From: ginarain@aol.com Date: Sat, 9 Mar 2002 15:38:05 EST Subject: xfc: New: Timing is Nothing by Gina Rain (Part 1 of 2) Source: xfc Title: Timing is Nothing Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com) Rating: R (sex, language) Category: MSR: RST to UST (believe it or not) Spoilers: Sein und Zeit, Closure, Jersey Devil Archive: Sure, but drop me a line and let me know where. Summary: Is there such a thing as perfect timing? Disclaimer: All the legal rights to the show and characters do not belong to me. Are you really surprised to hear that? "I need you." Three words. And it was all over. Or perhaps it was over a half hour before. When she eased him to a standing position and gently led him to his bedroom. When she pulled off his shirt and settled him against newly stacked pillows. When she lay beside him. For comfort. For his comfort, she allowed him to burrow into the safety of her blouse. Wrapped her arms around his strong back as he tightly gripped her waist. For his comfort she ignored the wet mouth that sought the flesh exposed by the v-neckline. The hands that left her waist to travel to the buttons of the garment, slowly undoing them, one by one. For his comfort she bit into the flesh of her lower lip as he pulled down one satin cup of her bra and wrapped his lips around an already hardened nipple. Dug her fingers into his back as he began to suckle. Hard. Threw her head back slightly to inhale as he kneaded her other breast. She would do anything for his comfort. "I need you." She looked down into his deep, troubled, red-rimmed eyes. An errant lock of hair falling over his forehead, his lips and her nipple glistening from the same wet swipe of his tongue. Another moment to drive the oxygen into her lungs. To push back the purple and blue sparks already exploding behind her eyes. To firm the molten mass that was once her strong, well-toned muscles. . . bones. . . inhibitions. As she wordlessly put a hand out to push him back, she almost convinced herself. It was his eyes she focused on as she completed the removal of her blouse and bra. His slightly trembling body in sight as she drew the zipper of her pants down. The hitching of his breath as she slipped out of her pants and underwear. Him, only him, as she helped him remove his sweatpants and boxers. And as she lay back and spread her legs, reaching her arms out to him, and he plunged into her, swiftly-- without a thought to her readiness, she softly cried out and knew it was not for him at all. She ready. She had been ready in the living room, as he sobbed against her shoulder. She was ready all along. As he pulled back and thrust down for the first time she came, hard and fast. And hated herself for it. A few quick pumps and he followed her. He pulled out and lay on his back. Alone. Solitary. Staring into space. She did not move. He looked at her. Towards her. Avoiding her eyes. "You didn't. . ." "I did, Mulder. Right at the beginning. I did." A soft dissatisfied grunt. Never enough. Amidst the trials and tribulations that churned in his soul, he still couldn't leave well enough alone. He still needed proof. He rolled over and moved down her body. She put a hand out to his shoulder. "No, Mulder. I'm fine. It's not. . ." He grabbed a corner of the top sheet and quickly wiped away his semen. He covered her clit with his mouth and she closed her eyes tightly. She had come but it wasn't enough. There was much more to be released. Minutes and hours and years of emotion. Of waiting. It was the wrong moment. The absolute wrong moment. Still, as she felt fat tears splash against her even as his tongue began to swirl around her flesh, she knew she was going to take every bit of negative pleasure she could out of this. This--her first--and last--sexual encounter with Fox Mulder. She dressed quickly and haphazardly. They would need a fortifying breakfast for the day ahead. She was pretty sure he had never made funeral arrangements before. She walked out of the bathroom to find him dressed in his clothes from the night before. His bed was made and he was resting against the pillows, watching her as she emerged. His eyes met hers this time. Sad eyes. Guilty eyes. She walked to the bed and drew his head against her bosom. Sifted the fine strands of hair through her fingers. This was the man she held last night. This was the man who moved within her. . .for all too short a time. "I'm. . ." "Don't, Mulder. Don't. You have nothing to be sorry for. I don't even want you to think it, never mind feel it. You have nothing to be sorry for." He pulled back to look in her eyes. She was telling him the truth. She saw the relief pass over his face and she pushed him back against the pillows. "I'm going to make some breakfast in a while. Just rest until I call you." He closed his eyes. She went into the living room to begin picking up the evidence of last night's fit of anger and grief. The doorbell rang. It was Skinner. Their upside down world wasn't through shifting yet. Mulder had always been able to channel a dull ache into a burning anger. One that fueled action. Continuous action. As long as he kept moving. . .kept acting. . .he wouldn't have to delve into the pain of all he had lost. All that he might never again find. It was an efficient way of dealing with his internal turmoil. An efficient way of avoiding grief. But things had shifted a bit. He wasn't even sure of the timeline involved. He just knew that when he slowed down now, the ache inside him was of a different nature. It still was a longing and perhaps equally unrealistic but, this time, the object of his longing stood right beside him. His longing for the past wasn't as sharp as the one for his future. He could, and did, stir it up when needed. . .to fullfill a promise. . .to sidestep grief. But he couldn't sidestep the grief that came tumbling upon him when he found out about his mother's suicide. Damn her. If she had been murdered, her death would have added fuel to the dying fire. Would have sent him rushing headlong into another leg of his quest. Would have drawn him into a renewed charge and put his more selfish longings on a back burner. But the woman who was always supposed to be in the background--quietly pissing him off--had killed herself. And forced him to deal with pain. And he dealt with it. In the wrong way. Scully was there. As she always was. Her arms had gripped him as he fell apart. It was her body he found beside him, soft and warm and loving--as he came to sense a world outside himself in the privacy of his bedroom. The woman who represented everything good and sweet and wonderful in his life was within his reach. It was a choice. Surrender to pain--or erase every ounce of it in an earth-shattering release. But the choice--and the surrender--wasn't meant to be sweet. It was wrong. And he knew it. She forgave him. When he looked into her eyes the following morning, he believed her. But she didn't look at him in the longed-for, dreamed of way. She looked him. In full Doctor Scully/Mother Hen mode ever since. And he had no one to blame but himself. He didn't come to her as a lover; he came as a needy friend. The dull ache didn't return after their night together. Nor did the blinding pain. There was just a removal of all his protective barriers. He felt as if his very skin had been removed and the air around him hurt with every breath he took. Fox Mulder. Exposed. To the pain of his mother's death. To the knowledge that the one person he loved more than anyone else now had no illusions as to the type of man he was. They stood in the parking lot outside of the diner, near their motel. Soon. He felt it in his bones. Soon, his quest to find his sister would also be over. He had her diary. He had her final thoughts. He knew there would be more pain to come. Very, very soon. He looked at the sky. He was so tired. He should give up. Never know. Protective coverings would once again return, given enough time. But he wasn't quite finished. wasn't quite finished. He was open and raw and ready. A few words were exchanged followed by a "get some rest, Mulder," and he didn't hide his bitter amusement. He remembered feeling her lips between his shoulder blades as he turned away from her. He hadn't even kissed her. Not once that night. He hadn't done anything but use her. The single most selfish action of his life. No more. This leg of the journey was his to take and deal with. He knew he had her support but would not take anything else from her--even if she were willing to give it. He watched her walk away and allowed the cool wind to soak into his raw skin. Something within him began to slowly bleed. But it didn't scare him. It felt right. One week later Three rings. Four. She would hang on until he answered. "Hello," his voice--rich, warm and alive. "Mulder," she said on a sigh. One of relief? Perhaps. It had been five days and she deemed it more than enough time for him to grieve on his own. "What's wrong?" "Nothing. I just--I wasn't sure if you were home." "I'm not home, Scully. I'm in a nice, impersonal, rather dull timeshare." "Okay. I wasn't sure if you were in your nice, dull timeshare or on the beach." "Or in the ocean, you mean." "Mulder. . ." "It's okay. I would be worried, too. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree and all that. . ." "That's not even remotely amusing, Mulder." "I know," he said, instantly contrite, "I'm sorry. I've just been wracking my brain trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do tonight." "Came to any conclusions?" "Probably just watch tv and figure out how I'm going to live through this enforced time-out Skinner insisted on." "You need to heal." "I've had five days in solitary confinement. Five days to lick all my wounds--even the hard to reach ones. Five days all by yourself is a really, really long time, Scully." "Yes, it is," she said. Even she could hear the longing in her own voice. "Miss me?" his tone brightened a bit. "Maybe." "You could. . ." "What?" He stopped. He would not ask her. She knew he wouldn't. Instead, she got the usual change of subject. "What are you wearing Scully?" "What?" She laughed softly. "Just wanted you to know your phone call wasn't wasted and assure you that I'm the same old Mulder." She found herself smiling and leaning into the receiver. "And just what are wearing, Mulder?" "Scully? You are Scully, aren't you? Quick? Tell me Eugene Tooms' favorite meal?" "Pate. Satisfied?" "Yes. To answer your question, I am wearing nothing, Scully. Stark raving naked. My usual wall climbing wardrobe." "Must be a bit nippy out there with nothing on in the middle of February." "Yeah, I have to admit, I'm not very impressive at the moment. If you catch my drift." She laughed again. "At exactly what time would you like me to arrive, Mulder?" Silence. A small swallow. "Now," he whispered. "How about first thing in the morning?" "Deal." "Scully?" "Yes." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure. I miss you, Mulder." Another audible swallow. "You, too." Scully put down the receiver. She'd give herself two hours and then take off. She could be there as the first rays of the morning sun touched the Jersey shore. Long Beach Island, New Jersey 5 AM She beat the sun by a couple of hours. She approached the address scribbled on a piece of paper besides her. Beach front home in the dead of winter. Better in theory than reality. In reality, it looked cold and lonely. Not the least bit comforting. Poor Mulder. No wonder he was climbing the walls. While she had an internal debate over whether or not she should sit in her car until he woke up, she saw him. Sitting on a chaise lounge on the screened- in porch of the house Skinner was part-owner of. Looking out into the darkness. Waiting for her. She knew the exact moment he spotted her. A small smile crossed his face and he immediately got up, banging the screen door behind him as he made his way to her car. She opened the door and stood up. Awkward moment number one. Just how does one greet someone who has suffered two incredible losses in the past few weeks? A person who is a partner, a best friend. . .a lover? He reached out and gripped her shoulder with one hand. "You're early." "I started out sooner than I thought I would." "Good." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. She buried her face in his chest for a moment. He was wearing some strange, green flannel shirt she had never seen before. The type of shirt she'd actually never expect him to wear. It was soft and warm against her face. For a moment, she did not want to move. She wanted to comfort him and find comfort herself. Pretty much as she did that night. . . She pulled back from him quickly. "Let me get my bag and go inside. It's freezing out here, Mulder. I hope you have the heat on high." He went around to the trunk as she popped it open and grabbed her bag for her. "I have the heat cranked up and a fire going. I think I can even manage to make us coffee." "Good. Something warm and then we should both get some sleep." She cursed herself silently. Innocent remarks seemed to echo in her ears as potentially suggestive material. She was being overly sensitive and she knew it. Luckily, Mulder did not pick up on it. Or, more likely, he chose to ignore it. The last thing he was interested in was trading sexual banter after all he had been through. After washing up, she returned to the living room where Mulder had set up coffee and rolls on the table near the fireplace. True to his word, a fire was blazing and the room was warm. The lights were turned down to give the room a warm, peach-colored glow. There wasn't much furniture but what was there was comfortable and homey. "These rolls are awful, Mulder," she said, upon taking the first bite. They were a dried-out, crumbly and freezer-burned. "I didn't have any plastic wrap. I stuck them in the refrigerator yesterday morning without it. Not a good idea, huh?" "I'll go to the grocery store, later." She eyed him with suspicion. "Have you been living on these things?" "No, Scully, I have not. I've been eating from all the major food groups. Take out Chinese, take out pizza. . . The only reason I dragged these out is that there is nothing opened at this hour and it was all I had to offer you. I'll go out in a couple of hours and get us a proper breakfast. Later, I thought we could take a drive to Atlantic City. . ." "Atlantic City?" "It's a short drive." "I didn't come here to gamble, Mulder." Or was he planning on chasing down another descendant of the Jersey devil? Her expression must have reflected some of the thoughts running through her mind because he gave her a steady, resolved look. "I know you didn't come to gamble. You came here to help me mourn. Well, maybe I should have spelled it out on the phone but I've done my mourning. The only reason I'm still here is because I'm pretty sure Skinner stationed sharp-shooters armed with tranquilizer darts in the sand dunes Look, I understand why he wanted me to do this and yes--it was necessary. I needed to be away from the distraction of work--and even my normal life--to think and feel and all that good stuff. I did a lot of soul searching and a lot of letting go. I'm sure I'll have moments for the rest of my life where I will feel the loss in other ways but as far as me sitting here and willing myself to be as sad as possible--no. I'm not doing that anymore." She felt oddly annoyed. Cheated somehow. She had wanted to be there. With him. Each step of the way. It was as simple as that. In five days, she seemed to have missed a large chunk of his life--his coming to some sort of emotional resolution over feelings that had held him hostage for decades. "I don't want to go to Atlantic City." Her tone was firm and slightly belligerent. "Fine. We don't have to," his response a near echo of her own vocal pattern. He took a breath and ran his hand through his already messy hair. "Look--why don't you just get some rest. We'll figure out what to do later." It was a good idea. She knew she was more than a little cranky from the hour or so sleep she had allowed herself and from the constant worry of the past few days. She dropped the remnants of the crumbling roll into her plate and took her half-full coffee mug with her. "Where is my room?" "Second door to the right." "Fine. I'll see you around 9." "Scully--you didn't sleep all night. Just rest until your body tells you to wake up, all right? There is no rush here. Unless. . ." "Unless what?" she asked sharply. "Unless you're planning to drive back?" His poker face. But his poker face could never really fool her. There was a spark of real fear in his eyes. She softened just a bit. "No. I'm not. We'll talk later," she said, and went down the hall to her room. (continued in part 2) He was staring into the fire and waiting. Things felt strange. Like they were both on the wrong page again. Perhaps they were. Perhaps they were always destined to be that way. 3:30. Finally, he could hear the water being run in the bathroom. She walked out moments later. "Is it morning already?" she joked, a slightly sheepish expression on her face. He could breathe freely again. There she was. His Scully. Ready for a fresh start. "Come on--I have your really, really late lunch all ready for you." He led the way out to the same screened-in patio where he waited for her th at morning. While she was asleep, he had gone grocery shopping--buying picnic food for the afternoon and anything else she might want for the next few days. He had spread a warm blanket and cushions on the ground. It was nice, in a bizarre way. Two portable space heaters provided warmth, but the raw sea air still filled the room. A nice blend of invigorating nature mixed with creature comfort. "Didn't you rest at all, Mulder?" Scully asked, sitting down cross-legged on the blanket. She picked up a plate for him, and automatically began assembling a hefty sandwich, served with ample portions of deli salads on the side. "I didn't need it. I've been resting for days. I think I slept more in the first two days of being here than I've slept in years." "Well, that's a natural defense mechanism of the body to extreme" "Yes. I know," he cut her off and took the plate she gave him, then watched as she helped herself to a liberal amount of pasta salad. He knew she meant well but he really didn't want to overanalyze his emotions. He had done that all his life. They sat and ate in relative silence and when he finished, he put down his plate and stared at her. He had been thinking about her all week. So tempted to call but needing to give her some time away from him. She had adjustments to make as well. "Tell me what you did this week, Scully." "I'm not discussing work, Mulder." "I'm not asking you to discuss work. I'm talking about you--after work. What did you do with yourself?" He sounded like an asshole, and he knew it. Like her world would suddenly stop revolving when he wasn't in it. "Just--normal everyday things. Why don't you tell me about how you managed this week. . ." Details. She wanted details. He sighed and tried to reassure her in as few words as possible. "I walked on the beach. Remembered to eat. Remembered to sleep. Cried. Laughed. Worried. And the next day. . ." She smiled softly but there was still something wrong. "I have a feeling you came here under false pretenses, Scully. At first, I thought you were just annoyed because of the long ride with no sleep but. . .I'm still getting that same feeling I did this morning. I know you probably expected to find me in worse shape than I am, but I didn't know the only reason you came here was to keep me from throwing myself into the sea. I thought you came up because you might have mis. . ." "I did. I did miss you." Her eyes stared right into his. She was telling him the truth and seemed slightly disturbed that he would even question it. "Well, I missed you, too. I wanted you to be here. I want to start my future, Scully, and I want to start it off right. With you. Right here besides me." He leaned toward her. This time, he would do things right. A kiss. Just a kiss. It didn't have to lead to anything at all. Just a soft promise, like the one they had made to each other on New Year's Eve. She put her hand out and gently pushed him away from her. Oh. Of course. Over the past few days, he had pretty much convinced himself that she had allowed him to seek comfort in her arms because she really did love him--in that way. That it was just a natural extension of what she was feeling. That that was why she forgave him so quickly. But he was wrong. "I'm sorry." He said, and stood up, not looking at her. "Time for my afternoon stroll, Scully. Have to stick to the mourning routine. I'll be back a little later. There is some chocolate mousse in the refrigerator. Help yourself." And with that, he turned, went out of the house and walked briskly up the beach. Fifteen minutes later he saw her walking toward him. Mama Hen strikes again, he thought, as he saw the blanket and thermal mug in her hands. She had stopped to gather these things and her jacket. He had stopped for nothing. She draped the blanket over him and handed him the mug before sitting next to him and looking out at the sea. "I couldn't find your jacket, for some reason." "I think I left it in the basement. I had to check the oil tank when I got back from the store." "Oh." Mulder opened the slot in the mug and took a sip. He smiled. Tea. The only thing that surprised him was that it wasn't chamomile. Wasn't that supposed to cure all the ills of the world? "Mulder. . ." "No. Wait a minute. I just--I was wrong--back at the house. And I've been wrong for a couple of weeks now. No matter what has happened, you certainly had a right to an apology--" "I told you there was nothing to apologize for." "That's where you're wrong. I. . .that was the worst thing I have ever done to you, Scully. And that's saying a lot. The fact that you've been so. . .understanding and generous in your forgiveness does not excuse anything. And that I would be presumptuous enough to assume that the reasons you went along with. . .things had. . .oh, shit. I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just sorry. I certainly knew better than that and I was such a fucking pig, Scully. I never, ever want you to think that I would normally treat you the way I did that night." "I know that Mulder. I've always known that. You were upset. . ." "Please. I can use that as an excuse for my entire existence but sometimes, it just doesn't cut it." "I think we're crossing signals here, Mulder. I'm not upset with what happened. I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to comfort you. And--I still do. I just--wanted things to be a bit different than they turned out." He nodded slowly. He could understand all of it but still felt there was more. "What can I do to make things better, Scully?" She grinned and turned to him, pushing both ends of the blanket around him tighter. "Let me take care of you a little." "Scully--I don't need. . ." "I know you don't need it. But, maybe I do," she said in a soft voice. Her eyes had that sheen to them again. He could deny her nothing. "You promise not to paint my toenails?" "Damn. That was number one on my list." She stood outside of the bathroom door. After a brief argument, she managed to convince him to get inside the bubble bath she drew for him. After a brief argument with herself, she couldn't wait for him to get out. She needed to clear the air right at that very moment. She knocked briefly, then walked in. He was lying back with his eyes closed. He lazily opened them as she entered. "A case in favor of bubble baths is not required. You win." She smiled and sat and the edge of the tub. A look of surprised curiosity crossed his face. "I wasn't entirely truthful. And that's not fair to you." "Truthful about what?" "About--the night we spent together. About this," she said, gesturing to him. "About my bath?" "Mulder." "No. I'm listening." He sat up. She swallowed and took a quick breath. "I think you're under the impression--I know you're under the impression--that you somehow took advantage of our friendship. That you used me, in some way. Actually, I used you." "You did?" "Yes. God knows it wasn't planned. You were just hurting so much and I wanted to make things better. But suddenly, you were doing things that. . .I was just so tired, Mulder. Tired of fighting with myself and my emotions. It wasn't just comfort. I. . ." "What?" "I you, Mulder. It was the wrong moment, but I did. I wanted you to continue to do the things you started doing. You never had to ask me twice. I just. . .wanted you," her voice faded away. His look went from puzzled to slightly amused within the space of a moment. "And the problem is. . ." he prompted. "Mulder. . ." "Seriously, Scully. Do you think I'm suddenly going to get indignant when the woman I've desired for years confesses that she wanted to jump my bones as badly as I wanted to jump hers?" "The problem is not the act but the timing. You've felt bad about it. I've felt bad about it. And it could all have been avoided." "Yes, it could have. By making love a long time ago." The look of regret that was missing in his expression for a few moments found its way back home. "It wasn't the time, Mulder," she said softly. "That's what we thought, didn't we?" He said, artfully rearranging the bubbles in the tub. "It never was the right time. We were waiting for something that was actually resolved a long time ago. We were waiting, in essence, for nothing." "That's not true. That answer was everything to you." "It But you were, too. In theory, I wanted to give you everything--when I was able to. No holding any part of myself back. Instead--I chose the perfect time, didn't I? One brief sexual encounter that has left us both psychoanalyzing and second guessing ourselves and each oth er for over a week now." "We both chose the timing. The blame belongs to both of us." "Okay. I'm willing to share." His good humor seemed to be returning. He leaned against the back of the tub again. The bubbles parted in an enticing way as the water swished back into place around him. "You are such an exhibitionist, Mulder." "I could say something about you enjoying the exhibition but I won't because you'd probably think it was inappropriate bathtub etiquette." She removed her slippers, rolled up her pants and dunked her feet in his bathwater. Her toes touched the skin of his calf--slightly. His eyes were heavy lidded as he watched her feet in lazy fascination. "Tell me, Scully." "Tell you what?" "How did you want it to happen? Ideally?" "The scenarios were different. But, when it came down to it, I just wanted it to be us. Just you and me." "I understand." "And you?" she asked quietly, nudging his foot with her own. "I wanted it to be. . .slow. So you'd know it was love making--not just sex . So you'd know how much you mean to me. . ." "If I sang any better, I'd be giving you a chorus of 'you can't always get what you want.'" He laughed and sat up. "I'm rubbing off on you, Scully." He pulled the mesh sponge from the soap dish. "Wash my back?" She slid her feet out the water and got up. She went around to the other side of the tub. "Scoot up." He moved forward a bit and she slid her feet back into the water. She took soap and applied it to the sponge. "Irish Spring?" she queried, as the overly perfumed scent filled the room. "Must be Skinner's. He's a manly man." She started rubbing his shoulders with the sponge, then cupped her hand in the water and trickled the suds off his back. He had a beautiful back. "The soap will make the bubbles disappear, Scully." "I'm looking forward to it, Mulder." She slipped into the tub and stood on her knees behind him. She dropped the sponge and took the bar of soap in her hands and slowly moved it across his skin. "Mmmm. . .that's nice." It was nice. Touching him. Feeling his skin beneath her fingers. All of him bare and open to her. She leaned forward and pressed her lips between his shoulder blades. She felt him shiver beneath her mouth. "Cold?" "No. Not at all." She slipped her arms under his and wrapped them around his chest. She licked the water off his shoulder and followed it with a slow, open-mouthed kiss. "We never kissed that night, Scully. I thought about that later." "We've never kissed at all. Well, except for New Year's Eve." "Mmmm. . ." "I just want to touch you for a while. Is that all right?" He covered her hands with his own. "Scully," he said softly, turning her name into an endearment. "I was so worried about you, Mulder. I missed you so much." She put the soap back into the dish and rested her head against his back. Perhaps she'd be lucky and melt into him, so she could stay that way for a while. No interruptions, no thoughts. "We have a very strange relationship, Scully." She gave a short laugh and tightened her grip around his chest. He squeezed the hands he was holding. "How so?" she asked, taking the bait. "Well, like tonight. We went from never speaking of such things to having a n in-depth conversation about sex, love and emotions." "Is that a bad thing?" "No." "My knees hurt, Mulder," she sighed softly. So much for melting into him. He turned his head to look at her, a fearful expression on his face. He was afraid he had said too much. Spelled out too much about their relationship. She smiled briefly and got out of the tub, dripping water from her wet jean s. She pulled them off quickly, dropped the sodden mess in the sink, and kneeled on the bathroom rug next to him. She reached out her hand and smoothed the hair away from his face. "Maybe the concept of perfect timing is a myth," she said. "Maybe." In a perfect world, with perfect timing, she would never have worn jeans th at weighed fifty pounds when wet. In a perfect world, the narrow bathtub would have been a hot tub for two. In a perfect world, she'd still have her arms around him and would still be touching him. In a less than perfect world, a woman deals with imperfections and makes the most of what she's given. "I'm going to change my clothes, Mulder. Why don't you meet me at the couch ? I don't know that this is the 'right time' for us. I just don't know. All I do know is that I want to lay down with my arms around you. I want to finally kiss that beautiful mouth I've been staring at forever. . .and, if there are no ghosts in the room, and we feel like taking it slow" He smiled beautifully in response. She reached out and tapped her finger against his nose. She then got up and saucily walked out of the door, her sweater only half concealing a pair of navy blue panties. Mulder quickly reached for the towel and pulled himself out of the bathtub. The End Author's Notes: Once in a while, I write something and am totally baffled over the directio n the story took. This is one of those times. I've tried to go back and chang e it to the type of story I expected it to be originally and find myself unab le to delete what I have. So--what the hell. I'm going with it. Thanks for letting me share my neurotic ramblings with you (a brief glimpse into the dark chamber of Gina's insecurities;-)