal.

"Morning erection," he mumbled somewhere around the area of her temple.

That was =definitely= embarrassment she heard in his voice; embarrassment, 
and more than a little trepidation. He was concerned for her, she realized. 
His concern touched her beyond words. He didn't want to make her 
uncomfortable, didn't want her to feel obligated in any way. Amazing what 
she could read from him, with nothing more than the inflection he used in 
his voice.

"It's not morning," she reminded him quietly, indicating the clock behind 
them that clearly read 8:19 in the evening.

He turned back toward her from the clock and gave her another in a series of 
sheepish grins. "Come on, Scully, work with me here," he chided gently.

"All right," she agreed easily, snuggling up to him beneath the covers.

Her body pressed against his, she felt his erection almost surge toward her. 
She looked up at his face, only to watch his eyes close as he bit his bottom 
lip. So very beautiful, she thought again, pressing her fingers to his 
mouth, removing his lower lip from between his teeth. His eyes opened at her 
touch and she stared into what she was now officially giving herself 
permission to refer to as hazel orbs.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind," he gritted out, searching her eyes. 
Asking for permission?

"It's not? I'm sorry. Is this better?" As she spoke, her hand drifted down 
his stomach, beneath the covers, to cup his cock through the cotton of his 
boxers.

"Scully." He was warning her now, she thought, amused despite the 
seriousness of the situation. He was right to be apprehensive; right to be 
worried about her, in light of all she'd revealed to him before they slept.

But she didn't want to be warned. She didn't want to feel the way she had 
these last months; hopeless, depressed, unworthy of love or the happy life 
all children are led to believe awaits them at the end of adolescence. She 
didn't want to be the person she'd been since she learned the depth of 
Jack's depravity. She didn't want to think about Kelly, or the constant 
attention the sweet, troubled little girl demanded from her.

Mostly, she didn't want to think about how hard it would be to trust Mulder 
the way she was beginning to want to. Hard-learned defense mechanisms were 
firmly in place, despite the desire she had to remove them. He knew that. It 
was why the chivalrous side in him was coming out. What he didn't know was 
how badly she needed this. The words, she needed the words to tell him . . .

"I need to forget," she whispered, pressing her lips to his. She wasn't 
really kissing him; their lips just happened to be touching while she spoke. 
"Just for a little while, I don't want to remember who I am or why it's 
impossible for us to be together."

"I don't believe that it is impossible." His breath made her feel alive. The 
way his fingertips made soothing circles on her scalp, in time with the 
patterns his other hand was tracing on her lower back, were distracting her 
from what she needed to say.

"Then make me believe it, too," she implored. Her voice stopped just this 
side of begging. "It will be the hardest thing you've ever done, if you 
succeed, but I promise, I'll do my best to be worth the effort."

It was as close as she could come to optimism, at least for the time being. 
However, she had to admit, part of her was already beginning to believe. His 
eyes held a promise no words could come close to expressing. She wanted to 
trust that promise, wanted to hold it close and let it warm her soul when it 
was chilled to the bone.

Before she could decide what she was reading in his gaze, she found her 
mouth crushed against his. So this is what it feels like to be kissed by a 
man with passion, she thought for a moment, before all thought simply 
ceased. There was only feeling as her hands slid over his bare back, her 
arms enfolding him as tightly as they could. His hands were not idle, 
slipping beneath her t-shirt to trace her spine, moving over each individual 
vertebra, sliding over the sensitive skin that encased her ribs.

His tongue was in her mouth and she'd never tasted anything like him. When 
it retreated while he changed angles on the kiss, she beat him to the punch 
and shoved her own tongue between his lips. He groaned his approval into her 
mouth and pulled her closer, if it was even possible for their bodies to get 
closer together at this point.

Mulder's hand moved from her side, to her stomach, then slowly climbed until 
he cupped one of her breasts in his palm. She moaned low in her throat, 
shamelessly arching further into his touch. He nibbled on her lower lip as 
he brushed his thumb over her rapidly hardening nipple. She felt heavy and 
hot, the blanket that still covered them, the t-shirt she still wore 
constrictive, preventing the kind of total obliteration of consciousness she 
craved.

Before she could move to rectify matters, however, someone began pounding on 
the door and calling her name. Whoever they were, she was afraid they were 
going to have to die a slow, horrible death.

She heard Mulder groan next to her mouth, but this time it was not a sound 
of pleasure or desire. It was a sound of defeat and frustration.

"Come on, Dana, you lazy bones, time to get--" Samantha stopped speaking 
mid-way and Scully forced an eye open just in time to watch her friend's 
entire body freeze. "Whoops. Sorry. I thought Fox went home hours ago." An 
amused smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she placed both hands on 
her hips. "Although I'm very pleased he didn't. I think Chuckie owes me 
another twenty bucks."

"Would you scram?" Mulder sounded almost as annoyed as she felt.

"Sure, sure," Samantha agreed easily, already backing out of the room. 
"Listen, sorry about this - please, don't let me spoil the mood. I'll come 
back in an hour - would two be better? - with some of the lasagna Chuckie's 
teaching me to make. You two have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. 
Which ain't much." Her chatter finally ceased as the door shut firmly behind 
her.

The room was dark and silent once more. Then: "Maybe we should've tied a 
sock to the doorknob."

For some reason, that comment struck Scully as hysterically funny. She began 
to giggle, and once she started, she couldn't quite stop. Mulder's body 
began to shake next to hers, and they were holding onto each other, laughing 
so hard tears began to pour down both their cheeks.

"Did anyone ever tell you that your sister is one hell of a mood killer?" 
Scully managed to get the sentence out in-between gasping for breath.

"If I remember correctly, I used to tell her that all the time back when I 
was in high school." He chuckled once more, trying to regain control over 
his own breathing.

"Listen," she began hesitantly, only to have him interrupt.

"Scully, you don't have to say anything. I understand, believe me. It was 
the heat of the moment. I don't expect anything from you."

He didn't understand at all. "Mulder--"

He placed to fingers over her lips gently. "Scully, it's all right. We'll 
take this slowly. I'd . . . I'd like to take it slowly. Call me selfish, but 
I'd like you to trust me a little more than you do before we take the next 
step."

How could she say no to that? She couldn't, that's how. Damn him for being 
so sweet, and kind, and understanding, and almost irresistibly sexy . . .

That was okay. He could have it his way. She'd let him feel chivalrous, for 
now.

And the first chance she got, she would jump him.

~

Date: Thu, 03 Feb 2000 22:25:47 GMT
Subject: xfc: NEW: "Quis Si" (8a/19)
Source: xfc

From: "Trixie ." <scullymulder1121@hotmail.com>

~

Chapter 7- Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, Birthday Girl

"I have been on the verge of being an angel all my life, but it's never 
happened yet." - Mark Twain

~

As long as he lived, he would never understand how he let her talk him into 
these sorts of things.

When they were kids, he and Samantha used to participate in all day pick-up 
games out on the Vineyard. Baseball had been a pure, simple childhood joy. 
Simple had never quite cut it for his baby sister, however, and she'd 
figured out a way to make the game just a little bit more interesting. 
Implementing what was possibly the most dangerous mandate in history, she 
convinced seventeen kids to apply the principals behind football to 
baseball.

In other words, they were divided into teams, then given permission to leap 
on each other and wrestle the ball away from whomever was unlucky enough to 
catch it. Samantha, of course, did not participate in the game. She had 
always felt she functioned best in a purely advisory capacity. And so, she 
took on the thankless task of umpire, even though not even the players were 
ever really sure what the object of the game was, nor how you broke a rule.

Their parents were naturally upset when they came home, he covered in 
bruises with a split lip, and she filthy with one heck of a shiner Timmy 
Callahan had given her when she determined the flying kamikaze tackle he let 
loose on Billy Taylor was a foul. Somehow, despite her willingness to accept 
her share of the blame, Mulder had been held responsible for not watching 
his baby sister that day.

Samantha had been seven, he eleven. The following year, Samantha decided it 
would tickle her fancy to run away. She was gone for nearly an entire day, 
and their parents had been frantic. Even he, once the novelty of not having 
her tagging along behind him wore off, started to worry. It wasn't that he 
honestly thought anything might happen to her. She'd told him she was going 
to run away the day before, just to see how long she could hide out in her 
favorite place, underneath the bridge that ran over a now dry creek.

Once it became painfully obvious Samantha wasn't coming home that night, 
Mulder confessed to his mother where he suspected his baby sister might be. 
Immediately, mother, father and son drove as fast as they could to locate 
the missing part of the equation, sister. And there sister slept, peaceful 
as a baby, curled up in the afghan their grandmother had given her on her 
third birthday.

Mulder almost hadn't been surprised when this, too, turned out to be his 
fault.

To think, he never set out to be such a problem child.

Until a few years ago, he'd truly thought that he'd drawn the short end of 
the stick. Maybe parents really =did= have favorites, he'd thought glumly. 
Shortly after his mother died, a conversation he had with his father finally 
shed some light on that subject.

"We always knew you'd protect her, son." His father's gruff, but ultimately 
loving voice had always been a source of comfort. Teena Mulder played the 
traditional role of mother, housewife and hostess. But there had been 
nothing traditional in the way Bill Mulder raised his children, his son in 
particular.

He tested them. Not in obvious ways, but always, lying under the surface of 
almost everything he did, was a lesson. As a child, he hadn't understood 
what his father was trying to show him. But as an adult, after having 
several adult conversations with the old man, Mulder finally began to gain 
insight into him. He wanted both his children to be strong, for certain. But 
Bill had also wanted them to care for one another.

To love one another was a given. To truly care though, to support, to be a 
friend to the other, that was the difficult part. So often, siblings grew 
apart as they grew older, unable to get past such trivialities as "he broke 
my toy," and "she's stupid." Mulder and his sister, however, were given 
character at an early age. And, by being held accountable for each other's 
actions, they learned to stick together.

"Your mother and I wanted to be sure you'd always have each other."

Never once, on all the separate, numerous occasions Mulder had been blamed 
for something his sister had done, did Samantha stand idly by and watch him 
take her punishment. Even when she was barely five years old, she still 
fessed up and tried to convince their parents of her culpability.

Parents, Mulder mused, always seemed to have a funny way of showing their 
love. Each family was different, with different codes, conducts and ways of 
doing things. And, if you were lucky, your family ended up being perfect for 
no one else but you.

Though they'd had their moments, Mulder felt there was no other family he 
would have rather been born into.

And, in a world where everything seemed to change on a regular basis, it was 
good to know some things stayed achingly the same.

"I am going to kill you for this."

"Dana, don't blame him, it was all my idea. He just helped because I asked 
him to and he cares about you."

"I don't care. You =knew= I would hate this."

Mulder winced at Scully's tone, not to mention the coloring in her cheeks. 
Mad enough to spit nails, his Aunt Louise had been fond of saying.

"Scully," he began hesitantly.

"Don't," she snapped, turning those icy, rage-filled eyes in his direction 
once more. He suppressed the urge to shiver in a combination of fear and 
arousal he was not prepared to admit to.

"Cake's burning," Charlie called helpfully from the kitchen.

"So take it out of the oven!" Samantha yelled back.

"You told me not to touch it," he taunted.

Mulder watched his sister ball her hands into tight little fists, take deep 
breaths, and mentally count to ten. Twenty. Thirty. "Just take the fucking 
thing out of the oven!" That counting thing never had worked for her.

"Yes, Dear."

"You baked me a cake?" Mulder's attention snapped back to Scully. My God, he 
thought, was that the same woman who'd been ready to castrate me a few short 
moments ago? Was her voice really all lost and teary, like a little girl?

Sam shrugged, like it was no big deal. He contained a snort. His little 
sister was not, in any way, shape or form, a good cook. From the very 
beginning, when she managed to burn those brownie things in her Easy Bake 
Oven, it had been abundantly clear to all involved that cooking was not her 
forte. Still, that did not stop her from rousing him from bed with the 
trilling of his cell phone to inform him that today was Dana's birthday and 
he had better get his butt over to her place to help her plan a surprise.

From the moment he arrived, he had been reluctant. A surprise party did 
=not= seem like Scully's style. The woman he had shared a bed, and the best 
night's - day's - sleep he'd had in years with yesterday detested the 
unexpected. Samantha, though, could be utterly convincing when she put her 
mind to it. By the time he showed up at her house, she was already knee deep 
in cookbooks and batter.

Her paramour stood by with an amused smirk on his face, biding time, 
apparently, until Scully came home and he got to distract her by taking her 
out to lunch. The cake was Samantha's. That was made clear from the start. 
No one got to lick the spoon, no one got to taste the batter, no one was 
even allowed to sniff around it too much. Dedicated as she was, Samantha did 
not have a problem assigning everything else about the meal to Mulder.

And, with the exception of a well-placed barb directed at Charlie about 
whether or not he could peel potatoes, he thought he'd handled himself 
rather well. He hadn't complained about making broiled salmon with a lemon 
butter cream sauce and steamed asparagus from scratch. Nope, he just rolled 
up his sleeves and got to work. After all, Samantha had known Scully longer, 
and if his little sister thought the woman he was pretty sure he was in love 
with would enjoy a surprise party, then he would help give her a surprise 
party.

In retrospect, he really should have known better.

"I worked really hard on that cake." Samantha sniffed pitifully for effect, 
and neither he, nor Scully, could keep from snickering at the sound. That 
only increased her pout and he watched the anger drain slightly from 
Scully's body.

"I know, Sam, I know." Her eyes closed, and he watched as she took a few 
deep breaths, and it appeared the mentally counting thing worked for her, 
because ten beats later, her lids raised and a tentative smile hovered 
around the edges. "I appreciate the thought."

Samantha beamed. "I knew you would."

"Not so fast," Scully warned. "I said I appreciate the thought. That doesn't 
mean I'm enjoying the . . ." Her eyes moved around the room, taking in the 
streamers, banners and other various, colorful decorations. "Whatever the 
hell this is," she muttered.

"I will never, as long as I live, understand this =thing= you've got about 
your birthday," Samantha proclaimed.

Me either, Mulder mused, debating whether he'd attempt to bring it up with 
Scully. True, they were decidedly closer now than they had been a few days 
before. Way back then, when they first met. He rolled his eyes at himself. 
Half the time, he walked around in a love-fogged daze, wanting nothing more 
than to be with her. The rest of the time, he mentally smacked himself 
upside the head, trying to ram home the fact that he'd only met her =four 
short days= ago.

Fortunately, or, depending on your perspective, unfortunately, the 
love-crazed part of him didn't pay much mind to the logical side, and the 
love-crazed was far stronger.

"Is my life still in danger, or can I go back into the kitchen and keep my 
salmon from burning?"

Ooo, she was so =sexy= when her eyebrow did that thing. "You cooked?"

"You don't have to sound so incredulous." He quirked a smile at her. "Legend 
has it that I can actually put flame to food without starting an 
international incident."

Damn, now she was starting to look uncomfortable. "I didn't mean to imply 
anything . . ." She trailed off, and he started to get concerned. Was she 
about to cry?

"Sam, your cake needs to cool before you can frost it. Take Charlie to the 
store and pick me up some Caesar salad dressing, would you?"

"I have Caesar salad dressing," she answered, looking at him strangely.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I want the =special= Caesar salad dressing. 
The kind you have to go to the store for."

"Ohhhhh." No one could draw a word out like Samantha. "Riiiiiight. I'll just 
go get Chuckie."

As she exited the room, Mulder glanced over at Scully, a sheepish expression 
on his face. "She's very subtle, isn't she?"

"Just like her brother," she agreed, her arms folded over one another 
protectively.

Charlie and Samantha departed in record time, and Scully followed Mulder 
into the kitchen while he checked on the salmon. Perfect. He added a few 
squirts of lemon, covered it up, and glanced toward where Scully was 
stirring the sauce. He poked his head over her shoulder and rested his chin 
against the crook of her neck. Her body tensed and he debated moving away. 
Ultimately, he decided he was going to stay close until she asked him not 
to.

"You stir like a pro," he whispered into her ear.

"I'm sorry."

Gently, he placed one of his hands on her upper arm and rubbed slowly, up 
and down. "What are you sorry for?"

"For this irrational thing I have with my birthday." Tired and small. That 
was the only way he could describe her voice. It scared him. There was 
nothing small about Scully. Tired, yes, but never small. She had strength; 
reserves hidden inside reserves, given the numerous things she'd told him 
about, and the things he knew she still couldn't talk about.

"Nobody likes getting older," he offered. He was at a loss as to how to play 
this. Like a psychologist, or a lover? Prospective lover. Whatever.

"It's not that. It's not . . . that." Banging the spoon against the side of 
the pan, she let it fall to the counter and turned around so she was facing 
him. "Jack and I have the same birthday."

Jack. The scum sucking, incarcerated, almost-but-not-quite-ex-husband. He'd 
never hated someone he hadn't even met before. It was a surreal feeling. The 
man didn't even have a face he could concentrate on. He was just Jack, the 
man who'd hurt the woman he was beginning to think of as his, and he hated 
him. He hated him nearly as much as the monster that drove him out of the 
Bureau.

"I can't imagine how difficult that must be, that reminder on what should be 
a private, personal celebration each year." He cupped her cheek gently, 
tilted her face upward so that he was looking into her eyes. Studying her 
face for a moment, he began to stroke his fingers soothingly over her cheek, 
the side of her neck. "There's something else."

Her tongue darted out to lick the corner of her mouth. She tried to look 
anywhere but at him, but given their close proximity, there was nowhere to 
hide. "The first year we were married, I planned this big surprise party for 
Jack. I invited mutual friends, old Bureau acquaintances, his family, my 
family . . ." She sucked in a deep breath.

"The entire night, he never once mentioned my birthday. No one did. It was 
like . . . I didn't even exist. I didn't even mind that, really, it was 
later. We were lying in bed that night, and I gave him a watch to replace 
another I'd given him that broke on duty. It had a special inscription on 
the back, and he just said . . . 'thanks, babe,' and went to sleep."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, bringing the hand at his side to gently rub the 
tension from the back of her neck. He had no idea what else to say, so he 
opted to listen. Sure enough, she had more to say.

"I still don't understand it. How do you forget a spouse's birthday when 
it's the same as your own? How do you do that?" Shaking her head, she looked 
down at the floor. "It's such a minor thing, in the grand scheme, but . . . 
it hurt. It hurt then, and it hurts now." A humorless laugh passed her lips. 
"He never did remember my birthday. He barely remembered his own."

"It's not a minor thing," he whispered softly. He waited until she looked up 
at him again before smiling gently. "It's your birthday. You're supposed to 
commemorate the day you were brought into this world. Personally, February 
twenty-third is my new favorite day."

"You amaze me," was what he thought he heard her mumble. Before he could be 
sure, however, he felt her nose brush against the hollow of his throat.

When had she gotten so close? He was assaulted by memories of the day 
before. Shortly after his sister had inadvertently interrupted their 
interlude, they got out of bed. He had put on his jeans, but as she was 
wearing the only shirt he had, they looked at one another in silence for 
several minutes before an embarrassed look crossed her face. He had smiled, 
to let her know there was nothing to be embarrassed about, then turned his 
back to give her privacy.

Seconds later, he'd felt his t-shirt hit the back of his head. He'd slipped 
it on and turned back to her, only to find her bare back the only sight he 
could focus on. He couldn't look away, as much as he tried. She was wearing 
nothing but a pair of white cotton panties. Hanes Her Way, if he wasn't 
mistaken. Swallowing audibly, he'd mumbled something about having to get 
home and work on the ending to his latest novel. A deadline was pending, 
even though he hadn't really remembered that at the time.

The necessity to leave her bedroom before he threw her down on the ground 
and ravished her had been the only clear thought in his head. Now, though, 
he wasn't quite as diligent. Both their siblings would be back soon. They 
were in a kitchen, in broad daylight, fully clothed. What could happen?

"You have beautiful eyes."

"You read my mind," he muttered, uncomfortable with the way her body was 
molding itself to his. Distraction, that's what he needed. Her eyes provided 
it. While he was trying to pinpoint what the exact shade of blue her eyes 
were, she started playing with his hair.

There was no other way he could describe it. Twirling, sifting, tugging, her 
fingers were busy and her teeth were nibbling at his neck. Fuck. No, not 
fuck, that was the point, there was to be no fuck whatsoever. Damn. This was 
not helping him keep the promise he'd made to himself.

"You taste good, too," she whispered, swiping her tongue from the hollow of 
his throat, to the tip of his chin. "I couldn't believe how good you tasted 
yesterday. I was thinking about it all night."

"Scully," he squawked, cursing the traitorous hands that were caressing up 
and down her sides. "Scully . . . the . . . the salmon's burning." Good. 
Grasp at straws and hold on for dear life.

"I don't care about the salmon," she whispered around a mouthful of his ear.

"But Scully . . ." The thought left his head as she sucked his earlobe into 
her mouth. "The salmon is my birthday gift to you." That was loud. That was 
louder than it should have been.

She did not seem to notice. Instead of commenting, she licked his lower lip. 
He tried hard, but was unable to contain a moan. Her hand trailed down his 
chest and cupped the rapidly hardening bulge beneath his pants. "Then you'll 
just have to figure out something else to give me."

Oh sweet Jesus. Again, he tried to think, but all the blood that should have 
been in his head was rushing to his lower body. Focus, focus, focus; this is 
about her. This is about what she needs. Despite what she says, she isn't 
ready for this, he told himself for the thousandth time. She doesn't really 
want me right now; she doesn't know what she wants.

"I do want you," she whispered, those beautiful, un-nameable blue eyes 
staring up into his. Had she read his mind? Or simply felt the hesitation in 
his body? "I want you so much, Mulder. I've never wanted anyone or anything 
this badly. It scares the hell out of me, but I won't let fear stop me 
anymore. I can't. I won't survive the rest of my life if I do."

And the straws in his grip fluttered to the floor like dust.

~

Date: Thu, 03 Feb 2000 22:26:57 GMT
Subject: xfc: NEW: "Quis Si" (8b/19)
Source: xfc

From: "Trixie ." <scullymulder1121@hotmail.com>

~

"I keep on searching for the old me. I keep on thinking I can change. I keep 
on hoping for a new day. Will I ever feel the same? Now I wonder." - Chris 
Isaak, "I Wonder"

~

Good God, he had such a beautiful mouth.

His lower lip was huge, pulled into a perpetual pout, with the exception of 
when he was smiling. And that smile was her second most favorite position 
his lips could form. Her favorite, she was learning, was when his control 
snapped and he crushed his mouth to hers.

The honest words she'd given him had barely been out of her mouth when his 
eyes darkened, the hand on her side moved to the back of her neck, and she 
found herself half bent backwards against the counter with the force of his 
kiss. Reluctantly, she removed her hand from the front of his pants, placed 
both hands against the back of his head and pulled him as close as she 
could.

Doubt was definitely still prevalent in her mind. It didn't matter that he 
was a great kisser. It didn't matter that when he held her close, she almost 
felt safe. And it certainly didn't matter that he made her laugh again, 
after she thought she'd forgotten how. She refused to pin all her hopes and 
dreams on this single relationship. She couldn't afford to, and neither 
could Kelly.

Yes, she wanted this. But that's all she could let it be. Sex. Maybe it 
could even be a little bit about love. But she would =not= let herself trust 
him.

Which was, of course, easier said than done. Mulder inspired trust. And he 
was so sweet, and sexy, and =nice=, damn him. He was funny, in a tragic, 
poignant sort of way. Was that what was attracting her? The pain she sensed 
beneath his glib, charming exterior?

It was twisted, she decided as his hands fastened around her ass and lifted 
her onto the counter. Incapable of healing herself or sustaining an 
important, meaningful romantic relationship again, she nonetheless wanted to 
ease his pain. She wanted to give him what she knew she was incapable of 
giving anyone.

Rather than tell him this, she was instead putting the emotional to the side 
and giving him what she could. Physically, she could give him anything he 
wanted. And he did want her. She could feel it in the way his hands moved 
over her body, the way his mouth managed to be rough and gentle at the same 
time. It felt so good to be wanted this way. He was almost single minded 
when he let go of himself.

He was between her legs, their crotches thrusting against each other when 
Scully thanked God they hadn't gotten to the clothing removal stage yet. 
Because beyond the kitchen door, she heard her sister's voice calling her 
name.

"Damn it, stop, stop," she whispered, trying to extricate herself from 
Mulder's embrace. It wasn't easy, as neither of them really wanted her to 
leave it. But this wasn't like Samantha walking in on them. If Melissa was 
here, it meant that Kelly was with her, and there was no way Scully was 
mentally prepared to explain to Kelly why the man was mauling Dana, nor why 
she liked it.

"That voice calling your name wasn't in my head, was it?" he muttered, 
pulling away with much reluctance.

Drawn into his eyes, a tiny moan left her mouth. There was so much need 
there. Hunger, mixed with concern and . . . no. She would not acknowledge 
the other emotion, so clear and open to her. It would be a mistake of epic 
proportions to see what was so obviously there. It would mean discarding the 
plan she had and destroying any chance they had for some fun.

That's all it could be. Fun. They would have a good time, and one day, when 
he was settled down with a wife and children of his own, he would 
occasionally remember the redhead he'd shared a few great days with. The 
woman who, if she was lucky, would get to keep a little piece of him without 
sacrificing her own sanity.

Scully herself hadn't even realized how broken she was until she started 
wanting what she couldn't have. What Jack did had damaged her, for sure. But 
she truly hadn't realized how much until she couldn't bring herself to tell 
Mulder the whole story. She had a world of responsibility ahead of her.  A 
little girl who needed her, and absolutely no time to get a life of her own. 
It was all about Kelly.

One week is what she had left. One week Melissa had insisted she take. 
That's what she'd have with Mulder. One perfect little week. And then she 
would go back to her real life. The life that didn't involve long, sweet 
kisses, conversations about nothing and everything, and laughing because you 
couldn't see why not to.

A life with no warm, sexy, perfect hazel eyes to feel safe with.

"Salmon's burning," she whispered with some effort, straightening her 
clothes and hair as she pulled away from him all the way.

"Yeah," he muttered, doing the same. Before he moved away, however, he sent 
her a look that curled her toes. Hot damn.

Self-consciously, she continually smoothed bits of hair behind her ears as 
she walked through the kitchen door, and into the living room. Standing in 
the center of the gaily decorated living room, she found her sister and the 
little girl she had no idea how to relate to.

"Hi." First, she spoke to Kelly. The little girl acknowledged her presence, 
but did little more than that. With a sigh, Scully turned toward Melissa. 
"Hey, big sister."

"How are you, Dana?" Melissa embraced Scully and for a few seconds, she 
remembered what it was like years ago, the year before Melissa went away to 
college. That was the closest they'd ever been and a hug from her big sister 
worked wonders on her disposition.

"I'm fine."

Pulling away, Scully crouched down and hugged Kelly, mindful of how tense 
the small child was in her arms. It was important that Kelly felt loved, 
whether she was willing to accept that love yet, or not. The point was, 
eventually she =would= be ready, and when she was, Scully intended to be 
there.

"Have you been having fun with Melissa?" Dutifully ignoring how lame she 
sounded, Scully brushed bits of hair out of Kelly's face. Her touch was 
nervous, and she knew it was half the reason Kelly had trouble relating to 
her. Scully's fear was palpable, and anyone with a pulse could feel it.

"We went horseback riding." Nobody's voice should be that small.

"You took her horseback riding?" Though she was still on Kelly's level, the 
question had been focused on Melissa. She was only six!

Melissa, for her part, looked amused. "You were six the first time dad took 
us," she pointed out.

Eyes narrowing, Scully turned back to Kelly and forced a smile. It wasn't 
her fault Melissa's uncanny ability to read her little sister's mind drove 
her up the wall. "It's such a wonderful surprise to see you," she told 
Kelly, internally cracking up. It had been quite a day for surprises.

"Missy said it was your birthday and I wanted to say happy birthday." Her 
words ran together, betraying her nervousness. Scully tried to soothe it 
away with her touch, a gentle hand on her shoulder, but feared her own 
nerves got in the way. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you. It's certainly happier with you here."

The front door opened and closed loudly.

"Okay, Foxy Loxy, we got some "special" Caesar salad dressing and - hello."

Smiling tightly, Scully stood and winced as her knees popped a little. That 
would teach her to give up jogging. "Samantha, I'd like you to meet someone 
very special." Standing behind Kelly, she placed both hands on the little 
girl's shoulders. "This is Kelly. Kelly, this is my good friend, Samantha, 
and you remember my brother, Charlie."

"Hi," she said quietly.

"Hey, Kiddo," Samantha greeted warmly, crouching down to Kelly's level. "Did 
you come to surprise Dana on her birthday too?"

"Yes. Did you surprise her?"

"This whole party is a surprise for Dana, cause we think she's so special." 
Samantha's eyes caught on something behind Scully.

She turned to see for herself, and found Mulder peeking out of the kitchen. 
How long had he been watching?

"Fox, come here and meet Kelly and Melissa," Samantha called out.

Scully felt guilty for not having introduced Samantha and Melissa 
immediately, then remembered the two women had actually met weeks ago. 
Chalking it up alongside the myriad of other things she'd forgotten over the 
past few months, Scully kept a hand on Kelly's shoulder as they turned as 
one to face Mulder.

Like his sister, Mulder knelt on one knee until he looked Kelly in the eye. 
"Hi. My name is Fox."

"Hi Fox, my name is Kelly." She held out her hand and Mulder took it in his 
much larger one. Solemnly, they shook. As soon as politeness dictated, 
however, Kelly all but snatched her hand back and inched closer to Scully.

It had been the same the first time she met Charlie, Scully remembered. 
Kelly was uncomfortable around men, mostly, she thought, because the only 
person she'd had any substantial amounts of contact with for the first six 
years of her life had been her mother. Jack hadn't seen his daughter much, 
despite his professions of family to his wife when he'd been caught.

Pushing bitter thoughts away, Scully again sifted her fingers through 
Kelly's hair. Mulder stood and turned his attention to Melissa.

"Fox Mulder," he offered, holding out his hand.

"Melissa Scully," she replied, shaking his hand firmly.

A heavy silence took over the room. Mulder stuffed his hands into his 
pockets; Samantha folded hers behind her back. Scully continued to fiddle 
with Kelly's hair until it apparently annoyed the little girl enough to swat 
at her nervous hands. Melissa looked thoroughly amused at everyone else's 
discomfort. Charlie broke the silence when he cleared his throat.

Melissa finally gave in to the urge to laugh. "Well, I haven't had this much 
fun since I broke up with my almost fianc."

"Almost fianc?" Scully couldn't believe Mulder had the balls to ask.

Melissa, apparently, liked that about him. Respect shone in her eyes before 
she answered him. "He asked. I declined. We were forced to spend the next 
hour and a half at a dinner honoring his father."

"Sounds awkward," he said glibly, causing snickers to leap from both 
Samantha and Charlie's mouths.

"I'm starved," Scully announced, willing to do anything at this point, if it 
would only get them all out of this room.

"Well, dinner's ready." Mulder chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "I 
don't suppose you like salmon, do you?" He was asking Kelly. That he'd even 
think of it touched Scully's heart.

Kelly wrinkled her nose in response, and his next words didn't surprise her 
in the least. "I suppose I'll have to make you a burger then." He winked at 
Kelly conspiratorially. "Although it would hurt my feelings if you don't at 
least =try= my salmon."

"She likes to try new things," Scully assured him. "Don't you?"

Kelly nodded, and it only hurt a tiny bit, Scully tried to tell herself with 
next to no success, when the little girl latched onto Melissa's hand as they 
all headed for the dining room.

~

"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." -Anais Nin

~

"I'm trying too hard, aren't I?"

Melissa watched as her sister determinedly refused to meet her eyes. How to 
answer that, she wondered internally. "I think you love her very much," she 
began carefully.

"Too much?"

"There's no such thing as loving too much."

"Tell that to Jack," Dana muttered bitterly.

"That wasn't love," Melissa reminded her sister unnecessarily.

Damn, she was uncomfortable with these feelings. Hate was not a productive 
emotion. It led to all the evils in the world. Yet she hated Jack Willis; 
hated everything about him, saw in him no redeeming characteristics. He had 
terrorized her sister, trapped her in a marriage Melissa still shuddered to 
think about, and, in the end, completely destroyed the confidence Dana had 
in herself.

Hate didn't quite describe how she felt about Jack Willis.

As much as she loved Kelly, as much as she didn't blame that beautiful 
little girl for the sins of her parents, she wished Dana had more time to 
heal before the responsibility of becoming a mother had hit her. But Kelly 
didn't have time. Kelly needed someone then. And, rather than take any time 
for herself, Dana threw herself full force into being what Kelly needed.

And a few weeks ago, the whole house of cards started to fall down on her.

That was when Melissa insisted she take a break. A week or two, maybe three, 
to think things through; to find something she needed to find inside her own 
soul. Dana had lost her spiritual self over the years. It was something that 
had worried Melissa greatly, but she knew how powerless she was to change 
it. Only Dana could make that choice.

Luckily, Jack hadn't remained hidden forever. It might have taken years too 
long, but eventually he had revealed himself for the monster Melissa had 
long suspected he was. And when the time came, Dana made the right decision.

If only she hadn't been forced to, Melissa thought for the hundredth time. 
If only, if only, if only . . .

"I feel as though I'm failing her," Dana confessed softly.

"Oh, Dana, you must never think that." Melissa placed a hand over her 
sister's where it rested on the table between them. "You're just very new to 
motherhood. And you didn't have the luxury of getting to know a baby before 
having to nurture her in different ways. A fully-grown child was thrust upon 
you. Under the circumstances, you've done remarkably well."

"Under the circumstances isn't good enough for Kelly," Dana snapped. "She 
deserves to have someone who can help her. All I seem to do is hold her 
back. My grief, my pain is preventing her from getting past her own. She 
watched her father murder her mother." The horror in her voice chilled 
Melissa, almost as much as the act itself had. "How is anyone supposed to be 
okay after that?"

"Dana, when you were with the Bureau, you saw things like that," Melissa 
began hesitantly.

"It was different," Dana insisted. "As horrible as it may sound to say, I 
didn't know those people. Yes, it was still horrific, but ultimately they 
were strangers. I didn't have to hear them scream when they woke up in the 
middle of the night, and I didn't hear the people who hurt them laughing at 
me in my dreams."

"You're still having the nightmares." It wasn't a question. They both knew 
the answer, and they both knew Dana wasn't about to give it.

"I'm scared for her. I'm scared I'll never learn how to be her mother, I'm 
scared she'll never be able to have a normal life, and . . ." Dana fought 
back both the tears, and the crumpling of her face. Melissa wished, not for 
the first time, that her sister would allow herself to cry more. "Hell, I'm 
even scared she'll be happier with you."

She was ashamed of that; ashamed to admit to a perfectly human emotion. At 
least they were finally getting down to the crux of the matter. When Dana 
had asked for this impromptu meeting after dinner, before cake, Melissa 
suspected there was a bit more than catching up on Kelly to discuss.

"I wish you'd give yourself more credit."

Dana laughed bitterly. "More credit? Why? I've already screwed up my own 
life, and I'm well on the way to screwing up Kelly's. She's no closer to 
coming out of her shell now, than she was ten months ago. Obviously, I 
deserve a fucking award."

"You know that's not true," Melissa seethed, refusing to give Dana the 
satisfaction of reacting to her foul language. It had always bothered her 
when their brothers had used bad language, but Dana had always sworn like a 
sailor. "Kelly was in a near catatonic state when you first found her."

"And she's Chatty Cathy now," Dana cut in with a weary sigh. Beneath the 
sarcasm, Melissa could hear the genuine concern.

"You're doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances," Melissa 
repeated again, running out of words for once. "And that will be good enough 
for Kelly."

"I hope you're right," Dana said quietly. Melissa got the impression she 
didn't believe it, though.

~


From: "Trixie ." <scullymulder1121@hotmail.com>
Date: Fri, 04 Feb 2000 18:47:57 GMT
Subject: xfc: NEW: "Quis Si" (9/19)
Source: xfc

From: "Trixie ." <scullymulder1121@hotmail.com>

Note: Posted early for Shannon, so she'll stop poking me with her stick.

~

Chapter 8- Lessons in the Fine Art of Breathing

"Joy is love exalted, peace is love in repose; long-suffering is love 
enduring; gentleness is love in society; goodness is love in action; faith 
is love on the battlefield; meekness is love in school; and temperance is 
love in training." -Dwight L. Moody

~

Maybe his brain was short-circuiting.

Yes, that was as good an excuse as any for his behavior over the last few 
days.

With a sigh, Mulder trudged up the stairs to his new apartment. He had 
decided sometime last night to keep it and settle down here. The fact that 
it only partly had to do with his sister's location didn't stop him from 
seeing all the many pros involved. Here, he would be close to his family. 
Samantha was all the family he really needed, and together, perhaps they 
could convince their father to move west.

All the family he needed. Even if that was true once, it wasn't any longer. 
Part of him had always known he'd fall in love one day. He was just waiting 
for the right woman. And, he also knew that when he finally did fall, he 
would fall hard and it would be forever.

What he had =not= known, was that the woman he fell in love with would be a 
giant, open nerve with so many neurosis she must have named them 
individually. He also hadn't planned on this woman being the custodian of a 
beautiful, but incredibly frightened six-year-old little girl he'd also 
fallen in love with over the course of the previous night.

Kelly displayed classic signs of trauma. It was painfully obvious she'd 
witnessed something her psyche couldn't deal with, so, with the wisdom of a 
child, she hadn't. Locked away, the secret she carried couldn't harm her, 
but she also couldn't deal with it and move on. Obviously, not wanting to 
inflict further stress on the child, Scully had opted not to have Kelly see 
a therapist for longer than the state required.

While he understood the protective instinct, as a professional, he couldn't 
help but wonder if it had done Kelly more harm than good.

After Scully disappeared into the other room with her sister last night, 
Mulder, Samantha and Charlie sat down with Kelly and played a good 
old-fashioned game of Candy Land. Samantha refused to answer him when he 
asked why she had a copy of the game handy. By the time round two began, the 
sisters Scully had rejoined the festivities, and they broke for cake and ice 
cream.

Standoffish was the mildest term he could use to describe Kelly. She seemed 
especially wary around men, evidenced by her reaction to him, and to 
Charlie. Mulder made mental note to ask Scully what Kelly's relationship 
with her father had been like before the man was sent to prison.

That is, he reasoned, if she even wanted to see him again after the way he'd 
mauled her yesterday. Ruefully, he conceded she was provoking him, but 
still, he'd completely lost it. He'd been two minutes away from ravishing 
her on top of his sister's kitchen counter. Fox Mulder did not do things 
like that. Of course, he'd never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Dana 
Scully. Maybe this was just how he reacted when he really wanted a woman.

The psychology of it escaped him, and for possibly the first time in his 
life he didn't feel like analyzing it. He wanted her, he was in love with 
her, and despite the fact that it had all happened in an amazingly short 
time, he wasn't going to fight it. Rather, he was going to thank his lucky 
stars his search was over, and go about convincing the woman of his dreams 
that it was okay to love him back.

Unlocking his door, he stepped inside and locked it behind him. The smell of 
something that smelled like chicken cooking caught his senses and he sniffed 
the air. Sure enough, that was chicken. And green peppers, he thought. 
Following the delicious smell, he found Scully, wearing an old apron in his 
kitchen, bent over his stove. He cleared his throat and she glanced up at 
him.

"Hi. You're just in time. This should be done in about five minutes."

It was surreal. It wasn't often that the object of one's affection suddenly 
appeared in one's kitchen. "What's all this?" he asked dumbly.

"This is my way of saying thank you for cooking last night, and I'm so sorry 
I passed out before you left." A smirk curved her lips. "I had so hoped to 
collect another birthday present from you."

"Is that why you're here? To collect a present?" He was amused, in spite of 
himself.

"And, as I said, to say thank you," she murmured primly. "I have a dazzling 
variety of creative ways to say thank you."

I bet you do.

Somehow, he managed to keep the words on the inside. Instead, he slowly 
walked around the counter until he was standing behind her, looking down 
into the pan. Chicken breasts covered in peppers and other appetizing 
looking spices stared back at him. He caught a whiff of Scully and chicken 
in the same breath; nothing had ever smelled better.

Turning off the stove with a flick of her wrist, Scully covered the pan with 
a lid and turned to face him. He cleared his throat loudly. "I was uh, I was 
disappointed I didn't get to say goodnight."

"Kelly tires me out," she explained softly. "Especially when I'm not used to 
her. I admit I've been going soft this past week without her."

"Very soft," he agreed, his mind in a daze. He kept staring at her 
collarbone, the way the very edge peeked out from beneath the side of her 
apron.

"You're not very good at following orders, are you?"

"What do you mean?"

Two hands gently pushed against his chest until he was standing a few feet 
away from her. Those same hands were placed on either side of her waist, and 
she jutted her hips out. His eyes naturally followed the motion, and when 
they did, he finally read the front of her apron. "Kiss the Cook," it 
proclaimed, and who was he to argue with such a brilliant idea?

"It's not a suggestion," she purred. She fucking purred.

As if he didn't have enough reason to follow his orders . . .

Dipping his head, he caught her mouth in a kiss that could almost be 
considered chaste. That is, if her tongue hadn't darted out to lick at his 
lower lip. And if her hand hadn't zipped up faster than he thought it was 
humanly possible to move to clutch at the back of his head. Before he knew 
what was happening, she was kissing him with more abandon and more passion 
than he thought one person could possess. And he was kissing her back the 
same way.

Too fast . . . it was happening way too fast.

With great difficulty, he pulled away from her and brought the back of his 
hand to his mouth. His skin felt like it was burning wherever she had 
touched him. He was still wearing the heavy coat designed to do battle with 
the violent wind outside.

"This is starting to get repetitive, I know, but I think we should just slow 
down and maybe eat some of the delicious smelling food you've made," he 
managed to get out as he shrugged out of his coat.

"I don't want to slow down."

Was it his imagination, or had she actually stomped her foot once, for 
emphasis?

"What's the big rush, Scully?"

Averting her eyes, she made a big procedure of checking the chicken and 
sniffing something that looked like asparagus. Satisfied that everything was 
as it should be, she once again turned her attention his way. Startled, he 
almost took a step back. The naked pain and vulnerability he saw in her eyes 
took his breath away.

"Jack worked a lot. When he wasn't working, he was, unbeknownst to me, 
fucking his mistress. When he came home at night, he was very tired and, 
despite my best attempts, he was not receptive to my sexual advances. After 
a few years of this, I stopped trying. I was absorbed in my work; we both 
knew I couldn't have children, and I figured, what's the point? Obviously, I 
just wasn't desirable to him, sexually.

"I always thought it was just him. At least, that's what I told myself. 
Apparently I was wrong. If you didn't want me, all you had to do was say so. 
I've known a lot of men, and continuing in this fiction that you're 
concerned it's too soon for sex is embarrassing to us both."

"Where the hell do you get off assuming you know what I feel?"

He was really getting pissed now. The psychologist in him was ordering that 
he back off. She had been through hell and it was only natural she had a few 
hang-ups. But he was damned sick of paying for the mistakes of the man who 
came before him. A man who didn't deserve the wife or child he was gifted by 
God with. A man who wasn't fit to bow at the feet of the woman he'd so 
thoughtlessly used.

"Oh, come on. A man's primary objective is to get into a woman's pants. That 
is, if he wants her in the first place."

"You may be good at it, but cynicism does not become you, Dana."

"You may be good at it, but don't psycho-analyze me, Fox."

Mulder bit down on his lower lip to keep himself from snapping at her. 
Unlike his sister, a few deep, even breaths calmed him down considerably.

"Tell me, have you looked in the mirror at any point in the last few years?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Good, she definitely looked confused 
now.

"Either you're blind, or that scumbag of a soon-to-be-ex-husband of yours 
did quite a number on you."

He stepped forward and entered her personal space, exiting the neutral 
corner he'd retreated to a few minutes before. Absently brushing a lock of 
hair back from her face, he traced the subtle marks and imperfections in her 
skin. They only made her more beautiful. They gave her character, something 
that couldn't be bought from a doctor with a scalpel and a facial mold.

Her voice only trembled the slightest bit. "He made me hate everything about 
myself. He made me doubt everything about myself. And just when I think I've 
gotten over it, just when I think I'm ready to move on, it all comes 
crashing down on me and it's so much, it's so heavy, that I can't breathe." 
He wasn't sure if it was admiration or sympathy he felt at the way her eyes 
filled with tears she wouldn't allow to fall.

"I'm not him, Scully," he whispered, finally giving into temptation as he 
pressed his lips to her forehead. "I think you're the most desirable woman 
I've ever seen in my life and I've wanted you from the moment you opened 
your mouth and started lecturing about the pros and cons of government 
funded medical research." Every few words, his mouth moved to press a 
feather-light kiss over the skin of her face. Cheeks, nose, eyelids and 
chin; no surface was left untouched as he blazed a trail to her mouth.

A thought occurred to him as their lips met and lingered. Damaging though it 
may be in the long term, if he were to walk away from her now, to once again 
postpone making love to her, it would devastate her. Ego much, Doc? he 
thought disparagingly, even as another part of his psyche recognized the 
validity of the argument. I love you, he thought silently as he tasted the 
salt of her tears on her lips. I love your smile, and your integrity, and 
your strength, and the way you're finally crying with me, even though I know 
you never let anyone see you cry.

Hands in his hair, Scully pulled his head closer to her own, obliterating 
whatever paper-thin distance had existed between them. Resigned to the 
course of action they were working towards, his hands crept down her back 
until they reached the tie on her apron. Unknotting it quickly, he pulled 
his mouth from hers only long enough to slip the material over her head. 
Before he could move to kiss her again, however, he was distracted.

Dana Scully was not wearing a bra.

Not only was she bra-less, but the blouse she was wearing couldn't even be 
called a blouse. It was thin and see-through, clinging to every exceedingly 
noticeable curve she had. Hell, there were less risqu garments in the 
Victoria's Secret catalogue. His eyes traveled down her body and once again 
bugged out when they made note of the micro-mini skirt, no pantyhose and 
three inch fuck me black heels. How the hell had he missed those when he 
came in?

Whatever the reason, he was acutely aware of them now. When he brought his 
gaze to hers, he was momentarily taken aback. The arousal he'd hoped for was 
present, certainly, but there was also another emotion too prevalent to 
miss; fear. Not for the first time, Mulder wished for five minutes alone 
with her so-called husband. It was unfathomable that this amazing woman 
didn't know how desirable she was.

Fingers twitching at his side, he felt like a kid let loose in a toy store. 
He didn't know what to play with first, although he made up his mind 
quickly. While it wasn't new, he wanted a few more minutes alone with her 
mouth. Although he'd always enjoyed it, Mulder had never seen kissing 
someone as an end unto itself. He'd never realized what an art form it could 
be. He put everything he had into this kiss.

All the passion he felt for her, the love and the lust combined, he poured 
into every brush, nip, and pressure of his lips and tongue. He hoped it 
would be enough to take her fear away. If it wasn't, he had other tools in 
his arsenal. As far as he was concerned, it was all-out war against her 
insecurities.

His hands, tired of remaining idle, slowly began to climb up her sides until 
they finally came to rest on her breasts. Lifting one in each hand, he 
tested their weight, gently running his thumbs over the bare flesh available 
where her blouse gaped. She pushed herself into his hands at the same time 
she took his lower lip between her teeth. Tugging, she forced a groan from 
his mouth at the sensation.

"Will you give me anything I want, as a belated birthday present?"

It took his brain a few seconds to process her words. When it did, his mouth 
spoke without consulting it. "Of course."

The smile she smiled against his mouth was almost fiendish. Except that 
nothing she did could be considered fiendish. He'd think of it as 
mischievous, he decided.

"Good." Her left hand crept down his stomach until she was fully cupping his 
hardening cock.

He raised both his eyebrows at her and chuckled weakly. "You can have it, 
but I'm warning you, I need to retain possession."

That got a genuine laugh from her. "Trust me, if you weren't retaining 
possession, I wouldn't want it."

Before his poor, dazed brain could process those words, he found his pants 
unzipped and a very speedy Dana Scully on her knees. Her face was 
centimeters from his crotch as her hand pulled his erection out right 
through the front of his boxers. Resourceful, he thought in a daze as her 
lips touched the very head of his penis.

What was already rock hard got a little harder.

Very gently, she began pressing her lips against him, covering every inch 
from root to tip and back again. On the second pass, her tongue joined the 
act. By the time she finally took the head of his cock between her lips, he 
was already gripping the counter behind him so tightly he was amazed the 
tile wasn't coming up.

The whimper he let out when her lips pursed and sucked with the most 
exquisitely perfect amount of pressure was decidedly unmanly. In his head, 
it had started out as her name, but somewhere en route it got completely 
garbled. He only had a second to think about it as her lips slid closer to 
his hips, that same exquisite pressure never varying.

Soon, he was looking down at her, watching her move back and forth with the 
same slow, measured pace she'd set. It was maddening, but, try as he might, 
he couldn't ask her to speed up any more than he could ask her to stop. He 
should really ask her to stop. If she didn't, the idea he had earlier for 
proving to her how desirable she was would go right out the window.

Through a fog of desperate arousal, he felt something else he'd never before 
felt when a woman was giving him a blowjob. Normally, it just felt good. 
Always, even when he loved the woman he was with, the need to come was first 
and foremost on both their minds. This was completely different. Yes, the 
need was still there, but it was overruled by another need. The need for 
this to =never= end because nothing, =nothing= had ever felt this fucking 
good.

That thought, and that thought alone broke through the sexual haze. The 
fingers that were already tangled in her hair pulled gently until his dick 
slipped out of her mouth. Hooking his hands under her arms, he pulled her to 
her feet and brought his lips down on hers. If kissing her felt that good, 
if being inside her mouth felt that good, what would it be like to actually 
make love to her? To go down on her? He'd wanted to know before. Now, he had 
to know.

"As much of an aphrodisiac as the kitchen seems to be for us, how 'bout we 
take this someplace we can lie down?"

"You tired, Mulder?" There was a smirk in her voice. He loved it.

"Not even a little bit," he assured her as he nibbled his way down her neck. 
His fingers began flicking open the buttons on her top. "We've already 
learned you're not wearing a bra. Is there anything else you're not 
wearing?"

In his mind, he could picture the face she was making as he flicked his 
tongue against the collarbone that had been taunting him earlier. "Why don't 
you check for yourself?"

What a truly inspired suggestion.

Foregoing the last three buttons, his hands trailed down her sides until 
they reached her bare thighs. Sliding beneath her skirt, he lifted until she 
was off her feet. She gave a startled cry, but quickly recovered, her arms 
supporting her weight against his shoulders as her legs spread and wrapped 
around his waist. His hands continued their journey until he was holding her 
naked-as-the-day-she-was-born ass against his palms.

Stumbling only slightly with the extra weight, they made their way down the 
hall, mouths fused together. Once they reached his bedroom, Mulder let her 
slowly slide down his body, muffling his groan in her mouth when her wet 
curls brushed over his cock. On her feet, she took a moment and stepped away 
from him. Her gaze traveled the room with amusement.

"I just moved in. The storage guys sent me all my stuff yesterday," he said 
in his own defense. There really was no excuse. There was barely a path from 
the door to his bed. His king sized bed. Maybe Samantha had been right when 
she had teased him all those years ago. Maybe he had been waiting to fall in 
love his whole life.

"Don't give me that. You told me yourself, you've been living a vagabond 
life for the past few years. You'll be living out of these boxes until you 
feel secure enough to unpack them. I give you six months."

He was about to make a crack about which one of them was the psychologist, 
when he caught sight of the outline of one of her nipples through what was 
quickly becoming his very favorite blouse. He wanted to see her without 
faint gray fabric in the way.

Stepping forward, he brought both his hands to her shirt and quickly 
dispensed with the rest of the buttons. She must have read something in his 
eyes, because the teasing air around her dissipated into nothingness. Gently 
nudging the material off one arm, he pressed a kiss to the very tip of her 
shoulder before sliding it completely off. He repeated the process with her 
left shoulder, then tossed the blouse to the floor at their feet.

Once again filling his hands with her breasts, he brought his mouth to one 
and pulled her nipple between his lips. A moan left her mouth and she 
quickly began working on his shirt. Halfway through she must have grown 
impatient, because her nipple left his mouth with a pop and she all but 
ripped his favorite shirt over his head like a t-shirt. The second it was 
clear, she shimmied out of her skirt.

Next, her hands made short work of his belt, pants, and boxers. They got 
hung up on his shoes for a moment, but he toed off his sneakers and stood 
before her, naked except for a pair of white socks. She found this 
incredibly funny and sat down heavily on his bed, giggling. He advanced 
toward her, transfixed by the way her breasts swayed and jiggled with every 
sound she made.

He knelt before her on the floor, taking a subservient position. He would 
worship her if that was what it took to give her back a feeling of 
self-worth. He would worship her because it was something he'd felt inclined 
to do the first time he'd set eyes on her. Pressing a kiss to her kneecap, 
his hand found her foot on the floor and pulled her shoe off. Setting her 
heel against his thigh, he began to massage her arch.

She hadn't expected that. It was obvious from the look in her eyes. But she 
also enjoyed it, evidenced by the deep groan of approval she gave him. After 
a few moments, he repeated the move with her other foot, then brought each 
foot to his mouth in turn, pressing gentle kisses to the instep.

Satisfied that he'd paid her feet back for the suffering they'd sustained 
for the shoes, he inched his lips up her legs until his head was between her 
thighs. Inhaling deeply, he took her into his lungs, into his soul as he 
smoothed his hands up her legs. He tugged at her hips and draped her legs 
over his shoulders until her lower body hung off the edge of the mattress, 
suspended by his shoulders and her upper back on the bed.

Holding her hips securely in his hands, he bent his head to her and began to 
gently probe at her with his tongue. At the first touch, she jerked slightly 
and he reminded himself that it had been a long time for her. His thumbs 
slid between her folds and gently spread her wide open. Flattening his 
tongue against her, he slowly lapped his way from where she was so wet, to 
her clit and back again.

Scully let out a whimper similar to the one he'd emitted earlier and he set 
up a gentle rhythm, not giving her too much until she was ready. In truth, 
he was also enjoying himself. Her taste was like nothing else and he was 
beginning to remember why this was such an intimate act. The giving and 
receiving of oral sex was almost more intimate than the sex act itself.

Although he'd yet to experience actual intercourse with Scully, if the rest 
of their experience together held true, it would put every other encounter 
he'd ever had to shame.

As her hips settled into a steady rocking motion against his mouth, he let 
his tongue slide against her clit with increasing frequency. The direct 
stimulation seemed to be just what she was asking for, and she held herself 
as still as possible. Her hands clutched at the bed tightly, clenching and 
unclenching as every cell in her body waited, poised. He laved his tongue 
over her clit harder than he had before, firm, even strokes, once, twice, 
thr-

His name escaped her lips with a cry and her body shuddered beneath his 
mouth.

He stayed with her, lapping gently until her body stilled and her breathing 
began to return to normal. Before she was able to pay attention, he helped 
her push herself back up onto the bed so that she was lying fully on top. He 
sat beside her and shed his socks quickly, molding them into a ball and 
tossing them at the open box in the corner. Ten points! Her hand landed on 
his back and she ran her fingers over his skin, tickling and arousing at the 
same time.

Even more amazing sensations to experience. He moved down next to her and 
brought one hand to her hip, and the other to brush the hair off her face. 
He kissed the very tip of her nose and rested his forehead against hers.

"Do you know what that just was?" he asked quietly against her mouth. Her 
breath puffed against his lips, but they weren't kissing.

In her eyes, it was clear that she wanted to tell him exactly what that just 
was, in precise medical detail. She stopped herself, however, probably 
suspecting that he was going somewhere with this. "What?" she asked instead, 
laying her palm flat against his chest.

"Beautiful." Brushing a feather-light kiss against her lips, his fingers 
traced slow, languid circles against her hip. "And sexy as hell."

Flinging a leg over his hip, Scully pulled herself as close to him as she 
could. He felt every inch of her skin press against his and all he could 
think was, it's not enough. Crawling inside her very being wouldn't be 
enough. Their lips met with an urgency that hadn't been present before. His 
tongue slipped and slid between her lips, only to be chased back by hers. A 
thought that threatened the natural high he was currently on intruded on his 
brain.

"Scully," he tried, only to find her tongue shoved into his mouth to silence 
his protests. It felt so good, he was tempted to let it be, but he didn't 
want her to have any regrets. "Dana," he said more firmly, pushing slightly 
at her shoulders.

"What?" She sounded irritated. And with reason, he conceded. He was 
irritated with his logical side, always analyzing and thinking.

"I don't have anything we can use," he blurted out. Gesturing to his crotch, 
he watched as amusement crept over her face.

"I'd have to disagree with you there," she murmured, taking him in her hand 
and stroking slowly.

"You know what I mean," he muttered, torn between bliss and caution. "I 
haven't been with anyone in awhile, so I haven't really kept a fresh stock. 
There's one in my wallet that probably expired in the early nineties."

Teasing fled, and a serious expression crossed her face. "Mulder, I can't 
get pregnant. And it's been a very long time since I've been with anyone. My 
last checkup was three months ago, and I'm clean." Something that almost 
looked like guilt passed over her eyes.

"What?" he asked gently. "Scully, what is it?"

"I've never been with anyone before, without using a condom."

"Not even . . ." He was hesitant to mention Jack under the circumstances.

"We never had the chance to try for children. When it would have been an 
issue, I had already found out about my inability to conceive." Whatever 
pain she felt melted from her face, as she looked him in the eye. A saucy 
smile spread across her lips. "I've never gone au natural."

He thought for a moment before he answered. "Neither have I," he finally 
replied, a little surprised to realize it was true.

Chewing on her lower lip for a moment, she seemed to become emboldened by 
his declaration. "I want to feel you," she whispered quietly. "Just you, 
with nothing between us."

Leaning his forehead against hers, he smiled against her lips, then kissed 
them. "Nothing between us," he whispered in agreement, concurring with her 
and adding another dimension to the words. It was both a confirmation and a 
vow.

Hands learned and caressed over bare skin as mouths met again and again in a 
continuous rebuttal to whoever it was that said kissing was a lost art. It 
had been found by these two, and they were unwilling to give it up.

So lost in each other, it was almost a shock to find himself between her 
legs, poised to enter her. A breathless moment passed as she tilted her hips 
up, and he tilted his down and with a shared moan, he was inside her. 
Another mutual thrust, and he was as deep as he could go.

His fingers tracing the same path they had so much earlier, he once again 
marveled at the imperfections that made her so lovely. He pressed his lips 
to each section of skin on her face, each feature that formed the whole of 
the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"You're so beautiful," and "this is what people mean when they talk about 
making love," and "nothing has ever felt this good," and "I can never get 
enough of you," were just a few of the statements they mutually agreed on 
that night.

Thrusting his body slowly into hers, Mulder grew used to the feel of her 
much faster than he'd thought possible. He didn't know how, but she seemed 
to know exactly the pace he liked best and he knew exactly how she wanted 
his hands to move over her skin as their hips rocked against one another. 
Her fingers pressed into his back and his mind conjured up a mental image of 
how white his skin would look beneath the pressure of her hands.

He was torn between the safety of burying his face against the side of her 
neck, and boldly staring her in the eyes, showing her all that he felt. 
Ultimately, she made the decision for him, her hands abandoning his back and 
taking hold of his face. As the speed and angle of their thrusts changed, 
she held his gaze, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. His hands were bracing 
his weight on either side of her head, and he envied her the ability to 
touch him as they moved.

They were both surprisingly quiet the closer they each came to orgasm. It 
was as though they both recognized the importance of the moment, whatever 
that might be. There was more happening in the room than two bodies joining 
together. It was as though their very souls were tangling, dancing, and 
getting acquainted. Mating and merging until there was no differentiating 
between them. No longer his and hers, but theirs.

When he came, it was the most powerful thing he'd ever felt. Not physically, 
although it was certainly up there, but on a spiritual level. He was 
deconstructed before her eyes, died and reborn in the comforting circle of 
her arms. Through it all, he watched her eyes as she held his face between 
her hands. As he came down from his high, he felt her clench around him, a 
shudder passing through her body as she joined him in this exquisite death.

He watched as tears of wonder spilled out of her eyes. Somehow, he wasn't at 
all surprised when her thumbs wiped tears from his own cheeks. Once more, he 
lowered his forehead to hers and felt her breath puff against his lips. His 
body rested against hers fully and finally, his hands held her face the same 
way she held his.

And for an indeterminable amount of time, they breathed.

~

Date: Mon, 07 Feb 2000 18:45:23 GMT
Subject: xfc: NEW: "Quis Si" (10/19)
Source: xfc

From: "Trixie ." <scullymulder1121@hotmail.com>

I've been getting a lot of mail about back chapters, etc. - so here is a 
group answer <g> I finished up my new webpage! All my fic, Quis Si included, 
now has a home.

http://matrix.crosswinds.net/~trixie1013/xfficmain.html

and now, onward . . .

~

Chapter 9- Rachel

"To love for the sake of being loved is human; but to love for the sake of 
loving is angelic." -Alphonse De Lamartine

~

Whoever started selling those "sounds of nature" relaxation tapes should 
give it up. They'll never find anything as soothing as Mulder's heartbeat.

She was lying to his left, almost on top of him. He was stretched out on his 
stomach, his left arm curled beneath his head like a pillow, his right 
holding the hand of the arm she'd draped over his back. Her ear rested 
against his left shoulder blade and she would be quite happy to never move 
from this spot again.

Once they had recovered from their earlier activities, they'd stumbled into 
the kitchen, naked, and dished themselves up a late dinner. Taking the 
provisions into the living room, Mulder had produced the fluffiest, most 
comfortable afghans she'd ever felt in her life from a box in the corner. 
Rather than turning on a lamp, Scully had opted to light several candles 
Mulder had situated around the room. It made things perfect.

Dinner had been finished nearly an hour ago, and since then, they'd just 
been lying on his living room floor, silent. Scully got the impression 
Mulder was thinking. She wanted to tell him to stop, but it would sound 
rather hypocritical, given the nature of her own thoughts.

Loath though she was to admit it, she couldn't deny it any longer. This 
beautiful man had made her fall in love with him. It posed more of a problem 
than he would be willing to admit. It wasn't that she didn't =want= to love 
him. It was that she hadn't thought herself =capable= of loving him. Now 
that she knew she was, her entire being was in a state of confusion.

The conflicting emotions were disturbing. On the one hand, she was thrilled; 
absolutely joyful. That thing inside her that was so broken wasn't 
irreparable. She could love again. And through some miraculous twist of 
fate, she loved someone who might be able to love her back someday. And he 
was worthy. God, he was worthy of so much more than her fucked-up self.

Before, she didn't have to think about the future. This was going to be a 
fun week, nothing more. But now . . .

Jesus, it was just sex, Dana.

Funny, but that excuse she'd tried to use from the moment tears had started 
leaking out of her eyes wasn't holding water any longer.

Fine, it was just =great= sex.

Again, she couldn't quite believe it. It was more than that and they'd both 
felt it. There was something in his touch, in the way he looked at her, in 
the way he made her feel when he was near that made him different from 
anyone else she'd ever known. While the storm had certainly unsettled her 
the first time they had kissed, she now admitted that the turmoil she felt 
was more than the terror she had experienced with a few drops of rain.

It was Mulder. More to the point, it was Mulder with her.

But there was more to think about than simply how she felt. There was Kelly 
to take into consideration. Despite the fact that Mulder was a good man, it 
wasn't a given that he was ready for instant fatherhood. And she couldn't 
risk entering yet another person into Kelly's life unless that person was 
committed to stay for the long haul.

Maybe she was reading him wrong, anyway, and all this turmoil was for 
nothing. It was entirely plausible that he was just trying to save her. It 
was his nature. He was a healer, a righter of wrongs. Perhaps once he'd 
helped her move past the horror of her life before, he would return to his 
nomadic lifestyle. Samantha had told her things about Fox. Nothing specific, 
but she had been clear about one thing: something had happened when he quit 
the Bureau years ago and he hadn't been the same since.

That was yet another thing that was gnawing at her. She had told him so 
much. More than she had ever told anyone else. And through it all, he'd 
listened. While that had been exactly what she'd needed at the time, it was 
starting to worry her now. Did he see her as a patient he needed to help? 
Would he be willing to confide in her the same way, or was he as afraid as 
she had been to let someone inside?

She wanted him to let her inside. She wanted it more than she had a right 
to. No one should want to claim another person's soul this badly, after only 
a few days. And especially given the way she had so steadfastly refused to 
even consider something substantial between them.

In the end, she kept coming back to the same hang-up. Though he obviously 
cared, she did not know to what extent. And until she was sure of how Mulder 
saw her, what he was willing to give her, she wouldn't allow herself to 
become overly invested.

It's too late for that. It's been too late since the moment you let down 
your guard and fell asleep beside him.

She ignored the voice that whispered that. It didn't matter. She would make 
herself remain detached if necessary. And she would make her own 
indifference true if she had to.

Oh please, please, please don't let me have to.

"Did Samantha tell you why I haven't lived in one place for almost four 
years?"

Hope blossomed and spread through her. Play it cool, Scully, she ordered 
herself, the same way she had so long ago during her first field assignment 
with the Bureau. It's not like he read your mind or anything. It's just a 
coincidence.

"No. She only mentioned how much she missed you."

His sigh rumbled through him and she felt it against his back. "I haven't 
told anyone about this. All I told Samantha was that a case went bad and 
because of me, of something I wasn't able to do, a child died. But I didn't 
. . . I couldn't explain more. I didn't even know how. It's taken me nearly 
four years to get myself to a place where I don't heap blame and guilt upon 
my sorry ass every single day."

It wasn't until now, when she could no longer see his eyes, that she 
realized how much they expressed. Windows to the soul, indeed. Satisfying 
herself with rubbing her cheek against his back, she released his hand and 
began tracing soothing circles over his skin. Trying to offer whatever 
comfort she could.

"I'd been with the VCU for nearly three years," he began. His voice was 
calm; too calm. It frightened her a little. Not for herself, but for him. 
"We were called in on a kidnapping. A girl went missing from her backyard 
during a party. No trace evidence, no fingerprints, no ransom note, nothing. 
The local PD were at their wits end and they called us in. The profilers." 
He almost laughed. "I had a nickname at the Bureau--"

"Spooky," she said, amazed she hadn't put two and two together before then. 
"Spooky Mulder; Jesus I can't believe I just fucked Spooky Mulder."

This time he did laugh, and it was genuine. "I see my reputation precedes 
me," he murmured dryly.

"They said you were brilliant. Eerily dead-on when you profiled. You were 
practically a legend in the academy. That profile you wrote, that helped 
catch Monty Propps--"

"Hell of a lot of good old Spooky did Rachel Hayes," he interrupted.

"This is about Rachel Hayes," she said slowly. "Who was she?"

"The little girl who went missing. The little girl no one knew how to find. 
I can't imagine that, having someone I loved just disappear one day. I felt 
her parents' anguish every day I spent pouring over the non-existent 
evidence. We were in town for weeks."

Wanting to give him the time he needed, Scully began running her hands 
through his hair gently, the way she did for Kelly sometimes when she 
couldn't sleep. He moved marginally closer to her and she smiled, pressing a 
gentle kiss to the top of his spine. Whatever fears or obstacles they had 
ahead of them, she was beginning to believe the ones she had about Mulder 
were completely unfounded.

"One day, I was looking through my interviews with the family, and I 
realized something. Ray Elders, the mother's brother, was almost always 
absent when I got there. It was just a hunch. I didn't have anything 
substantial, but we were desperate. Most of the other guys, my partner 
included, didn't think there was any chance Rachel could still be alive.

"I went alone. I was just going to check out Elders' house, nothing more. 
But then I saw that he had a basement, which was in the limited profile I 
was able to write. I saw her being kept in a dark place, possibly an attic 
or a basement. The windows were blacked out, too. I was acting completely on 
instinct when I bashed one in. I slid through it and as soon as I got down 
there, I felt it. The air was heavy and oppressive, as though you could 
smell fear."

"I remember what that smell is like," she whispered softly when he grew 
silent. Her hands continued their ministrations, hoping to keep him here 
with her, instead of surrendering to the memories. "I didn't come face to 
face with it too many times during my short stint as an FBI Agent, but it's 
not something you forget."

The commiseration helped, she thought, as he rolled to his side and allowed 
her to press her front to his back. They were wrapped in separate Afghans, 
with yet another one over them both, but the close contact still made her 
shiver. Her right arm she folded over his chest and let her hand rest over 
his heart. The other hand she left in his hair, circling and soothing as 
best it could.

"Scully, she was so small, and so quiet." Finally, the calm began to fade 
from his voice. She wished it back with a desperation that surprised her. 
Because this haunted quality his voice had taken on made tears sting at her 
eyes; made her long to wrap him tightly in her arms and rock him like a 
child.

It was a minute before she realized that she didn't have to deny that urge. 
Enfolding him more firmly in her embrace, she pressed her lips to the back 
of his neck. "You don't have to tell me this." And he didn't. It was enough 
that he'd tried. If it was going to cause him this much pain, she didn't 
need to hear it.

"Yes, I do." He didn't sound sure of himself and he cleared his throat. This 
time, his voice emerged much stronger. "I've never told anyone everything, 
with the exception of what I put in the report. And . . . I need to. One 
last demon to exorcise," he added. Under different circumstances, it could 
have sounded like a joke. Now, it sounded heartbreakingly sad.

She felt him hesitate, and through some nexus or connection that had formed 
between them, she knew what was wrong. "I want to hear it," she promised him 
quietly. "I want to hear anything you want to tell me."

All these small but profound truths she was learning tonight. It was enough 
to send a girl's heart into palpitations. Scary as it was, the fear didn't 
compare to at least ten other things she could name off the top of her head. 
Whether that had to do with the circumstances, or the man himself, she 
didn't know. Maybe it was as simple as the benefits far outweighing the 
frightening aspects. Because there were benefits. If she could sense his 
fear, know him that well, chances were he could do the same with her.

Was that kind of connection even possible? If someone had asked her that a 
week ago, she would have laughed in their face. But now? Now, she was open 
to any number of extreme possibilities that hadn't so much as occurred to 
her before.

"When I found her, Rachel was terrified. She wouldn't even speak. He had her 
handcuffed to something, a radiator, I think. I remember the only thought 
that kept running through my mind was, "Jesus, she's only six, what kind of 
monster . . ." But of course, I already knew what kind of monster. I'd spent 
the last three years chasing them down, getting inside their heads, putting 
them behind bars.

"I was so focused on getting her out of there that I somehow fucking forgot 
to call for backup. Maybe I was thinking about it too much, maybe I was 
distracted so I didn't hear him come up behind me, but I felt something conk 
me over the head, and when I woke up, I was handcuffed next to Rachel. And 
because I screwed up, the Calvary wasn't on its way."

Fear wrapped its tentacles around her heart and squeezed. This man had 
captured him? And did it make her a horrible person that she hadn't felt 
this kind of deep, bone crushing sorrow when it was a faceless little girl 
in peril?

He must have felt the subtle change in the way she held her body. At least, 
that was what she was telling herself. "It's always different when it's 
someone you . . . care about."

I love you. "Yes, it is."

"I never saw him. I heard him, I knew it was him, Rachel told me it was her 
Uncle Ray, but I never actually saw him. We were down there for nearly two 
days together, and the entire time, she kept telling me stories about Uncle 
Ray. About how nice he was when other people were around, and about how mean 
he was to her when they were alone. How she tried to never be alone with 
him, because he would tell her that she'd ruined her mother's life and that 
if he were any kind of brother, he'd do something about it."

A shudder ran through his body, mirroring the revulsion Scully felt. This 
was why, she thought dully, her decision to quit the Bureau hadn't been as 
hard as it should have been. Why, when Jack had asked her to quit, she'd 
been all too quick to agree. The only partner she'd ever had in the field 
had been a joke, and there was really nothing else keeping her there. She'd 
proved to herself, at least, that she could handle it; she didn't need to 
prove anything to anyone else.

"I tried not to close my eyes. Part of me was afraid that if I did, Rachel 
would disappear in the time it took me to open them again. He left food 
close enough for her to reach it. Some bread, stale crackers, bottles of 
water. Enough to keep us both alive indefinitely.

"My partner apparently pieced together the notes I had all over my room and 
determined that I'd gone sniffing around Elders' place on my own. By this 
time, Rachel had slipped into a detached state. If I tried very hard, I 
could still draw her out, but she was fading away before my eyes. Reggie 
came in with the cavalry, but Elders wasn't at home. When they picked him up 
at his sister's place, he maintained that he'd been staying with her the 
entire time, which she confirmed, and that he had no idea what Rachel was 
doing in his basement, or that I'd been locked down there."

"And they believed him?" Try as she might, Scully could not keep the 
incredulity out of her voice.

"The police didn't. The judge and jury didn't. But there was no concrete 
evidence. Nothing but my hunches, and me swearing up and down that Rachel 
told me it was him, and that I'd heard his voice. She couldn't testify; by 
that point she'd completely withdrawn inside herself. On her good days, she 
was semi-catatonic. On her bad days . . . well."

He cleared his throat. "Her mother, Tracy, didn't believe her brother 
capable. I think maybe Jim, Rachel's father, was suspicious, but he wouldn't 
contradict his wife. Not even to save his daughter." His contempt was 
palpable and Scully shared it. Again, she offered him a comforting squeeze 
of both her arms and legs. Practically wrapped around him as she was, every 
breath he took shuddered out of her lungs.

"They were going to hand down a not guilty verdict. I knew it. So I taunted 
him before court began. I got in Ray's face with no one around and assured 
him that Rachel would be coming home to take up all of Tracy's time again. 
He flipped out. Shoved me into the hall and started beating the shit out of 
me in front of not only the prosecuting attorney, but the judge as well. He 
was brought up on charges of assaulting a federal officer. They sentenced 
him to eight years.

"They wouldn't let me see Rachel. Even when she asked for me, Tracy wouldn't 
let me in. She thought I was going to poison her daughter against her uncle. 
The therapist assigned to her case couldn't get her to open up. Elders' 
wasn't anywhere near her, but still, he was hurting her. Killing her slowly, 
from the inside out."

"That's why you feel so strongly about the roles of law enforcement officers 
and psychologists merging somewhat."

"I couldn't profile anymore," he whispered, continuing as though she hadn't 
spoken. Maybe, to him, she hadn't. He wasn't really in this room right now, 
anyway. Again, she pressed her lips to his neck and hoped it offered some 
comfort. "Even though I know it's not the case, I felt as though my place in 
the FBI was of no help to anyone. Yes, I was saving their lives, but their 
souls were still being tortured. And I couldn't get to Rachel. So I made a 
decision. One of those life-altering decisions that somehow never get to be 
weighed, but instead are made in a split second. You ever notice that, 
Scully? The most important decisions are so often split second choices."

Nodding against him, she tried not to think of how true that statement was. 
It could get painful. But then she thought, and realized, that maybe there 
were some good memories connected to it. Because after all, it had been a 
split second decision the first time she had kissed Mulder.

"So I tendered my resignation, ignored the whispers and protests of my 
colleagues, and went back to school. Three years later, I had a Ph.D. in 
child psychology from the very school that had given me my psychology degree 
a few years before."

"You changed your entire career path so you could help one little girl?"

If she hadn't loved him before . . .

Instead of acknowledging the awe-inspiring grandness of his gesture, Mulder 
shrugged it off. "They brought me onto the case to save her. Some might say 
I was just trying to finish my job to the best of my ability." That same 
shift occurred in his body and she tensed, waiting for the other shoe to 
drop. "Except I couldn't save her."

Her fingertips brushed over his jaw and she felt him bite his lip. Gently, 
she pried the bit of flesh from between his teeth and continued on her way, 
stroking over his chest, shoulders and arms, letting him feel her touch when 
he couldn't hear her words.

"A few days before I had my degree in hand, Ray Elders was released from 
prison. Good behavior, they told me later. Well, his first stop was to see 
his dear sister. And what did she do?"

"No," Scully whispered, denying to herself what she knew would certainly 
follow. How could anyone, any =mother= allow . . .

"To this day, no one knows what he said to her. He was only in there for a 
couple of minutes. At the time, she showed no reaction, no sign of distress. 
But that night, using a toothbrush she must have sharpened somehow, a 
nine-year-old little girl slit her own wrists in the psych ward of a 
small-town Indiana hospital."

"It wasn't your fault," Scully said immediately, those being the first words 
that came to mind. Addressing the tragedy itself was beyond her capability 
at the moment. Caring for the man in her arms, however, was not.

"I know that. Now," he amended. "I spent a good long while blaming myself, 
though. Years, if I'm honest. It's only recently, as I said, that I've come 
to terms with it. A lot of that has to do with Samantha's persistence," he 
admitted, some small bit of light starting to creep back into his voice. 
"You know what the worse part of it all is?" She didn't have to ask what. 
That was the most rhetorical question she'd ever heard in her life. "That 
son of a bitch is still on the streets today. No one can prove what he did."

"Jack's urging aside, that is an perfect example of one of the most valid 
reasons I had for leaving the Bureau. I was becoming so hard, so numb to the 
tragedies and the injustices." They were both quiet for a time, breathing in 
perfect rhythm with one another. "I know that you know," she whispered after 
a time, her chin now resting over his shoulder so that their cheeks touched, 
"you aren't responsible for what happened to Rachel. But sometimes it helps 
to hear it. Knowing all the facts, having heard every detail, I can say with 
certainty that you did all you could; more than most. And if she were here, 
I promise that Rachel wouldn't blame you, either."

The breath that hitched beneath his chest sounded like a sob. She unwrapped 
her arms only long enough to help turn him toward her so that she could 
embrace him properly; pull his head against her breast and stroke his back 
as his tears wet her skin. Feathering kisses over the top of his head, she 
soothed his back with hands that shook only a bit, from lingering emotion 
and anguished sadness for the grief he had carried with him so long.

While his tears flowed freely and without shame, she opened her afghan and 
he opened his, so that they were sharing only the single one atop them. 
Wrapping themselves around each other, she felt him rub his nose against her 
breast, the sensation so similar to that of an infant craving its mother 
that tears she hadn't allowed herself to shed earlier spilled down her 
cheeks, but only for an instant. This was about him; his pain, his grief, 
his release.

When the only tears left on his cheeks were old, she kissed them away and 
promised them both a day when there would be nothing to cry over. Later, 
minutes or hours, she wasn't sure, touches that were comforting and almost 
asexual turned arousing. His mouth latched around her nipple and her earlier 
observation was confirmed as he began to suckle. She was glad for whatever 
comfort it gave him. Anything he needed, so long as she was able to give it, 
would be his.

Pushing him to his back, she crawled on top of his body and covered his 
torso with gentle, fleeting kisses. After she had bathed his entire upper 
body, her mouth turned playful, nipping, licking, and sucking over his 
flesh.

The act of making love was a process of give and take. But, inevitably, one 
partner will end up taking control. In her experience, the man normally took 
the initiative. Earlier, it had been Mulder who was making love to her. Now, 
while he certainly was anything but passive, he was giving her control. He 
was allowing her to make love to him at whatever pace, whatever level she 
wished.

This time, when she took him inside her body, the rhythm was faster than 
before. It comforted her to know that none of the patterns --emotional or 
physical -- she'd fallen into with men in the past had emerged with Mulder. 
Smiling into each other's lives, each breath they took labored, she almost 
believed this thing between them had a real chance.

Sated, they parted for a moment as they each took great gulps of air. 
Missing him already, Scully pulled his head back to her breast and his arm 
settled over her waist. Exhausted, they fell into a state of semi-conscious 
sleep almost immediately. Fading in and out, she was aware only of his 
presence. It was as though nothing had existed before, and nothing would 
exist after, this moment. And for now, that was exactly how she needed it to 
be.

Morning would bring with it more than enough time for analyzing and 
second-guessing the things that were sureties tonight.

~

Date: Mon, 07 Feb 2000 18:47:12 GMT
Subject: xfc: NEW: "Quis Si" (11/19)
Source: xfc

From: "Trixie ." <scullymulder1121@hotmail.com>

~

Chapter 10- Animalistic Interpretation

"Come and be one in the motion. Desire they cannot comprehend. Never to 
question again. For I am your passion, your promise, your end - yes I am." - 
Melissa Etheridge, "Yes I Am"

~

It was, perhaps, a sad commentary on his life that he could not remember the 
last time he'd woken up next to a woman.

That the woman in question was the only person he could see himself building 
a life with, loving without question for the rest of his days, was truly 
awe-inspiring.

Speaking of awe-inspiring . . .

The sight that greeted him this fine morning was nothing short of 
astonishingly beautiful. Dana Scully possessed the kind of beauty that 
inspired sonnets to be composed and great works of art to be painted. That 
she was so guileless in her beauty, so unaware of her effect on all those 
who knew her, only served to make her more lovely.

At the moment, the only view he had was her mouth, her amazingly perfect 
breasts, and the patches of skin in-between. His head was pillowed on one 
breast and, to his distinct surprise, he'd woken up with his hand resting 
over the other. He couldn't think of a better way to open his eyes in the 
morning.

What would she do, he wondered, if she woke up to find his hand on her 
breast, his lips attached to her neck, and one of the most impressive 
morning erections he'd ever had prodding her hip? Would she be receptive and 
actively encourage him? Or would she slug him for his audacity? Her 
reaction, of course, would have a lot to do with how she viewed what 
happened last night.

Last night.

It hadn't gone as she'd intended, he didn't think. She had come to his 
apartment with the intent to seduce, surely. But it had all been in good 
fun. What happened between them last night, while certainly fun, had not 
been easy or light. It had been deadly serious and he had felt pieces of his 
soul tether themselves to hers.

Had she felt it too? And if she had, would she seek to sever these ties, 
rather than risk being hurt again?

Memories assaulted him and he nearly groaned. He certainly hadn't meant to 
unload on her like that. He wasn't even sure where it had all come from, 
although he could take an educated guess. For years now, he'd been storing 
up all the pain. With the exception of a single incident outside his 
sister's home, he hadn't let any of it out.

But finally, =finally= there was someone he trusted, someone he wanted to 
share everything with. The reason Rachel's story had come pouring out of him 
the night before directly reflected on the fact that he had been truly 
happy, for the first time in years. He thought about Rachel last night, when 
he realized he hadn't thought about her all day.

Staring at the fabric of his carpet the night before, Scully's obviously 
nervous body beside him, it had seemed the right time to give her a piece of 
his life. Return her trust, in a way.

Now, though, back in his bed, he found himself wondering if it was a 
mistake. Last night, she'd held him while he cried like he hadn't cried 
since he was a small child. He hadn't felt embarrassment at being seen as 
less than manly and that, more than anything else he'd experienced with her, 
eased his worries about this thing between them developing too fast. He was 
safe with her. So long as she didn't start second-guessing herself, they'd 
be safe with each other.

In the midst of his thoughts as he was, it startled him when one of her 
hands covered his over her breast. He tilted his head up and caught her 
open, sleepy eyes. However long she'd been awake, it was obviously long 
enough to have observed his internal debate, given the consciousness he saw 
in her eyes.

Split second decision made, he pressed a kiss to the underside of the breast 
his head was resting near, then another, and another, until his lips found 
and wrapped around her nipple. She made no move to stop him, nor a sound of 
protest, unless that long moan had been one of pain, which he highly 
doubted. Never a believer in the theories of Freud, he did not examine why 
suckling at her breast was such an incredible turn-on.

The hand that rested over his slowly began stroking up his forearm. In his 
best estimation, the movement was involuntary. He smiled around her breast 
and slowly began feathering his mouth toward her face, occasionally darting 
his tongue out to lap languidly at her skin. It amazed him that he now knew 
what every inch of Dana Scully's body tasted like.

His hand began to gently knead and caress her breast as his mouth settled 
itself near her ear. Licking, nibbling, and sucking, he spent an inordinate 
amount of time acquainting himself with this particular part of her anatomy. 
Her approval was obvious, both in the husky-morning-voice moans she emitted, 
as well as the act of digging her nails into his forearm.

"Tell me, Scully," he whispered into her ear, his tone conversational, "are 
you having as pleasant a morning as I am?"

She pulled her lower lip tightly between her teeth and he took the 
opportunity to place a few kisses against her jaw. "Yeah. But the weirdest 
thing happened. I was pleasantly dozing and woke to find some guy pawing 
me."

He barely contained a guffaw as his lips returned to her ear. Tracing the 
little whorls with the tip of his tongue, he pulled back, stunned, as she 
started to giggle. "Ticklish?"

"No," she denied vehemently. But when put to the test, she erupted in 
another peel of giggles. Delighted by the sound, he continued to lightly 
trace the tip of his tongue over her ear. "Mulder," a gasp, "please, I'm 
begging you," a breathless giggle, "you =must= stop," she trailed off as she 
began laughing too hard to form coherent sentences. He was sure the fact 
that his hand had left her breast, and was now teasingly fluttering over her 
sides had =something= to do with her breathless state.

Ceasing his movements for a moment, he deliberately blew a puff of air into 
her ear. Shuddering, both her hands immediately clamped down on his; a vain 
attempt to keep him from renewing his attack, he scoffed internally. Her 
eyes were shut, and while her skin was flushed and her breathing heavy, she 
looked almost peaceful. To be the cause of that . . . it took his breath 
away.

"I don't know, Scully," he whispered into her ear, "this is entertaining the 
hell out of me. And if I'm not entertained in the morning, I usually just 
roll back over and go to sleep."

"Who says I wasn't planning to entertain you?" She was beginning to regain 
some control over her breathing. There was still a light, teasing note to 
her voice, though, and again, he reveled in it.

"Scully, we've been awake for nearly five whole minutes and still, I haven't 
gotten a single good morning kiss." He tried to sound petulant, but he was 
too damned happy to pull it off. He punctuated his statement with a nip to 
the side of her neck. "And, confidentially, taking into consideration that 
you would be the one to bestow the good morning kiss - it's gonna take a 
hell of a lot more than one to satisfy me."

"You didn't say anything about satisfying you," she murmured, sliding down 
in the bed and turning to her side until they were eye level. "You just said 
I had to entertain you." The smile that lit up her face could have nourished 
his soul for decades. "So which is it, Doc? Do you want entertainment, or 
satisfaction?"

"I can't get no," he began, then trailed off as she pressed her lips to his. 
Her tongue brushed against his mouth and he opened to her immediately, 
moaning at the feel of her. His hand quickly made the journey up her side to 
tangle in her hair, finding a firm grip. Wasting no time, he pulled her head 
closer, devouring her mouth with his own and being devoured at the same 
time.

After a long, long while, they pulled back, foreheads resting against one 
another, breathing labored. "Good morning," she whispered in a voice that 
was just this side of a sex kitten.

Grinning like an idiot, he rubbed his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss. 
"Good morning."

"You still haven't made a decision," she reminded him, her leg slowly 
sliding up the side of his.

A snicker left his mouth and he slowly rolled her to her back, placing both 
his hands firmly against the mattress, pressing his body into hers with the 
slightest pressure. "I'm sorry, I must have been being vague. Allow me to 
make my point more clear."

Dipping his head down, he ravished her mouth with his own. He nipped and 
sucked, licked and caressed until he thought the top of his head was going 
to come off. Even that couldn't make him stop. He never wanted to stop 
kissing her . . . The most amazing thing was, she couldn't seem to get 
enough of him, either. Her hands were pulling and clawing at his back until 
he could no longer support himself on his arms. He rested fully on top of 
her, his hands now free to roam the expanse of her body.

Squirming and wiggling, sliding and touching, she made the most exquisite 
sounds into his mouth. How this woman could ever doubt what a sensual, 
beautiful creature she was . . .

When he was sure they were both too breathless to think coherently, he 
released her mouth in favor of the skin along the side of her neck. "You are 
so beautiful," he whispered into the ear he hadn't been tormenting earlier. 
"I want you so badly . . . I ache to be inside you. I've never felt that 
before." He continued to press his lips along her shoulder, then back to her 
ear again. He was frantic, unable to get enough of her.

"God, Mulder," she whispered. "Are you like this every morning?"

They both laughed, a bit unstably. With a supreme force of will, he raised 
his head to look her in the eye. Both his hands pushed the hair back from 
her face and sort of cradled her head between his palms. Again, he leaned 
down and rested his forehead against hers. He opened his mouth once, but 
found the words he wanted to say were absent. Instead, he asked a question.

"Are you?" he countered, having noticed how eager her own hands and mouth 
and legs had been. Every inch of her skin burned against his, responded to 
every touch, extended overtures of her own.

Like him, she seemed to search for words she couldn't find. Then, like a 
bolt of lightning, the answer seemed to come at them both at once.

"I don't know," they said together slowly.

"Because it's never been you before," he continued quietly.

"And already I know it's going to be different with you," she added, her 
fingers idly tracing patterns along his sides.

"Better," he corrected. "Different and better than it's ever been before. 
Better than either of us ever thought was possible."

"It's good that you're realistic about this. I'd hate to see you build it up 
some great expectation it couldn't possibly have a prayer of living up to."

He ignored her dry, somewhat sarcastic tone. "I am being realistic. I don't 
know about you, Scully, but I do not fall in love in a day and a half." 
Almost without conscious thought, he began feathering little kisses down the 
bridge of her nose. "I don't find my other half, the woman who makes me a 
whole person, every time I go to one of those mind-numbingly dull 
conventions."

Catching sight of her expression, he could have kicked himself. Too much, 
too soon, dumb shit, he seethed on the inside. If you were a little 
unsettled by the speed of this relationship, how the hell must she feel?

As ever, she surprised him. "I had given up on finding my other half," she 
whispered quietly, leaning her head up to cling their lips together briefly. 
"I'd begun to believe that he didn't exist." Another smile curved her lips, 
those beautiful, sexy lips he could never get enough of . . . "You're making 
me believe in a lot of things I'd given up on."

Tears were threatening in her voice, and as much as he loved the things she 
was saying, he didn't want tears to factor into the equation every time they 
made love. Whether they were tears of sadness, or joy, of grief or of awe, 
he wanted her laughter again. Something inside him craved her laughter.

He knew she was still afraid. After all she'd been through, he'd be a little 
worried if she wasn't. But, just like she'd promised, she wasn't letting 
that fear rule her. And, because of what they were becoming to each other, 
she was trying to move on, to move past the pain. Again, he kissed her, 
slowly at first, gently and with great reverence.

Her hands crept up his back and her fingers threaded through his hair, 
pulling his head to hers more firmly, parting her lips in silent invitation. 
He took it, slipping his tongue past her teeth, caressing, learning, and 
revisiting his newly appointed favorite spots. Lulling her into a false 
sense of security with these gentle, exploring kisses, she was caught 
completely unaware when his fingers began moving with great purpose along 
her sides.

Their kiss broke as she erupted with great peels of laughter into his mouth. 
Her mirth brought out his own and he let her roll him until he was on his 
back, her weight pinning him to the bed.

"That," she exclaimed, once again panting slightly, "was a horrible thing 
you just did."

"Who, me?" It was his mother, he remembered, who said he never could feign 
innocence in a convincing manner.

"Mulder, are you ticklish?" There was not a trace of preamble in her voice.

"'Fraid not," he said, with little regret. "I assure you, it was a 
considerable bone of contention between Sam and I growing up."

"I bet," she muttered darkly. "If you're not ticklish . . . I'm going to 
have to find some other way to torture you properly."

"You think anything you could possibly do, short of getting out of this bed 
and leaving my apartment, could torture me?" Dangerous. It was dangerous to 
scoff at a tigress. He couldn't seem to heed his own warnings.

"You don't think I can do it?" A single, beautiful eyebrow arched toward the 
ceiling.

"Baby, give it your best shot." Danger, Will Robinson, danger.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she sat back against his thighs and 
seemed to give the situation some considerable thought. Bracing himself on 
his elbows, he sat up enough to press his lips between her breasts, the lack 
of contact driving him crazy. To his surprise, she placed her hands against 
his chest and shoved him back to the bed. Before he could form words to ask 
her why, two delicate fingers covered his lips.

"Would you do something for me, Mulder?"

As her fingers were still preventing him from speech, he raised an eyebrow 
to ask what. Grinning as only a woman with an idea can, she began to caress 
his lips, her movement nearly imperceptible.

"I have a fantasy. Something I never used to allow myself to think of 
deliberately, because before, it was just too painful. But now . . . now I 
remember it was one of those things that waited inside my mind, waited until 
the tethers of my control were worn enough to seep into my thoughts." 
Bending at the waist, she placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss over one of his 
nipples. Straightening, she once again sat back on his thighs. "Would you do 
that for me, Mulder? Would you make my fantasy come true?"

He did not understand how this was supposed to be torturing him, nor was he 
stupid enough to actually raise that point. It might pose an intriguing 
argument at a later date, but right now, the very last thing he wanted to do 
with Dana Scully was argue with her.

Swallowing around the huge lump that had formed in his throat, Mulder 
pressed a kiss to her fingers and she removed them. "Anything," he croaked. 
He cleared his throat. "I'd do anything for you, Dana."

"Scully," she corrected softly, a shadow passing over her eyes before she 
blinked it away. "No one else has ever called me Scully, and I like it that 
way."

"Scully," he whispered, once again trying to lean up to kiss her. Once 
again, she stopped him with a gentle but firm push against his chest.

"Have you ever lost control while making love?" As she spoke the words, she 
moved away from him until she sat at the end of the bed, her legs stretched 
out in front of her, feet near his shoulders.

Puzzled, he sat up against the headboard, mirroring her posture. "Define 
control."

"Thought, sense, reason, ability to control what your body does."

"Technically, every person reaches that point at the moment of orgasm--"

He hadn't even finished pronouncing the end of the word when her hand began 
shaking him off. "I know that. I'm not referring to the loss of control that 
occurs through the narcotic of ecstasy." A wide grin split her face, and he 
shared it, wondering if there were two other people on the planet capable of 
having this conversation in quite this way.

"What then, pray tell, Dr. Scully, are you referring to?"

"I want to be taken." She spoke quietly, and with a gentle sincerity that 
touched his heart. At the same time, he felt his cock twitch slightly at the 
mental picture that formed. "I want to be wanted by someone," she looked him 
straight in the eye and he thought, "Look at me, ma, I'm someone." She was 
still speaking. "Wanted beyond reason, beyond sense, beyond ability to 
control what they think or do."

Again, he had to physically clear his throat to speak. "That's a perfectly 
natural want. The problem usually posed with such a fantasy, though, is a 
trust issue. To whip someone into that sort of frenzy, into a mass of want 
and need to the point that they can no longer control what they do, you have 
to trust that what they'll do won't be damaging, to themselves or you."

He wondered if he sounded like he was fishing for reassurance. Trust was a 
big thing for her. Even if she was able to bestow it upon him at some point, 
she wouldn't be ready to yet.

"I want to trust you," she said quietly, shocking him so that his head 
popped up, their eyes meeting. "And the easiest way for me to begin that 
process, is to trust you with my body."

Flabbergasted. Certainly, a word he'd never been particularly fond of. But 
it was the only word that came close to describing his current state of 
mind. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he made another split second 
decision. He trusted her to know what she wanted, to know what she was ready 
for.

"Can I be honest with you for a moment?"

"Always, I hope."

He smiled in confirmation. "I don't think I've been clear as to exactly how 
badly I want you. Allow me to rectify that matter."

A raised eyebrow was the only response he got. Jesus, even that was sexy.

"The first time I saw you, I nearly fell out of my chair. You were lecturing 
in the most monotone voice and I was listening to every word in rapt 
attention. I watched the way your hips moved as you walked to the podium, 
the way that one lock of hair wouldn't stay out of your eyes, and the way 
your gaze scanned the room and took precise note of each person in 
attendance. Intelligence has always been the most profound turn-on to me, 
and you, Dr. Scully, absolutely stunned me with your brilliance.

"Had my darling baby sister not called at a most inopportune moment, I 
assure you that by the time I stood up to engage that beautiful mind of 
yours in debate, I would have been sporting an erection the likes of which 
most medical professionals would tell you was impossible given no direct 
stimulation.

"Putting all of that aside for the moment, you are the single most 
stunningly beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. Due to a disastrous 
marriage I am fully aware you haven't told me every detail of, you have a 
low to non-existent sense of self-worth. I promise you, Scully, all you have 
to do is look at me the way you're looking at me right now and I want you 
more than I've ever wanted any other woman alive.

"What I'm doing right now is telling you the truth. But I also have an 
ulterior motive. We both think too much. And as a result, words have the 
power to arouse greater, in some sense, than touch. The way you're hands are 
moving restlessly over the covers, the way your pupils are dilating, the way 
you can't take your eyes off me are all small signs of how turned on you 
are. Do you know what turns me on more than anything else?"

She licked her lips, the sound of her throat clearing the first she'd made 
since he'd begun. Odd how the baring of his soul had never been this 
effortless before. He felt something, and he wanted to share it with her.

"What?" she finally croaked in much the same tone he'd used earlier.

"Knowing that I'm turning you on." He made a nodding motion as she processed 
that little nugget.

"I know what you mean," she said, her eyes focused on his cock which was 
beginning to throb, he wanted her so badly.

"You want me to be beyond reason or control." He waited until her eyes met 
his again. "Scully, I'm halfway there the very first time you put your hands 
on me. I hold myself back with every ounce of willpower I have, so that I 
don't scare you."

"You could never scare me." Husky, with an alto timbre that caused his dick 
to twitch. Her voice danced over his senses, putting to shame any theory of 
direct stimulation being the most arousing sensation.

It was getting more and more difficult to take normal breaths. His blood was 
pounding through his veins and he wasn't even touching her. There were 
several feet separating their faces. They just kept looking at each other, 
the words they'd both confessed ringing through their ears and finally, 
finally he understood how this might be considered torture.

If this was torture, call me a masochist, he thought with near manic glee.

Feral, that was how he felt; nearly animalistic. It had always been a skill 
of his to easily slip into whatever state of mind he needed to be in. And 
right now, he was letting the veneer of civility men and women wore in their 
day to day lives slip away. Because it was what the woman before him needed. 
Starting from the inside out, he reduced everything he felt for her, all the 
mature, very proper impulses he had into baser urges.

The desire to mate.

The need to possess completely.

The desperate want she had to be taken.

"Come here." The words were almost growled. He couldn't recognize his own 
voice; didn't even try.

Her eyes widened slightly, but he didn't see fear in them. Quite the 
contrary. Her nipples hardened before his eyes and he watched as she rose to 
her knees. She turned, and his instincts reacted before his mind could. He 
was behind her in an instant, one arm snaking around her waist, the other 
securing her shoulders, gripping her tightly just above her breasts. A gasp 
left her mouth and he felt her body shudder against his.

"Going somewhere?" His mouth was at her ear again, no longer tickling. He 
bit gently, sucked and laved his tongue over her skin.

"No," she whispered, her hands covering the arm he had around her waist.

Confident that she wasn't trying to change her mind, his hands strayed from 
their neutral locations. One cupped her breast firmly, pinched her hardened 
nipple between thumb and forefinger, tightening only when she moaned the 
word "more."

His other hand did not hesitate either. It plunged between her legs and 
quickly found her warm and wet. If there was any part of his mind that 
wasn't completely fogged over, it recognized how satisfying it was to have 
physical proof that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Exploring, his mouth continued to feast on her skin. The back of her neck 
was particular tasty and he set to work on giving her a hickey she'd carry 
around for a week; branding her as his.

She kept moaning his name; whimpering it, crying out softly in pleasure. His 
teeth got into the act as he grazed them over her skin lightly, finding the 
crook of her neck to be another particularly tasty spot. Both her hands 
braced themselves against the foot of the bed and he felt her ass push back 
against his erection, demanding, begging.

Her voice was begging, too, he thought, lost in the clouds of her hair and 
the ambrosia of her skin. Somehow, his hands found their way to her hips and 
he pulled her into the position he needed her in.

He went as deeply as he could on the first thrust. His thought process was 
limited to recognizing senses: hot, tight, wet, she's moaning, tastes good, 
beautiful, mine, mine, mine.

Blazing a sloppy trail up her back with his mouth, he finally reached her 
ear again. His hips began a hard, fast rhythm against hers. She tried to 
meet his thrusts, but her position limited movement. Finally, she just held 
on tightly to the foot board and let his hands move her hips as he saw fit.

Mingling his name and God's, he was amazed when he heard another word pass 
her lips: "Harder."

His brain was no longer able to process the fact that he was pounding into 
her harder than he'd thought himself capable. She issued a command and he 
would follow. Draping his body over hers, his breath hot and labored in her 
ear, he picked up the pace, eliciting the most amazing sound from her mouth. 
=That= was animalistic, just as he would have recognized the grunts coming 
from his mouth to be if he'd been in any position to recognize such things.

A few thrusts more, and he was done for. The pressure in his balls built 
until he exploded into her. A cry was torn from his mouth and he heard an 
answering cry from her. "Some mates call out for each other, even from 
opposite ends of the globe," he remembered some National Geographic he read 
once saying. As something approaching rational thought returned to him, he 
managed to reach a hand around her waist, two fingers moving down to gently 
finger her clit.

He'd barely touched her before his name left her lips with a scream. That 
was it, that was the sound, that was the sound he needed to hear before he 
could die a happy, satisfied man . . .

With that last thought, he pulled out of her and collapsed onto his side. 
She fell back with him, a tangle of arms and legs as they climbed halfway up 
the bed, just so that their limbs wouldn't hang off the mattress.

They both rested on their backs, breathing heavy, staring up at the ceiling. 
Her small, warm hand found his and she threaded their fingers together. Out 
of his peripheral vision, he saw a smile break out across her face. One of 
equally foolish joy spread across his own. Together, they laughed slightly, 
giddy with the situation, themselves, and the feelings coursing through 
their very beings.

"Good morning, Scully," he whispered, turning his head to look at her 
directly.

Turning her head toward him, idiotic grin not slipping in the least, she 
squeezed his hand once. "Good morning, Mulder." And, as though she just 
couldn't help herself: "Entertaining =and= satisfying. Who'd've thought we 
could have the best of both worlds?"

They slipped back into a restful slumber, chuckling softly at stupid things 
no other person on the planet would find remotely funny.

~