Story Archive

Shocking Blue

by Karen Matheson

 

 

Shocking Blue

by Karen Matheson

 

Rating: NC-17

Classification: SRA

Spoilers: Gethsemane

Keywords: S/S, MSR

Summary: Scully gets lucky, in more ways than one.

 

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program "The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

Special thanks to my editorial triumverate: my pal Stephanie, Queen Shipper, who indulged my straying into unpopular waters and led me back to the path of righteousness; Chantal, Editor of the Gleaming Knife, who encourages my wicked ways and is wise enough not to let me fall into the morass of syrupy love-mush; and Rhoni, the one-and-only Purple Rhino -- if she likes it, I figure it can't be all that bad.

 

Warning: this story is NC-17, so if you are under 18, vamoose.

 

Comments to: metro.guide@ns.sympatico.ca Please put 'To Karen' in subject line.

Shocking Blue

"I am a man who fasts until I see what I want."

The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje

 

I have never seen Agent Scully look the way she looks tonight. But then, I would never have imagined her in this setting, either. I sit in the darkest corner of the garishly pulsating nightclub, watching her. I am here to protect her. From herself.

 

On the dancefloor, she is undulating lasciviously in front of a skinny man with spiked platinum hair, dark at the roots. Her eyes never leave his as every part of her body moves, seemingly of its own volition. She is drunk, I can see that from the glaze in her eyes and the way her wet lips are parted. The man can see this too, and he pulls her close, crushing those lips under his own. She pulls back and smiles. She looks...triumphant? They leave the dancefloor, heading to the exit. Time to move. I'm out of my seat in an instant and making my way toward them.

 

I saw him the moment he entered the club, not long after I made my own entrance, clothed in the tightest black jeans I could find, pulled on over a skin-tight black leotard. I am dressed for success tonight, and career has got nothing to do with it.

 

He thinks I don't know he's here, but the whirling disco lights shine off his bald dome like a beacon, pointing the way to safety. Fuck safety. Mulder is dead and I am dying and I've come here looking for Mr. Goodbar. The multi-pierced stud leading me through the crowd is just the ticket. I'm going to get good and fucked tonight, or die trying. Maybe both. I don't care anymore.

 

Suddenly, Skinner is in front of us, barring the way. "Hunh?" says my date du nuit. I smile. So he is as stupid as he looks. Good. It's not his brains I'm after.

 

"Agent Scully," Skinner barks in his best Assistant Director voice. "May I have a word with you?"

 

"I'm off duty," I smile, draping myself around my new 'friend.' Skinner's eyes darken. He's not looking too bad himself tonight, grey T-shirt stretched over taut muscles, broad shoulders concealed under a deep-brown leather jacket that matches his eyes. Mmm, Dana, I think to myself, your mind really is in the gutter tonight.

 

"I insist," he hisses between clenched teeth.

 

"Hey buddy," says my blond bimbo pal, "the lady don't wanta talk to you. Now buzz off, we got business to attend to." He looks down at me, leering. His teeth are snaggled and I wonder what they will feel like on me. I squirm against him in encouragement.

 

"Dana."

 

I look up in surprise, both at Skinner's use of my first name, and the gentle tone with which he speaks it.

 

"Is this..." he jerks his head toward Blondie. "Is this really what you want? Is this really going to help anything?"

 

Goddamn. Goddamn it to hell.

 

"This is MY life, *Sir*! My life to do with what's left of it!" I am furious, seeing red and little else in the woozy drunken haze. "Sid here," I point at Blondie's chest so there's no confusion, but apparently there is, because Sid interrupts me.

 

"Ted."

 

Now it's my turn to say, "Hunh?"

 

"Ted. My name's Ted."

 

"Whatever. Sid here is an artist, and he's--" I stifle a giggle, to little success. "He's taking me back to his place to show me his etchings." I can't help it, I'm really laughing now. Skinner doesn't seem to get the joke. Too fucking bad. My anger flares up again at the sight of his tightly held chin, muscle jumping along the jaw line. "Sid doesn't give a sweet flying fuck if I'm Agent Dana Scully, FBI, or Lovely Rita, Meter Maid. He just wants to give me what *I* want."

 

I pause, swaying on my feet and jab Skinner's rock-hard chest for emphasis. "What can *you* give me? An office in the basement where I don't even have my own fucking desk, a partner that's jerked around like a puppet on a string until he cuts the strings by blowing his head off, and a case of terminal cancer! Is that all you can offer me?"

 

Skinner grabs my hand and jerks me against him. I can smell his musky male scent and shiver as the tips of my breast are crushed against his hardness. He doesn't say anything, but his lips are pulled back from his teeth, like a dog about to bite. And then he kisses me. There is nothing gentle about him now, and I am glad. Mulder was gentle. I want to forget Mulder.

 

"Hey!" says Sid, not about to bow out gracefully, not when he's got a live one on the line. "Hey Diane! What the fuck you doin'?"

 

Skinner grabs Sid by the scruff of the neck, and for one drunken moment, I wonder if he's about to give him the Vulcan nerve pinch. This thought sets off another round of giggles, muffled into Skinner's chest.

 

"Back off boy," Skinner hisses, his eyes as dark and deadly as the swamps he once stalked as a Marine. "Unless you want to find out what life looks like with your head screwed up your ass!"

 

He releases Blondie, who rubs his shoulder and pouts prettily. "Diane?" he mewls, pleadingly.

 

"Yeah, back off Sid. Something's come up." I rub my hand against the front of Skinner's faded jeans. Oh my, something certainly has.

 

It seems impossible, but Skinner's back straightens up even stiffer. He grabs my wrist again, and the pain shoots up my arm like fire.

 

"We're getting out of here," he growls. "I'm taking you home."

 

"I thought you'd never ask," I purr, pressing my hips against his own.

 

As we leave, I glance back over my shoulder. Sid looks like a little boy lost. That's life, Sid. You can't always get what you want...but sometimes you get what you need. And what I need is hard and strong and implacable as he leads me to his car.

 

It's at least a 15-minute drive to Scully's apartment, but I am determined to shave as much off this as possible as I speed through the dark streets of night in the city. I am ashamed of my behavior in the club, but try to rationalize it. It was the only thing I could do to get her attention, to get her away from that punk. I followed her there tonight, on a gut instinct that she was not handling this latest tragedy as calmly as her performance in front of the board would indicate. I sat in my car outside her apartment for hours, unsure of what I thought might happen, but knowing that I couldn't abandon her to fate as I had her partner. When she emerged from her building and climbed into a cab, looking like a painted whore setting off on the stroll, I knew there would be trouble. I just didn't see myself getting caught up in it, at least not this way.

 

She's lounging back in her seat, head pressed back against the car door. Her lovely red hair falls across her forehead. Her eyes lock with mine. What a shocking blue, I think, not for the first time.

 

Her feet are on the dashboard, and I stifle the impulse to tell her to get them the hell down, sit up straight and fasten her seatbelt. Her next movement makes me regret that I hadn't followed that impulse. She kicks off her right shoe, then the left. Her bare feet hang in the air for a moment, and I am mesmerized by how small and white they are. I wrench my eyes back to the road. Getting into an accident with one of your agents tarted up like a whore would not look good on your permanent record, Walter.

 

But all coherent thought leaves me as Agent Scully's pretty little feet settle over my lap, the heels rubbing insistently against me. My cock, still semi-hard from her touch only minutes before, jerks back to full-alert status. The breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh.

 

"Think you can ignore me?" Scully purrs, as her heels continue their little dance of seduction. "I don't *think* so, Sir. I will *not* be ignored," she adds, imitating Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, to a renewed hail of giggles.

 

What the fuck have I gotten myself into, I think. I grab her ankles and shove them off me, leaving my right arm between us as a barrier.

 

"*Agent* Scully," I say, emphasizing the 'agent,' "I am taking you home and putting you to bed--" I raise my voice over the 'oooohs' this statement produces, "--and then I am going home! And we will forget this incident ever happened. On Monday, I'm going to refer you to a Bureau counselor, so you can deal with your grief--"

 

"Oh, but I know the perfect way to deal with my grief, Sir, I really do." She's moving across the seat, getting closer, slow and sinuous as a cat. "And I'm afraid the only person--the *only* person--who can help me with that is you--"

 

My right hand comes up to block her progress as she tries to crawl into my lap. Undaunted, she takes my hand in both of hers, nipping at the knuckles, drawing her nails along the sensitive palm, and finally, slowly, taking my long middle finger in between her rosebud lips and suckling like a child.

 

Oh God, Walter, I think to myself. You are a dead man.

 

 

 

I unlock the door to my apartment and Skinner pushes me in, slamming the door behind him. I am ready, as ready for this as I am to die, to leave behind all the pain of these last few years. But I am not going to go gentle. I'm going out with a bang.

 

I whirl around and jump into Skinner's arms, wrapping my legs around him and grinding against him. He's ready, too, even though he doesn't want to admit it. I'll make him admit it.

 

I bury my face in his neck, chewing delicately on his earlobe, salty as the thoughts running amok in my grief-addled mind. Skinner groans as he peels me off him, setting me back on the floor.

 

"No."

 

"You want this. I know you do. As much as I want you." I shove him up against the wall, amazed at how easily the five-foot-two Dana Scully can push around this ex-Marine.

 

My knees are jello. My conscience is on vacation. I am insane. I am damned. I pull the little red-headed devil tormenting me into my arms and kiss her into silence, or at least the next best thing to it. She is breathing heavily, as am I, but all powers of speech have left us. She reaches up and tugs my jacket halfway off, trapping my arms. She smiles, evilly.

 

"I think I like you better this way." Her hands reach for my belt buckle, but I wrench my arms free of the jacket and grab her, swooping her up in one fluid movement and carrying her down the hall. To the bedroom.

 

I kick open the door and throw her on the bed. I flick on the light. Her eyes are glowing. I have never felt such lust in my entire life, and it controls me, refusing to release my better judgement from its steely grip.

 

Scully licks her lips. I fall on her.

 

 

 

Ooooh God, this feels so good! Why didn't I think of this before? All those nights chasing Mulder and little green men when I could have stayed back at the office, letting my boss fuck me into oblivion.

 

His lips are hard against mine, tongue invading my mouth and I welcome it, sucking it into the moist recesses of my being. His hard, long length shudders against me and he reaches for my breasts, thumbs bruising the nipples into fiery points of desire. He tries to pull my top out of my jeans, but to no avail. He looks up, confused, and more than a little frustrated.

 

"It's a leotard," I offer helpfully.

 

"I don't care if it's a fucking tutu, get it off!"

 

"Is that an order?" I ask softly, running my hands up and down his chest, pausing at his own breasts to tweak the nipples, hard.

 

"Unh! Okay. No more Mr. Nice Guy."

 

Faster than I would think humanly possible, my jeans are unzipped and yanked off, thrown to the floor to lie there inside out, accusing me in mute abandonment. Then the leotard is wrenched off my shoulders, pulled down the short length of my body, and soon joins the pants on the floor. Skinner's eyes lock on my breasts, pushed up and together in my black lace bra. His gaze slides down to the matching panties.

 

"Sweet Mother of God."

 

"That's nice of you to say, Sir, but you should know, I'm not a virgin. Certainly not a blessed one."

 

He grunts in agreement, nuzzling the lace off my nipples with his nose, and then, teeth. Look Ma, no hands, my mind trills foolishly.

 

But I don't laugh when those teeth close on an engorged nipple. Oh no. Laughter is the furthest thing from my mind as I arch my back into his hot, insistent mouth, moaning my approval.

 

Skinner's hand snakes up to cradle my skull in his bear-like paw, fingers tangling in my hair. The other hand moves down my body, until the thumb hooks decisively in the waistband of my panties.

 

"Rip them off," I whisper huskily. "Rip them off!"

 

Shudders of desire are rippling along his finely muscled back as he struggles to maintain control, and some semblance of his strained discipline. I want to strip him bare, to leave him as naked and raw as I am.

 

"Scu-- Dana..." His voice and his breathing are ragged.

 

I touch my lips to one trembling ear.

 

"Please..." I punctuate each word with a thrusting of my hips. "Please. Fuck me. Please..."

 

Before you can say "Flukeman," the tattered remnants of lace are wafting through the air, followed by my bra and most of Skinner's clothes. I feel a sharp pang of disappointment when I see that he's wearing briefs. I thought he'd be a boxers man, like...I push away the thought. Soon, the briefs are gone and my mind returns to more immediate matters.

 

 

 

I must be careful not to hurt her. She is so tiny, and with her pale, perfect features, so like a China doll. I brace myself on my elbows, trying to keep my full weight from pressing down upon her. But someone else is less concerned about safety. Scully reaches between us and grabs me with her small, white hand. My head snaps back violently and my back arches in a bow. She takes advantage of my distraction, wriggling down the bed beneath me. And then I feel her lips on me. I grab the headboard, desperate to maintain my balance, and try to shift my weight to my knees. Seemingly oblivious to my struggles, Scully continues to work my cock, tongue snaking around the head, then drawing it in deeper, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive shaft.

 

The last time we thought Mulder was dead, Scully and I faced each other on opposite sides of his livingroom, guns pointed at each other's heads. Now we are locked in another kind of struggle. And if I don't stop her soon, I'm going to unwittingly declare premature defeat.

 

 

 

I have felt powerless for so long, buffeted about at others' whims, playing my own part in the destruction of a man I loved more than my own fragile life. Now that he is gone and I no longer care what happens to me, I'm free to take back any measure of power that I can. How appropriate that it's with Skinner. It could have been anyone, a stranger, but this is so much more fitting, more poetic. He and I both played our roles, through deception and ignorance, in the web of lies that ensnared the noblest soul I have ever known. Now, as I walk the knife edge, I want my new dancing partner with me every step of the way, descending step by step into the abyss that swallowed Mulder.

 

As if reading my mind, Skinner jerks my head back by the hair, not quite hard enough to hurt, but enough to get my attention.

 

"Something wrong?" My voice is perfectly measured and calm. His is not.

 

"You're not letting me lead."

 

"Be my guest."

 

Some frantic tumbling of limbs later, our positions are reversed, and I sit astride him. Holding my arms immobile just below the shoulders, he pulls me slowly toward him, and once again one of my nipples disappears into his thin-lipped mouth. I raise up slightly on my knees, positioning myself directly above his throbbing erection. The tip grazes my entrance and I shudder with anticipation.

 

"Wait," Skinner rasps. "I didn't...I don't have..."

 

"Don't worry, Sir. If you let go of my arms, I can get us what we need."

 

He does, and I reach into my bedside table, retrieving a condom from the recently purchased box.

 

"You must not have been a Boy Scout, Sir," I say as I rip open the packet and roll its contents over him.

 

"No, I didn't come prepared, but I didn't plan on this turn of events. And would you stop calling me Sir, you make me feel like a headmaster deflowering some nubile young student."

 

"That sounds like fun, can we play that game next?"

 

"No more games..."

 

He rolls me beneath him, entering me in one powerful thrust.

 

And for a few moments, there is no Scully, no Skinner, and there never was a Mulder. There is simply two people locked in a primal embrace, and nothing can touch us, not even Mulder's ghost.

 

 

 

She's writhing beneath me, unable to move the arms I hold trapped at the wrists. All notion of caution has left me as I hammer pitilessly into her. She moans in my ear, wordless sounds of submission that spur me on, enflaming me further. Legs wrapped round me, her heels beat against my ass as she pushes her breasts into my chest and keens.

 

We are both so close. Releasing her wrists, I grab her face in my hands. Startled, she opens tightly shut eyes and looks at me, desperate.

 

"This..."

 

Thrust.

 

"...is all I can I can offer you, Agent Scully..."

 

Thrust.

 

"...only this."

 

Thrust.

 

Her neck arches back, mouth open in a soundless scream as she comes like a freight train, inner muscles clenching mercilessly on my cock until I follow her over the edge, gasping her name, both of them, all of them, incoherent and helpless in the aftermath of this collision of our lives.

 

 

 

The morning sun is stealing through the ruffled curtains above my bed. I stretch like a cat, bumping an elbow lightly against the slick bald head of Walter Skinner. He doesn't stir. Poor boy, he needs his sleep. Something tells me he's going to be grumpy as a bear when he wakes up.

 

As for me, I have no regrets. No regrets, no regrets, I will have no regrets. If I tell myself that long enough, maybe it will be true. Besides, what does it matter? What does anything matter? Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

 

A sound from the entryway cuts short my self-indulgent reverie. A key in the lock. Mom? She wouldn't come over here without calling. But the only other person with a key...

 

Footsteps on my bright and shiny hardwood floors. I know the rhythm of those footfalls.

 

I can't breathe.

 

And then a familiar shadow falls across my bedroom door.

 

Oh

 

my

 

God....

 

What...

 

...who is...

 

Oh...oh...

 

My heart is beating so loud in my chest I can't believe it's not waking that bald fucker up. One lone pair of eyes meet mine, wide and blue and terrified. She's not even happy to see me.

 

Well why should she be, you stupid shit, you just barged in on a private party. My knees give out and I slump down the wall beside her dresser, my ass hitting the floor with an audible thump.

 

"Mmmmph....what the hell?"

 

Oh, now he's awake, eyes jerking around, taking in Scully's ashen face and then turning to me. Blinking. A swift movement to the bedside table, is he going for his gun? No, just his glasses. He looks at me again. Blinks once more.

 

"Christ..."

 

Christ indeed. "Yes, it is I, I've risen again." My voice drips acid, but it's shaking, too. Damn. "I know I'm making a nasty habit of doing that, but I'm glad to see you two are getting along better than the last time I left you alone."

 

"Mulder..." Scully's eyes are pleading. "Where have you been, we thought you were dead--"

 

"Yeah, I can see you're all choked up about it, too. Is this your version of an Irish wake?"

 

"Agent Mulder--"

 

"All right, now you shut the fuck up, Skinner! You just couldn't wait for my corpse to cool before you jumped in the sack with my partner!"

 

Suddenly, cold realization hits me. "That's why you told me not to talk to the Smoking Man, why you went to him yourself. You weren't being noble, you were just trying to rack up points so you could get your ashes hauled!"

 

Scully's gaze whips back and forth between us. "What, what is he talking about? What do you mean?"

 

That fucker lays a palm on top of Scully's hand to calm her. "Later. Right now I think Agent Mulder has some explaining to do."

 

"Oh do I?" I laugh, raking my fingers through wild hair. "That's funny, I would have thought it was the other way around."

 

"Agent Mulder, your partner spent yesterday morning identifying your body, would you have the decency to explain to her why she went through that particular hell?"

 

"My mom had trump and couldn't break away from her bridge game?" Boy, that was a feeble attempt at humour and I know it. My hand reaches up to cover my eyes. No good, that image of them together is burned forever on my retinas. I wish I *was* dead.

 

 

 

Oh God, I want to go to him, but I'm naked underneath these blankets and my robe is hanging uselessly in the closet.

 

"Mulder, please...please tell me what happened."

 

He looks up at me, eyes shining brightly with tears, face contorted in pain. That I have done this to him twists my heart, damping down any nascent anger at having been put through such needless grief. I knew he loved me as much as I love him. I just didn't think he knew. From the degree of his reaction, he does now.

 

"Please...tell me. I need to know."

 

A babbling, rambling explanation follows. Jeremiah Smith showing up at his apartment, offering a cure. Mulder slipping into his bedroom to change before bringing the man to me. The sounds of a struggle. Mulder runs back into his livingroom to find his own doppelganger pinning Smith face down to the floor, raised arm wielding a stiletto blade.

 

"I figured it wasn't Eddie Van Blundht, so I shot him. I shot myself in the face." Mulder's lower lip is trembling and his eyes are staring into space.

 

"But it couldn't have been the Bounty Hunter, his body would have decayed, he would have bled green--"

 

"I didn't stop to ask questions, okay? We got out of there. They were on Smith's tail, I had to hide him. I had to keep him safe until I could get him to you. So we got the hell out of Dodge, laid low until things calmed down, and now -- I'm back."

 

Skinner interrupts. "Where's Smith?"

 

Mulder's head lolls back against the wall, eyes clenched, lips pursed tightly. His hands dangle limply from wrists laid atop his knees.

 

"He said he couldn't take the chance, after they'd come so close to getting him. So he gave it to me."

 

"Gave what to you?" I barely recognize my own voice.

 

"The cure."

 

"Where is it?"

 

He spreads his hands wide, like some corny magician about to perform a trick. "Right here."

 

 

 

Skinner emerges from the bedroom, full dressed, thank God, and heads for the front door, barely sparing a glance to me pacing around the livingroom.

 

"Not staying for the floor show?"

 

"Agent Mulder, I think you and Dana have a few things to work out."

 

"Sorry to spoil your fun *Wally*, I'll let you know when *Dana* can come out and play again."

 

Skinner stiffens. Is he going to punch me? Oh please, please, let him try.

 

"You really are a sad, stupid sack of shit sometimes, aren't you Mulder?"

 

"Stop it."

 

Scully. Face freshly scrubbed, hair brushed back, blue silk robe tied tightly at the waist. She's so beautiful. And she's not mine.

 

"Please." She looks at Skinner, motioning toward the door.

 

The look on his face. I wish I had a picture. Wordlessly, he turns, pauses, motionless for a moment...

 

Then he's gone. I sit down on the couch and sulk.

 

Shit. How could this happen? Why does it kill me so much? I don't have any claim on her.

 

Scully sits beside me, much too close. I can't hate her when she's this close to me, when she looks at me with such compassion in her eyes.

 

"Are you ready to talk to me?" she asks softly.

 

"How could you do that? How could you sleep with him? I thought I knew you."

 

Scully looks away, face hardening slightly, then those laser-blue eyes snap back to mine.

 

"No, you don't know me. You don't know me at all. I tried to tell you that before, but you don't listen to me. I'm not just your spunky little straight man, I'm a flesh-and-blood person who makes mistakes. I. Saw. You. Dead. Do you know what that did to me? Do you have any idea? I think I went a little crazy."

 

"You went a lot crazy. God! Skinner? What were you thinking?"

 

"Do you really want to sit here and discuss my dubious taste in men?"

 

I don't like the look she's giving me. I don't want to know what she has to say, either, probably something about how bald men have high testosterone and raging stamina....Oh God.

 

"No," I answer, shivering in revulsion at the images dancing through my head.

 

"Mulder, you have to know...what happened between Skinner and I -- it wasn't about love. I needed someone, and he was there for me..." She reaches for me.

 

I'm out of my seat and halfway across the room before she even knows I've moved.

 

"Don't touch me!" God, I'm shrieking like a little girl. "It's...it's very important that you not touch me...not yet..."

 

Scully's face has fallen and I don't think I have ever seen her look more miserable. She also looks kinda angry.

 

"Why do you care," she asks softly, with a hint of something darker colouring her words. "Huh? What difference does it make to you who I sleep with? Have I fallen off the Goddamn pedestal you've kept me on all this years because I had the gall to stray from the monastic life you imposed on yourself and on me? Is that it? Or is it something else?"

 

I can't meet her eyes, and that just pisses her off more.

 

"You look at me when I'm talking to you, Goddammit, Mulder!" She's up and circling the coffee table, fists clenched tightly at her sides. "I want to hear it! You tell me what gives you the Goddamn right to have any say in my life! Say it!"

 

I know what she's asking. But damned if I'm gonna give her the satisfaction of telling her how I feel, just so she can give me the "I don't think of you that way, let's just be friends" speech.

 

"Okay," I say, trying to mollify her. This wasn't why I came here, to have this kind of scene. "Let's just calm down."

 

Scully bursts into tears and slumps back down on the couch, curling into a little ball.

 

Shit. You really are a bastard, I tell myself, maybe for the millionth time.

 

"Scully, I don't know what's going on here, everything is so fucked up, but I really just came here to help you, please, let me help you."

 

"How?" she sniffles, head turned to the back of the couch. "Are you going to lay hands on me and cast out the evil demon cancer?"

 

"Something like that," I say, sitting carefully beside her. "I know you don't believe that Smith can heal people...but he gave me something. I don't understand how, and I don't know exactly what's going to happen...but please... bear with me." Scully says nothing. I brush her hair back from her eyes and she looks up at me, reproach, regret, and maybe a hint of something else shining there.

 

 

 

My breath catches in my throat as Mulder's long-fingered hands cup my face gently. His expression is unreadable, and all I see are those sad, sad eyes looming large before me. I gulp back a sob and shift to face him. And then those eyes close in concentration and something...wonderful begins to happen.

 

The pads of his fingers were cool on my skin when they first touched me, but now, a strange heat, thick and sweet as melted chocolate seems to pulse from them. I try to say his name and find myself unable to speak and soon, unable to think. My body relaxes back into the couch as he leans in closer.

 

The space between us melts away, mortal flesh forgotten as the essence that is Mulder seems to abandon self to merge with the essence that is Scully, that is me. Whirling, entwining, caressing in nothingness, heat that is beyond the temporal, beyond all that we know or are capable of knowing fills us, completes us. Soaring, I look into his soul and see...myself. I feel him looking into me and finding his own name etched on the battered, bruised stone that is my heart. And then I feel...such love, such love, oh God, that he could love me this much, I never dared dream, never dared wish for it...

 

Forgiveness, understanding, he gives me everything, offers me himself in this strange and wonderful plane of existence that has always been here, though we were too blind, too human to see it. And I offer myself in return, accepting all his faults, his strengths, his weakness, everything that is Mulder.

 

Climbing higher, exploding into the light, we are born anew as one soul, pure, unfettered...healed. Then slowly, sinking back into our separateness. But we will never be without each other again. He is mine, now, part of me. And I am part of him. Forever.

 

Blinking, fluttering, my eyelids open. Mulder has fallen halfway off the couch, knees on the floor, hands still pressed tightly to my blazing cheeks. His eyes are closed, and he is breathing heavily. I shift my legs, tangled in my robe, and twine them around his narrow hips, pulling him close. His eyes open slightly, sleepy and dark.

 

"Mulder," I whisper, afraid to dash the perfection of this moment with my voice. "Make love to me."

 

"I think I just did," he deadpans, words only slightly slurred.

 

"Could we try it the old-fashioned way now?"

 

He nods solemnly, as though seriously considering his options. "All right."

 

Well, he's still as infuriating as ever. "Geez Mulder, don't get excited or anything."

 

"I am excited."

 

"Prove it."

 

He nods again, the dreamy, far-away look never leaving his eyes. His hands slide down from my face to the sash of my robe, slowly untying it, then pushing the silky cloth back from my body. He leans forward, gently, reverently kissing my breasts as his hands slide around my back, pulling me closer to him, so that I can feel his excitement. My head lolls back from the fragile stem of my throat and I groan with pleasure.

 

"Scully," he whispers. "Scully."

 

Pausing to shuck his tattered, filthy jeans and sweater, he leans up, and for the first time...we kiss. His lips are delicate and soft, tongue darting questioningly, cautiously, before sliding in. Nothing stands between us now, no clothes, no fear, no guilt, as he takes my hips in his hands, positioning himself and then....

 

Bliss. Sweet, sweet bliss. Rocking slowly, gently together, my fingers tangled in his soft, dark hair, his hands gripping me as though I might shatter or fade away like a dream.

 

I want this to last forever, this rapturous union of body and spirit. I am home, home at last and I cry out with sheer joy, tears flowing unheeded as we ride the exquisite wave of our love, of our sweet and tender passion for each other.

 

Our pace is unhurried. We have time, all the time in the world. He pauses, trying to prolong our pleasure, and kisses me again, so gently, fingers delicately playing over my tight, aching nipples. But I need to see him lose himself utterly to me and I clench my muscles, slowly at first, then harder.

 

"Ohhhhh....ohhh..." Mulder is lost, and with one final thrust, so am I. We hold on to each other like Grim Death, laughing in the face of the Reaper we have cheated, shattering in each other's arms.

 

 

 

Whistling, hell, almost skipping, I enter the Hoover Building with not a care in the world, and a small spray of roses hidden under the suit jacket thrown loosely over my arm. I'm back with a vengeance, and those bastards who nearly did Scully and I in are going to know it. But no longer will I allow my quest to come between me and the most important person in the world. I don't know whether Scully likes getting flowers, but I'm about to find out.

 

Still whistling, I throw open the door to our basement cell, holding out the flowers and singing, "Hi Honey, I'm home!"

 

Assistant Director Walter Skinner is standing in the middle of the tiny office, shirt unbuttoned to reveal his heavily furred chest, pants around his ankles. Fingers twisted in the red-gold hair of my partner, who kneels before him...

 

Oh God, NO! No, she didn't lie to me, she didn't lie, I saw her heart! She loves me! Doesn't she...

 

The roses fall to the floor.

 

Skinner looks up, eyes gleaming. "Didn't you know, Fox? Dana's been polishing my nob for years, haven't you, darling?"

 

Scully half-turns to face me. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she shrugs. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings. But you're just not man enough for me. You're not a whole person, you know. You're not. There's something missing from you. There always has been."

 

Then Skinner's hands tighten in her hair and she returns to her work.

 

Agony clenching my throat like molten lead, I am fleeing, running, stumbling. I trip and fall, fall, fall into nothing...

 

 

 

"Mulder! Mulder, wake up!"

 

He's moaning so loud, he sounds terrified. I shake him again and again, and finally, his eyes snap open.

 

My God, why is he looking at me like that?

 

"Scully! What...where..."

 

"It was just a nightmare. It's all right, it's okay, I've got you..."

 

We're still curled up on the couch where we fell asleep after making love. I take his head in my hands, stroking his hair and crooning reassurance.

 

"I love you." I kiss the top of his head. "And I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

 

"That's s'posed to be my line, Scully." His heart is still beating like mad, but he's calming down, slowly.

 

"I know," I laugh. "Tomorrow I'll let you be the man."

 

"What's that supposed to mean," he snaps, wrenching away from me. "You don't think I'm a real man, is that what you mean?"

 

"Mulder, I didn't mean anything, it was just a joke." What is wrong with him? "A bad one, but there's no need for this kind of reaction."

 

"Oh. I'm sorry...I, I don't know what got into me. I'm just tired, I...I'm sorry."

 

"It's okay. Look, you need some real sleep. I know you're used to couches, but there really isn't room for two. Let's go into my bed --"

 

"No. Let's go to my place."

 

"Mulder, we can't go to your apartment, it's a crime scene."

 

"So's your bedroom."

 

"Mulder...please. I thought you understood, I thought you forgave me..."

 

"I do. I do. I...well, can you at least change the sheets? God, there's a limit you know, even to the most sensitive male's understanding..."

 

I tousle his hair playfully. I'm so lucky. So lucky to have him, so lucky that he understands, that he can see that what happened between Skinner and I meant nothing. That he won't let it colour our future together.

 

"I'll do better than that. I'm going to strip the bed and throw every last sheet and blanket into the incinerator."

 

"Good," he whispers, hands still clutching one of mine as I rise from the couch. "And while you're at it, buy a new bed."

 

 

 

Monday morning. Mulder and Scully have just left my office. Scowling at no one, I tap my black and gold pen on the wide expanse of my mahogany desk. Then I reach for the phone, setting the wheels in motion which will reopen the X-Files, and set the two of them on their quest again.

 

By unspoken agreement, nothing was said in our meeting about what happened the other night. I will pretend that they are not together now, if they will pretend that I have never been anything but strictly professional with Agent Scully.

 

Mulder tried his best to conceal the hatred in his eyes when he looked at me this morning. But he couldn't conceal what he felt when he looked at Scully. Or when she looked at him. I accept this. I'm a big boy, and I know that despite the intensity of our encounter the other night, she loves him.

 

But I know Mulder. He couldn't be happy if happiness was presented to him like a Thanksgiving turkey on a silver platter, let alone in the personage of an exquisitely beautiful, sensuous woman. He'll doubt himself worthy of her. And he'll do something to prove himself right, to screw up the best thing that could ever have happened to him.

 

I'm a patient man. I can wait.

 

THE END ------------------------------------------------------

 

The Purple Rhino (PRhino) HAL 9000: "Dave, put those Windows disks down..Dave...DAVE!"

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