Primal Sympathy by Lydia Bower 2/3

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Seven

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 5, 1997
6:21 AM

Mulder stepped from the van and slung the bag over his shoulder. He turned
back and silently offered Scully his hand. She studied his tawny-gold eyes
before she took it and hopped out after him. The instant her feet hit the
ground, his grasp on her hand slackened and fell away. Scully was only
slightly taken aback by her sudden urge to grab hold of him and never let go.
She'd been fighting similar urges throughout the trip to Allentown. She was
never quite certain if she should be screaming at him or flinging herself
into his arms. Every revelation Mulder had hesitantly dished out had
provoked both desires in her. Conflicting emotions were nothing new to Dana
Scully. She'd been having them most her of her life. But never so intense as
with Mulder. And never so confusing to her as now.
And so she'd done neither. She'd forced herself to remain still. To be
composed and let loose her words as she tightened the reins on her
traitorous body.
Scully glanced up at Mulder in the pinkish-gray light of dawn and studied
him as he watched Crawford pull away in the van. My enemy, she thought. She
rolled the words around in her head as she would a piece of candy on her
tongue; tasting its flavor. Testing it against what she knew or only
suspected. Is what he believes true, she wondered. Could he be both the
driving force in my life and the instrument of my destruction--as well as
his own? She hadn't known when Mulder had first made his announcement, and
she wasn't any closer to an answer now.
Mulder turned and looked down at her. She forced herself to meet his eyes.
There'd been no further conversation after Mulder's last words to her. With
a single look, they'd both silently agreed that time needed to be taken.
Words pondered. Actions and explanations relived and investigated for hidden
meaning. Mulder had finally tipped his head back and slept. She'd spent the
last hour of the journey listening to his soft snoring; at once infuriated
and comforted.
Now she looked up into familiar hooded eyes and found herself searching
them. Looking for that same indefinable, inaccessible thing she'd sought so
often in the photo she'd kept of him.
What exactly are you looking for, Dana? And will you know it when you see it?
"You ready?" Mulder asked.
"I don't know," she answered honestly, but took her place beside him as he
turned and walked towards the abandoned factory. Even if she had all the
answers she wanted, she wasn't sure she'd be ready for whatever lay beyond
the door Mulder was leading them to.
She didn't stop to consider the fact that she'd once again followed along
side him, no more questions asked. She also took no conscious notice of his
hand taking its spot on the small of her back. Not until it fell away as
Mulder reached out to poke at a keypad set into the wall beside the door.
Then she missed its warmth.
"Nice security system for someone on government wages."
Mulder glanced at her and softly smiled. "What, this? Sorry to disappoint
you, but it's not my doing. This is all compliments of the Consortium."
"What?" She was awestruck by the implication.
"Relax, Scully. It's not the way it sounds. Remember, the Crawfords are
working for the Project. In some ways, the Consortium is run a lot like
Uncle Sam. They dole out the money and don't much care where it goes, as
long as they get the results they want. It's a simple matter of ask and ye
shall receive."
"You mean all this was set up using Consortium money?" Scully snorted
quietly. "I'll be damned."
"Pretty sneaky, huh?" Mulder replied. "You ain't seen nothin' yet." The
light on the keypad flashed from red to green and he pulled open the heavy
steel door. Stepping aside, he waved Scully through and followed her in. The
door closed and locked behind them with a solid, heavy thunk.
Scully looked around and felt as though she'd stepped inside the skeleton
of some giant, prehistoric beast. They stood in a huge empty area, nothing
remaining inside the paper mill but the thick steel I-beams that made up the
frame of the building. The ceiling rose high above their heads, the walls
bare and ugly. The only illumination came from whatever sunlight managed to
sneak through several jagged holes in the roof. Dust motes swirled and
danced in the beams of light that pierced the shadowed recesses of the huge
room. A musty, ancient odor crept into her nostrils and Scully sneezed in
reaction.
Mulder's "Bless you," was automatic.
"Well, Mulder," she commented, and quickly lowered her voice as it echoed
through the empty space. "You certainly know all the nicer places."
He chuckled quietly and pointed a finger into the shadows. "We need to go
that way. Other end." He adjusted the shoulder strap of her bag and set off
into the darkness, Scully trailing along beside him. "We set up shop in what
used to be the office area," he explained as they walked. "It's located at
the back end of the building and can't be seen from any of the main roads.
All the windows have either been boarded up or painted over. So we don't
need to worry about anyone seeing any lights at night. There's only one
other working entrance, and it's right off the lab." He glanced over at her.
"All things considered, it's pretty damn secure. The only visitors we've had
have been a couple kids tooling around in their car, looking for a quiet
place to make out. They didn't stick around long. I think this place gave
them the creeps."
"I can't imagine why," she quipped.
"The offices are a lot nicer than this, Scully. It's not the Ritz, but it's
got everything we need."
"How long have you been set up here?"
"Just about a month. We didn't even get the last of the supplies and
equipment till a few days ago."
They fell silent as they crossed the vast expanse, their footfalls loud in
the tomb-like stillness surrounding them. Scully was filled with an odd
anticipation. Considering all that had happened in the last few hours, she
should have been disoriented and exhausted. Instead, she found herself
anxious to see what Mulder had in store for her. I'm like Pavlov's dog, she
thought, a little irritated with herself. All Mulder has to do is say the
right words and I'm there--all good sense be damned.
Soon they reached the end of the main building and passed through another
secured door. Walking down a narrow hallway to a third door, Mulder paused
and turned to her. "Well, here we are." He almost sounded apologetic.
"Why do I hear a trace of 'abandon all hope' in your voice, Mulder? Maybe I
should just turn around and go home." Scully suddenly shivered and fought
back the desire to hug herself.
And then Mulder reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of a
finger. A gentle, glancing touch. One that was gone before she could react.
"Can't do that, Scully," he told her quietly. "We can't go back now. All the
bridges are burnt."
Scully guessed she knew that; had known it the instant she'd agreed to go
with Mulder. She also knew that he was alluding to more than just the steps
they'd taken the last few hours. By agreeing to follow him, she'd also
accepted all the ramifications that might come from her decision to abandon
her life as she knew it, and take what Mulder was offering her instead. The
funny thing was, she couldn't remember exactly what it was he'd offered. It
seemed like the confrontation in her apartment had taken place days ago. It
had become nothing more than a dim memory. Until Mulder opened the final
door and ushered her inside.
Oh yeah, she thought dazedly, as she looked around. He said something about
finding the answers we need to save my life.
"The truth will save you, Scully. I think it'll save both of us."
She heard the words so clearly she was positive Mulder had just spoken
them. But when she swung around to him, he was looking straight ahead, his
generous mouth firmly set. She shook off the auditory memory and took a few
steps further into the room. Pivoting slowly on her heel, Scully took a good
look around.
She was standing in the middle of a small but impressive laboratory. All
bright lights and shiny chrome. Scully let her eyes slowly wander over the
equipment, checking off each separate piece on a small list she unknowingly
kept her head. Low counters were filled with beakers and vials and thick
computer printouts. Desks were scattered throughout the room, complete with
PCs, monitors glowing blue as information flashed across them at an alarming
rate of speed. Occupying three of these desks were the men Scully knew as
Kurt Crawford. As one, they turned their heads and gazed serenely at her.
"Agent Scully," the one closest to her said. "It's good to see you again."
She was struck with a sense of deja vu. She'd heard those same words from
the man behind the wheel of the van she just stepped from. She could do no
more than nod in reply. She caught Mulder watching her from the corner of
her eye and looked to him, her brow furrowed. Mulder laid his hand against
her back. And this time he left it there. Scully could barely feel the heat
from his touch. It was hesitant and light, as though he were prepared to
snatch it away at the slightest sign it wasn't welcome. His eyes meet hers.
"It gets easier, Scully. No less strange, but easier." He topped off his
words with an encouraging nod. Still holding her eye, Mulder asked, "Did I
miss anything exciting, George?"
The Crawford at the furthermost desk replied, "We rented the original
version of *The Thing* last night."
"Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt," Mulder said quietly, his eyes
never leaving her face. Scully was flooded by the memory of Mulder's big,
warm hand brushing the hair from the nape of her neck before settling there,
gently cupping the delicate pearls of her spine. She dropped her eyes and
came up on the balls of her feet, her hand coming to rest on Mulder's
shoulder for support, her mouth close to his ear. Instinctively, Mulder
leaned down to meet her, his hand now heavy at the small of her back.
"George?" she murmured, trying not to focus on the perfect swirl of his
ear, the tiny hole in the lobe. She could feel the steady hum that now
pulsed between them. Simple contact. Her hand on his shoulder, his hand on
her back. The connection had been completed.
Mulder turned his face away and glanced over at the men before turning back
to her. He dipped his head again and kept up the conspiratorial whisper. "I
couldn't very well call all of them Crawford. The one who's here the most,
my unofficial baby-sitter, is George."
"How do you know which one he is?"
She watched as he jerked a smile. "I don't. Not always," he admitted and
raised an eyebrow at her. "But I figure my chances are pretty good he'll be
somewhere in the room."
Scully couldn't help but return his grin. She was also highly ashamed of
herself for thinking it under the circumstances, but she was suddenly
entranced by the way Mulder smelled up close. She shoved down an insane
desire to stretch on her toes a little bit more, get a little closer. Just
enough to bury her nose in the hair at Mulder's temple.
I need to sleep, she thought guiltily. I'm too tired to be thinking these
things and feeling this way. I have no control.
But he's here, another voice whispered. And he's alive. And wouldn't it be
nice to just sink into his arms and have him take care of me for awhile?
Ah, yes. Mulder. The same man who allowed me to believe he'd taken his own
life. Who did everything in his power to make me believe his lie.
Scully came down flat on her feet and took a single step away from him. His
hand was instantly gone.
"Oh, one other thing" George added, and Scully silently thanked him for
giving her a focus other than Mulder. "Mr. Skinner is upstairs. He arrived
late last night."
"Skinner?" Mulder asked. Scully could feel him tense up from a foot away.
"Oh, good," she murmured, thinking she could use another target for her
considerable anger. After all, it wasn't fair to take it all out on Mulder.
Was it?
Mulder was in motion, striding across the room to George's side. "What is
he doing here?"
Mulder's tone was an odd mixture of worry and something almost territorial
in nature; as though Skinner's presence was somehow a threat to him. What is
going on? Scully wondered.
"Is everything all right, Mulder?"
"I don't know, Scully. Let's go find out."
Mulder took off towards the back of the room, Scully a few steps behind
him. He pushed through a fire door and she followed, finding herself in a
stairwell. After throwing her a glance over his shoulder, Mulder bounded up
the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.
Scully sighed and trudged up the stairs behind him. "That's okay, Mulder,
you don't have to wait for me," she mumbled to herself. "Wouldn't want to
slow you down."
But he was waiting for her at the third floor landing. He pulled open the
door as she reached the top step, ushering her into another hallway. They
made their way down the hall and pushed through a glass door at the end.
Scully caught a partial name and title on the door, the black letters faded
and peeling away. They entered a large narrow outer office, complete with a
desk and a fifth Kurt Crawford. She barely glanced at him as Mulder rounded
the doorway into the inner office, Scully right on his heels.
Skinner, who'd either been sleeping or close to it, jumped to his feet as
they burst into the room. His eyes rested on Mulder for a brief moment
before all his attention came to focus on her. Mulder didn't waste any time
with greetings.
"What are you doing here? What's wrong?" he demanded. "Did that
son-of-a-bitch finally show up?"
Skinner's eyes flicked between the two of them. Scully was amazed at how
they each received a different look. The one delivered to Mulder was all
business. Hers, on the other hand, was filled with something that looked a
lot like relief.
Instead of answering Mulder's question, Skinner addressed her. "Scully, I
can't tell you how glad I am that you're here."
She looked at both men and then turned to face Skinner head on. "Well, sir,
if you can't tell me that, then maybe you can tell me exactly what your part
is in this little scheme." Mulder made a low, muffled sound in his throat
and she threw him a warning glance.
Apparently, Skinner decided to ignore her question--at least for the time
being. He looked over at Mulder and said, "Nothing's wrong, Agent Mulder. My
only business here was to make certain Scully arrived safely. And, no, I
haven't been contacted yet."
"Contacted by whom?"
Both men turned to her. And then she watched as they exchanged an
inscrutable look. After a few seconds Mulder shrugged and walked away,
heading for the tall bank of windows on the outer wall. Scully looked back
at Skinner and flipped her arms up in a gesture of frustration. "Would
someone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?"
"Why don't you sit down, Scully," Skinner suggested.
Ignoring the pain of her bruised hand, she folded her arms across her
chest. "Is that an order, sir?"
"No. No, of course not. I just thought you might be tired from the trip."
"The only thing I'm tired of is being kept in the dark." She caught
Skinner's grim nod and watched as he settled himself back down on the
scruffy couch he'd been occupying when they'd come in. A small part of her
brain registered surprise that Skinner was willing to put himself at a
disadvantage; taking a position where he was forced to look up at her.
I don't think I'm going to like what he's got to say, she thought. She
glanced over at Mulder. He was standing slump-shouldered, his back to them,
hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. No, she realized, I'm not
going to like it at all.
"I don't know how much Mulder has told you," Skinner began.
"Not enough," she retorted coolly.
The Assistant Director leaned forward and bowed his head. His forearms came
to rest on his thighs, his hands hanging loosely between his knees. Scully
watched as he took two deep breaths before raising his head and meeting her
eyes.
"Mulder came to me shortly after you were diagnosed. He wanted me to
arrange a meeting for him."
"With whom?" The question was automatic. But the sinking feeling in
Scully's gut gave her all the answer she needed.
After an interminable silence, Skinner said "Cancer Man."
Her suspicions confirmed, Scully's knees went soft on her. She felt behind
her for the arm of the couch and sat down heavily. She gave Mulder's back a
long look, willing him to turn and face her. She could feel the push of his
resistance from across the room.
What had transpired, that Mulder couldn't even look at her?
"Go on," she told Skinner.
"Mulder was convinced, *is* convinced, that Cancer Man is behind your
abduction and what's happened to you since. He believed the chances were
high that the Smoking Man would have the answers needed to save your life."
Scully could feel the beginnings of a headache pulling tight across her
brow. She lifted a hand there and rubbed, trying to erase some of the
pressure. She felt lightheaded, queasy. She was filled with questions, all
of them directed at the one man in the room who wouldn't even turn to face
her. Was it cowardice that was keeping his back to her? Shame? Or was it
something far worse?
She had no doubt that if Mulder could make himself invisible, he'd do it in
the blink of an eye. And so he made it easy for her to ignore his presence,
to cut him out of the equation. He could always be added back into it later.
She cleared her throat and asked Skinner, "And what was Agent Mulder willing
to do in return?"
There was a long silence, and when the answer came, it wasn't from the
direction she'd expected. Mulder slowly turned back to them. He gave Skinner
a long look and then meet her steady gaze. "Anything," he answered.
"Everything. Whatever it takes, Scully. The work. My badge. My life, if it
comes down to that." He looked away and quietly added, "And I guess it has,
hasn't it?"
It was the matter-of-fact, wholly sincere tone of his voice that brought
the sting of tears to her eyes. It would have been far easier to dismiss his
claim as melodrama had it been accompanied by any hint of selfishness, or a
desire to be praised for his sacrifice. But there was none of that. No hint
of the cool, composed, smart-ass FBI agent. There was just Mulder, with his
sad eyes and beaten-down posture. And with his heart firmly on his sleeve.
"Oh, Mulder, no," she murmured, her blood suddenly running thick and cold
in her veins. "Please don't tell me you made a deal with him."
Mulder raised his eyes to hers. "No," he answered, shaking his head. "No, I
didn't. But I would have--in a second." His gaze shifted to Skinner. "I just
didn't get the chance. Skinner convinced me there were other ways to come to
the truth. Ways that wouldn't require the selling of my soul."
Scully released the breath she'd been holding and asked, "What ways?"
Mulder spread his arms wide. "You're looking at it."
Well, at least that much made sense. Skinner had steered him away from
making any deals with Cancer Man. Which had obviously set him on the path
they were all following now. But it still didn't explain Skinner's part in it.
Scully turned back to the AD. "So what is your involvement in this?"
Skinner gave her his best tight-ass stare and stated evenly, "I didn't
follow my own advice."
Scully was stunned. She looked over at Mulder and felt her stomach clinch
at what she saw there. The confirmation shone dully in his eyes. Turning
back to Skinner, she stammered, "You mean you.... You made a deal with
Cancer Man? You bargained for my life?"
His answer was terse. "Yes."
Scully dropped her eyes and stared at the threadbare carpet beneath her
feet. She suddenly felt very small, and very much out of control. "I see,"
she breathed. "And what was the price?"
She heard the audible click as Skinner swallowed hard. "My cooperation in
certain matters."
"Such as?"
"Overlooking certain things. Focusing on others." There was a short pause.
"Cleaning up messes."
Scully slowly her head in understanding and lifted her eyes. Mulder had
come to stand a little closer to her, his hands perched on his hips. "I'm
assuming," she said, "that since I'm still dying, he hasn't held up his end
of the bargain."
"I doubt he ever intended to, Scully," Skinner replied. "In fact, I know he
didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"It wasn't me he wanted to deal with, it was Mulder. We suspect that the
onset of your cancer was nothing more than an effort to bring Mulder into
the Project. They knew he would be desperate enough to give them whatever
they wanted in order to save you. But our smoking friend isn't a fool. He
figured if he couldn't drag Mulder into it, he might as well have another
pasty to do his dirty work. I doubt my involvement was part of their
original plan."
"Then why?" she asked incredulously. "Why would you ever agree to such a
thing? Why would either one of you even consider it?"
It was Mulder who answered. "Like he said, Scully. Desperation."
She waited for more. She needed more. But it wasn't forthcoming. After a
long silence, she addressed Skinner. "And the current status of your deal?"
He sighed heavily. "I've had no contact with him since Mulder's apparent
suicide. He seems to have disappeared into the woodwork."
She nodded and swiveled around to Mulder. "You were aware of all this?"
"Not until a couple months ago. I found out about it while I was working
the case involving the bees and the variola virus. While you were in the
hospital. I found out during the investigation that someone passing
themselves off as me was very cleverly concealing and destroying evidence
that might have lead me to the truth."
She turned back to Skinner and asked, "You?"
"Yeah." Skinner looked over at Mulder. "My participation in the cover-up
was discovered. Mulder came to me demanding answers. That's when I told him
what I'd done. Mulder, in turn, shared his plans with me and later brought
me into the operation."
"And your part in this?" Scully was amazed she was able to keep her voice
low and even. The rage that'd overtaken her at her apartment was back.
Quieter this time, less volatile, but no less justified.
"To maintain the status quo and help perpetrate the hoax of Mulder's death.
To get you out of the way by placing you on medical leave. And to report
back any conversations I may have with Cancer Man concerning Mulder's death
and its possible effect on the Project."
"Double agent," Scully murmured under her breath. My God, when would it all
end?
"I know it's sounds unbelievable, Scully, but--"
"No, no it doesn't," she admitted. "But what I do find unbelievable is the
way the two of you managed to completely cut me out of this. You both went
behind my back. Lied to me. Deceived me. Did it ever once occur to either of
you that it's my life you were playing with? You both seem to have forgotten
that behind the cancer you're so determined to eradicate is a person. Me."
"Scully...."
"No, Mulder," she snapped. "It's my turn and you're both going to just shut
up and listen to me." She watched as he hung his head. "This is my life
we're talking about. And by doing what you did, you took away my choices.
You made the decisions for me." Scully rose from the couch and began to pace
the room. She was hanging on by a thread. A very thin and delicate thread.
Hot tears burned her eyes and she furiously blinked them back. "All I want,
all I've ever wanted, is to live my life the way I choose. To make my own
decisions. To have those choices respected by the people around me. I've
never asked anyone to agree with them or condone them, just respect that
they're mine to make."
She turned her back on the two men and stifled a sob behind her hand. "I
never," she choked out, "I never would have asked either one of you to do
what you've done." She stiffened her spine and swung back around to them.
"And now, Mulder, now you've gone and done something I can't fix. I can't
make this right the way I've always tried to before. Even if this drug works
and my cancer is cured, it won't bring back all you've given up, all that
you've sacrificed. And it won't answer your questions or bring you any
closer to the truth.
"And you, Skinner. Look at what you've done for me. You've turned your back
on everything you believed in and fought for. All for the privilege of
becoming Cancer Man's newest errand boy. That puts you right up there with
Alex Krycek, doesn't it? How does it feel to destroy your honor and your
integrity for a woman you don't even really know? Is my life worth what
you've both given up? Is anyone's?"
Neither man would look at her. Skinner was staring at the floor. Mulder
stood with his jaw tightly clinched, his gaze focused on the small table by
the windows, his face like a mask. She watched as he slowly blinked and a
single tear slipped down his cheek. She felt next to nothing. Nothing but
emptiness and disappointment and regret.
"No matter what happens now," she told them, "whether I die next week or in
fifty years, I'll have to live with the knowledge of what you've done in my
name. I'll have to carry on knowing that the rest of my life came at the
cost of both of yours. And all without my consent or even my knowledge. I
have to ask myself if it's worth it." She took a deep breath and finished on
a sob. "And it's not. It's not."
A heavy silence blanketed the room. And suddenly it was all too much. All
the unspoken, unwelcomed feelings she'd kept bottled up for so many months
threatened to burst from their restraints and bury her under their awful
weight. I'm tired, Scully thought. I'm just so goddamn tired. "If you don't
mind, I'd like to get some sleep," she told them.
"Agent Scully--"
"No," she interrupted. "No, not now. I can't hear anything more. Not now. I
need... I need to rest."
Skinner gave them both a long look and silently walked out. Please, Mulder,
she inwardly pleaded. Please don't say anything. Don't make me fall apart in
front of you. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before he followed
Skinner out, slowly closing the door behind him.
Scully stood rooted to the spot for several long minutes, taking deep,
ragged breaths. Trying to repair the wounds that'd cut her so deeply. She
finally grew tired of the inner struggle and walked to the neatly made bed.
She carefully laid herself down. And then, like a child, she curled up into
a ball and cried herself to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 7/14

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Eight

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 6, 1997
8:18 AM

Mulder stood hunched over the tiny sink in the kitchenette of the office,
eating an over-ripe peach and waiting for Scully to get out of the shower.
She'd spent most of the previous day sleeping. After stumbling from the bed
after noon and slugging down a glass of orange juice, Scully had called her
mother with the story that would explain her absence for the next few weeks.
She'd then thrown Mulder an apologetic look and headed back to bed. He had
finally awakened her well after dark and they'd gone downstairs to the break
room that was doing duty as a communal kitchen and dormitory. There, they'd
sat at a long conference table with three of the Crawfords, sharing a simple
meal of canned chicken noodle soup and ham and cheese sandwiches.
Sometime during the meal, Mulder had looked up and found Scully watching
him across the table. He'd held her gaze and had seen enough there to know
her anger had begun to diminish, and that she was offering a temporary
truce. He'd impulsively reached out and placed his hand over hers, sealing
the deal.
Later, she'd collected a thick stack of printouts from George and had taken
them back to the office. She'd allowed Mulder to fix her a cup of tea while
she began poring through the research material the hybrids had amassed over
the past year. Mulder had made himself busy for a couple hours and had gone
back to find her asleep on the bed, her glasses still perched on her nose,
her lap full of papers. He'd lifted them and gently eased off the glasses,
pulling a spare blanket up over her. He'd stopped at the doorway after
switching off the lights and turned back to the bed, a familiar sense of
longing filling him as he'd watched Scully sleep.
He'd wanted nothing more than to join her there. To spoon up against her
and hold her through the night. To protect her and keep her safe. To express
with his hands and his body what he couldn't yet say with words. Mulder had
known then that this day would hold more unpleasant news for Scully. He'd
been foolish enough to imagine, for just a moment, that making love to her
might help soften the blows to come, and help heal the ones she'd already
endured. But then the realist in him had overridden his baser urges and
forced him to walk away. He'd spent the night dozing slumped in a chair
outside the door.
"Would you like a napkin, Mulder?"
He swung around and found Scully standing in the doorway. She was still
damp from the shower and her face was free of make-up. Freckles shone like
flakes of gold against her pale ivory skin. Two spots of pink stood out on
her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and clear. It took Mulder a second to realize
what it was about Scully that was different this morning. And then it hit
him. She looked rested. Completely and utterly rested. He couldn't remember
the last time he'd seen her that way.
I've cost her so much, he thought, welcoming the pang of guilt that shot
through him. It was a familiar pain, and oddly comforting to him. It served
to remind him of all the sacrifices she'd made. It renewed his determination
to protect her--no matter what the cost to him.
Scully stood with hands on hips, a stern look on her face. "Are you aware
there's juice dripping off your chin?"
"The sign of a perfect peach," he mumbled through a mouthful.
"God," she sighed, "you're hopeless, Mulder." She reached for a roll of
paper towels and tore off a section, holding it out to him. Instead of
taking it, Mulder stuck his chin out at her, his intent obvious. Scully
heaved another sigh and gave him a look. But then she reached up and dabbed
at his chin anyway, wiping away the sticky juice.
He swallowed the last of the peach and smiled triumphantly.
"I'm not your mother, you know."
He leered at her. "Believe me, Scully, I know. My mom's never looked so
good in a pair of jeans."
She playfully shoved him and tossed the paper towel in the sink, muttering
"Pig," as she turned and walked out of the kitchenette. He grinned at her
back and turned on the water, quickly washing his hands and face before
joining her.
Scully was poking at the pile of print-outs. She absently patted the stack
and told him, "I need to talk to the Crawfords about some of this."
"What about it?"
"Well, from what I read last night, it seems they may have hit on the real
thing."
He nodded. "I told you, Scully. They found the answers. This drug they've
come up with will wipe out the cancer. All the tests point to it." He waved
at the table full of print-outs. "It's all right there in black and white."
"Not all, Mulder," she replied. "There's one very large, very significant
piece of information missing."
Despite knowing the inevitability of her next question, his stomach still
took a nose-dive. Oh God, I don't want to do this, he thought. He managed to
eek out the words. "What's that?"
"Exactly what this miracle drug is composed of. I managed to skim most of
this last night, and I didn't see any mention of the components of the drug.
Is it a new combination of some of the more commonly used cancer treatments,
or is it completely new? I can't find any of the pharmacology here."
Mulder was struck dumb. He tried to say something, but he couldn't seem to
push out any words.
"Mulder?"
She was looking at him now, a little crease in her brow. He made up his
mind and grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the table. "Forget about
that stuff, Scully. It's not going anywhere. Let's take a walk." He tugged
her towards the door but Scully planted her feet and wouldn't budge. He
sighed and turned back to her.
"Mulder, I need to go through this stuff again. And I need to talk to
George--or whoever--about the drug itself. I'd also like to know what I can
expect once the treatments begin. He said something about getting started
first thing tomorrow morning. Call me paranoid, but I'd like to know just
exactly what I'm letting myself in for."
All reasonable requests, Mulder conceded. He wouldn't expect anything less
of her. But letting her do those things now would only lead to more
questions--which he fully intended to answer. It was just that he wanted
them brought up and resolved in a situation of his choosing; not randomly
fired off in the middle of the laboratory, surrounded by Crawford hybrids.
Here, on their own turf, they had a nasty habit of telling the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
It wasn't that he hadn't come to admire their almost painful honesty;
because he had. The fact was, he'd practically had to drop to his knees and
beg just to get them to agree not to mention the makeup of the formula in
any of the reports Scully would be reading. He'd found their stubbornness
honorable. But honesty of the type the Crawfords shared could cut as deeply
as any knife, if offered in the wrong circumstances. He wanted to tell her
his own way. The last big hurdle was fast approaching, and Fox Mulder
fervently hoped they'd survive it.
"So what am I?" he gently teased her. "Chopped liver? No Tooms pun
intended. I haven't been hanging around these guys for nothing, Scully. I
can tell you what you want to know."
He got the patented skeptical Scully gaze--complete with the eyebrow thing.
He offered her a pleading look. "C'mon. I wanna show you my new digs."
She made a disgusted sound deep in her throat but let him pull her out the
door. "Mulder...."
"You're supposed to be on vacation, remember?"
"Yeah, visiting my old college buddy, Franny Bishop. Whom I haven't seen or
spoken to in over ten years," she informed him. "What ever possessed you to
pick her as my cover?"
"Talk to Skinner. That was his assignment."
"I don't wanna talk to Skinner," she snapped defensively. "I don't even
know why I'm talking to you. Except that maybe the alternative frightens me."
He glanced over at her as they began walking down the stairs. "What," he
teased, "the glaring silence or the nightmare of trying to tell one Crawford
from another?"
"Bite me, Mulder," she suggested.
"Just tell me where, Scully." He caught her grin before she could smother it.
"Well," she declared, "that would ruin the fun of finding out for yourself,
now wouldn't it?"
He stopped at the landing and turned to her, mildly shocked by her comment.
"Oooo. Sounds like Agent Scully's feeling a little frisky this morning."
"Amazing what finding out that your best friend is alive can do for you.
Not to mention several hours of sleep and the very real chance of a cure for
my illness."
Mulder's eyes roamed her face, struck anew by how beautiful she was. And by
how much she'd come to mean to him. He desperately want to kiss her right
there. He even knew where he'd start. With the small mole above her upper
lip. The one she normally took such pains to conceal. He pondered the
psychology of her leaving it bare this morning. And then he settled for
cupping her cheek in his hand. "Best friend, huh?"
Scully leaned into his palm for the briefest moment and then took another
step down, turning back to him. "Don't let it go to your head, Mulder. In a
field of one, you're bound to come up on top."
He chuckled good-naturedly and followed her down the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They sat on the roof of the old paper mill, perched cross-legged atop a
caged, gigantic exhaust fan, snacking on more of the peaches and Scully's
favorite trail mix. They'd spent a good part of the morning exploring the
mill. Pushing open creaking doors and poking flashlight beams of light into
cobwebby rooms. Discovering things that flew and things that crawled and
things that skittered past them on tiny feet.
Mulder had loved it. There was nothing he enjoyed more than stepping into
unknown territory. He missed the work and missed being out in the field.
Mindless sitcoms, talk shows and an endless stream of rental movies had done
nothing to feed his hungry mind. He needed a puzzle to chew on, something to
explore and discover. The mill was as good a place as any. He hadn't known
what he might find, and it really didn't matter. The searching was the joy.
That, and the company.
He grabbed the Thermos Scully offered him and took a drink of water before
setting it down next to the backpack that held their food and flashlights.
He leaned forward and braced his elbows on bent knees, unconsciously
mimicking Scully's posture. They looked out onto the concrete field that
stretched in front of them; a parking lot that'd sprouted a large and
impressive variety of weeds over the years. Low, heavy clouds peppered the
sky, blocking out the sun. Far in the distance they could see a train moving
slowly down the tracks. Its whistle sounded low and mournful in the quiet
spring air.
"So what's going on, Mulder?"
He turned to find her watching him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, when are you going to tell me whatever it is you don't want to
tell me?"
He ducked his head, chuckling self-consciously, and murmured, "You're good,
Scully."
"We've been together for five years now. I know when something's bothering
you."
Not "We've been working together for five years," just "We've been
together." An unexpected jolt of pleasure buzzed through him. Mulder loved
it when Scully surprised him like that. It happened rarely, but when she
gave him an honest peek into her heart, he'd practically melt. In those
moments, Mulder was utterly helpless.
"So what's going on?" she repeated.
He glanced over at her and then sighed, looking away. He tossed up a silent
plea: If I have to do this, please let me do it right.
"I don't know how to do this, Scully," he admitted.
"Whatever it is, just tell me. I've been kept in the dark too long,
Mulder." And then she reached over and covered his hand with hers. "I'm
entitled to the truth. We both are."
He gave a little snort of disbelief and said, "You really mean that?" then
instantly regretted it when she started to snatch her hand away. He grabbed
it and squeezed, hoping to prevent its escape. "I'm sorry. Damn. That wasn't
fair of me."
After an endless moment, she turned her hand in his and returned the
squeeze. "It's okay," she said. "I probably deserved that. And I do remember
the promise I made to you in the van. At this point, it seems silly to be
anything but honest with each other."
"Yeah," he agreed, giving her a soft smile. "I'm glad, Scully. I'm glad you
feel that way."
"So, Agent Mulder, catch me up to speed."
He took a second to collect his thoughts and then turned to her, meeting
her eyes squarely. "The night the boys and I broke into the Lombard Research
Facility, one of the Crawfords showed me something."
"What?"
"A storage room, of sorts. Where they were keeping the ova of some of the
MUFON abductees we've encountered. Ova that were taken during their
abductions, through the use of a high-amplification radiation procedure. One
that caused what the Crawfords refer to as super-ovulation. The eggs were
being used to create more of the alien-human hybrids."
Mulder watched as it sunk in and began to hit her. He would have given
anything, in that moment, not to have been the one to tell her. She stared
at him blankly and then looked away, blinking her eyes rapidly and swiping
her tongue across her lips.
Scully's voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper. "Are you saying...."
She broke off and looked at him. "Mulder, what are you saying? That they
showed you ova that were supposed to be mine? Is that...."
"Yeah." He searched for more words but came up empty.
"But that's not possible," she insisted. "I mean, I would know if something
like that had been done to me. Wouldn't I?"
He gave her a lazy nod. "Maybe. Maybe not, Scully. I honestly don't know.
He said...." Mulder trailed off and swallowed hard. "George said that the
procedure seems to be what caused the cancer. And that it left the women
barren." He saw the color drain from her face and tightened his hold on her
hand. "But they were repeaters, Scully. They'd all been taken multiple
times. It only happened to you once. And there's a good chance--"
"Bastards," she said tightly.
He shut his mouth and waited her out. He didn't have to wait long.
"There's just no end to it, is there?" she asked him. "They won't be happy
until I'm dead." She swung around and fixed him with laser eyes. "Why,
Mulder? Why did all those women have to die? Betsy Hagopian. Penny." Her
voice cracked. "Why? Why harvest their ova and give them a disease that
would end up killing them? Taking them and experimenting on them wasn't
enough to satisfy the bastards?"
Uh-oh. He didn't have to be a psychologist to see she was distancing
herself from the awful news he'd given her. Taking herself out of the
equation. Building more walls. He didn't want that to happen. There were too
many standing between them now. "Dead men--or women, in this case--tell no
tales, Scully. As for you, I suspect it goes a lot deeper than that."
"What do you mean?"
He looked aside and bit the inside of his cheek, mulling over his answer.
Damn them for this, too. For making him question her ability and desire to
believe what he might tell her. "The Crawfords are convinced that all the
abductees, including you, were made susceptible to the cancer by the
procedure that was used to harvest the ova. Not that it triggered the cancer
itself, just that it made you more vulnerable to the growth of cancerous
cells. A vulnerability that they could exploit at any time."
"Are you saying that they could pick and choose who'd become cancerous, and
when?"
"Something like that. Yeah."
"But how?"
"I don't know, Scully," he admitted. "And neither do the Crawfords. But
they suspect the trigger could be something as simple as a common x-ray or
an injection of some kind. Something that wouldn't be questioned when
performed during a routine medical exam."
Scully was shaking her head in denial. "But how can that be, Mulder? What
you're theorizing would mean that every physician these women visited was
somehow involved with the Consortium. That's just not possible."
He had only one answer for her. "Scanlon." At her puzzled look, he
continued. "I found out that most of these women didn't develop the cancer
until after they'd discovered their infertility and began treatments at
various clinics across the country--government funded fertility clinics,
Scully."
She gazed off into the distance, a far-away look in her eyes. He watched as
varied emotions flickered across her face and faded. A long silence passed
before she said quietly, "I've had the same physician since I was taken. A
doctor affiliated with and recommended by the FBI. It was only after my
cancer was diagnosed that I went outside the Bureau for an oncologist."
He nodded, encouraging her train of thought. Scully was beginning to fill
in the blanks. "Which means," she continued, "that my cancer was most likely
triggered while I was still under the FBI doctor's care. Assuming what
you're saying is true." She turned to him for confirmation.
"That's the most logical assumption," he told her.
"But why, Mulder?"
"I dunno. To keep us in line. To use your cancer as a wedge to drive us
apart. And to make me desperate enough to save you that I'd be willing to
become a part of the Project."
She frowned at him and asked, "Why would they want to set us against each
other, Mulder. Why now; why not years ago?"
"I haven't quite got that all figured out, Scully. But I think it has
something to do with what I discovered up in Canada, when Jeremiah Smith
took me to the farm where I found the clones of my sister. I think I got a
little too close to the truth and it scared them. They know that our
greatest strength is also our greatest vulnerability, and that's our
dependence on one another. And our trust in each other," he added. "If they
could make you believe that I was responsible, directly or otherwise, for
what's happened to you, they knew it would affect our partnership and our
ability to work together to discover the truth." He paused for a minute,
trying to decide how much more she could bear to hear. "Scully, they knew
that without you, I'd be a loose cannon. That without you there to ground
me, I'd go off half-cocked and play right into their hands."
She turned to him, her eyes growing wide with realization, and said,
"Kritschgau."
"Yep," he said. "He was just a convenient hammer to drive the wedge even
deeper. They had to know that you'd become just as desperate as me; that
you'd start to look for answers that fit within your scientific approach to
things, as opposed to my more...extreme theories. They sent Kritschgau to
give you those answers."
A ragged sigh escaped her and she whispered, "Oh my God. Mulder, what have
they done? What have *I* done?" Scully bent at the waist and buried her face
in her hands.
Mulder placed a comforting hand on her back and quietly reassured her. "It
doesn't matter anymore, Scully. What came before doesn't matter, now that we
know the truth. It won't do any good to blame yourself for what they've done
to us. The only thing that matters now is getting you well and making
certain they pay for their crimes."
She was quiet for a long time, slowing rocking as Mulder's hand swept up
and down her back. Her shoulders rose as she took in a deep breath and
asked, "And the drug the Crawfords have formulated. What is it, Mulder?"
Her voice was filled with dread, and Mulder knew she'd begun to put the
pieces together. He wondered if his confirmation would be a comfort, or if
it would twist the knife even deeper.
"It's, um, it's composed primarily of genetic material. From your ova and
from other sources. Combined." He took a deep breath and finished. "And then
harvested from the resulting fetal tissue."
When he first heard it, Mulder was certain a small animal had become
trapped in the one of the fans or exhaust stacks on the roof. The low
keening that filled his ears was one of terror and pain and absolute
bereavement. It sent shivers down his spine. He swung around, trying to
locate the sound. And then he realized its source was the woman beside him.
Scully once more doubled over, her forehead coming to rest on her crossed
ankles, her face hidden behind a silky curtain of fire.
He could manage no more than a raspy whisper. "Scully?"
The keening stopped and the murmuring began. Over and over. The same word:
"No." Repeated until it was nothing more than a small element of her
increasing sobs.
Mulder sat frozen, helpless against the power of her tears. Finally,
haltingly, he put an arm around her shoulder. He honestly didn't know how
his gesture would be met. He cursed the events that had brought them to this
point, where he was even uncertain of the wisdom of offering her some small
comfort. But then she leaned into him, and it was the most natural,
instinctive thing in the world to turn and bring his other arm around her.
And to pull her against him. And then to shift around and lift her just
enough to settle her across his lap. He tucked her head under his chin and
felt her arms snake around him as she buried her face in his chest and wept.
While part of him wanted to tell her not to cry, that it would all be okay,
he couldn't say the words. How could he ask her to stop weeping when that
act of surrender was one he'd dreamt of time and again? Since her diagnosis,
his overriding desire had been that Scully would finally allow him to share
her pain. He couldn't ask her to hold back now. And he didn't want to.
"Oh, Scully," he choked, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry this
had to happen to you. I'm so very sorry." Hot tears gathered and streamed
down his face. He drew her closer and rubbed her back with one hand as the
other came up to cradle her head against him, fingers weaving through her
hair. He dropped his mouth to the silken strands, whispering words of
comfort. His body shook with her sobs and he hung on tight; nonsensical
noises falling from his lips, ending as they became feather-light kisses
along the crown of her head.
And then Scully moaned; a low, helpless sound. She nuzzled deeper into his
chest and fitted her body even closer, her arms coming up higher across his
back. Her hands gripped the muscles there, kneading gently like a kitten.
He brushed the hair back from her brow and planted kisses along her temple
and hairline, whispering her name against the soft skin his lips
encountered. His brain had gone thick and foggy on him. Innocent comfort and
closeness was becoming something more, something he hadn't been prepared for
and was powerless to stop. His hand lifted from her back and came to join
its twin, cupping and tilting her face up to his. Scully's fingers dug
painfully into his back as he dropped kisses across her forehead and then
moved his mouth down. His lips met the wetness of her tears and he could
taste them, salty and warm. He drank them in, moving from one cheek to the
other, his tongue flicking out to capture the essence of her tears. And then
he kissed each paper-thin eyelid, her wet lashes tickling his lips.
He pulled back a little and softly called her name. She blinked, opening
her eyes, and he was instantly lost in their depths. And what he saw there
made him hope he'd never resurface. Scully's lips parted as though to speak,
but she never got the chance. Mulder fiercely murmured "No," and covered her
mouth with his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 8/14

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Nine

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 6, 1997
11:25 AM

No?
Scully had only a split second to try to interpret Mulder's hoarse demand
before his kisses temporarily forced all rational thought from her head.
He tastes of peaches, she thought dazedly. And salty, like the sunflowers
he'd picked out of the trail mix and popped in his mouth. And something
else, something dark and vaguely dangerous. Something thoroughly male.
Scully had often studied Mulder's mouth surreptitiously, wondering what it
might feel like to have it moving against hers. Those thoughts and
imaginings were almost clinical in their makeup; a natural outgrowth of her
precise and scientific mind. But reality.... Oh, my. Scully was discovering
that no amount of forethought could have prepared her for this.
His lips were pillow-soft yet confidently firm, pressing against hers with
just enough pressure to remove all doubt that this was simply comfort he was
offering. His hands tilted her face this way and that, seeking out the best
fit, noses gently colliding as they shifted. One hand left his back and she
snaked her arm up between them, curling her fingers around the nape of his
neck. Mulder caught up her lower lip with his and then flicked his tongue
across it.
She whimpered deep in her throat and opened her mouth to him. Felt the heat
pooling low in her belly when she heard his answering
moan. She pulled him closer as his warm, wet tongue played across hers,
sweeping deeply into her mouth. Darting against her teeth before coming back
to tangle with her seeking tongue. His hands left her face and traveled
across her shoulders and down her arms. He wrapped one arm low around her
waist and pulled her tightly against him. Scully could feel his growing
erection nudging against her hip and she instinctively pressed in closer,
molding her body to his.
Mulder's right hand slipped down over the curve of her waist and the flare
of her hip. She could feel the heat of it through the thin cotton of her
shirt as he moved his hand back up and swept it over her ribs.
He broke the kiss and dragged his lips across her cheek, murmuring her name
softly into her ear. He pulled the lobe into his mouth and nibbled it gently
for a brief moment. And then Scully gasped as his lips traveled down her
throat and his hand slid up to cup her breast.
Even as a tiny but persistent voice in her head began to yell out an alarm,
she arched her back and pressed the rounded flesh deeper into his palm. She
tugged at his hair, pulling his mouth back up to hers as his thumb began to
trace lazy circles around her hardening nipple. The sensation was almost
painful in its intensity; even through the fabric of her shirt and bra.
You can't do this, Dana! You can't do this now, she told herself.
But it had been so long. An eternity since she'd felt a man's hands on her
this way. Touching her like this. Making her burn hot and cold. Chasing all
thought from her head. Leaving her senses screaming for more. She wanted to
feel his naked skin against hers; the contrast of smooth and rough. Of hard
encountering soft. And of moist, wet folds sheathing rigid, engorged muscle.
Scully was momentarily overwhelmed by the realization that she'd wanted
this all along. Wanted Mulder and everything his teasing innuendoes and
long, smoldering looks had been promising her the last five years. All the
excuses, rationalizations, and reasons she'd forced herself to accept in
order to explain why this could never happen were rapidly fading. Swept away
by the reality of his hands and his mouth and what they were doing to her.
The taste and the smell of him. The joyously perfect fit of her body to his.
No. Not like this, she warned herself. Not like this. Here on this rooftop,
still reeling from Mulder's news. Not with the cancer moving through her
body unabated. Not in sadness or desperation or doubt. It had to be more
than a temporary need he'd fill in her. She wanted nothing less than a
conscious, well-reasoned acceptance of all that Mulder was--good and bad,
bright and dark.
She wanted more than just the release she knew she would find with him in
love-making. She would not welcome that from him until she was ready to
embrace all that would come with it. Scully knew that once they crossed the
threshold into intimacy, Mulder would demand everything she had, and
everything she was. And truth be told, no matter how breathtaking his
kisses, or how exquisite his hands felt moving against her, she didn't know
if she could give him that.
Fox Mulder was her salvation and her curse. An elemental force that would
demand everything while promising nothing. And that just wasn't enough for her.
She broke the kiss and bowed her head, resting the crown of it against his
chest. Her arms slipped down to hold him loosely around the waist. His heart
was pounding so strongly she could feel the beat of it against her scalp.
His chest rose and fell like a bellows.
"Scully?" His voice was rough with desire and it made her shiver with its
force. "Hey. Look at me."
His hand had long since left her breast and come to encircle her arm,
softly stroking up and down, from elbow to shoulder. She took a calming
breath and lifted her face. Her eyes met Mulder's and then almost
immediately dropped to his mouth. It was wet from their kisses. She squeezed
her eyes tightly shut and fisted her hands behind his back.
He chuckled uncomfortably and attempted a half-hearted joke. "What, should
I consider changing my mouthwash?"
She opened her eyes and released a shaky breath. "Mulder," she began
haltingly, once more bringing her eyes level with his. "I...I don't think
we should do this. I think it would be a mistake."
Dammit! Why couldn't she stop staring at his mouth? Her tongue slid past
her lips to lick them. She glanced up and caught Mulder watching her, his
attention as focused on her mouth as she was on his. She could taste him on
the tip of her tongue. It made her dizzy. "Mulder, I just think--"
"You think too goddamn much, Scully." He abruptly cut her off, his hands
flying up to once more cradle her face. And then his mouth fell upon hers,
well and truly silencing her. The resulting roller-coaster ride started over
again and quickly picked up speed. Scully hung on for all she was worth, a
fierce battle for control raging inside her.
Oh my God. My God. I'm drowning here, she realized--even as she thrust her
tongue into his mouth. Sweet Jesus, save me from myself.
She wrenched away from him and slapped her open palms against his chest,
pushing him back. "St..stop for a..a second."
He blindly reached for her, urgently explaining, "But you taste so good,"
as though that should be reason enough to ignore her stammered plea.
She mustered her best Special Agent voice and demanded, "Mulder. Stop."
And then he did. He jerked away from her as though she'd burned him,
gracelessly sliding her from his lap. He swiveled, turning his back on her.
But not before she saw the look that passed across his face, that burned in
his eyes. Arousal. Frustration. And white-hot anger.
Scully watched as he bowed his head and scrubbed his brow with a shaky
hand. His shoulders were slumped in defeat. He doesn't understand why I'm
doing this, she thought. I need to make him understand.
"Mulder?" She tentatively placed a hand on his back and was shocked by the
way he violently shrugged it off.
"Forget it, Scully," he spat. "You just can't stand the thought of anybody
loving you, can you? I don't even know why I try."
His accusation stunned and amazed her. "What the hell is that supposed to
mean?"
He huffed softly, the sound brimming with derision. "Do I really have to
explain it to you?"
"Yes," she told him primly.
He abruptly turned back to her. His face was flushed, his eyes burning with
cold fire. "Fine," he retorted, his lips curling in anger. "I will." He
hopped off the fan and began to pace in front of her. His arms rose and fell
in forceful, slashing motions, cutting through the air. "There's nothing
left of you, Scully. Nothing but anger and self-defeat and doubt. Ever since
your diagnosis, you've done nothing but push people away. And y'know, at
first I thought it was just your way of protecting us, of wanting to make
your death less painful for those you'd leave behind. But that's not what it
is, Scully, not at all. Because it started long before you found out about
your cancer."
She was suddenly terrified by what would come out of his mouth next. She
couldn't hear this. Not here, not now. "Mulder, please."
"Shut up," he shouted. "Just shut up and listen to me. You asked; now, by
God, you're gonna hear me out."
She stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth agape at the force of the fury
directed at her.
"I'd like to think I learned a little something at Oxford," he continued.
"That my old man didn't spend all that money for nothing. And I got it all
figured out now. It's not about protecting me, Scully, or your mom or
Skinner or anybody else who loves you. This about protecting Dana Katherine
Scully. You're scared to death that somebody might actually reach past those
barriers you've thrown up and touch a part of you that can't help but
respond. For some fucking reason, you're terrified to let anybody love you
the way you deserve to be loved. Maybe you don't think you're good enough--I
don't know. I don't know a whole hell of a lot about anything anymore. But I
do know one thing."
He swung around to her and pinned her with his eyes. Eyes that were gray as
the sky above them, and moist with tears. Of rage, she wondered, or
something else? She couldn't think coherently. She could do nothing but sit
quietly and bear the brunt of Mulder's considerable anger. She could feel
herself growing smaller and smaller, collapsing inward. She crossed her arms
and hugged herself. She was cold. Suddenly so cold.
"I know that I'd lay down my life for you," Mulder told her. "In a
heartbeat. And so would Skinner. Don't you understand that it wouldn't have
made any difference if I'd have come to you with this plan in the beginning?
Do you think your response would have been any different? You still would
have fought tooth and nail to keep us from doing what needed to be done to
save your life. You still would rather have let this cancer kill you than
admit that you might actually need anyone to help you through this.
"And you know what? It wouldn't have mattered anyhow. I would have done it
regardless, Scully. Because nothing, *nothing* matters to me as much as you
do. Nothing. And you can't handle that. All you can do is turn it around and
make it sound like Skinner and I are the ones to blame for going behind your
back." He lifted a finger and shook it at her. "But this one is on you,
Scully; like it or not. I may be a selfish bastard from time to time, but
I've got nothing on you. Your selfishness and your fear might have ended up
killing you, when there was absolutely no reason for it."
He took two long strides and stood in front of her. And then he grabbed her
arms and pulled her to the edge of the metal cage. His hands were bruising
and rough. He stood between her knees and got right in her face. And Scully
found that she couldn't look away. She couldn't fight him anymore. Her heart
was in her throat. Her lungs refused to take in air.
"I love you, Scully," he declared angrily. "I always have. But you're too
caught up in your fear and your anger to see past them long enough to see
me." He blinked and the tears that'd welled up spilled down his face. His
voice was choked and raspy, his brow knitted in pain. "It's me, Scully. It's
me. Why can't you see that?"
He suddenly released her arms and took a step back, hanging his head and
shaking it in silent denial. And she felt something inside her crack wide
open. It might even have been her heart.
What had she been thinking earlier? Something about Mulder wanting
everything and yet promising nothing. The realization that she couldn't have
been more wrong was as shocking and painful as a blow to the gut. In the
last few minutes, Mulder had managed to wrench open a part of her she'd kept
so carefully protected and hidden. She'd never asked for his love. Never
really expected it. And now she was realizing she'd never thought she
deserved it, either. Just as she'd convinced herself he hadn't earned
anything more than her loyalty--certainly not her love.
How much of Mulder's behavior the past five years had been a result of her
reticence to open up to him and give him the emotional honesty they both
deserved? How many of Mulder's angry accusations were right on target? The
realization of all that Mulder had sacrificed in order to save her life
struck her now with perfect clarity. The selfishness she'd often rightly
accused him of was nowhere to be found here. Not this time. What might have
begun as typical, guilty Mulder penance had sprung from the depths of his
concern for her and become something larger than either of them could've
imagined. A love he'd never felt able to voice. And how much of that was her
fault?
Scully gasped with the enormity of her realization and lifted her arm,
meaning to wipe away his tears. But Mulder's hand shot up and grabbed her
wrist, stopping her.
"Don't," he hissed through clenched teeth, "Just don't, Scully. I don't
want your pity. I did what I had to do. Now you have to do the same." He
dropped her wrist and bent down, grabbing the backpack and turning towards
the roof door. He took a few steps, and stopping dead, turned back to her.
"What just happened here," he added. "You don't need to worry about it,
Scully. It won't happen again. You've got my word on it."
He swung back around and walked away, leaving her alone. Perched atop a
roof under a slate-colored sky, her heart shattering into a million tiny
pieces, her tears falling hard and fast. She buried her face in her hands,
grieving for what she'd never known she had. And for what might now be lost
to her forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 9/14

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Ten

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 12, 1997
11:21 PM

Mulder drew one sneaker-clad foot up onto the chair and tucked the phone
under his ear. "So what's up?"
"I had a visitor this evening," Walter Skinner's clipped tones lost none of
their intensity traveling through the phone line.
Mulder sat up straight and held the phone tighter to his ear. "Cancer Man
finally showed up?"
"Along with a very dignified older man. Who did most of the talking."
"Tall, slim, brushed back silver-blond hair? Did he have a slight English
accent?"
"That's him," Skinner confirmed.
"I'll be damned," Mulder whispered. "Looks like my death is bringing out
the big guns."
"Who is he, Agent Mulder?"
"As near as I can tell, Cancer Man's boss. Scully and I have had various
encounters with him. What did he say?"
Skinner expelled a heavy breath. "Would it surprise you to learn that your
name never came up? It was Scully they were after."
"What?"
"Yeah. Cancer Man's friend was interested in Agent Scully's current
location. Seems he has some vital news for her and needs to reach her ASAP.
I pled ignorance, of course. Told them that she was on indefinite medical
leave and therefore not required to check in on any kind of a regular basis.
I told them I hadn't spoken to her since your memorial service."
"Hmm..." Mulder worried his bottom lip with his teeth. "What do you make of
it?"
"I have no idea, Mulder. But I can tell you one thing: Cancer Man is
running scared. He was spooked the whole time they were in my office. I've
only seen him like that one other time, and that was when he was looking for
the MJ-12 tape, the son-of-a-bitch."
There was a long silence while Mulder ran this latest news through the
gears and wheels in his head, waiting for a fit. Why Scully? It was too
naive to imagine they might have turned nice-guy and decided to cure her
cancer now. With his death, Scully's illness was no longer a bargaining chip
they could use against him. At this point, the smartest thing the Consortium
could do would be to let Scully quietly die, tying up most of the loose
threads. Except....
"They didn't make mention of your deal?" he asked Skinner.
"No, and I think that may have something to do with Cancer Man's
twitchiness. He kept shooting me looks that warned me to keep my mouth shut
about it. I don't think his companion is aware of the deal we made."
"Ah," Mulder breathed. "So that explains that. Sounds like there's more
than one game being played here. Makes you wonder if Cancer Man even has
access to a cure. Wonder what would happen if you tattled on him?"
"That's definitely a point in our favor. I liked to see him sweat. But
right now, it seems to me we don't have a whole lot more to go on than we
did before. Though it's taken some interesting turns." There was a short
silence. "There is one other possibility. There's a chance they may suspect
your death was a hoax. Maybe they think by getting to Scully, they can get
to the truth. They'll certainly want to cover all their bases."
"Yeah," Mulder murmured. "Yeah, you may be right. We need to be ready for
that possibility."
"So... What now? Do we just sit tight?"
"Yeah, for now. But I'm thinking Maggie Scully needs to take a vacation. I
know the story you set up for Scully is good enough to cover our asses, but
I'd feel better if they didn't go sniffing around her mom."
"You think she should be told? Is that safe?"
"She doesn't have to know all of it. Just enough to know that Scully's okay
and receiving treatment for the cancer. And that it has to be kept under
wraps. I don't want her to know where Scully is, or that I'm alive. But
yeah, you need to get Maggie out of there. Soon as you can."
"I'll take care of it." Skinner paused and then said, "Speaking of mothers,
should we be concerned about yours?"
Mulder made a disgusted sound deep in his throat. Yeah. Right. "I think my
mom can take care of herself. That's always been her finest skill. Mother
and son both seem to excel at self-preservation."
There was no response. Mulder didn't really expect one. He sat back and
waited for the inevitable question. It had come every night for the past
five days. He didn't know why he didn't just offer the information to
Skinner. Instead, he held off until it was practically dragged from him.
Nasty streak of territoriality you got there, Mulder. Ironic in light of
the fact you haven't spoken more than a few words to Scully in almost six
days. Let alone spent more than a few minutes in the same room with her.
When the question came, it was asked in a soft, concerned tone that set
Mulder's teeth on edge. He understood it. He even accepted it. That didn't
mean he had to like it.
"How's Scully?" Skinner asked.
He clenched his jaw and replied, "She's okay. We administered the final
dose earlier tonight. Last couple days have been rough. She's had her face
in the toilet quite a bit. Muscles cramps, headaches, fever. Nothing we
didn't figure on."
"Good."
He caught Skinner's relieved sigh before the AD stiffened up again and
asked, "So how long are you waiting before you do the cranial scan?"
"George says tomorrow night. Or whenever the hell we can get all the
generators up and running. That monster really sucks the juice. If we can't
generate enough of it to power up the equipment we need, we'll go to plan B
and get her into a hospital to have it done. Make it a quick in and out and
then hightail it back here."
"I'd appreciate it if you'd get me word when you know something. And please
pass along my best wishes to Agent Scully."
"Will do," Mulder answered curtly. He looked up and watched a Crawford
cross the dormitory floor, heading his way. Something in the hybrid's face
made his heart skip a beat. He held up a finger to stop him and told
Skinner, "I'll be in touch."
"Mulder?" The phone was already halfway to the cradle. Mulder hesitated
before he put it back to his ear. "Yeah."
"Is everything all right?"
Mulder easily did the translation. They'd shifted from facts to feelings.
And now Skinner wanted to know how things were between him and Scully.
"Yeah, I already told you. Everything's fine." And what you don't know is
none of your business anyway, he thought. "I'll contact you."
He hung up and gained his feet, asking Crawford, "What? What's wrong?"
"Agent Scully's temperature has shot up and the cramps have gotten worse.
We're keeping her cool with ice packs, but this is where it gets rough. The
next twelve hours are going to be bad for her. Until the resulting
biogenetic toxins are completely flushed from her system, she's in danger of
becoming comatose."
Mulder nodded his head in understanding. "But we're prepared for that
possibility, right? I mean, we knew it was gonna make her really sick for a
while."
"Oh yes, Agent Mulder. I don't mean to alarm you. I just thought Agent
Scully might find it comforting if you could be with her now."
Surprised, he looked askance at the hybrid, asking, "George?"
Crawford nodded his head, a sheepish smile crossing his face. "Yes, it's me."
"First a baby-sitter, now a matchmaker. What's next," he asked wryly.
"Couple's counseling?"
"If need be."
Mulder barked a sharp laugh. The tension and obvious distance he and Scully
had shared the last few days had not gone unnoticed by any of the hybrids.
But only George had felt compelled to do anything about it. Mulder slung his
arm around the hybrid's shoulder in an uncharacteristic gesture of
camaraderie and remarked, "You got a heart like a soft-boiled egg, you know
that?"
"I'd like to think I inherited it from my mother."
His eyes snapped up to meet Crawford's. And then Mulder shrugged, giving
him a lop-sided grin. "Maybe you did at that, George. Wouldn't surprise me a
bit."
Mulder gave him a parting pat on the back and headed towards the door, but
stopped halfway there. He turned back around and asked, "You really think
she wants me up there?"
"I think she wanted that five days ago, Agent Mulder. She was just waiting
for you to know it."
Mulder studied him for a long time and then quietly admitted, "I...I'm not
so sure about that. Do you know something I don't?"
George glanced away, clearly uncomfortable. "Agent Scully and I have spent
a lot time talking these last few days. I don't want you to think she's
betrayed any confidences or spoken of her feelings for you, because she
hasn't." He stepped to the table and began to stack several used styrofoam
coffee cups together, creating a miniature tower. "But I like to think of
myself as a student of human nature. It helps me come to terms with my own
duality; to see something of myself in the people I come in contact with. It
makes me feel less...alien."
He raised his eyes from the table and looked at Mulder with a wistful
expression. "Agent Scully is a remarkable woman. She has a lot of strength.
But she is fallible. Just as we all are--human...or not."
Mulder folded his arms and waited him out. He'd discovered over the months
that the hybrids had a certain wisdom all their own, especially George. The
guy was more human than most of the people Mulder had encountered over the
years. He was certainly more sensible.
"She's strong, Agent Mulder, but her strength comes at a high price. It
masks how very fragile her heart is. It forces her to distance herself from
those people who matter most to her. Because they are the only ones who can
truly hurt her. She's not afraid of dying. Her fear lies in allowing people
to love her. And to let herself love them in return. That doesn't mean she
doesn't feel these things, only that she's afraid to voice them."
Mulder threw him an bemused look and said, "I'll bet my last dollar this
story has a moral."
George smirked happily and admitted, "Maybe so." He sobered a bit and
added, "You should try to remember that you and I have spent a lot of time
together, too."
Mulder lifted his chin and waited for the punch line, eyebrows raised in
anticipation. "Your point?"
George shook his head and looked away for a moment before meeting Mulder's
gaze head-on. "Just that you and Agent Scully are alike in many ways. It
probably wouldn't hurt to keep that in mind. None of us are perfect. And we
all bear our own scars."
"I'll try to remember that." Mulder wasn't just spouting platitudes. What
George had said struck a chord deep within him. And made an awful lot of
sense, besides.
"Good night, Agent Mulder."
"'Night, George." Mulder left the breakroom and headed up the stairs,
pondering the hybrid's words.
Some of us spend countless dollars and years of our lives trying to figure
out why we're so fucked up, he thought. And some of us already know, but are
too scared to do anything about it. There was no doubt he and Scully were
among the latter. And although Mulder found it much easier to see it in
Scully, he couldn't argue that he shared one particular fear with her. They
were both wounded, each in their own way. Both cautious and closed-mouthed
when it came to admitting their vulnerabilities. Both at fault and yet
ultimately blameless.
Mulder knew that it came down to a simple choice. Continue to jab away at
each other until there was nothing left of them but tattered flesh, or begin
to learn how to heal the wounds.
Even realizing this, the apprehensive, terrified little boy in him knew
that he'd make no further move in the sensible direction--not without some
gesture on Scully's part first. The thought of being rejected a second time
was too much to contemplate. He was still raw from the incident on the
rooftop the week before--both from Scully's actions and then from the brutal
words he'd flung at her. He wouldn't be able to recover from another blow
like that--and doubted Scully could, either. They'd been closer than ever in
those few wonderful minutes--before it'd gone so terribly bad. And so much
still stood between them. Mulder was tired of the walls. Fists and head and
heart had already been beaten bloody against them. Mulder had never
considered himself a masochist before; he certainly didn't intend to start now.
The office had been converted to a temporary hospital chamber, complete
with monitoring equipment, tall IV stands, and that one of a kind medicinal
odor that seemed to permeate every hospital room he'd ever been in. The only
illumination in the office came from a small reading lamp on the end table
by the couch. The TV was on, tuned to Letterman, the sound turned low. One
of the Crawfords was slumped on the couch, dividing his attention between
the talking heads on the screen and a thick book cradled in his lap.
Mulder stuck his head in the doorway and nodded at the hybrid. Crawford set
down the book and joined him at the door. "She's finally gone to sleep," he
whispered. "We're giving her a muscle relaxant along with the glucose IV. It
seems to have eased up the cramps enough to let her get some rest. Her ice
packs have just been changed and her fever is already dropping." Mulder
nodded his relief. "Would you like me to stay here with her or....?"
"No, I'll keep an eye on her," Mulder told him. "You can go."
"Okay. I'll be right outside if you need anything." He stepped back to the
couch and grabbed his book before heading out the door. Mulder turned and
gently eased it shut. He stood facing it for a long minute, his forehead
resting against the cold wooden surface. And then he turned back and walked
to where Scully lay sleeping.
She looked so tiny, curled up in the double bed. She was lying half on her
side, her knees pulled slightly up, long fabric-covered ice packs tucked up
around her. One arm was draped across her stomach, an IV needle piercing the
back of her hand. The other was shoved under her head, her open palm a
pillow for her cheek. Her face was pale and shiny with sweat. Mulder
carefully placed his hand on her forehead and tried to gauge the intensity
of her fever. Scully mumbled something in her sleep and Mulder snatched his
hand away, watching as she rolled onto her back.
He looked around and grabbed a straight-backed chair from the table,
drawing to the bedside. He settled into it and leaned forward. Reaching out,
he ran the tip of his index finger along hers; the only contact he'd grant
himself.
The minutes ticked by slowly, quietly. And then the hours; broken only by
Scully's occasional whimper or grunt. Mulder spent most of the time studying
her, grateful for the opportunity her slumber afforded him. He didn't get
much of a chance to see her like this. Vulnerable. Stripped of the defenses
she so vigorously maintained when awake. They were bittersweet, these long
hours. Mulder reflected back on all that had happened the last two weeks,
and all they'd been through. What they'd done and said to each other, and
for each other. The pain and the joy. He let a somber lassitude fall over
him as he ticked off a long list of regrets he'd accumulated in just the
past few days.
It had been George who'd answered the last of Scully's questions. When,
blinded by a toxic mixture of anger and shame, Mulder had found himself
unable to utter anything but the most inane of words to her. George who'd
confirmed her suspicions that the source of the material they'd created to
cure her cancer had come from both her and Mulder. That in a test tube,
Scully's genetically altered ovum and his sperm had joined to create the
source of the fetal tissue that would save her.
He'd tried to imagine telling her that. But every scenario had seemed so
warped and twisted that it had offended even his steely sensibilities.
Congratulations, Scully, you were a mother--and apparently not for the
first time. But this was a new one for me. I've never helped to create a
life before.
Hey, Scully, we were pregnant--albeit outside your womb and without all the
fun stuff that usually goes hand and hand with getting knocked up. Too bad
the pregnancy didn't last more than a few weeks. Too bad all I can seem to
do is destroy lives instead of nurture them.
He'd lost track of the bitter tears that'd been wrenched from him over that
decision. But the Crawfords had come to him and laid it all out, and then
asked for a volunteer to make a donation. That part of it had been a
no-brainer. The hard part had come after the procedure took and Mulder had
ended another life with a nod of his head and curt "Do it."
It was George who'd told her of the creation of a Mulder clone so many
months ago. A duplicate grown and sustained for no other reason than to take
a bullet in the face when the time was right. Perfect in every sense of the
word, from the puckered gunshot wounds in the shoulder and thigh to the
holes that'd been punched in Mulder's earlobes while he'd been at Oxford. A
carbon-copy--with the exception of the clone's undeveloped brain and almost
nonexistent IQ.
And, he'd found out later, it had been George who'd accompanied the clone
to Mulder's apartment that night, just a little more than two weeks ago.
George who'd had to convince Mulder to wrap his fingers around the grip of
his Sig Sauer and tuck the barrel under the clone's chin, and then pull the
trigger. George who'd managed to keep him sane on the trip to Allentown
afterwards. Mulder had passed the miles in a fog of grief and nausea, unable
to decide if he should be puking or sobbing. He'd ended up doing a little of
both.
Mulder never would have guessed that one of his greatest allies would turn
out to be a man who wasn't fully human.
He'd wanted to tell her these things himself. Had needed to; if for no
other reason than to prove to himself that he could. And yet, when push came
to shove, Mulder couldn't move past his anger and hurt long enough to do it.
The irony of his harsh words to Scully, accusing of her exactly the same
thing, didn't escape him.
Scully began to stir and he sat up from his sleepy sprawl. Her eyelids
fluttered and her mouth twitched. Mulder scooted the chair closer to the bed
and took her hand. She pushed a single word past her lips; breathy and weak.
"Daddy?"
"No, it's me, Scully."
She turned her head and opened her eyes, trying to focus on the owner of
the voice that'd pulled her the rest of the way from sleep.
"Mulder?"
"Yeah, it's me. How you feelin'?"
She moaned low in her throat and whispered, "I had a dream. My father was
there. And Missy." She locked her crystal blue eyes onto his and said, "But
you weren't there. I couldn't find you, Mulder."
He gave her a soft smile and squeezed her hand. "That's because I'm right
here."
Her eyes slipped shut. "Mmm. I'm glad."
He grinned at her, flashing his teeth. Which of course she didn't see.
Which was why he did it in the first place. "Can I get you anything, Scully?"
She blinked and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm really thirsty."
"It's the fever. You've been burning up." His felt her forehead again. "I
think it may have broken. You feel pretty cool now." He stood and asked,
"What do you want? Juice, tea or water."
"Just water. Lots of it. With ice."
"Back in a flash."
Mulder made quick work of it, and less than a minute later was at her side,
pulling away the ice packs before gently easing her head off the pillows and
supporting her neck. He pressed the glass to her lips and held it as she
drank greedily.
"Take it easy, Scully, or it's gonna come right back up." She shot him a
disgusted look but immediately slowed down to sips, sitting up a little more
and taking the glass from his hand. He propped the pillows behind her and
sat back down. He glanced at his watch. It would be light soon.
Scully took a few more sips of water and then set the glass on the
nightstand. She daintily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and
tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She glanced up at her IV bag and
then down at the needle that disappeared under the taped skin of her hand.
She adjusted the front of her pajama top and slid her cross along its chain
until it sat in the hollow of her throat. She rolled her neck and
straightened her shoulders, finally turning to face him.
Mulder sat fascinated, watching her go from a sleepy, trusting child
calling out for her father to an inwardly vulnerable woman most comfortable
in the trappings of her intellect and profession. And it wasn't just her
demeanor that changed. What caught him spellbound and clenched his heart was
the way her face transformed itself. It became less rounded, more angular.
>From soft to hard. From innocence to painful knowledge.
Mulder had seen this transformation before, though not often. It was rare
enough that he'd come to cherish the moments before the change. It was that
face he'd held in his hands on the rooftop a week ago. Those warm, open eyes
he'd looked into. That soft, inviting mouth he'd kissed. He found himself
aching from the loss of her innocence; knowing he was responsible for most
of it. And wanting nothing more than to see that face again. To be the cause
of it, and not just an observer.
"What's wrong, Mulder?"
Scully's question pulled him from his thoughts. He shook them off and said,
"Nothing. Everything's fine. Why?"
She frowned at him and looked away. "I just thought.... I figured something
must be wrong for you to--"
"Be here?" he asked, finishing for her. Scully gave him a slightly contrite
look and nodded. He caught her eye and announced, "I'm an asshole, Scully;
what can I say. I should have been here the whole time. And I shouldn't have
said some of the things I said to you on the roof. I'm sorry."
There, he thought. That wasn't so bad. No matter what else happens, she's
still my friend. I don't ever want to lose that.
She ducked her head and he watched as a corner of her mouth lifted in a
reserved smile. "Apology accepted, Mulder. And I owe you one, too. I could
have handled the situation better."
Oh man, here goes nothing. "Situation?" he asked lightly. "You mean the one
where I kissed you and you kissed me back? Is that the situation you're
referring to, Scully?"
She pulled her lips into her mouth and released them with a little pop.
"That's the one."
"Okay. Because I just wanted to be sure. I don't want any more
misunderstandings. It's hell on the male ego, y'know?" Shut up, Mulder, he
thought. You're just digging yourself in deeper.
Mulder glanced up at her and tossed her a smile, hoping to salvage the
moment. What he saw in her face didn't give him much hope.
"Is that what it was, Mulder? You got pissed off because you thought you
were going to get laid and it didn't work out? Was it just a macho thing?"
He gaped at her, caught between making a smart-ass comment and pulling out
the arrow she'd just shot through his heart. "Is that...is that what you
think it was?" he sputtered.
She sighed and scrubbed her face. "No, no. I'm sorry. That was uncalled
for. It was a stupid thing to--"
"You know exactly what it was, Scully. You were there, remember? You felt
it too. Don't try to tell me you didn't."
She studied her hands for a minute and glanced up at him. "Mulder, there's
something you need to know."
He held up a hand to stop her. "Let's not do this right now, Scully. Okay?"
He licked dry lips. "All I want is.... I just want to be here with you. The
rest of it, it's forgotten."
"But--" Scully stopped herself and studied him curiously. That particular
expression was soon replaced by a serious look--as only Scully could do it.
She slowly nodded her head and replied, "Okay, Mulder. You're right. It's in
the past. Maybe it's even better this way. We'll just have to forget we ever
kissed." Their eyes met and locked. And it wasn't long before they both
broke out in toothy grins.
"Not a fuckin' chance," Mulder declared.
"No," Scully agreed, shaking her head in amusement and snickering quietly.
"No, I don't think there's much chance of that. It was ...memorable."
"To say the least."
The grins turned to warm smiles, and suddenly everything was okay again.
Certainly not for good, and probably not for long. But for now, it was
enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 10/14

*WARNING* This chapter is being posted in two separate pieces. This first
part is rated a strong R. The second, posted as 11b, is rated NC-17 for
sexual content. If you're underage or don't require that sort of thing, bail
out at the end of this section. It will be safe to rejoin us at chapter 12. :)

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Eleven
Part One

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 13, 1997
8:23 PM

She found him in the darkened office, facing away from the door and towards
the painted windows that afforded him no view. He'd been there with her when
her blood had been drawn, had made it through half the scan. Then he'd
quietly disappeared. One moment there, the next gone.
She'd left him alone, feeling no urgent need to find him then. If he had to
be gone, so be it. She'd learned to let him go; she'd had to. Her acceptance
of his terrible manners had begun as a simple defensive tactic: she knew she
couldn't change him. But by not allowing herself to care too much, she'd
been able to abide the ways he'd find to leave her. Caring in measured doses
assured pain in measured doses--ones she could handle.
What had begun as reasoning had become understanding. She'd gradually
discovered it wasn't a lack of concern on his part, but rather too much of
it. And he'd never learned how to voice that concern properly. He'd grown
comfortable with his solitary ways. He, too, had found a fragile balance
that allowed him to regulate dosages of emotion.
The only difference between them was that his method manifested itself
physically. Hers was more internalized. He ditched, she withdrew. Po-tah-toe
pah-tah-toe. It was all the same in the end.
His words on the rooftop had stripped her raw. The aloof silences and
brooding looks she'd received from him the last week had seemed appropriate.
She bore her punishment with grim determination. She knew the many mistakes
were not hers alone, but she rightly blamed herself for her part in them.
For her weaknesses that had driven her to turn away from her greatest
strength, even while acknowledging to herself that he was the source of it.
That she needed him as she needed air--to survive. She'd thought she might
have lost him, and had been chilled by terrible fear. And bitter grief.
She had learned all the truths there were to be learned here. What she'd
been told had reduced her to horrified tears when the nights had fallen
heavy and found her alone. She often thought she should have been more angry
by all he'd done; the unilateral decisions he'd made that so intimately
affected her. But she could find little anger within her.
Instead, she'd discovered gratitude. For his willingness to make the
painful decisions no one person should have to make alone. For somehow
understanding her growing inability to act on her own, to shake off the
numbing lassitude that'd almost stolen her life. He'd seen the weakness in
her and hadn't turned away or passed judgment. He'd done what she would not
have been able to do. She found herself humbled by the generosity and
selflessness of his gift to her.
She remembered Bible verses that spoke of such a gift. That there was no
greater love than that which he had offered. He had, by most definitions,
given up his life for her. She couldn't yet understand why the fates had
shown fit to smile down on them. Why it was that he could make this
sacrifice and yet remain alive and with her. She supposed it didn't really
matter. It simply was; and she was grateful.
The light from the outer office fell weakly through the doorway, making him
little more than another dark shape within the shadows of the room. She
thought to reach out and hit the light switch, but then changed her mind.
She knew the darkness comforted him, even as it sheltered the demons he
struggled against. He was a creature of contradiction. A wonderful,
frustrating puzzle.
She called out softly, not wanting to startle him. "Mulder?"
He swung around to her and then took three steps into the puddle of light.
He was clothed from head to toe in black. Boots, jeans, t-shirt. A dark
knight. The soft light fell across his face, throwing the elegant planes of
his features into sharp relief. The line of his jaw. The arch of a
well-defined cheekbone. The proud strength of his nose. The gentle curve of
his mouth. His eyes were dark and bottomless. His hair fell carelessly
across his brow, twin locks forming a parenthetical frame for his face. He
stood silently. Waiting.
"It's gone," Scully told him. "The scans show nothing."
His reply was a roughened whisper. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Her head bobbed in a tiny nod.
"And the blood tests?"
"Clean. No trace of the cancer."
She watched as his eyelids drifted shut in a slow blink. His sigh of relief
was audible. "Good. That's good, Scully."
They stood six feet apart, neither able to do more than nod and exchange
shy smiles. She knew he wouldn't move to bridge the distance between them.
And her feet seemed rooted to the floor. The seconds ticked by slowly as
they stood frozen; their forward momentum stopped by the fears that still
conspired to keep them apart.
"Oh, this is ridiculous," Scully muttered. She lifted one foot and then the
other, amazed at how easy it suddenly was. She took a final step to close
the distance and lifted her arms, sliding them around his waist. She turned
her cheek and rested it against his chest. Mulder's arms hung limply at his
sides for an endless moment. And then she felt them close around her,
holding her loosely, cautiously.
"Thank you, Mulder," she whispered. "Thank you." The words weren't enough.
She knew it even as she said them, but they were all she had. Scully felt
his heavy sigh; felt him dip his head until his cheek rested against her
hair. His breath flowed warmly across her face. He moved again, tightening
his arms as he dropped his forehead to her shoulder. Mulder took in a
breath, his chest expanding under her cheek, and then slowly released it.
She felt the hitch of his shoulders. Once, twice, again. He shuddered under
her hands
"Mulder?" She tried to pull back but he tightened his arms even more,
restricting her movements. She felt no panic at being trapped within his
arms, nor concern that he wouldn't let her go if she pushed away. His
embrace wasn't heated or one of arousal; not like the way he'd clutched her
to him on the roof. This was different. He clung to her as a parent would
cling to a child he'd thought lost.
Or like that of a man to the lover who'd finally returned to him.
Yes, Scully thought. Yes, Mulder, I'm here.
"It's okay," she murmured quietly. "It's okay." She slid a hand up his arm
and curled it around the nape of his neck, her fingers combing through the
short, silky hairs. "It's okay."
He turned his face into the join of her neck and shoulder and she felt the
moisture of his tears against her skin. He was crying. Silently. With barely
a shudder to betray him. Her eyes began to sting with her own tears. Her
heart swelled within her breast, making it difficult to draw a breath. She
tried to hold on, to be strong in the face of his naked relief. But then he
choked out her name, the sound of it falling from his lips like a prayer.
Scully moaned her surrender and let go. Her tears fell hot and fast. Her
arms slipped around his neck to pull him closer. Mulder dipped low to meet
her, his arms encircling her waist and lifting her from the floor, until
only the toes of her shoes touched the wooden surface. They clung to each
other in the darkness.
She felt it in her lungs every time he took a breath; as if he were doing
it for both of them. She was aware when the beating of their hearts became
synchronized. She could feel, beneath her fingers, the blood flowing within
his veins. Could feel her own pumping throughout her body, giving her life.
Each beat of their hearts, every breath they took, was a glorious reminder
that they were alive. Healthy. Whole. And together.
What is this thing we share, she wondered. And how is it that not even
death can separate us? We fight against what we both know is the truth. We
cling to our fears and deny our needs. We struggle and argue and hurt each
other. We use our knowledge of each other's weaknesses to build excuses and
rationalizations. To make sense of something neither one of us asked for but
can no longer live without.
It didn't really matter anyway, Scully realized. No matter how hard they
might fight it, they couldn't resist the pull. The gossamer threads that
tied them together were stronger than their angry attempts to unravel them.
There was no other path but the one that continued to bring them together.
And this was where they always ended up. In each other's arms. Drawing
strength; sustaining each other.
She sniffed and began to pull away from him, swiping at her tear-streaked
face with one hand. Mulder slowly lowered her until her feet were flat on
the floor. His arms fell, but didn't drop all the way to his sides. He held
them open; an unwitting invitation to resume her place within them. Scully
raised her eyes, moving them over his face. She studied him, memorizing
again the countenance she knew as well as her own. She ended her journey at
his eyes and gasped softly at what she thought she saw there. She took
another step back and turned away from him.
"Scully?"
She only stepped far enough to reach the switch on a small table lamp. She
twisted it in her fingers and turned back to Mulder. The light chased away
most of the largest of the shadows, leaving only deep pockets of darkness in
the corners of the room. Scully moved back to stand before him. She once
more raised her eyes, searching.
It hadn't been an illusion. The low but ample light confirmed her hopes. It
was there, in Mulder's reddened and tear-heavy eyes. What she'd sought when
poring over his photograph. The explanation she'd craved when everything
else in her life had left her without hope. The elusive answer to her question.
It was so simple, so elemental, that Scully couldn't believe she hadn't
seen it before now. Her ears rang with the memory of Mulder's anguished plea
on the rooftop: "It's me, Scully. It's me."
Look at me. Hear me. Open your heart and see me.
It's me.
Mulder was her answer. In all his impassioned glory. In his wickedly sharp
mind. His drive and determination. His unending compassion and empathy. She
recognized his demons now, too, and refused to turn away from them. They no
longer held the power to frighten her.
Scully had never been anyone's salvation before. But looking in Mulder's
eyes, she could see she'd become that to him. As he was to her; had always been.
The answer to my question. The healer of my soul. This moment, the way he
looks at me. This is the truth.
She spoke to him then. A single word, an affirmation: "Yes."
Everything stood still. The world they occupied stopped and held its
breath. He tilted his head, his brow furrowed, his mouth opening on a
question. But it died before it could leave his lips, swallowed up by his
dawning comprehension.
He bowed his head and spoke quietly. "I haven't got anything to offer you,
Scully. Nothing you really need."
"You do," she assured him.
His eyes slid level with hers. They were the greenish-gold of autumn
leaves--vivid and warm "No. No, I wish I did. I want to--more than anything."
She smiled gently and took his hand in hers. "You were there, remember? You
felt it too. Don't try to tell me you didn't."
He looked at her, surprise coloring his features, and lightly rejoined, "No
fair, Scully. You stole my lines."
"Only because they're true," she told him. "And because I couldn't say them
any better." He looked away, clearly uncomfortable. "I won't push you away,
Mulder. I have no intention of doing that again. I've learned my lesson."
That got her a wounded look. "I wasn't trying--"
"I know that." She stepped closer until she was mere inches from him. Her
fingers gripped his hand tightly. It was warm; the skin of his palm slightly
rough against hers. She searched for the words he needed to hear, but in the
end could only voice a question. "What are you afraid of?"
He huffed softly and smiled down at her, admitting, "You, Scully. Just you."
"You weren't afraid of me before," she reminded him. "Not when we were on
the roof and you were kissing me, touching me. What's changed?"
His answer was immediate and telling. "This time you want me back. Just as
much. That's scary, y'know? I'm not used to being wanted."
"Rejection is easier?" she asked.
The joking, off-hand way he delivered his words couldn't disguise the
wistfulness behind them. "It's familiar."
"Well, then," she declared as she loosened her hold on his hand. "I'd like
this to become familiar, too." She stepped back into the waiting circle of
his arms. They tightened around her a little quicker this time. She smiled
her victory, turning her face into his chest. They stood that way for a
time, simply holding each other.
"And this." She pulled back and came up on her toes, planting a brief kiss
on his cheek, the mole there becoming her target. "And this." His other
cheek received the same treatment.
She felt his breath against her skin, warm and soft. She stayed on her toes
long enough to press a fleeting kiss on his mouth, telling him, "And this, too."
He blinked and stood motionless, gazing down at her. She smiled, hoping
he'd take it as encouragement. And then saw a spark of optimistic desire
flare in his eyes, though his features remained carefully set.
"You trying to seduce me, Scully?" he finally asked quietly.
Her bluntness surprised even her. "Yes. I am."
Mulder's eyes went wide for a second before he recovered. "Oh," he replied.
"Well, if that's the case, then don't let me stop you."
Scully borrowed his serious expression, placing both hands flat against his
chest. Slowly sliding them down and around his waist, she brought them up
back on a return trip, coming to a stop on his shoulders.
She asked, "So, Mulder, does that mean it's working?" She could feel him
trembling under her fingers. She came back up on her toes and brought her
face close to his. He dipped his head to meet her. Their breath mingled,
their lips mere inches apart. Her arms snaked around his neck.
"Oh. Yeah. Amazingly well." His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Which means
one of two things. Either I'm incredibly attracted to you or I'm easy."
"You've never been easy, Mulder. Never." These words were delivered at the
corner of his mouth, their cheeks brushing. The scrape of his evening
stubble sent a warm shiver through her. She snuck a look at his face. His
eyes had fallen shut. His hands were slowly stroking her back.
"Well, then it must be that other thing," he murmured. His voice was raspy
and warm. "So I really am a pain in the ass, huh?"
"Yes, you are." She planted another kiss on the very edge of his mouth,
careful not to make too solid a contact.
"But you love me anyway, right?"
For the second time in as many minutes, the world ground to a halt. Primal
sympathy, Scully thought, remembering the words from the poem Mulder had
left for her. He already knows the answer; we both do. At some elemental
level, the knowledge had always been there. It was just a matter of getting
past the words. And what possible good would it do to continue withholding
this simple thing from him?
"Yes, I love you anyway." Saying the words was easier than she'd thought
possible. Scully waited for the sensible little voice in her head to start
chattering at her. But it was gone. Good riddance, she thought smugly.
He turned his face a fraction of an inch. Just enough to place his mouth a
hair's breadth from hers. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. You want to keep talking, Mulder, or are you gonna shut up and kiss me?"
"Stupid question, Scully," he breathed. And then his lips brushed against hers.
It was electric. Even more than the first kiss on the roof had been. The
shock of it was so intense that both of them pulled back. Their eyes locked.
And then Mulder chuckled, a delighted sound, and swooped down to cover her
mouth with his.
He didn't waste much effort working up to it this time. After a quick,
exploratory swipe of it across her lips, he plunged his tongue into her
mouth. She gasped, taking in his breath and kissing him right back. Tongues
slid and caught, darted and probed. Teeth nipped and pulled.
Scully was lost in his kiss. Mulder's mouth was much like its owner:
reckless and demanding; spicy and impatient. She thought she might be
perfectly happy with nothing more than this. But then he bent low and lifted
her from the floor, drawing her up his body until their hips were level. He
held her tightly and took three long strides to the door, mouth still firmly
attached to hers. He caught the edge of the door with a foot and kicked it
shut. Another step brought her back flush against the hard surface. He
pinned her easily and then slowly lowered her to the floor.
Mulder was gloriously erect, and she felt every inch of it as she slid down
his body. One of his hands came up to tangle in her hair as the other stayed
at the small of her back, his outspread fingers resting on the curve of her
bottom. He cupped the back of her head in his large hand and deepened their
kiss. His obvious arousal pressed urgently into her stomach.
Scully was finally forced to break the kiss, panting heavily. Mulder's
mouth slid down her throat. She gulped a lung-full of air and tilted her
head, giving him maximum room to maneuver.
"Is that a flashlight in your pocket, Mulder," she breathlessly teased, "or
are you just glad to see me?"
He snorted into her neck and nipped her lightly. "I dunno, Scully. Why
don't you check that out for me?"
Sweet Jesus, she thought. We've turned into a couple of hormone-driven
adolescent comedians; groping and pawing at each other and cracking bad
jokes, besides. She snickered and decided there were worse things. Like
being a couple of solemn, repressed adults too frightened to take a chance
at happiness
Scully's nerves were sparking with alarming intensity. Every inch of her
tingled. She thought her fingertips might be conducting tiny bolts of
lightning. But she couldn't tell. There was too much clothing separating her
from Mulder's bare skin to be sure. She impatiently began to tug his shirt
from his jeans. She pulled the tail loose and slid her hands under the shirt
and up his back. Mulder quietly groaned and returned to her mouth. His hands
slid down to cup her ass and pull her tighter against him.
The naked skin of his back felt incredible. Warm and smooth and solid. She
clutched at him, lightly trailing her nails up and down the landscape of
bone and muscle. And she'd been right: there *was* electricity in her
fingertips, flashing vivid and hot against Mulder's skin. Her hands trailed
to his waist and danced up his sides, pushing the t-shirt along with them.
Pulling away from his mouth she hissed, "Take this damn thing off."
Mulder immediately reached back and caught the fabric in his fist, jerking
it over his head and letting it fall at their feet. His hands dropped to the
buttons of her blouse. "Your turn."
His knuckles brushed against her already turgid nipples and Scully slammed
her eyes shut, watching stars explode against the canvas of her eyelids.
Mulder's elegant fingers deftly slid the small buttons from their moorings.
She felt cool air against her heated skin as he shoved the blouse off her
shoulders and pushed it down her arms, trapping them against her body. And
then his hands were on her breasts, cupping and kneading. His thumbs danced
circles around her nipples, the thin fabric of her bra adding a delicious
friction to his movements. She struggled to free herself of the blouse as
Mulder slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders. His mouth dropped to
the curve of her neck as he helped her slip out of the blouse. His hands
roamed her back, fingers seeking out the clasp of her bra.
"Front," she muttered and his hands slid around obediently. He planted
several short kisses on her face as his fingers worked the unfamiliar hook
in the valley between her breasts. He freed it and then stopped.
Pulling away a little, Mulder ran his tongue over his lips. "Hey, Scully?"
She grunted impatiently and reached for the top button of his jeans. She
didn't want to talk. As a matter of fact, that was the very last thing she
wanted to do. "What, Mulder?"
"This may be a lousy time to mention it, but are you up for this?"
"Well, we certainly know you are," she retorted, one button of his jeans
now freed. She started on the others, her fingers brushing against the
heated steel of his erection.
Mulder hissed through his teeth and reached down to grab her wrist. "Wait a
second."
"Why?" she snapped. The man just didn't know when to shut up. A small voice
in her head told her she was being unfairly testy with him. But she was just
so...so... Hot. Yeah, that was the word. Hot and thrumming with reckless
abandon. And the only thing to cure what ailed her was more of the same. She
was on fire. Burning from within. Moisture gathered and pooled between her
legs at such a rate she feared she might end up melting into a puddle.
"Just stop for a second." His forceful tone stilled her fingers.
She looked up at him. His eyes were slightly unfocused and dark, blinking
at her with endearing sleepy lids. His mouth was swollen and moist from
their kisses, his lips jutting out in a tiny pout. His color was high, his
cheeks flushed. His hair was messy--tousled from her fingers. My beautiful,
haunted man, she thought possessively.
"You sure you can handle this?" he asked soberly.
A sharp laugh burst from her. She knew what he was trying to ask, but his
words filled her with hilarity nonetheless. "Oh, Mulder, you can't be serious."
"Damn it, Scully, you know what I mean. You just had your last treatment
yesterday. You've been sicker than hell all week. You--"
She silenced his words with a hand over his mouth. That his primary concern
was her welfare, despite the way his erection strained against his jeans,
was just further proof of his feelings for her. It was the same love that'd
borne his willingness to give up everything to make certain she was safe.
He'd tried to hide it behind sarcastic irreverence in the past; as she had
hidden hers behind defensive barriers of her own making. But they were past
that--they had to be. Honesty had necessarily become policy.
She tenderly cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing against his
cheeks. "I'm fine." Off his disbelieving look she added, "For the first time
in a long time, I'm fine. Well and truly." She took a moment to take a
cleansing breath, to wait for her heart to slow down from its frantic
rhythm. "Mulder, I want you to listen me. It's gone. The cancer is gone. I'm
not sick anymore." She smiled widely. "I'm alive, Mulder. And I'm going to
stay that way for a long, long time. I'm fine."
He gazed down at her with tortured eyes that gradually regained their
familiar sparkle. Mulder roughly pulled her to him and crooned in her ear,
"Love you, Scully. God, I love you."
"Then let me do this for you, Mulder; for both of us," she said softly.
"Let me make love to you." She grasped his hand in hers and led him to the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three floors below Mulder and Scully, in the laboratory that was his second
home, the Kurt Crawford hybrid affectionately dubbed George suddenly looked
up from his computer monitor. His fingers stilled on the keyboard. His eyes
were drawn to the ceiling above him for a few moments. Then his head lowered
as his expression became attentive. He turned one ear up a little, as though
listening for something. And then a slow, sweet smile spread across his face.
He wasn't quite certain where it'd come from, but his intangible psychic
gift often appeared out of nowhere. He'd discussed this odd phenomenon with
his brothers, but none of them seemed to share it.
He had become reconciled to simply accepting it as another unique gift from
the one who'd given him life.
He would catch flashes of emotions or thoughts not his own from time to
time, but they usually passed before he could grasp their true substance.
This time, though, the flow of emotions was unmistakable in both their
content and their source.
Smile still wide, he took the liberty of picking up the phone and placing a
call to Assistant Director Skinner. It seemed Agents Mulder and Scully were
too busy with other matters to pass along the good news. George figured it
the least he could do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 11a/14

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Eleven
Part Two *NC-17*

Their remaining clothing was quickly removed as they stood at the end of
the bed. They helped each other with buttons and zippers, socks and boots.
Scraps of silk both small and high-cut, and large and roomy.
They silently agreed to bank the flame of their arousal long enough to step
away from each other and admire what their work had uncovered. Scully felt a
blush begin at her chest and spread upwards, but she refused to look away or
drop her eyes when Mulder's began to rake over her. She knew she'd lost more
weight than was healthy, and that her hipbones and ribs stood out in sharp
relief. Naturally pale, her coloring had been washed out even more by the
cancer. She'd lost much of the muscle tone of which she'd once been so
proud. None of that could be helped. But she was certain that Mulder would
look upon her with a lover's eye tonight, and see only perfection. As she
was doing.
It had been long enough between major medical traumas that she'd almost
forgotten how lean he really was beneath his well-tailored clothes. Mulder
was all elbows and knees, like a gangly twelve year old. But although
slender, he had a broad chest that tapered down to an enviously slim waist
and narrow hips. His shoulders were squared and solid, his legs long and
muscular. His stomach was flat, its perfect planes of muscle divided by the
thin line of dark hair that trailed down from his chest and spread again at
the apex of his thighs. His sex stood out proudly from his body, colored the
purplish-red of engorgement.
He's beautiful, she thought. Incredibly, unbelievably beautiful. And he's
all mine.
She took a step towards him but was stopped by a lift of Mulder's hand.
"Wait."
"What?" she asked.
"Just stand still, Scully. I'm not done looking yet. It's been a while
since I've seen a naked woman in the flesh." His eyes traveled over her body
on a leisurely trip from head to toe. "And I've been waiting to see you like
this for a long, long time," he added.
Now she was self-conscious; thinking of all the celluloid, glossy women he
normally spent his nights with. "Mulder...."
"Scully, you're just so...." He trailed off and his mouth twitched in a
gesture she recognized as frustration. Next came the wrinkled brow. "You're
just.... I'm trying to come up with something original here. I can't seem to
find the right word."
"Then show me instead," she softly pleaded.
"Oh, I will," he said solemnly. "Believe me." And then he raised his arm
and brought the first two fingers of his hand against her chest. Starting at
the hollow of her throat, he pulled his fingertips slowly down the valley of
her breasts and over her stomach. They stopped just below her navel, above
the thick patch of dark copper curls that covered her moist folds. A long
and pleasurable shiver ran through her. More, she thought.
Mulder's eyes completed the journey his fingers had begun before they came
back level with hers. "Exquisite," he announced. "You are exquisite, Scully.
Perfect."
She lifted his hand from her belly and placed it over her breast. "Touch
me, Mulder."
And he did. With the flat of his hand and the flex of his fingers. She
threw back her head and closed her eyes, giving into the sensations he
called up in her. She was content for a while to simply stand and be
caressed, to be the receiver instead of the giver. Mulder took his time,
mapping out the curves and hollows of her body with slow passes of his
hands. He cupped the small weight of her breasts, teased her nipples until
they ached. He painted the contours of her back and sides with broad
strokes. Chuckled delightedly as he reached around and captured the globes
of her ass before bending low and running his hands down her legs and back up.
His hands left her then, and she was opening her eyes when his mouth
dropped down to surround a nipple. A low sound pushed its way up from her
throat and she blindly reached for him. Fingers encountered hair and grabbed
hold, pulling his mouth closer. Pulling him closer.
She wanted to surround him, take him into her, blanket him the way his
mouth was blanketing her breasts. He moved from one to the other, lavishing
equal attention on both. Circling with his tongue, darting out at the
hardened nub that capped her breast. And then finally drawing it into his
mouth, slowly, wetly. He bathed her breasts with his tongue; his mouth a
warm, humid cage that trapped and held her.
Scully's hands left his hair and slid down to clutch the ropy muscles where
arms met shoulders. She kneaded urgently, her nails sinking lightly into his
flesh, mimicking Mulder's hands on her breasts, her ass, her hips and thighs.
He was driving her mad. The contact was vivid, hot, but it wasn't enough.
No, it wasn't nearly enough. She wanted to feel Mulder all over her, his
weight a sweet pressure against her body. His rigidity merging with her
fluid softness. She pulled away from him and her nipple left his mouth with
a low, wet pop.
"Come here," she urged, tugging at his hand and pulling them down to the
bed. She scooted up to the pillows and lay back against the rough bedspread,
watching as he crawled across the mattress until his knees were even with
hers. Mulder loomed over her like some wonderful, awful angel--come in the
night to steal her away. He lifted a knee and nudged her legs apart,
shifting until he knelt between them. He dropped down on his elbows and
started his sweet torture anew. It seemed he was intent to cover every inch
of her with his lips, his tongue. His mouth dropped to her stomach, moving
inexorably lower, promising new pleasures.
But the thought of his mouth against her liquid folds, his tongue darting
and probing, didn't satisfy her. Once again she was overwhelmed by a fierce
desire to take him into her. To swallow him up until he would be forever
within her. So he could never leave her again. She would cradle him inside
her body, safe and warm.
Then there'd be no more phone calls that went unanswered. No more harried
searches of his apartment, desperate to find clues of his whereabouts. She
hooked her legs around his and tried to shift his larger weight. Reached as
far as she could down his back and began to drag him up to her.
No more frantic trips to remote hospitals or desert landscapes. No more
middle-of-the-night visits to his family's summer home. No more doctors with
drugs and drills and empty promises of the truth. No more early morning
calls asking her to come to his apartment to identify his body. No more. No
more.
Scully succeeded in pulling Mulder up until their faces were level. She
grabbed the back of his head in one hand and pulled his mouth down on hers.
Spreading her legs wide, she reached between them and took his heated shaft
in her hand. She roughly tried to pull him to the entrance of her body, more
and more frantic to have him inside her.
But Mulder wouldn't come to her. He was holding back. She could feel it.
She tugged at him and felt his solid resistance. Instantly recognized the
hot flare of anger that sparked in her belly, fueling the fire of her
arousal. She staunchly ignored it, determined that this coming together
would only be about love. The dark flickers of anger and resentment, the
cold flames of her combined sorrows and fears had no place here. Not now.
"Scully?" The pounding in her ears almost drown out the sound of his voice
and the bewildered tone it held.
Yet still she grasped at him, completely unaware of his attempts to slow
them down. Her eyes were tightly shut, her face contorted with
determination. She savagely dug her nails into his back and Mulder jerked
away from her, freeing himself from her tenacious grasp. And then he roughly
took her wrists in his hands and yanked her arms above her head.
Her eyes flew open and Mulder's face came into focus, hovering above her.
His eyes were dark with barely suppressed anger. "What are you doin'?" he
asked sharply.
His words were like a slap across the face, pulling her back from the
skinny edge on which she'd been teetering. She came back to herself filled
with a terrible dread.
Oh my God, what have I done?
Mulder's image blurred as hot tears of shame sprung from her. She closed
her eyes against them and turned her face away, murmuring "I'm sorry,
Mulder. I'm sorry." His iron grip on her wrists loosened and she pulled her
arms down and tucked them against her chest. "I'm sorry."
There was a long, anguished silence. Scully was terrified to open her eyes
and look at him. What on earth had possessed her to claw and rake at him
like she had? It wasn't simple anger; she spent half her time pissed off at
Mulder for one reason or another.
What is it really that you're afraid of, Dana?
She frantically searched for the answer, aware that the longer the silence
stretched, the farther they'd have to go to get back to where they'd been.
She finally opened her eyes, though she kept her face turned away from him.
"I don't want to lose you again, Mulder," she quietly told him. "You have no
idea how hard it was when I thought I'd lost you."
The mattress shifted under her as he lay down beside her. "Yes, I do,
Scully. I know exactly what it's like." His hand came down heavy on her
stomach. Not stroking, just there.
She released a ragged sigh and turned to look at him. His face was smooth,
but his eyes betrayed his pain. "Yes," she realized. "Of course you do." She
turned onto her side and hesitantly reached out to him. "Hold me, Mulder.
Please. Just hold me."
He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her into the circle of his
arms. He held her easily; his hands moving softly against her. He bent his
head and pressed a kiss on her hair. "We certainly have done a bang-up job
on each other, haven't we?"
She nodded. "Yep, we certainly have."
"Looks like we still have a lot of things to work out, Scully; a lot of
unresolved issues between us."
She nodded again, unable to speak. Her throat was clogged with fresh tears.
She wondered if there was any hope of salvaging what she'd so badly torn
apart. Good going, Dana. The man tries to make love to you and all you can
do is hurt him. This gives the term "aggressive woman" a whole new spin.
"Mulder." His name was question and plea--a calling out.
"You think we made a mistake?" he asked. "Doing this?"
"Well, we haven't really done anything yet. But no," she told him, pulling
away. She came up on an elbow and propped her chin in her hand. Her fingers
dropped to his chest and began to play among the silky hairs. "I don't think
it's a mistake. I'm not convinced it's the smartest move we could make, but
it's not a mistake." She watched as a mischievous smile spread across his
face. "What?"
"Well, if that's the way you feel about it, who's to say we couldn't just
forget about this little incident and start all over?"
She threw him a quizzical look. "Start over where?"
"Oh, I dunno," he drawled. And then he reached out and captured a breast in
his hand, his thumb rubbing lazily over the nipple. His eyes held hers. "How
about here?"
She arched an eyebrow and said haughtily, "Well, it's good to know I
haven't put too much of a damper on your enthusiasm."
Mulder raised his head from the pillow and looked down his body. Scully
followed his line of sight and spotted the object of his attention. His
erection remained solid, bobbing a little against his belly.
"Nope," he agreed. "Doesn't look like it."
They glanced at each other and traded smiles. "You're incorrigible," she
informed him.
"Oooo, Scully, I love it when you call me names."
She bent low and pressed a kiss on his chest. "Well, in that case..."
Another kiss landed among the scattering of hair. "Jerk." She moved her
mouth to the hollow of his throat. Her tongue flicked out and tasted the
musk of his sweat. "Punk." Mulder began to hum low in his throat.
"Insensitive asshole. Loony tune. Selfish pig." Each term was accompanied by
a brush of her lips against him, moving lower down his chest and over his
stomach. The muscles there twitched under her ministrations. Her tongue
darted out and explored his navel. Mulder groaned. "String bean." His low
crooning became a chuckle. She nuzzled her nose into his dense forest of
wiry pubic hair. His cock bumped against her chin as his hands landed on her
shoulders. She glanced up at him. Mulder's eyes were shut, his mouth open on
a sigh. "Spooky."
His eyes flew open and he looked down at her. "Hey, watch it, Scully. That
was a low blow."
"No," she retorted. "I haven't gotten there yet." She grasped him in one
hand as the other reached down and cupped his heavy balls. Mulder's hips
squirmed on the mattress and thrust up at her. She wet her lips before she
dealt the final insult, stretching the word out into a challenge. "Fox."
He started to sit up, reaching for her. "Okay, that's enough of that,
Scu--" She took him into her mouth before he could finish. He fell back
against the bed and expelled a long, breathy moan. Strange how her mouth
seemed to have robbed him of speech. She filed the knowledge away, certain
it would come in handy in the future.
She bathed him with long strokes of her tongue. Circling and exploring the
admirable length and breadth of him. Pulling her tongue along the raised
veins and darting into the tiny hole on the head of his cock. She gently
kneaded his balls in her hand, one finger flicking against the taut skin
directly below them.
"Oh... God... Scully." She smiled around him and glanced up. His eyes were
tightly closed, his head rolling back and forth on the pillow. His hands
flexed and tightened on her shoulders. His hips began to rise and fall in
slow, easy thrusts. She tightened her lips around him and began to suck
vigorously, her head bobbing up and down. Mulder hands moved to cup her
head, his fingers weaving through her hair.
Yes, she thought. I think we've got it right this time. She searched within
herself and found no hint of her earlier turmoil. There was only abiding
love. And trust. And pride at her ability to do this to him, to make him
moan and whisper her name. To give him this small gift of pleasure. She felt
his balls tighten in her hand, knew he was close to release. She considered
her options. Weighed one against the other.
Before she could decide, Mulder sat up and pulled himself away. Grabbing
her around the waist, he unceremoniously lifted her and flipped her onto her
back, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He finally broke the kiss and
looked down at her, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.
"And where exactly did you learn to do that so well?" he asked.
She put on her best femme fatale look and informed him, "There're a lot of
things you don't know about me, Mulder. I have quite a few hidden talents."
He leered at her wickedly. "So do I, Scully. So do I." And with no further
preliminaries, he slid down her body and pushed her thighs apart, settling
between them. She barely had time to take in a breath before his mouth came
down on her swollen folds.
This time it was her turn to issue breathy moans, to clutch at his
shoulders and then the bedspread, gathering large fistfuls in her grip.
Mulder opened his mouth wide and swiped his tongue from one end of her sex
to the other, forcing the slickened lips apart and laying her open to his
continued urgent exploration.
Scully lifted her legs and draped them over his shoulders, tilting her
pelvis and spreading herself wide. He grasped the back of a thigh in each
hand, pushing her folded legs up even further, beginning his assault in
earnest.
Mulder's tongue darted into her and out, teasing the inner walls of her
vagina and lapping up the juices that flowed from her. He made soft,
satisfied sounds as he worked her with his mouth. She flashed on the image
of a child and a long-desired ice cream cone. And then all thought left her
head as he gently pulled her clitoris between his lips. He nipped it lightly
and then went back to soothe the bite with the flat of his tongue.
"Jesus," she muttered.
His mouth lifted and he asked, "You like that, Scully? You like it when I
lick your sweet pussy?" His question was punctuated with another swipe of
his tongue.
She blushed furiously but somehow found her voice. "Yes.... Oh, don't stop,
Mulder. Please...."
"I'm gonna eat you up," he growled. And then he made good on his threat.
For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were those of the liquid
notes of his feeding. Then Scully began to whimper.
Soon she was twisting and thrashing against the mattress, clutching his
hair as she ground herself against him. Mulder held her tightly and plunged
his tongue into her again and again. He plundered her swollen lips, noisily
swallowed her abundant juices. And finally--a millisecond before she thought
she'd go crazy--finally he began to circle his tongue around her clit,
flicking the swollen bead this way and that. His lips and tongue demanded
her climax. She had no choice but to surrender.
Every muscle in her body went rigid, stretched tight and screaming with
tension. Her back arched off the bed, her hips thrusting against Mulder's
face. Stars exploded behind her eyelids and she cried out her release.
Warm waves of light pulsed through her for what seemed an eternity, finally
draining her and leaving her weak as a newborn. She sagged limply onto the
bed and pushed Mulder's head away. Grasping his upper arms, she tugged and
pleaded, "Come here. Oh, come here. I want you inside me."
Mulder raised up on his knees and pulled his lips into his mouth, licking
them clean. He stared down at her, his eyes hooded and dark as night. He
grabbed her hips and pulled her down until she was nestled against him, her
legs draped over his thighs. Reaching down with one hand, he grasped his
cock and positioned it at the opening of her sex. He glanced down between
their legs and then looked up at her.
"Do it," she ordered.
"Can't go back, Scully," he told her breathlessly. "This is the point of no
return."
She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, managing to pull him
a little way inside her. She looked him straight in the eye and hoarsely
pleaded, "Fuck me, Mulder."
He grinned and replied, "That's my girl," and then buried himself inside
her in one quick thrust.
Her eyes grew wide at his invasion. Her mouth opened on a tiny squeak. He
was huge, hot, hard. She could feel him in her belly. The soft inner muscles
of her vagina tightened around him in protest. Mulder lifted his bowed head,
watching her, his eyes searching her face. His expression was one of mild
shock and desperate arousal. He remarked in an awe-struck tone, "Wow. Nice
fit." He pulled out slowly, almost completely leaving her body before
sliding back in. His eyes never left hers.
"Remind me add well-endowed to your list of nicknames," Scully managed to
quip. She took a deep breath and felt her muscles relax as she grew used to
the size of him.
He stopped mid-stroke. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"
His naked concern took her off-guard. Her eyes stung with sudden tears and
she reached up and pulled his lips close to hers. "No," she softly assured
him, backing up her words with tiny kisses dropped on his lower lip. "No.
Love me, Mulder. Love me."
He murmured her name against her mouth and plunged into her.
They moved slowly at first, rocking against each other. Learning the
different combinations of thrust and tilt and pressure, finding what worked
best. Silently communicating these messages with their eyes and their lips
and their hands. Mulder's hips gradually took up a constant rhythm: a
languid circling and a confident thrust. Circle and thrust, circle and thrust.
He lifted his body from hers enough to reach down between them, stroking
her clit with his thumb. Gracefully holding his weight on one elbow, he soon
began to slam into her, his pace quickening. His thrusts shortened and
became more desperate as he neared his climax. Scully began to feel the
thread pulling tight within her, drawing her closer and closer to her own
peak. She increased the lift of her hips, meeting him stroke for stroke.
She forced her eyes open and looked up into his face. He was watching her,
his eyes unfocused, sweat beading on his forehead. He was swallowing great
gulps of air, his mouth open, lips pulled back in a grimace of pleasure
mixing with the sweet pain of holding back.
"Oh, Mulder, Mulder," she murmured, reaching up to cup his face. "Don't,"
she told him. "Just let go. Come for me."
Half a dozen thrusts more and she watched as his eyes slammed shut. He
threw his head back and drove into her a final, furious time. A harsh growl
burst from his throat. He stopped, spine bowed, hips buried deep in the
cradle of her thighs. After a few seconds he began to move again, in clumsy,
instinctual thrusts. But it was enough. It was all Scully needed to push her
over the edge again. Mulder dropped and buried his face in her neck, riding
out their mutual climax, clutching her tightly.
They finally stilled and Mulder lifted his head and peppered her face with
soft kisses. He whispered sweet noises in her ear, biting softly at the
lobe. Scully wrapped her arms as far around him as they'd go, and then did
the same with her legs. She could feel the muscles of her thighs protesting
this newest assault, but blithely ignored their trembling.
She held him within her; surrounding him as he surrounded her. Her mouth
turned up in a tiny smile of utter satisfaction. And she knew without a
doubt that this was where she belonged.
She had no idea how long they might be able to stay here, in this safe
place. Where there were no doubts, no worries. No nagging questions of what
would come next. But for now, she could ask for nothing else. Want for
nothing else.
Dana Scully had found peace.

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end 11b/14