Date sent: Sun, 7 Sep 1997
From: JohnieRed@aol.com

Subject: "In My End is My Beginning" by Johnie

In My End is My Beginning by Johnie

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, Fox Network, Chris Carter...
yadda-da, yadda. I have no money anyway.

Category: S, MSR, mucho Mulder angst

Rating: NC-17. For sexual content and language.

Spoilers: Let's see, I suppose there is lots of `em in here. Third and
fourth season- Small Potatoes, Momento Mori, third season last
episode(whatever it was called) and there are some references from early
fourth, various other episodes and WetWired.

Summary: Mulder/Scully together. Angst and disaster striking.

Warning: Militant non-shippers, please don't read this, I doubt you'll
like it and I don't want to be responsible for wasting precious moments of
your life.
Also, for everyone else this is very angst-y so don't read it if you're
looking for special-Hallmark-moments type of romance. It ain't in here.

Posting: ***This has been previously posted to the Gossamer Archives.***
Do not send it to them again. It may travel elsewhere if requests are made
to the author.

Comments and feedback, if you are so inclined, to: JohnieRed@aol.com

October 1997

Mulder grabbed Scully's upper arms and roughly pushed her against the wall
in the narrow hallway of his apartment. His mouth descended to quickly
cover her's before she could protest. She had arrived immediately in
response to his terse call to her cell phone.

"Scully, I need you."
"Where are you?" she asked.
"I'm at home"
"I'll be right there," had been her only reply. She didn't ask why he
needed to see her, she trusted him.

Mulder had thrown the cell phone -his home phone had already been
disconnected- on top of the TVafter hanging up. A flash of guilt hit him
when it occurred to him tonight he would be breaking that trust but then
the pain and grief washed over him and stomped down any feeling accept the
raw need that was clawing at his chest. He realized his grip on sanity was
tenuous at best but pushed the thought away. He wasn't going to think
tonight.

Tonight he planned on fulfilling his wildest fantasy. Tonight he was going
to fuck Dana Scully.

Scully struggled briefly and then began to respond. She opened her mouth
returning his kiss hotly. He felt her hands cup ass and then move up to
caress his back. He ran his hands up over her shoulders and cupped her
face with the palms of his hands, tangling his fingertips in her silky
hair. The kiss was making his head reel.

She was soft, her lips, her skin, her hair. Her softness reminded him of
flannel sheets and the wispy bits of down that escaped from the seams of
feather pillows. It was such a contrast to the Scully who was his partner.
That Scully was hard, tough as nails, and would have kneed him in the balls
and pointed a gun at his head, while she watched him writhe on the floor,
all for having touched her without permission.

He decided, at this moment, he liked the Scully who was sighing against his
mouth, licking his bottom lip and running her hands up under his shirt,
tangling her fingers into his chest hair, much better.
But it was too much, he thought, too much for just one night. He wanted to
fuck Dana not make love to her. I will die, he thought, die if she makes
this soft, slow and about love. I *need* her but I can't love her, not
now, he thought desperately.

His feelings for his partner had always run deep. A year into their
partnership he had felt a loyalty to her that no one else had ever inspired
in him; he had grown possessive of her professional skills, her rare
smiles, and her companionship. But he hadn't thought about loving her,
truly loving her until the night he had burst in on her and Eddie
VanBrundht. The sight of her almost kissing someone she thought was him
had given him anxiety attacks for weeks afterwards.

He hadn't ever allowed himself to think about her that way because he was
sure he wasn't her type and even if he was, he knew she deserved better.
Someone with less baggage. Someone who wouldn't cast shadows into her
life. Someone who could surge into her life with such a wave joy that all
the pain that occurred in her life during her time as his partner would be
washed away. He knew he couldn't fill that role, couldn't be that for her,
he was part of her pain.

`She is not for you' was the phrase that crossed his mind every day since
witnessing that particular scene and in the past three months since her
cancer disappeared mysteriously as it arrived, he repeated it to himself so
often it had become a mantra.

There a been a week, seven wonderful days, after the cancer had gone when
he had entertained thoughts of telling her, telling her he wanted to fall
in love with her, wanted to spend lazy Sunday mornings reading the paper in
bed with her, wanted to learn to braid her hair, wanted to build a snowman
with her at Christmas and send her love letters. He had been so happy that
week thinking about all the silly romantic feelings she was unknowingly
inspiring in him. He had cherished each moment of those hundred and
sixty-eight hours, had imagined dozens of ways to reveal his feelings to her.

Then the call had come.

A construction crew on Martha's Vineyard had torn down the remains of a
cottage that had burnt a over decade ago in order to rebuild -real estate
on the Vineyard had skyrocketed in value since President Clinton had begun
vacationing there- and in the field stone foundation they had found the
body of an eight-to-ten-year-old girl. She had been buried approximately
twenty years. No cause of death was apparent.

Mulder had quietly submitted to genetic testing to see if the DNA they
extracted from the skeletal remains matched his enough that they could
identify her as his sibling. Scully had held his hand when the FBI lab
called with the results- inconclusive. She had sat up with him all night
when the lab was finishing up the tests on DNA results of body's against
the DNA records the military had on his father and DNA from his mother's
blood. Scully had reviewed the lab's report herself; she was the only one
he trusted. It was Samantha. She showed him the black and gray lines on
the print out, explained the sequences, answered all his questions. He
didn't want to believe... but he did.

Scully had offered to accompany him when he told his mother. He hadn't
told his mother about the testing. Caroline Mulder had had five small
strokes- TIA's Scully called them- in the past months. She had become
frail and occasionally confused. Her physician had warned against
upsetting her, said it could cause another stroke. The doctor had asked
her private duty nurse to draw an extra vial, during the weekly check of
the medication levels in her blood. One vial was sent to the local
hospital, the other to the genetics lab at the Bureau. When the reports
had come in, one confirming the daily dose of coumadin was keeping her
blood safely thin, the other that her daughter was dead, he had known it
was time to tell her.

Mulder had accepted Scully's offer and was grateful for her presence on the
trip. He leaned on her emotionally and literally during the drive to
Connecticut, sleeping against her shoulder as she drove; it was the first
time he had slept well in weeks.

He had told his mother, gently , that they had found Samantha and that she
was gone. She had smiled and told him she was glad she finally knew. She
said she had never believed any of the abduction stories, never thought
Samantha was coming home, but she was glad she knew for certain. She fell
asleep with a gentle smile on her face, she didn't notice the matching, but
bitter one, her son wore. She died the next morning of a massive stroke.

Scully stayed with him through the funeral and other arrangements.

Perhaps he could have gotten through it all if it wasn't for the casual
remarks from agent who did the genetic testing.

"Hey, Agent Mulder, I was really sorry to hear about your mother," said
Agent Neilsom in the corridor outside his office, "I'm glad we got the DNA
test results for you so she at least had some peace of mind about your
sister."

"Thanks, Neilsom," Mulder said genuinely grateful. The agent had been
patient and understanding when Mulder demanded Scully review all the final
DNA lab reports on his sister. He walked to the elevator with him.

"I lost my mother and step-father a couple of years ago, we were very
close. My dad is still alive, I see him sometimes. We've never seen eye
to eye but it is good to have him around. Is your dad still alive?"
Neilsom asked.

"Uh, no. The government had that DNA record on file, he died two years
ago," Mulder replied.

"Oh," said Neilsom causally, "I didn't get his file, I only got the file
on Samantha's father. I just reviewed his, yours, and Samantha's. Agent
Devers analyzed your mother's DNA and any other relatives that where
collected to help with the extrapolation."

Mulder said nothing. He just stared blankly at the wall, his head spinning.

"Let me know if you need anything else," Neilsom finished as he stepped
off the elevator.

Mulder had gone straight to the Lone Gunmen. Byers read the reports and
confirmed what Neilsom had unknowingly discovered. The DNA match with
Mulder had been inconclusive because Samantha was his half-sister, William
Mulder's offspring; he wasn't.

If Bill Mulder wasn't his father then who was?

For the first time in his life he didn't care about the truth. He didn't
care about anything. He didn't care how Samantha died, didn't care who his
father really was. What difference would it make? It wouldn't make him
less alone. It wouldn't bring back what he had lost.
He had taken a leave of absence from the Bureau a month ago and had avoided
Scully since. He had spent the last week packing his apartment,
sub-leasing and arranging for storage. He had sent his resignation to
Skinner this past morning and then called Scully.

And now here she was. He tugged her blouse out of the waistband of her
skirt and pulled it open sending it's tiny buttons popping through the air.
In response, she pulled his gray T-shirt over his head and threw it on the
floor. He moaned as she rubbed her cheek against his bare chest and
reached down to stroke his erection through his jeans. With one tug, he
tore the remains of her shirt off and then moved to pull her bra off. It
was only a tiny bit of lace with a small clasp in the front. He nestled
his face between her breasts, bit the clasp open, and then greedily sucked
a nipple into his mouth. Scully growled and pulling on his hair, dragged
his lips back to her own.
Mulder gasped in surprise as she suddenly whipped around pinning him to the
wall. Yes, Mulder thought. Scully somehow sensed his desperation and
pushed him deeper into the vortex of desire. She, who knew him so well,
understood his necrotic soul simply could not tolerate even the smallest
measure tenderness tonight. She seemed to know she had to keep it rough,
hot, and hard, or he would shatter. By reacting in kind, she silently let
him know she was willing to meet him on his terms.

Mulder was having difficultly forming coherent thoughts as Scully kicked
her skirt off and began unbuttoning his jeans. He waited until Scully
peeled his jeans off and then fell to his knees, pushing Scully against the
opposite wall. He rubbed his raspy, stubbled chin against her thigh and
nudged her legs apart to taste her.

Scully went wild, bucking under the ministrations of his tongue and then
slid down the wall when her legs would no longer support her. They stayed,
kneeling in the hallway, trading desperate, dusky kisses for several heart
beats and then Mulder pushed her to the floor. He paused for a brief
moment before entering her; Scully whose eyes had been closed, opened hers
just as his shut down. He was poised to join them, with his eyes closed,
his lips whispering inaudibly as though in prayer. She pulled him down
onto and into her, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction when she heard him
moan heavily as he slid into her. After that she was beyond all conscious
thought.

Later Mulder carried her down the hall to his bedroom. His little used bed
was one of the few pieces of furniture left in the apartment. On it they
spent a night that Mulder hoped not a minute of would ever fade from his
eidetic memory.

In the early morning light, he dresses in the discarded clothes trailing
down the hallway. He winces while pulling the T-shirt over his head. He
is sore; Scully has left scratches on his arms and back, and has given him
a dozen or so love bites on different parts of his body. It was almost as
through she knew his plans to leave, as she knew everything else about
him, and wanted to leave her mark on him. As the thought crosses his mind
he unconsciously touches the gunshot wound scar on his shoulder.

He walks down the hall to look at her lying in the stream of sunlight
pouring through the window. He wishes he could, just once, see the red of
her hair. It just looks muddy brown to him, although he knows, from
hearing admiring comments from other agents that it is the color of
firelight. He smiles tightly. Many times throughout their partnership, he
had been no less afraid of her than he was of fire.

He walks over to the bed and gently kisses her forehead.

"I could have loved you, Dana," he whispers, they are the only words he has
spoken to her all night. Dana sighs softly as Mulder picks up his carry on
bag, looks one last time at her sleeping form and walks out of the apartment.

THE END