Title: A Simple Kiss II: Beginnings
Author: Jess < JessLB@aol.com >
Rating: PG-12 (couple of swear words, implied naked
pretzels...not quite PG-13, not quite PG, either)
Category: SRA, a little X
Keywords: MSR
Spoilers: Fight the Future, vague ones for Arcadia and
the abduction arc. You should probably already know
about Mulder's ex-loves, just in case their names pop
up.
Summary: Part two the "A Simple Kiss" series. Mulder
and Scully are on their first case since becoming
lovers when a fellow agent tries to seduce Mulder. Can
their new relationship survive its first hurtle?

Disclaimer: Sorry, I don’t own ‘em. And if I did, what
you see here would have taken place a looooong time ago.
And yes, CC, that was a hint.

Author’s Notes: Well, it was a labor of love, but like
any other type of labor, I’m glad I’m done. You know how
Mulder profiles criminals? Well, to me, writing is like
profiling: You have to get inside people’s heads, try
to put them in situations of your own mind, make their
interaction as real as possible. This is even harder when
you’re borrowing the characters. I hope you all enjoy, and
please -- I live for feedback. Hint, hint.


-----------------


I've always said that I had the absolute worst luck.

When I was six, I started carrying around a rabbit's
foot, just in case. By the time I turned thirteen, I
had broken numerous mirrors and  darted around dozens
of ladders that always ended up in a collision with
someone on the other side. I was the type of person
that people tended to cross the street in order to
avoid.

Maybe that's an exaggeration, but really, I've got
this dark, looming cloud of bad luck hovering around
my head. It dissipates whenever Scully's around, but
it's always there.

I should have known that our good fortune would have
to end soon. I had ended up in her apartment on a
Saturday night, determined to talk about our kiss the
previous night. The kiss which she had so tactfully
avoided.

Honestly, I never expected to wake up laying next to
her in her bed.

Okay, the *thought* had entered my mind, that *maybe*
if I played my cards right, I'd get another kiss, a
promising look, and a phone call 'just because' the
next day. 

I fell asleep that night with a smile on my face. I
think Scully did, too.

So it was only fitting that the next day my idiocy
would rear its ugly head and attempt to ruin the only
good thing that's ever happened to me in my entire
life.

The day started out simple enough. I woke up to find
her watching the sunrise, a peaceful, contented look
on her face. It was pure heaven. So often I see a
professional mask on her face, hiding her real
emotions; when I do see Scully with her walls down,
it's almost as though I'm reborn in her. I kissed her
neck and whispered all those sweet things that any man
tells the woman he loves when he's trying to gauge
whether or not she thought the night before was a
mistake. She pulled my head up to meet hers in a
hungry kiss, and I was pretty sure I had my answer.

It occurred to me, laying there with her in my arms,
how right it felt. I can't pinpoint the exact day when
I realized I was in love with Dana Katherine Scully;
it was one of those things that just exploded within
me a few years ago. When she was taken from me for
three months, I felt like a piece of my own soul was
missing, but I never stopped to consider that I might
have loved her as more than just a friend or a
colleague. But then, as she shifted and drew herself
more closely to me, I wondered why it had taken us so
long to reach this point. The point where we could say
the hell with it all, throw all the barriers and walls
aside, and finish what we started in my hallway.

It dawns on me in the craziest times how much I love
this woman. I love the way she can make a suspect
crumble with a raised eyebrow. How that same eyebrow
can tell me if she wants to kick my ass or ravage my
body. How she can do autopsies as though it were a
regular Saturday night form of entertainment without
flinching but seeing me with a paper cut can send her
in a frantic frenzy.

I lifted my head a little and kissed the top of her
forehead. "Scully?" I asked.

"I know, Mulder. I feel the same way."

I love how she can read my mind. I nudge her a little,
teasing. "How do you know what I'm going to say?"

"You were going to say how right this feels, how much
you wish we hadn't waited six years to do it."

"No regrets?" The fear had still nagged at my heart.

She smiled at me, and I realized I had never seen a
more beautiful sight than that of Scully smiling at
me, her red hair messy, her eyes still heavy with
sleep, her perfect self held close to mine. "No
regrets," she whispered, wrapping her arm around my
waist. "Never."

We stayed like that, cuddling, until she rolled out of
bed at a quarter to nine to use the bathroom. I didn't
even notice until days later that she had left the
door open. That's how comfortable we were, even before
we became intimate: able to leave a bathroom or
bedroom door open and not feel awkward knowing the
other was listening. I smiled, stretching my arms out
above my head.

After awhile, I stumbled into her living room,
stopping momentarily in the kitchen to turn on a pot
of coffee and grab a donut off of her counter. "Hey,
Scully?" I called, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"Mm?"

"Mind if I turn on the telly?"

A pause. "Mulder, you can turn on anything you'd
like," she said, padding into the living room and
plopping down on the couch in a very unScully-like
fashion. Or maybe it was Scully-like.

I wriggled my eyebrows at her suggestively, but my
heart wasn't in it. How did I know what was Scully-
behavior and what wasn't? I mean, apart from the
occasional giggle on a baseball field or a tattoo on
the small of her back, Scully remained a rigid,
unbending professional and maintained her mature
posture. Even with her stockings off, feet resting on
my coffee table while she carefully pointed out every
flaw in Pattie Does Pittsburgh, she still had a sense
of distance. Heavy thoughts on an early Sunday morning
while the only woman I've ever truly loved is nestled
against my side.

I wondered if she likes to chomp down on Milk Duds at
the movie theater, and if she does, does she pick at
them when they get stuck on the roof of her mouth?
Does she ever just yank off those annoying pantyhose
while at a stoplight on the way home from work? Has
she ever, just to not be Dana Scully, not cleaned her
apartment in over three weeks or not washed her hands
after going to the bathroom?

The realization that I didn't know these little things, 
these things that possibly set Agent Scully apart
from my gorgeous redheaded Scully, was a disturbing
distraction. Why couldn't I be like other guys and
just sit here, watching her suppress a smile at the
cartoons and run the previous night over and over
again in my mind? What the hell was wrong with me? But
I needed to know.

"Scully?" I asked abruptly.

She made a sound, somewhere between a 'hm' and a
grunt. I took it to mean 'yes, Mulder'.

"Do you like Milk Duds?"

Her brow furrowed as she turned to face me. "What?"

"Milk Duds." I gestured. "Do you like them?"

I think I confused the hell out of her. She moved
against me in confusion, then shrugged. "No, not
really."

"What *do* you like?"

I know she was wondering what the hell was wrong with
me. I could see it in her eyes.

"I like popcorn."

"Candy, Scully. Chocolate. Sugar."

"Popcorn is candy."

"No, it isn't," I said incredulously.

She made a frustrated sound. "Fine....I like
licorice." She raised an eyebrow. "Does that count?
Mulder, what's this about?"

"Nothing, I just...I just realized. I don't know what
you eat when you go to the movies."

"That's important to you?" Now she sounded
incredulous.

"Everything about you is important to me, Scully," I
said truthfully.

She seemed lost. "Mulder?" she asked me, and I heard
the unspoken questions behind her inquiry: what do you
mean? What's this about?

I took a deep breath and sighed. "It's just that  
Scully, we talk, right? Sometimes it's not even about
work. But when you sat down, just...flopped down, I
thought about how odd that seemed for you. You always
sit down so --" I broke off, searching for a word. "So
*you.* And then it just occurred to me: how would I
know if flopping down on the couch is normal for you?
I don't know what kind of candy you eat at the movies.
Or the name of your first goldfish, or the first boy
you kissed." I shrugged, suddenly realizing how whiny
I sounded. "The little, little things that a guy
should know," I finished quietly.

Throughout my monologue, Scully had been staring
intently at me, as though trying to understand my
reasoning. Looking at her face then, I guessed she
understood, finally.

"Pete. And Anthony Bradley."

"What?"

"Pete was my first goldfish, and Tony was the first
boy I ever kissed." She raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

I digested this for a minute in silence, frowning in
concentration. After a moment, I looked back up at her
and nodded. "Yeah."

Odd, the way something could eat away at me for thirty
minutes only to be resolved by a mere four words.
Scully can do that to me. We tend to make things
extremely complex. The psychologist I'm trained to be
tells me that it's our way of making sure we're never
completely happy, a product of some fear that
manifested itself during our childhoods. It came to
me, just sitting there on Scully's couch, my arm
holding her tight against my side, that life with
Scully, for intents and purposes, is possibly the
simplest thing in my life. And I love it.

***

We did regular things that day. After my cartoons were
over, we got dressed and went out to breakfast, where
we ate a regular meal while we darted inconspicuous
glances at each other over our coffee. Then we went to
the park, sat on the bench where I had sat nearly a
year before after returning from Antarctica, and
watched the passerby. I even cracked a smile from her
with a few off-color speculations on a pair of
tourists near the Washington Monument. After a few
hours of just walking around and getting used to our
new status, we parted and I went back to my apartment
with the promise to return by dinnertime. I needed
clothes for work the next morning or trust me, I never
would have left her side. I had this consuming fear
that if I left her alone for more than a few minutes,
she'd change her mind and we'd be back to the humble
level of friendship again.

I was packed and ready to go in fifteen minutes.

But I couldn't just go back to her apartment so soon;
she'd arch that eyebrow immediately, and frankly, the
thought of confessing all my insecurities to Special
Agent Dana Scully was not on my top list of
priorities.

So I flicked on the computer and allowed myself the
indulgence of spending a little time online.

And I did not go anywhere near the porn.

Well, actually, it was only right that I say good-bye
to my friends in the message boards. But that doesn't
really count. I didn't *look* at anything.

That bought me a grand total of forty-six minutes.

I cracked my knuckles, rolled my neck around to get
the kinks out, took a little stroll around my kitchen,
sniffing for anything remotely edible. Zilch.

So I took a jog around the block a couple of times.

Three-nineteen.

What the hell time does she eat dinner? I thought
desperately.

I took a shower. Checked my duffel bag three times to
make sure I had everything I needed. Razor, shaving
cream, suits, a couple of ties, shoes, boxers, t-
shirt, cond --  hey, there, little guys, been awhile,
hasn't it? Fell onto the couch and lazily flipped
through the channels, only to turn it off in disgust
when the only thing that was on that was the closest
thing to entertainment was A Very Brady Christmas.

In May? I wondered.

I glanced at my watch. Five o'clock sharp.

I drummed my fingers on the coffee table for six
minutes straight before jumping up. Enough was enough,
for God's sake.

***

By the time I had shrugged my coat off and dropped my
duffel bag onto the floor, we had decided, by mutual
consent, to skip dinner and go straight to desert.
That's what I love about Scully; she's always willing
to allow a little spontaneity into our lives.

That's when I thought things were too good to be true.

Actually, it was somewhere a few hours later when
Scully rolled over in her sleep and snuggled up
against me.

Knock on wood, anyone?

Scully's an intelligent woman, she knew exactly what
her little cuddle-session would do to me. I left a
trail of kisses from her hairline down to her chin and
back up again until I reached her lips, where we
promptly resumed our sport.

The telephone rang, then. She laughed at my irritated
groan, shook her head at my attempts to recapture her
attention, and reached over to answer the phone.

Mulder mistake number one: I got tired of waiting for
her to pick it up, so I picked up the receiver myself.

Mulder mistake number two: I was not the happiest man
at that moment. I'm a healthy thirty-seven year old
man laying next to a gorgeous redhead -- I was wasting
precious time. "Hello," I grumbled gruffly, my
annoyance obvious.

Mulder mistake number three: "Hello?" the other voice
returned.

"Look, what do you want? We're busy, here."

There was a slight pause. "Who is this?"

Oh, come on! "Who is *this*?"  

Another pause, longer than the first one. "This is
Assistant Director Skinner. *Who* is *this*?"

Mulder mistake number four: I answered. I *answered*
that statement. "Sir?" I stuttered.

"Mulder?"

Silence.

"I was calling because I couldn't...get a hold of you.
I figured Agent Scully might know where...where you
were. I want you both in my office tomorrow at eight."
An almost imperceptible click and silence told me that
he had hung up.

I hung up, then, too. And stuffed my face into a
pillow.

"Mulder?" Scully asked, touching my arm. "What just
happened?"

"Sh, Scully. Hear that?" I asked, peaking up at her.
She frowned.

"Hear what?"

"The sounds of the angry mob of townspeople, or in
this case, AD Skinner, charging the streets with rope
in hand."

She made a face. "Mulder," she began.

I rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. "Why
didn't you tell me not to answer the phone?"

"Me?" I heard a hint of disbelief in her voice. "I'm
sorry, Mulder, what did you just say?"

Any other time, I might have heeded the warning tone
in her voice. Not that night; oh no, I was on a roll.
We were already screwed with Skinner, why not make it
a full-blown assault?

"It's your damn phone. Any other time you'd have
slapped my hand away."

"I was otherwise occupied," she said coldly.

"Well, this is great, this is just *fucking* great."

"Mulder, I'm not following. So you answered the phone
and it was Skinner? You do know, right, that there's
always the chance that he just figured we were --"

"Right, Scully, we were doing what?"

"Working on a report, sleeping, eating? Any number of
things. You don't have to jump to unnecessary
conclusions."

I rolled out of bed and stalked into her bathroom.
"You ever caught a boyfriend with another gal,
Scully?" I called.

"What?"

"On the phone, Scully. Called a guy only to have a
woman answer the phone instead?"

She appeared in the doorway, eyebrow raised; on any
other occasion, I might have forgotten my anger then
and there and returned to our previous activities, but
I was too focused on my tirade. "My point, Scully, is
that when someone answers the phone who shouldn't be
answering the phone, it usually means they're doing
something in that apartment other than working on a
report, sleeping, or eating."

"And he'd be able to tell this all from what, the two
or three words you exchanged with him?" She crossed
her arms. "You're paranoid."

"I'm not being paranoid!" I exclaimed. "I can't
believe you aren't worried about this. He wants us in
his office tomorrow, at eight."

Scully gave me a Look. "And?"

"*And?*"

She sighed. "Mulder, he obviously was calling because
he has something important for us tomorrow, something
that needs our immediate attention. So he called a
meeting, and you --" She pointed a finger a me, "--
you are jumping to conclusions based on mere
assumptions. Until I hear what this meeting is about,
I won't start acting like the world's coming to an end
because of one, innocent phone call."

"Dallas, Scully. Remember?" She sighed, and I could
tell she was starting to get angry. Or annoyed. Both,
probably. "One little bomb, and they tried to ship you
off to Utah."

"I remember," she said, her face falling into the
perfect mask I knew so well. "But I also remember,
Mulder, that your 'one little bomb' killed a federal
officer. And that you charged a revered agent of the
FBI of being involved in a global conspiracy to deny
proof of the existence of extraterrestrials. And that
we broke into a morgue that was under official
quarantine and proceeded with an investigation without
proper authority."

I made a face at her. "Whatever. Scully, my point is,
they tried to separate us then, when we tried to
absolve ourselves of any wrongdoing in the bombing. We
were saving our own asses. This -- this is different,
Scully. They hate us; they've been trying to separate
us for five years."

She came over to me and wrapped her arms around my
neck, pulling my head down close to hers. "They can't
separate us, Mulder," she whispered softly.

And when she said it like that, I believed her.

***

As luck would have it, her alarm didn't go off the
next morning. Or we just didn't hear it. Because we
woke up at seven thirty, and I immediately remembered
our important meeting with Skinner. At eight.

Somehow, we managed to both get showers, dress, eat,
and get to the office by eight-oh-one. We headed
straight for Skinner's office, where Kimberly directed
us with a sympathetic voice that he would be with us
shortly.

Twenty minutes later, his door opened and he gave us a
curt nod to come inside. Moment of truth. I couldn't
help but nag myself with the foreboding thought that
our lives were about to change. I couldn't even reach
out and take her hand.

Goddamn FBI.

***

We sat in our usual places, waiting for him to start
the conversation. I kept trying to catch Scully's eye,
but she was purposely avoiding eye contact with me;
she probably knew what I was doing.

Skinner cleared his throat.

I tried to sit up a little straighter.

"Is there a reason why I was made to wait for you two
this morning?" he asked icily.

I had to bite back a bitter retort on how hellish I
imagined that whole one minute to have been.

"I'm sorry, sir, but my alarm clock didn't go off."

"And you, Agent Mulder? Was your alarm clock broken,
too?"

Ouch. Skinner had this uncanny ability to know when we
were hiding something. And he also knew that if he
wanted answers, I was probably the best one to ask.

I shifted in my seat and remained silent.

A tense moment of silence filled the room, one in
which I fiddled with my tie, Scully crossed and re-
crossed her legs, and Skinner rubbed his forehead.

"I'll get down to business, agents. There have been a
rash of murders in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Each
victim was killed in a different manner than the
previous, each with no discernible cause of death."

"Have the autopsies shown anything?" Scully asked,
interest piqued.

"No autopsies have been performed yet. I requested
that you be allowed to do them." He paused. "This is a
VCS case, agents. But I was asked to send the two of
you. Apparently the Harrisburg field office needs  
both of your expertise. You'll be under the direct
supervision of a local SAC. Your flight leaves at
noon."

We waited to be dismissed; I learned early on that
just because the AD sounded like he was finished,
didn't necessarily mean that was true. I glanced at
Scully, and she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders.

He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his
nose. "I don't like to meddle, Mulder, Scully," he
began, and I swore I could see the glittering of
the guillotine blade. "But."

"Sir, would this be referring to the phone call you
made to my apartment last night?" Scully asked, her
face betraying no emotion. That's my Scully: just get
straight to the point.

He nodded slightly, coming around the front of his
desk to face us. He was obviously waiting for an
explanation.

I cleared my throat, wondering what was keeping
Scully.

"Agent Mulder was in your apartment," he said finally.

"Yes."

"For?"

"Sir, Agent Mulder and I are often at each other's
apartments. Is this now becoming a problem?"

"I'll be frank, Agent Scully. The less I know, the
better off you are. The less I have to report to the
Director and Jana Cassidy, the more chance you two
have of not being separated again. So I'll just advise
you to make sure you know who's on the other end of
the receiver before you allow any -- visitors -- to pick
it up. Dismissed.

I got off lucky. That was probably the first meeting
with Skinner where I didn't have to speak and we still
escaped unscathed. I have to admit, though, that
Scully does have a way of manipulating the facts to
make Skinner back off. God, I love that woman.

***

It hit me on the plane there.

Violent Crimes.

The bullpen.

Break out the champagne, it's time to par-tay.

I glanced over at Scully, who was reading over the HPD
reports on the victims. I chewed on the side of my
mouth, waiting for her to finish so I could talk to
her.

"Scully?" I asked suddenly, unable to contain myself
any longer.

"I know, Mulder." She never even looked up at me. Just
kept on reading.

I fell silent. What more could I say? We've been able
to do our telepathic thing for years now, it's no
surprise. Of course she'd know how apprehensive I'd be
at going back to that. She's Scully.

"You want a seed?" I asked, offering a palm of
sunflower seeds.

Scully gave me a look. I'm busy, it said.

I nodded my understanding, wondering if I was still on
her good side.

"Thirsty?"

"No, Mulder."

"Tired?"

"No."

"Wanna play?" I leered suggestively.

She sighed and gave me another look. "I'm serious,
Mulder."

"So'm I."

Scully closed the folder and turned to me. "Okay. I
understand you're worried about this case, Mulder.
That's completely natural. But these people aren't the
same ones you worked with ten years ago. This is a
different state, different agents, different
attitudes."

"Different strokes?" I offered.

She let it pass. "What I'm saying is that I doubt your
reputation has  preceded you. Harrisburg isn't near
DC."

"Quantico is forty miles from DC and you knew me."

"Mulder, I was, what, three years behind you? Legends
die hard. And besides, you were good Spooky then. Ace
Mulder, the Bureau's finest."

I snorted.

She tentatively rubbed my arm. "I'll be there," she
said quietly, lifting an eyebrow.

My hand sought out hers on the armrest between us, and
I didn't let go until I had to put both hands on the
steering wheel of the rental car we got at the
airport.

***

We had driven through Pennsylvania, Harrisburg even,
numerous times. And I don't like Harrisburg.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the
city, state, or its residents. Just that -- it bugs me.
I know, I know. Case in point: Scully and I pulled up
to the regional field office soon after our plane
touched down. We went up to the front desk and were
greeted by a hand held up for silence and a
receptionist on the telephone.

"Uh-huh. Oh, I totally understand."

"Excuse me," Scully interrupted politely.

The woman gave her a look. "Well, she deserves him,
then. He really is a jerk."

"Miss?"

"Just a second," she threw over her shoulder. "Right.
Right! Why can't she see this?"

Scully crossed her arms and cleared her throat.

"Right, well, I've got to go. Yeah." She snorted and
rolled her eyes. Obviously, we had offended her,
because she was giving us the evil eye. "Call you
back. Bye." She hung up. "Yes?"

See what I mean? No hello, no 'how can I help you,'
nothing. She'd be fired by now if that had been DC.

I thought Scully might pull out her gun on the poor
woman, so I jumped in, asking for directions to SAC
Christopher's office.

We took the elevator up to the third floor, where I
was promptly hit with the desire to pull out the eyes
of every male agent in the room. Granted, Scully's an
attractive woman. Sexy, when you get right down to it.
But she was only wearing a regular suit. The blue
skirt was the length of every other female agent's
that I had seen, and her shirt severely covered
everything that, well, needed to be covered.  They had
no reason to gape. Especially at Scully.

Apparently, she didn't notice the stares we got as we
crossed the room towards the door labeled Special
Agent Angela Christopher. I sure as hell did, so I
made sure my hand was clearly visible on the small of
her back.

And I shot each of those horny bastards a glare while
Scully knocked on the door.

***

Angela Christopher was a cute woman, one I guessed to
be in her early thirties. She was barely shorter than
me, even in flat shoes. I took in her appearance: dark
brown hair loose, red suit much like the one Scully
was wearing, minimal makeup. Hell, she might have been
Scully's sister if she was a little shorter. I liked
her right away.

Scully, apparently, did not.

"What has the forensics team pulled up?" she asked
brusquely when Angela paused in the middle of
explaining the case to us.

If the woman heard the clipped tone in Scully's voice,
she didn't acknowledge it. Good thing, too.

"Very little. Two of the four victims' homes were
locked up entirely from the inside. No one could have
gotten in."

"And the other two?" I asked, trying to make my voice
as friendly as possible to make up for my less-than-
amiable partner's.

Angela flashed me a smile. "A bathroom window was open
in one, and the back doors were open in the other."

Scully closed the file in her lap. "No suspects have
been named."

Angela nodded. "We can't even begin to piece this
puzzle together. That's where we hope you can come
in," she said, making eye contact with me again. I
smiled. She was nice.

Scully saw that exchange and put the folder on the
other agent's desk. "Assistant Director Skinner told
us that you believed this case would involve both of
our areas of expertise."

"That's right, yes. I don't know if you saw the photos
of each of the victims, Agent Mulder, but in the case
of the strangulation, there are no marks on the
victim's neck. No entry wound for the man who was
shot. Do you see what I'm saying?"

I nodded. "Almost as though the killer was invisible."

She smiled. "Almost."

I couldn't see Scully's problem. Here was a woman,
going out of her way to be friendly to us when most
SACs would have shoved the file in our faces and been
done with us. I wondered if I had done something....

***

"So what do you think, Scully?" I asked as I drove
over to the Dauphin County Morgue.

"About what?" she asked. Ouch. The ice in her voice
could have felled a lesser man.

"The case," I returned pointedly. No answer. "It's,
uh, it's interesting, don't you think?"

"Mulder, it's ridiculous."

"What?"

"If a person is strangled, Mulder, there are marks.
Otherwise, strangulation is not the cause of death.
And -- and how can she even begin to speculate on what
killed these people when no autopsy's been done?" She
exhaled and looked out the window for a moment before
returning her gaze to me. "What do you think?"

It was a test. I know a test when I hear one, and that
question was possibly the hardest one I'd ever had. I
decided to go with an honest answer.

"I think she's nice. I don't understand why --"

"I meant the *case,*" she replied, a mask falling over
her face.

Oh, shit.

"Right. I know. I just, I uh, well, you were talking
about her and I thought that you meant --"

I pulled to a stop in the parking lot, and she
unbuckled and shut the door before I had even taken
the keys out of the ignition.

Strike one for the home team.

***

Scully began the autopsies on victims number one and
two, and I stealthily crept out of the room and sat
down in a chair down the hall.

I went through three bags of sunflower seeds waiting
for her to finish. By the time six o'clock rolled
around, I saw the doors at the end of the hall, near
Scully's autopsy bay, open and Angela appeared. She
walked slowly down the hall towards me, hips swaying.

"Where's Agent Scully?"

"Still doing the autopsies." I popped a seed into my
mouth. She watched me. I bit the side of my mouth.
"Actually, you know what, it has been awhile. The rest
can wait until tomorrow. I'll just go get her."

I poked my head around the door. "Hey, Scully?"

Her head lifted up from above the open stomach. My
stomach muscles clenched. "Mmm?"

"It's been more than three hours. You can finish up
tomorrow morning."

"Mulder, I'm almost done."

"With number one or two?"

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair off her face
with her arm. "One."

I gave her a sympathetic look. "Time to go, Agent
Scully."

"Give me one more hour, Mulder. I can't just leave an
unfinished cadaver on the table."

"He isn't going anywhere," I pointed out.

"An hour," she repeated.

"I'm hungry."

"Go get something, then." Her face softened at my hurt
look. "I saw a McDonald's a few blocks down. You could
get something and bring it back here."

I hesitated, considering her offer. "Do you want
something?"

Scully shook her head, but I still lingered. I hated
the thought of going off and leaving her there alone
with a bunch of stiffs for company. I was about to
tell her I could wait when Angela appeared by my side.
She put her hand on my arm and leaned around me into
the room.

Unfortunately, Scully looked up at that moment. Her
face went stony.

"How's it going, Agent Scully?"

Scully returned to her corpse. "I'll be done in an
hour," she said tightly.

An idea struck me. If I went to McDonald's, then
Angela could keep Scully company. Brilliant, I
congratulated myself. "Agent Christopher, I was about
to run down to get something from McDonald's. Do you
want something, too?"

She smiled at me, and I couldn't help but relax a
little. Scully should smile more, too, I thought.

"I'm starving, myself. Why don't I just go with you?"
she offered.

What? No. I hesitated. "Well, uh..."

"And we can bring Agent Scully something back to eat,
too," she added.

I was suddenly aware that the squishy sounds of Scully
digging through the internal organs had stopped. She
was watching me. More correctly, watching Angela and
I.

"Go on, Mulder," she said, and I heard the weariness
in her voice. How could I leave her now?

But Angela was already out the front door; what could
I do? I crossed the room quickly and gave her a kiss
on her forehead. "I'll be right back," I whispered.

No use. She had already put up the walls again.

I sighed as I started the car, Angela buckling her
seatbelt beside me. The day was not going well.

***

I didn't remember having seen the McDonald's that
Scully had talked about, so I asked Angela to direct
me there. I was so concentrated on what could be
bothering Scully that it wasn't until the Golden
Arches flew by on the other side of the expressway
that I realized I had passed it. "Oops," I muttered.
"How do I get back there?"

Angela twisted in her seat as McDonald's disappeared
behind us. "Why don't we just skip fast food and go to
a real restaurant?" She saw my hesitation. "Better
food, I promise."

"I told Scully I'd be right back," I said, hoping
she'd take the hint.

"Well, we can still bring her back a little plate.
Turn off up here, I know just the place."

What could I do? It was dusk, and even if it had been
broad daylight, I would never have been able to find
my way back to the morgue without Angela's assistance.
So I shrugged, sighed, and pulled into a restaurant.

Strike two.

***

"Ohh," I groaned, leaning back in my chair. "That was
good."

Angela smiled. "I told you you'd like it here. Should
we order dessert?"

I laughed and took a drink of my iced tea. "No, no."

We flagged the waitress down, and as I pulled out my
wallet to pay for my half of the bill, I caught sight
of my watch. Eight forty-five. SHIT.

I jumped up, throwing a twenty down on the table and
shrugged on my trenchcoat.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

"It's almost nine o'clock. I told Scully I'd be back
in an hour."

"Oh," she said, looking contrite, and we rushed back
to the car.

I ordered fast from McDonald's, a chef salad, french
fries, and an iced tea, and drove like I've never
driven before back to the morgue. "Dammit," I muttered
as we pulled in. All the lights were off in the
building, and the only car in the parking lot was
Angela's silver Taurus.

"Where did she go?" Angela wondered out loud. "You
have the car, don't you?"

I nodded. "She must have gotten a cab back to the
hotel."

Angela nodded. Apparently she, too, had reached the
same conclusion. "Thanks, Mulder."

"See you tomorrow," I said as she closed the door
behind her. I didn't even wait to see if her car
started. The Comfort Inn was ten miles away. I floored
it.

***

I approached the main desk wearily, hoping to God that
Scully remembered that this was our designated hotel.

"Yes?" asked the receptionist.

Inwardly, I cringed. Did *no one* in this damn town
ask 'may I help you'?

"Is there a Ms. Scully staying here?"

Her fingers flew on the keyboard below her.
"Umm...yes. Special Agent Dana Scully?"

I sighed with relief. "Yeah."

"Fourth floor, room 58."

"I'm her partner, I'll need a room next to hers."

"She already reserved that room, sir. Do you need help
with your bags?"

I nodded, and a few minutes later, I was struggling
out of the elevator with the bellhop in tow, trying
desperately not to crush Scully's food.

I let myself into my room first, tipping the kid, then
took the bag over to hers. I knocked three times on
the door, and still no answer. "Scully?" I called.

No answer. "Scully, it's me, open the door!"

Silence. "Scully!" I called as loudly as I could
without disturbing the other guests. Panic crept into
my voice. Where was she? "Scully!" I yelled again.

"What?" a voice asked irritably from behind me. I
swirled around quickly and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where were you?" I asked, taking in her sweatpants
and t-shirt.

She held up a can of soda. "I was at the vending
machine." She slipped her key into the lock and walked
into the room. I followed her inside, closing the door
behind me.

"Did you eat?" I asked timidly.

Scully threw me a glare. "No, Mulder, I did not eat."

I flinched. "Dinner," I offered, holding out the bag.

She took it from me and peered inside, then sat it
next to her feet on the floor. "So," she said in a
casual tone, but I heard the anger behind it, "what
took you so long? I was sure McDonald's was just right
down the road."

I cleared my throat, summoning every ounce of courage
in my body. Then I recited my practiced speech. "I
passed it on the highway, and when we turned into a
parking lot to go back, Angela suggested that we just
eat there."

"Angela suggested," she murmured. "So where'd you go?"

This was not going well. To a casual observer, Scully
was simply asking me about what I did for dinner. I
saw the anger, disbelief, and most of all   pain, in
her eyes.

"I-I don't really remember what it was called. John
Cassidy's, Nick Cassidy's, something like that."

"What did you have?" She blinked back a tear.

"Scully," I started.

"You ditched me, Mulder."

"I didn't ditch you," I said quickly, knowing she was
right. "Not intentionally, Scully. We were there, and
the food took a long time to come out, and by the time
we were finished, it was a quarter to nine, and I
drove straight back to the morgue, but you were gone,
and then I came here." I saw she wasn't responding, so
I knelt down in front of her. I put my finger under
her chin to make her look at me. "Scully, please. If I
had known it was going to take so long, I would have
insisted we go right back to McDonald's. I didn't
ditch you. I would never ditch you."

"Mulder, that woman has been flirting with you the
entire day. She was just waiting to be alone with
you."

Angela had flirted with me? I ran the entire day
through my head, unable to find one shred of evidence
to what Scully was suggesting. "She has not flirted
with me," I said indignantly. "She was friendly,
Scully. And she probably latched on to me because of
the way you acted in her office."

Uh-oh. Her eyes flashed. "What way was that?"

Was it hot in that room? "You were cold, Scully. The
minute she opened the door, you closed off. Why?"

"Mulder, this conversation is ridiculous. I'm tired,
I'm hungry, and I don't want to go through this with
you right now."

"Scully --"

"I'll see you in the morning, Mulder."

I was shocked. "You're throwing me out?"

She looked at me. "I'm simply asking you to leave."

"Why?" I demanded. "Okay, so we're having a
disagreement, fine, but --"

"This is an argument, Mulder, not a disagreement. And
an important one, too. You went out on a date with
that woman, Mulder! Am I supposed to be excited for
you?"

"A date? Scully, tonight was far from a date. We ended
up having dinner together, by pure coincidence. That's
not a date!"

"Mulder, do you find Angela Christopher attractive?"
asked Scully suddenly.

"What? No -- no. Yes. She's attractive. But that
doesn't mean anything. I love you, Scully, not her. I
don't even know her! We've only been here for less
than twelve hours."

My words did not appear to have had any affect on her.
"Then why were you so quick to accept her offer?"

"I had no choice! She was already in the damn car by
the time you told me to go. You told me to go,
Scully."

"I just -- I don't know what to think, Mulder. Two days
ago we made a decision to do this. And now, our first
case together as a couple, and our SAC tries to seduce
you. And you play the willing participant."

I was taken aback by her choice of words. Two things
struck me right away. One, that Scully had just called
us a 'couple,' a word foreign to our vocabularies. And
two, that she was inexplicably, undeniably jealous of
Angela.

I rose up to my knees and took her face in my hands,
gently stroking her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.
"Scully, believe me when I say that I am *only* a
willing participant when the game involves you and me.
And even if Angela was trying to -- seduce me, the
keyword there is that although she may try, no one,
Dana, no one but you will ever have my heart."

I think she melted then and there. I couldn't really
tell, because I eased her into my embrace and buried
my face in her neck, breathing in her scent. I dropped
a feather-light kiss on the curve of her neck and
hoped she believed me. "I'm sorry, Scully, that I hurt
you, however unintentional it was. I would never hurt
you on purpose. Never."

"I know," she whispered, her hands pulling me closer
to her. "I'm sorry I acted like the stereotypical,
asinine, jealous girlfriend. I just...Mulder, this is
so new to us. I thought maybe you felt like we were
mistake, that you were giving up on us." Her voice had
dropped to a soft whisper, and I had to strain to hear
her.

I knew how hard it was for her to admit to her
feelings; when Scully lets me in, I'm not one to
refuse admission. "I love you, Scully. I would never
think that we were a mistake. I will never give up on
us. Never." I pulled back and kissed her, long and
sweetly. "And, hey, I kind of like it when you get
jealous," I said against her lips when I pulled back.
"Makes a guy feel special."

She chuckled. "Mulder?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I love you, too, you know."

It was the first time she'd said those words to me,
and I felt the heavy weight on my heart lift. When I
spoke a minute later, my voice was hoarse. "I know. I
love you, too, Dana Scully."

Sometimes I don't think I express myself clearly to
her. So, just in case she didn't understand what I was
saying, I carefully moved her bag of McDonald's away
from the bed and showed her just how much I really do
love her.

***

The next two days were a flurry of activity. Somehow,
between fending off Agent Christopher's advances and
another murder, I managed to complete my profile on
our killer. Scully spent thirteen hours in the morgue
doing autopsies, and when we finally met up in my
hotel room the day after our first fight, we compared
notes. I told her my theory, she over-rationalized it.
Just like any other case in any other hotel room.
Except that that night, we fell asleep in each other's
arms.

It would only be fitting, though, that science would
reign over paranormal. Our normally neat killer got
sloppy and we found a hair fiber on the next victim.

Kyle Cooper was an avid devotee to the Catholic
church. Outwardly, he was just as normal as the next
guy. But apparently, his wife had left him two weeks
before. Left him for their neighbor. Their *female*
neighbor.

So Coop decided that if his wife could go against the
Church, he would simply punish those who did as she
had.

The first victim, Louise Hapford, was an atheist, thus
breaking the First Commandment: Thou shalt not have
any other Gods before me.

Two; Luke Greene had a statue of Christ on his front
porch. 'Thou shalt have no pagan symbols.'

Casey Johannsen, the third victim, had recently had an
abortion, breaking the Sixth Commandment: 'Thou shalt
not murder.'

And so forth and so on until he had killed five
people, each of whom he felt had violated the Church.

Scully had determined a cause of death in each victim,
a *scientific* cause of death. Although she still had
no logical explanation on how a man's heart could
explode inside of his chest without a bullet having
hit it. 'It's not unreasonable to say that he had an
extremely severe heart attack, Mulder,' she told me as
we left the jail where Cooper was being detained.
'Although it's rare, there are documented cases where
the heart has simply shattered while inside the chest
cavity.' We hadn't been together for even a whole
week, but I already knew it was useless to argue with
her. So I simply gave her a look similar to the ones
she gives me and got in the car.

At least my profile was right.

***

We returned to DC on Thursday and spent all of Friday
filing our expense reports and documenting the case
for Skinner. Actually, Scully did the expense report
while I attempted the official report. Which,
ultimately, was useless because she took one look at
my efforts, gave me a sad look, and threw it in the
trash. Which meant that we had to stay in the office
until seven so she could finish the report.

It was an unspoken agreement between us that my
apartment was closer. It amazed me how we still found
time for each other, even though we both complained
the entire ride there about how exhausted we were.

I woke up around one a.m. from a nightmare. I crawled
gently out of bed, careful not to disturb my sleeping
beauty, and stumbled into my living room and sprawled
the couch. I was sitting there, yawning, watching
Conan O'Brien make an ass out of himself, when I felt
her warm hands slip around my neck.

"What's the matter?" Scully asked quietly as I pulled
her down beside me on the couch. She reached up as I
snuggled against her and pulled my mother's old quilt
down over us.

"Had a nightmare," I mumbled into her hair. The
audience on TV laughed at some off-color joke.

"I know," she replied, wrapping my arms more tightly
around her. "I felt you get out of bed."

"I didn't mean to wake you up."

"S'okay," she mumbled sleepily. "I just can't sleep
without you next to me, anymore."

God, the woman was adorable. She always knew the right
thing to say to me.

She focused back on the television, and my thoughts
began to wander.

Scully had been subtly reminding me that her mother
wanted us to join the family for their annual fourth
of July celebration. It got me thinking.

When I dated Phoebe in college, and I introduced her
to my family for the first time, I called her "my
girlfriend, Phoebe." By the time I got around to
Diana, the second serious relationship of my life, I
called her my girlfriend, too. But Scully?

Scully was so much more than my girlfriend. She's my
partner, my best friend, my companion, my lover. How
can I put a name to someone that's my soul mate? And
the thought of introducing her as "my lover, Scully,"
almost made me gag.

Which brought me to a second point. Scully was okay
for friends, but it sounded so...formal now that we
were together. But for the past six years, I'd only
used her first name to get her to pay attention to me.
It came like second nature. Scully was for everyday
use; Dana was for emergencies. I figured an experiment
was in order.

"Hey, sweetheart?" I asked.

Silence.

"Honey?"

She chuckled at the TV.

"Baby?"

Not working.

"Scully, you know I'm talking to you," I said finally.

"Oh, were you talking to me? I only heard you calling
some women named Sweetheart, Honey, and Baby."

I made a face. "Funny. I was just figuring out what
pet name you liked."

"I don't like pet names, Poopyhead."

"Aw, but honeybunch, that's not fair."

"Why do I even need a pet name? The only thing they do
is reduce women to a baby or some sickening form of
candy."

I put on my best wounded puppy face. "Dana, everyone
has a pet name."

"Dana?"

This was obviously not working. "Fine. I was just
sitting here thinking about how formal Scully sounds
for us now. And about how it feels like the normal
thing to do would be to call you honey or sweetie or
something."

She stared at me for a minute. "I try hard to
understand you, but Mulder, sometimes you just make it
incredibly difficult to follow."

"Scully, I'm trying to have a serious conversation
with you, here."

"Sorry. Well, Mulder, I don't think we're supposed to
actually sit down and pick out names for each other.
But I suppose if you want to call me honey, I can try
to answer you."

"Can I call you Dana?"

"Can I call you Fox?" she returned without a pause.

"You can call me whatever you want to, baby," I said
on cue.

She jokingly swatted at my arm. "Not fair," I
continued. "You *like* your first name, Scully. I
don't."

"Mulder," Scully/Dana/honey said, kissing the tip of
my nose. "I don't care if you call me Scully or Dana."
She dropped a few kisses around the side of my mouth.
"Just as long as long as it's *me* you're trying to
call."

I laughed gently. "Who else could there ever be?"

"Will you come back to bed now?"

"Conan's not over."

Scully gave me a look.

I turned the TV off and followed her back to my
bedroom, muttering as we went. We climbed onto my bed --
I had thrown out the water pad back in March -- and I
opened my arms to her. It was no surprise that she fit
in them perfectly. I thought back over the turn my
life had taken the past week. "Hey, honey?"

"Hmm?"

"Today our's first anniversary," I said teasingly.

She thought for a minute. "I guess it is. Happy
anniversary, honey."

At least she's trying, I thought, grinning. "Happy
anniversary, Dana."

So, like I was saying.

I've always had the absolute best luck.

The proof is in my arms.


The End.

_______________________


The "A Simple Kiss" Series:
A Simple Kiss
Beginnings
coming soon: Revelations.

Email me if you need a part, or just visit my webpage.

http://members.tripod.com/~SueBridehead_2/fanfic.html
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