Collage by Kate - archived at Dimension X

TITLE:  Conversation Hearts IV: Taking Care of My Partner
AUTHOR:  Lara Means
E-MAIL:  LaraMeansXF@aol.com 
CLASSIFICATION:  SAR
RATING:  NC-17 (for language, explicit sex and general mushy-
ness)
ARCHIVE:  Gossamer, NO; Spookys, NO (I'll submit directly to 
both); Ephemeral, YES; anywhere else, YES, but if possible please 
let me know

SPOILERS:  general knowledge through season seven; specific (if 
sometimes vague or slight) mentions of Squeeze, One Breath, Dod 
Kalm, Anasazi, Never Again, Memento Mori, Gethsemane, Redux II, 
Triangle, How the Ghosts Stole Christmas, Tithonus, Two 
Fathers/One Son, Arcadia, Agua Mala, Milagro, The Unnatural, 
Biogenesis/The Sixth Extinction/Amor Fati, Millennium, Rush; 
foreshadows Theef (a little).  Takes place prior to Orison.

SUMMARY:  Scully's been working hard on a case, and Mulder plans 
an evening of pampering.

DATE POSTED TO ATXC:  04/06/00

FEEDBACK:  Hey, writers live for this stuff.  Constructive 
criticism is welcomed at LaraMeansXF@aol.com

DISCLAIMER:  "The X-Files" is copyright Twentieth Century Fox 
Television and Ten Thirteen Productions.  The show, its premise 
and characters were created by Chris Carter and are used here 
without permission.  No copyright infringement is intended, no 
profit will be realized.  (I've also borrowed the name of a 
character from Carter's "Millennium" as a pseudonym.  Same 
disclaimer applies.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Huge thanks to Georgia for a very reassuring beta 
read, and to the Beta Readers Circle for hooking us up.

This is a follow-up to my stories "Nonessential Personnel" and 
the three "Conversation Hearts" stories.  (They can be found at 
Ephemeral or the 2000 Spooky Awards site, but Georgia says you 
don't have to read those to get this one.)  This is more angsty 
than I originally intended it to be, but when you're dealing with 
grown-ups in their late thirties who've been through as much as 
these two have, there's gonna be baggage...

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

TAKING CARE OF MY PARTNER

by Lara Means

Fox Mulder's Apartment
Monday, February 21, 2000
10:23 p.m.

I miss Scully.

Man, I am so far gone for this woman.  It'd only been since 
Saturday, and already I missed her so badly I could cry.

Scully and I crossed the line just ten days ago.  Friday night, 
February eleventh.  Our first date.  Dinner at Mistral, dancing 
at Ruby's -- of course, Ruby was in fine form.  Called me 'Foxy' 
the minute we walked in the door.  Scully hasn't asked about it, 
thank god -- well, not yet, anyway.

And then... after.  Sweet jesus, after.  Dancing with her had 
been tough enough, especially with her groping me the way she 
was.  Not that I minded -- I'd been in a near-constant state of 
arousal from the moment I laid eyes on her that night.  My god, 
she was beautiful, especially in blue.  Then she had the band play 
that Aretha Franklin song, "Natural Woman," and she held me close, 
kissed me like there was no tomorrow.  The next thing I knew they 
were playing *my* request, "When a Man Loves a Woman," and Scully 
was crying... then she said, "Take me home."

We almost didn't make it inside her apartment.  We kissed, we 
touched, we... we made love.  It wasn't just about sex, about 
fucking.  This was... this was more.

Making love with Scully was... incredible.  Everything I'd 
imagined, everything I'd hoped for -- and so far beyond both.  We 
knew each other's bodies instinctively, but took the time to 
explore and touch and taste.  God, the taste of her...

I told her that I love her.  Again.  This time she believed me.  
And she told me she loves me, by way of the most wonderful 
Valentine's Day gift -- a love letter.  No one's ever written a 
love letter to me before.

I'd expected taking the next step to be difficult.  Why should it 
be easy?  Nothing else in our lives was.  We've been partners and 
friends for seven years.  We spent a couple of days last month 
getting comfortable with being closer, kissing in the snow and 
talking by the fire.  We both knew things were changing between 
us, that we were headed toward something more, but I don't think 
either of us knew what to expect -- and I think we were both a 
little hesitant to move forward after everything we've been 
through, afraid the sky would fall or something.  But when it 
finally happened, it was so sweet...

Still, from a simple kiss on New Year's Eve to the horizontal 
mambo in less than six weeks -- that wasn't something either of 
us expected to happen so quickly, much less something we expected 
to be easy.  But it was.  In the final analysis, giving in to our 
desires was easy.  Making love with her was easy.  When we 
finally came together, it was as if we'd been lovers all our 
lives.

Lovers.

Scully and me.

Christ.

We spent the whole weekend together -- her idea, which stunned 
the hell out of me.  We went out, we stayed in, we made love 
again and again and again...  I don't know about her -- well, yes 
I do -- but I was really out of practice.  I was aching in places 
I didn't know I had.

Monday at the office was rough.  We had a meeting with Skinner, 
and my mind kept going back to something she'd said that morning, 
just before giving me the finest blowjob I've ever had -- 
something about sitting next to me in Skinner's office and not 
being able to breathe.  What she didn't know was that she had the 
exact same effect on me.  She always had.  I kept glancing at her 
all during that meeting, trying to concentrate but failing, 
knowing that I couldn't touch her, kiss her, hold her until after 
work.  I'm sure Skinner noticed, but I really didn't give a damn.

We barely made it into her apartment before we were on each 
other, hands and mouths and tongues everywhere.  My pants were 
around my ankles, her skirt was hiked up to her waist, she was 
backed up against the wall, her legs were wrapped around me and I 
was inside her, pounding into her, telling her how much I loved 
her and she was telling me too, riding me, holding on tight, 
biting and sucking on my neck as I dug my fingers into her ass 
and her hand was between us, stroking and pulling and rubbing her 
clit, and I felt her fingers around my cock, at the place where 
we were joined, and oh my god it felt so good, so very right...

The rest of the week was every bit as difficult at work and 
pleasurable at home.  We fought to keep our hands off each other 
at the office, then fucked like bunnies at her place.  Always at 
her place.  Maybe she was just being cautious -- we both knew 
that my apartment had been under surveillance on more than one 
occasion.  Or maybe it was just that her place is nicer than mine 
and a little closer to the office.  But I've had so many 
fantasies of making love to her on this big leather couch...

Saturday night we were out, about to go into a movie, when her 
cell phone rang.  It was the head of pathology at Quantico -- the 
Richmond police had uncovered a mass grave in a vacant lot and 
had requested the Bureau's assistance in autopsying and 
identifying the victims.  Scully's the best at what she does, so 
naturally they'd ask for her.  Can't say I didn't have a slight 
pang of jealousy that ISU hadn't asked for *my* help too -- I'm 
still a damn good profiler, whatever my other interests might be.  
But Scully had to leave right away -- no movie, no making love 
after the movie, no waking up together and making love the next 
morning.

They kept her busy late Saturday night and all day Sunday, and by 
the time she got home Sunday night it was so late she just called 
to tell me goodnight and that she'd be at Quantico on Monday too.  
So I rattled around the office all day, lonely and bored, adding 
at least a dozen pencils to the collection in the ceiling tiles.

I came home early, unable to stand my own company at the office 
any longer.  I ate dinner, I don't remember what, then settled on 
the couch with the TV remote in my hand.  I glanced idly through 
my video collection, but watching a porn video just didn't hold 
any fascination -- and I knew it couldn't lead to a decent jerk-
off session, not anymore.  It'd been so long since I'd used them 
as inspiration -- all I've needed for years are my fantasies of 
Scully.  I've been wondering if I really wanted to keep my tapes 
now, now that I've actually *experienced* the best sex of my life 
with the woman I love.  Maybe Frohike would inherit them sooner 
than he'd hoped.

I just laid there on the couch, channel-surfing, not pausing 
anywhere for more than a few seconds.  I was bored, I was lonely.  
I missed Scully.  I *wanted* Scully.  I let my eyes drift shut, 
let the memories of our scant week of lovemaking play out in my 
mind.  I could feel myself getting hard at the image of Scully's 
breasts under my hands, her legs wrapped around me, the sound of 
my name on her lips when she came...  I slipped a hand inside my 
sweatpants -- God, this was so much better now, now that I had 
real memories of her instead of my fantasies...

In my mind I was tasting her, plunging my tongue into her, 
licking and sucking her sensitive little clit until she was 
writhing under me and I was close, so very very close...

Then the phone rang.

Fuck.

I let the answering machine pick it up.

"This is Fox Mulder, leave a message."  BEEP.

"Mulder, it's me."  My eyes flew open at the sound of her voice 
and my hand stilled.  I was hard, painfully hard, but I couldn't 
jerk off with her on the phone, on my answering machine.  "I was 
hoping you'd be home... maybe I'll try your cell..."  She sounded 
tired, sad.  I had to talk to her.  I tried to steady my 
breathing and reached for the phone.

"Yeah, Scully, I'm here."

"Mulder, are you okay?  You sound funny."

I was still breathing hard, and I could tell my voice was shaky.

"Yeah, I'm okay, I... I was in the other room, I tripped over my 
sneakers trying to get to the phone."

"I could've just left a message."

"No no, I wanted to talk to you.  I miss you."  I hoped I didn't 
sound as pathetic as I felt.

"I miss you, too."  She paused a moment and sighed.  I glanced at 
the clock on the VCR -- god, was it really almost 10:30?

"Did you just get home?"

"Um-hm."

"Damn, Scully, what are they trying to do, kill you?"

"There's just so much work.  I'm one of four pathologists, we're 
all working practically nonstop...  There were almost fifty bodies, 
Mulder."  She paused again and her voice went soft.  "All women, 
older women."  She drew in a shaky breath, and I could tell she 
was trying not to cry.  "One of them today... Mulder, she looked 
like my grandmother."

Oh god.  I wanted to hold her, to kiss her and tell her 
everything would be okay.  "Are you all right?"

I heard her sniffle.  "Yeah, I'm fine.  I'm so tired, I just want 
to go to bed."

"Want some company?"  She didn't say anything for a second -- I 
didn't want her to misconstrue my intentions.  "I don't mean it 
like that, I mean..."

"I know, Mulder.  And I *do* want to see you... but I'd be asleep 
before you could get here."

I didn't care, I just wanted to be with her, but I respected her 
decision.  "How much longer?"

"There are five, maybe six more bodies to be autopsied.  With 
four of us working, we should finish up tomorrow."

"Any ideas about the UNSUB?"

"I don't know, we're not involved with that.  I'm surprised ISU 
hasn't called you in yet -- you're still listed as a consulting 
profiler, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but you know I'm too 'out there' for them.  They'd expect 
a profile of some sort of age monster."

"What, like something that causes premature aging as it kills?  
Or kills with rapid aging?  I know we've seen both those 
phenomena, but Mulder..."

"Scully... I wasn't advancing it as a theory.  The killer's 
probably some garden-variety psycho who hated his grandmother."

I heard her sigh again, and her voice got even softer.  "God, I'm 
tired."

"Get some sleep, okay?"

"'Kay.  Love you."

"Love you, too."  She didn't hang up right away, and a thought 
hit me.  "Hey, Scully?  Can I make dinner for you tomorrow 
night?"

"Don't know when I'll get home."

"That's okay, I'll make something that'll keep.  I just...  I 
need to hold you."

"I need you to hold me."  She was whispering, and there was a 
little tremor in her voice.

"Okay then.  I'll be waiting.  I love you."

We hung up, and any thought of sex for one tonight fled my mind.  
I kept seeing my sweet Scully bent over an autopsy table, 
exhausted, her shoulders hunched, her back in spasms, her head 
pounding, slicing into somebody's grandma.  All I wanted to do 
was make her feel better.

FBI Headquarters
Office of Special Agent Fox Mulder
Tuesday, February 22, 2000
3:49 p.m.

I spent the day taking care of paperwork -- something I usually 
leave for Scully, because she's so much better at it, more 
thorough than me.  But I didn't want her to come back to the 
office after doing a dozen autopsies in three days to find that 
all I've done is throw pencils at the ceiling, so I did 
paperwork.

I also fielded a call from ISU, a Special Agent Carrie Parker, 
who was the ASAC on Scully's case.  I knew she suggested Parker 
call me, because Parker didn't seem the least bit interested in 
having Spooky Mulder consult on her case.  I decided to fuck with 
her head a little, suggested premature aging as an element of the 
crimes -- Parker just sighed and said she'd send the files over.

Scully called ten minutes later.

"What happened to the garden-variety psycho who hated his 
grandmother?"

"Didn't I tell you?  He kills with premature aging."  I could 
almost hear her smile and shake her head.  "Scully, you don't 
have to drum up work for me."

"I know, but it just didn't seem right to me that the FBI's best 
profiler was throwing pencils at the ceiling while there's a 
serial killer to be tracked."

I glanced up as a pencil fell.  "I'm not throwing pencils, I'm 
doing paperwork."  She didn't say anything.  "Scully?"

"Who are you and what have you done with my partner?"  I've heard 
it before, but I laughed anyway.  She sounded better today.

"Still up for dinner tonight?"

"Absolutely.  I've got one more autopsy to do, then I need to 
wait for some lab results.  I should be home by eight."

"I'll be waiting, whenever you get there."

Her voice dropped to a near-whisper.  "Thank you, Mulder.  I 
really..."

"Just taking care of my partner.  See you tonight."

We hung up, and I hurried through the rest of the paperwork.  
Then I finalized my plans for *after* dinner.

Scully has a secret indulgence.  She knows I know about her 
penchant for long, hot baths with fragrant oils, soft music and 
good wine.  But there's something else that she doesn't know I 
know about.

Massages.

A couple of times a month.

I found out nearly a year ago, totally by accident.  I was 
looking for something on her desk and glanced at her appointment 
book -- and there it was, in blue and white.  "Eric, 6:00, 
555-0299."

My first thought was, of course, oh god she's leaving me.  My 
second thought was, also of course, who the hell is Eric?  So, 
rather than just call the phone number and demand to know who the 
hell Eric was and what he was doing with my Scully at 6:00, I 
checked my criss-cross directory.  Seemed that Eric worked for 
the Haven Day Spa.  I called then, played the 'just doing a 
background check, nothing to be concerned about' game, and found 
out that Eric was a massage therapist.

I had to check out this guy who was touching Scully in places I 
hadn't yet been allowed to touch, but I wasn't sure exactly how 
to go about it.  The last time I'd gotten a massage was in 
college, from a girl named Jolene who was hot for me.

I eventually decided just to be straightforward about it -- I 
went to the spa a few days later and talked to Eric.  I 
introduced myself as her friend, not as her partner, and told him 
I was concerned about her health.  He was open and forthcoming, 
said she was fine, but that her job was very stressful and she 
came in to relax.

I felt like such an idiot -- of *course* her job was stressful.  
In the last year or two, she'd been shot, there was the whole 
colonization thing and what happened with Diana, we survived both 
Stepfordville and a hurricane, she was stalked and nearly killed 
by my wacko next-door neighbor... then I went slightly insane for 
a while and I... I'm not certain how that affected her, apart 
from what I read in her journal.  Yeah, I'd say her job was 
stressful.  Her life in general was stressful.  In her shoes, I'd 
have a massage every day.

Eric promised not to say anything to her about my visit.  He did, 
however, ask me about *my* job -- said I looked a little tense, 
he had a free half-hour.  I politely declined, but we've stayed 
on good terms.  So, in planning how to make Scully feel better, 
the first person I thought of was Eric.

Dana Scully's Apartment
Tuesday, February 22, 2000
7:52 p.m.

I left the office early again, partly because I was still lonely 
and bored, partly to get things set up at Scully's.  I was 
surprised when I let myself in -- she'd apparently overslept, 
because the bed was unmade.  Even after our most ardent, active 
nights, Scully always made the bed before we left for the day.  
She'd also left her coffee mug on the kitchen counter, hadn't 
dumped out the rest or thrown the grounds away.  Her hair dryer 
was still on the vanity in the bathroom, the towel she'd used in 
the shower was on the floor.  All this was par for the course at 
my place, but Scully... Scully is nothing if not tidy.

So I emptied the coffee maker, put her mug in the dishwasher, 
changed the sheets and cleaned up the bathroom.  I made dinner -- 
pasta salad with chicken, which would keep in the fridge -- and 
chilled a bottle of Chardonnay.  Then I set up the massage table 
I'd borrowed from Eric.  Since I'm not a trained massage 
therapist, he'd suggested some web sites where I could do a 
little research before I tried this.  He even gave me a few 
pointers about how she liked to be touched... *very* weird, 
hearing that stuff from another guy.

So.  Candles lit.  Music playing softly.  Fire blazing.  Dinner 
in the fridge.  Massage table set up in the living room.  She'd 
called about 7:30 to say she was on her way, so I poured myself a 
glass of wine and settled in to wait for her.

I rifled through the magazines on the coffee table -- not what I 
expected to find.  Yes, the latest issue of 'JAMA' was there -- 
but so was the latest issue of 'In Style.'  'Women's Health' sat 
next to 'Marie Claire.'  I picked up the copy of 'In Style' and 
thumbed through it -- fashion, stuff about celebrities, 
decorating tips, travel information...  There was a Post-It stuck 
on a page about a bed-and-breakfast near Santa Barbara, 
California.  'Marie Claire' had hair and makeup advice, and there 
was a piece about at-home bikini waxing that just made me cringe.  
Scully had also marked an article about ordinary women who lead 
extraordinary lives.

I looked around the room then.  Took in the carefully coordinated 
furniture.  The scented candles placed just so.  The framed 
pictures of her family arranged on the wall.  The embroidered 
cloth on the table behind the sofa.  The dishes, silver, 
glassware in the kitchen, the towels in the bathroom -- 
everything matched.  And it hit me.

My Scully is much more than the sum of her parts.

FBI agent.  Pathologist.  Doctor.  Cancer survivor.  Daughter.  
Sister.  Friend.  Partner.  Lover.  I knew all that.  What I just 
got was that she was, first and foremost, a Woman.  Yes, I knew 
that too -- but what occurred to me then was that she was a 
capital-W Woman, with all the complicated shit that entailed.  
She's soft and vulnerable and strong and capable... and I want to 
know every facet of the Woman that is Dana Scully.

I heard her key in the lock just then and set my wine glass down.  
Her face brightened when she saw me, which made my heart soar.  I 
went to her, took her briefcase and laptop and coat, set them all 
down and gathered her into my arms.  I hugged her tight, kissed 
her temple and stroked her hair.  Her arms went around my waist 
and she held on to me.  After a moment I felt her shudder, and I 
knew she was crying.  Scully didn't like to cry in front of me -- 
she thought it made her seem weak, but I could never see her that 
way.  I tightened our embrace, felt tears well up in my own eyes.  
She was crying for the dead -- I was crying for her.

She pulled back a little, looked up at me.  "Hey..."

I cupped her face in my hands, wiped away her tears as she 
reached up to wipe away mine.  "Hey."

"You okay?"  That's so Scully.  She's worried about *me*.

"Are you?"

She nodded, smiled.  "I am now.  I've missed this.  Holding you, 
being held by you."

"I've missed you, too."  I kissed her, softly, gently.  Then I 
released her, picked up her stuff and moved to put it away.  She 
looked around the room then, saw the low lights and candles... 
and the massage table.

"Mulder?  What's going on?"

"Like I said, just taking care of my partner."  She cocked an 
eyebrow.  "And yes, I know you're fully capable of taking care of 
yourself.  I just want to make you feel better."

Her mouth twitched in a slight grin.  "So what's on the agenda?"

"First, dinner.  Then a nice hot bath, then a massage, then bed."

"All with you, I hope."

"Of course.  Now you go slip into something more comfortable..."

"Mulder, are you coming on to me?"

"Oddly enough, no."  I smiled, kissed her again.  "There's a 
sweater and jeans on the bed.  Go change, I'll pour you some 
wine."

She went into the bedroom, I went into the kitchen.  I got dinner 
out of the fridge and she joined me once she'd changed.

"Mulder... you cleaned.  You even changed the sheets."

I couldn't tell from her tone if she was pissed or not -- 
although I couldn't figure out why she might be pissed that I'd 
cleaned.  "Yes, I did.  You've been working very hard, I didn't 
want you to have to clean too."

She came to me, slipped her arms around me.  "What did I ever do 
to deserve you?"

A trick question, this.  I could be self-deprecating, which would 
give her those little frown lines between her eyes.  Or I could 
be self-pitying, which would definitely piss her off.  Or I could 
be funny, which may or may not cheer her up.  Or I could just... 
be.

I held her tight and ran my fingers through her hair, then tipped 
her face up and kissed her again.  She held the kiss, and her 
tongue lightly traced along my bottom lip -- Scully's got this 
thing about my bottom lip.  I opened my mouth and drew her in, 
tasting her minty toothpaste along with Essence of Scully as our 
tongues explored each other's mouths.  She pressed her body 
against mine, and my need to make love with her waged an intense 
battle with my need to take care of her.  Finally I gently pushed 
her away, resting my forehead against hers.

"God, Mulder... can't we skip all the preliminary steps and just 
go to bed?"

"Much as I'd like that, Scully... your shoulders are up around 
your ears and your stomach's growling.  I think you need the 
preliminary steps."

She whimpered a little -- a sound that two weeks ago I'd have 
sworn I'd never hear from Dana Scully -- then nodded.  I seated 
her, poured her some wine and served dinner.  She dug in like she 
hadn't eaten in days -- given how hard she'd been working, that 
was possible.

"Mulder, this is wonderful.  Where'd you get it?"

"Where'd I *get* it?"  I put on an indignant face.  "I *made* 
it."

"You did not."

"Scully, you wound me.  I can cook.  I even *like* to cook.  I 
just don't do it very often.  Not much point in cooking for one."

She looked at me curiously.  "I learn something new about my 
partner every day."

"I like to keep you guessing."  I winked and gave her hand a 
squeeze, and we got down to the business of dinner.  We also 
talked a little about her case -- given who we are, we couldn't 
completely avoid work.

"There were fifty-two bodies, all of them older women."

"Originally buried in the vacant lot, or moved there later?"

"No indication they'd been moved."

"How long had they been there?"

"Some only a few weeks, others for months.  The one buried the 
longest had been there for nearly a year."

"That'll be when the stressor occurred.  The first victim may 
well be the killer's own mother or grandmother."

She nodded.  "That's what Agent Parker thinks, too."  She glanced 
up at me.  "Mulder... play nice with her, okay?  Please?"

"She a friend?"

"I think she could be."

I knew Scully didn't have many friends in the Bureau -- an 
unfortunate consequence of being known as Mrs. Spooky.  I also 
knew she wouldn't be comfortable being friends with Carrie Parker 
unless Parker and I could be friends -- or at least share a 
mutual respect.  I wondered for a moment if she'd also asked 
Parker to play nice with me -- there was a somewhat conciliatory 
note attached to the files she'd sent over.

I took her hand, kissed it.  "For you, Scully... I'd even play 
nice with Tom Colton."

She laughed, shook her head.  "Mulder, if you had to be in the 
same room with Tom Colton for more than five minutes, you'd 
implode."

"Didn't say I'd come out alive."  We shared another smile and 
fell silent.  I could tell something else was on her mind, 
though.  After a moment, I forged ahead.  "Scully?"

She didn't look up, didn't speak right away.  "Mulder... last 
week at the office..."

"Wasn't easy, was it?"

She sighed.  "Partner, you have a gift for understatement."  She 
looked at me then, and I could see the longing in her eyes.  
"Every day was a struggle between my libido and my brain.  
Sometimes it was all I could do to keep from locking us in the 
office and..."

"I know."  I squeezed her hand again, she sighed again.

"Mulder, how did this happen?  For seven years we didn't 
acknowledge... *anything*.  And after just a weekend, I couldn't 
keep my hands off you."

"It was a pretty intense weekend, Scully."  She blushed -- she's 
beautiful when she blushes.  I twined my fingers with hers.

"What are we going to do, Mulder?"

"Maybe it'll get easier when the newness wears off."

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?  I can't imagine making 
love with you could ever be anything other than... exciting."  
She looked at me, her eyes smoldering.  "Thrilling."  She brought 
my hand to her lips, turned my palm up, kissed it.  
"Intoxicating."  She flicked her tongue lightly against the 
middle of my palm, then traced the lines there with just the tip.  
I wasn't exactly sure why, but this was incredibly arousing.

"Scully..."

"You think maybe... when we're busier... when we're working on an 
X-file..."  She laid her tongue flat against my palm, then applied 
a bit of suction... god, what was she doing to me?

"I think... yeah... there's a... a case we might..."  She finally 
turned my hand over and kissed my knuckles, a big Cheshire-Cat 
grin on her face.  I shivered.  "Dana Scully, you are a wicked, 
wicked woman."

"And you love me for it."

"Yes, I do."  I couldn't help myself.  I leaned in and kissed 
her, devoured her.  It took every ounce of self-control I could 
summon to stop myself from sweeping the dishes to the floor and 
taking her there on the dining table.  But it'd been so long -- 
god, three days now equals 'so long' -- I wanted to make it 
special, for both of us.

It wasn't easy, but I broke the kiss.  Her lips found their way 
to my ear and she licked my earlobe.  Fuck -- I thought *I* was 
the one with an oral fixation.  "Sure you don't want to skip the 
warm-up?"

"No... yes..."  I swallowed hard, brought my hands to her 
shoulders, kneaded the tight muscles there.  I pushed her back a 
little, tried to steady my breathing.

"Mulder, you've got a lot more willpower than I do."

"You have no idea."

We finished dinner, staring at each other and holding hands.  
That was safer than talking.

One of the many things I'd discovered about Scully now that we 
were lovers was how verbal she could be.  She still had trouble 
expressing her emotions -- that's why she wrote the love letter 
in the first place, although she was getting better at actually 
*saying* 'I love you' -- but when it came to sex, Scully was 
*very* verbal.  She had no problem telling me exactly what she 
wanted in bed, even though we were really in tune and neither of 
us needed much direction.  I'd always suspected that behind the 
cool, sometimes frosty image she projected, Scully would be very 
sensual -- but I was in no way prepared for the sexual firebrand 
she is.  Maybe I'd expected some Catholic Girl reserve to have 
lingered, but there was absolutely nothing reserved about the way 
Scully made love.

After the dishes were cleared and more wine poured, I led her 
into the bathroom and asked her to choose which oil to use in her 
bath.  She picked two, then held them out to me.

"Which do you like best?"

I inhaled both deeply -- one was vaguely floral, the other sort 
of a spicy, woodsy scent.  I chose the spicy one.  She cocked an 
eyebrow.

"You used this one in Arcadia."

Our one and only real undercover assignment.  Rob and Laura 
Petrie, like the dish.  Several days that were simultaneously the 
most difficult and most exciting time I've ever spent with her.  
Exciting because... hell, because I got to be close to her, to 
live in the same house with her, even if it was work and we were 
just pretending.  Difficult because of what we'd just been through 
-- Diana, mostly.  Scully still hasn't asked me about her -- when 
we'd talked about our fears, about her fear that I'd fall in love 
with somebody else, she'd talked about anybody *but* Diana.

She blushed again at the mention of Arcadia -- god, I loved to 
make her do that -- but I couldn't tell if her memories of the 
experience were remotely pleasant.  At the time, I was certain 
she didn't want me near her ever again.  Scent is such a powerful 
emotional trigger -- maybe using the same bath oil now, now that 
we're closer, could change her memories of that time.

I shooed her off to the bedroom to get undressed while I lit some 
candles and ran her bath -- hot but not too hot, she instructed 
-- and when she came back wearing nothing but her fluffy robe, 
she snuggled up close to me.

"You getting in the tub with me?"

I bit my lip as she opened her robe and pressed her hot, naked 
body against me.  She kissed my cheek and I gave my head a little 
shake.  "I'll wash your back."

"Mulderrrr..."  God, the way she dragged out that last syllable... 
it was almost a growl, the way she said it.  I took her by the 
shoulders, looked into her eyes.

"Scully... tonight is about *you*.  Just you.  I want...  Please, 
just let me do this for you."

She stared at me a moment, then brought her hands to my face.  
She smiled.  There was so much love in her eyes, her smile.  She 
kissed my cheek again.  "I'm sorry, baby.  You're doing something 
really sweet and thoughtful for me and I'm all over you."  She 
reached up and kissed my lips, nipping a little at the bottom 
one.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome.  Now get in the tub before I lose what little 
control I have left."  She laughed a bit at that, then dropped 
her robe and took my hand so I could help her into the tub.  She 
turned back to me and tugged at my sweatshirt.

"If you're going to wash my back, you'd better take this off.  
Wouldn't want it to get all wet."  That little Cheshire-Cat grin 
was back.  I shook my head and pulled off my sweatshirt as she 
settled in the tub with a satisfied sigh.

"Not too hot?"

"Perfect."  She stretched out in the tub, resting her neck on the 
edge and closing her eyes.  I was mesmerized by the way her 
breasts bobbed in the water as she breathed.  After a long 
moment, she lifted an arm and reached toward a basket mounted on 
the wall just out of her reach.  "Sponge."

I glanced at the collection of stuff there -- mesh puffs, bottles 
of creamy things, a loofah on a handle...  "Which one?"

Her eyes were still closed, her hand still extended.  "Dark 
yellow, natural, like from the ocean.  About the size of my 
hand."

I found it, underneath a plastic bag full of crystals and a tube 
of something, and pulled it out.  "Anything else?  Some of this 
creamy gel stuff?"

"It's called body wash, Mulder."  She took a deep breath, 
inhaling the aroma of the bath oil.  My eyes found her breasts 
again.  Scully has incredible breasts -- just the right size and 
shape, with delicate nipples that are amazingly sensitive.  I 
think she thinks they're too small, but to me they're perfect.  
Seeing them naked like this was arousing enough -- what she 
doesn't know yet is that I really get off on seeing her in 
lingerie.  Yeah, yeah, Typical Guy -- but I'd spent so much time 
picturing what might be underneath her Special Agent Suits...  
Our first time together she was wearing a dark blue bra and 
matching bikini panties, both very lacy and sheer.  Christ, I 
almost came just looking at her.

Her mouth quirked in a tiny grin.  "Mulder, are you staring at my 
breasts?"

I licked my lips.  "Uh-huh."  The tiny grin became a smile and 
she inhaled again.  The smile broadened when I groaned.

"Like what you see?"

I exhaled, took in the rest of her body.  Strong and supple, soft 
and curvy.  My gaze hiccuped at the scar on her abdomen -- I will 
never get used to seeing that -- then continued down to the dark 
auburn thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.  I glanced up 
at her face again -- her eyes were still closed, she was still 
smiling.  She'd taken off her makeup earlier, and in the 
candlelight I could just make out the little beauty spot over her 
lip.  My god, this woman is stunning.  "Oh, yeah."

She chuckled, pointed to the basket again.  "There should be a 
tube of vanilla gel, and a bottle of, um... I don't know, it says 
sandalwood on the label."

I dug through the bottles and puffs in the basket and found what 
she wanted.  "Got 'em."

"Open them and tell me which one you like best."

I didn't recognize either scent from before, but the sandalwood 
blended with the fragrance of the bath oil, so I handed her that 
bottle and the sponge.  Our fingers touched as she took them from 
me and I shivered.  She opened her eyes then, looked me up and 
down, pausing briefly at the growing bulge in my jeans.  She held 
on to my fingers, tugged a little.

"Get down here."

I dropped to my knees next to the tub, my eyes never leaving 
hers.  I folded my arms on the edge of the tub and rested my chin 
there, watching her.

She squeezed the sponge in the water, filling it, then let the 
water run over her body.  She put some of the sandalwood body 
wash on the sponge and lathered it up, then lifted her foot from 
the water and set it on the edge of the tub next to the faucet.  
She held the soapy sponge out to me and I took it.  I ran the 
sponge lightly up her leg, over her foot.  The other foot came up 
and settled on the other side of the faucet.  I sponged it too, 
and her knees fell open under my touch.

Her eyes drifted closed as I washed her feet, her calves, her 
thighs.  Her breath quickened and her tongue darted out to 
moisten her lips.  My fingers circled her wrist and I shifted on 
the floor to get closer, then I lifted her arm and squeezed the 
fragrant bubbles from her shoulder to her fingertips.  A 
contented sigh escaped her lips as I reached across her to lift 
her other arm.

I moved again, positioning myself behind her head, still touching 
her.  I dipped the sponge and squeezed it, letting the water and 
the lather run over her shoulders.  I brought up my other hand 
and spread the creamy foam over her chest, letting my fingers 
smooth over the tops of her breasts.  She moaned softly and 
arched her back a little, and I smiled.  The way she responded to 
my touch, however light, thrilled me.

I let my fingers drift a bit lower, stopping just above her 
nipples.  She moaned again and breathed in, her breasts rising up 
to meet my hands.  I got close to her ear, whispered to her.  
"You're so beautiful, Scully..."

"Mulder... touch me..."

Her nipples were already taut, even in the hot water.  She arched 
her back more and I circled them, pinched them, rolled them.  Her 
eyelids fluttered, but her eyes stayed closed and she breathed my 
name.  Then she brought her hands up to cover mine and together 
we squeezed her breasts, both of us moaning.  Her touch wasn't as 
gentle as mine -- she ran our hands roughly over her nipples and 
pinched them hard, then squeezed again.  My own breath grew 
ragged, matching hers.

She lifted my right hand from her breast, brought my left to take 
its place and put her own left hand on her left breast.  I 
matched her movements, her touches, kneading and caressing.  Then 
she guided my right hand further down, toward the dark vee 
between her legs.

My right hand beneath hers, together we stroked her swollen 
folds.  We both cried out when she pushed my middle finger inside 
her.  She kept her hand on top of mine as I slid in deeper.  She 
thrust her hips against our hands, gasping as my palm came into 
contact with her clit.  I put gentle pressure there, rubbing 
small circles with the heel of my hand.  I had to lean against 
the tub to reach her, the tile cool against my erection.  
Scully's voice was rough and she murmured my name.  I closed my 
eyes and brought my lips to her ear, kissed it, tongued it, bit 
her earlobe...

We set a rhythm, her inner walls pulsing around me.  Her hand 
left mine as I slipped another finger inside her, moving in and 
out of her as her hips rose to meet me and water splashed onto 
the floor.  Then I felt her hand move *beneath* mine, and her 
fingers began to stroke her clit as mine continued to thrust into 
her.

"Fuck...  Scully..."

"Harder... faster, please, Mulder..."

I did as she asked, as she needed.  We were both breathing hard, 
both still kneading her breasts, both still thrusting and 
stroking.  Suddenly her hips jerked, breaking our rhythm -- I 
felt her body go rigid, her walls contract.  I held onto her as 
my head dropped forward and I bit her shoulder -- she threw her 
head back against me and my name echoed off the tiles...

After a long moment, she turned her face toward mine.  We shared 
a soft kiss and I felt her smile.

"God, that's so much better with you here."

I opened my eyes then and looked at her -- eyes closed, a light 
sheen of sweat on her forehead, her tongue darting out to lick 
her lips...  Did she say what I thought she said?

She glanced up at me through her lashes, reading the question in 
my eyes, a faint smile playing at her lips.  Her hand nudged mine 
and I withdrew from her.  She laced our fingers together in the 
water, then her left hand brought mine to her mouth and she 
kissed it.  "For years, Mulder... with visions of you in my mind."

Our eyes met, and I leaned in to kiss that sweet mouth.  "You 
fantasized about me?"

"Touching me.  Kissing me.  Tasting me.  Your mouth on my 
breasts.  Your cock deep inside me."  I shivered, kissed her 
again, deeper.  "Now... now I don't have to imagine... I just 
close my eyes and remember."  She kissed me this time, biting my 
lower lip, drawing my tongue into her mouth.  "You do it too.  
You were doing it last night when I called."  I blinked at her, 
surprised that she knew.  She laughed a little.  "I could tell that 
wasn't your usual 'tripped over my sneakers' brand of heavy 
breathing."  I laughed a little too then, glanced away from her.  
She kissed my hand again.  "Next time, Mulder... let me talk you 
through it."

Phone sex.  Scully was suggesting we have phone sex.  I was more 
than a little stunned at that.  She just laughed again and kissed 
me, her tongue claiming my mouth.  When we parted I shook my 
head.  "I learn something new about my partner every day."

"Gotta keep you guessing."  She smiled, her eyes and voice soft.  
"Water's getting cold."

I untangled my hands from hers and stood up, my knees popping 
loudly.  Scully had the good grace not to laugh at that -- she 
just watched as I pulled the stopper and offered her my hand.  
She stood and got out of the tub, and I wrapped her in a big 
velvety towel.  She moved close to me -- I gasped when her wet 
body came into contact with my still-raging hard-on.  I took a 
step back but she followed, pulling me to her.  "Scully..."

"Got a little problem there, Mulder?"  The towel fell from her 
body as she ground her pelvis against me.  "Hmm... not so 
little..."  I backed up again, bumping into the sink.  She ran her 
hands, her nails over my bare chest.  She kissed my throat, licked 
her way down to my nipples.  Her tongue circled one, sucked on it, 
her fingers playing over the other one.  My eyes slammed shut, I 
licked my suddenly dry lips, I whimpered.  God help me, I 
whimpered.

"I know, I know.  Tonight's about me... about what I want."  Her 
hand drifted lower, her perfectly manicured nails tracing along 
the length of my cock through the rough denim.  "What I want, 
Mulder...  I want this."

I let out a low moan as she squeezed gently.  "Scully..."

"Mulder, look at me."  I forced my eyes open and gazed into hers.  
There was a raw hunger there I've never seen before.  She began 
to unbutton my jeans, smiling a little as she worked the button 
fly.  "Here's what I want, Mulder..."  She slid my jeans off my 
hips and down, kneading my ass as she did.

"What do you want, Scully?"  My whisper was ragged, betraying the 
desire I'd tried so desperately to hold in check.  She brought a 
hand around and stroked me through the silk of my boxers.  She 
slipped her fingers inside the elastic at my waist and slowly 
eased my shorts down.  Her eyes held mine, and her lips curved in 
a smile.

"I want to suck your cock.  I want you to come in my mouth."

Jesus.  Two weeks ago I would've sworn Scully didn't know words 
like that.

Her hands resting at my waist, she kissed me lightly on the lips, 
then along my jaw, then down my throat to my chest.  She 
delicately trailed her tongue around my nipples, down my stomach.  
Her tongue flicked at my navel and she covered it with her mouth, 
sucking slightly.  Then her tongue and lips traced a line from my 
navel to my groin.  I shuddered and held on to the vanity behind 
me, struggling to keep my hips still.  God damn, she hadn't even 
touched my dick yet.

Finally, finally... she was on her knees in front of me, her hands 
at my hips, on my thighs... then she reached for me.  She wrapped 
one hand around the base of my shaft, wrapped her lips around the 
head.  Dear god in heaven, I think I passed out for a minute.

I gripped the vanity until my knuckles were white, fighting the 
urge to touch her, to bury my fingers in her silky hair -- I knew 
if I did, I'd have to push her away and fuck her on the bathroom 
floor.  I didn't want to do that -- I wanted to make love to her 
in her big soft bed -- but oh jesus what she was doing to me...

Her lips were a soft cushion surrounding my sensitive flesh.  Her 
teeth nipped lightly, very very lightly, along the full length of 
my erection.  Her tongue swirled up and down, around and around, 
delicate and bold at the same time.  Her hands pumped me, fondled 
my balls, squeezed when necessary to prolong the experience.

In this act, Scully had complete and utter power over me.  She 
knew it.  I knew it.  And we both surrendered ourselves to that 
power.  In this moment, she owned me.

I fought a losing battle to keep my hips still, and I gently 
thrust toward her.  She adjusted instinctively, altering her 
angle slightly and increasing the suction.  Fuck, I was close...

"Scully... tighter..."

Her hand tightened around me as she stroked and pumped and her 
tongue caressed and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked and the 
pressure was so so so exquisite...

I was breathing hard, my hands flexing, my hips thrusting, my 
legs shaking, my eyes shut tight, my teeth clenched, then... oh 
god then...

She went completely still when I came -- pulsing, gushing into 
her mouth, whispering her name...

As I came back to myself, my eyes opened a little -- she was 
sitting back on her heels, watching me.  The flickering 
candlelight made it difficult to read her expression, but I know 
I saw love in her eyes.  That Scully loves me still amazes me.  
Then she murmured so softly I almost didn't hear her.

"My God you're beautiful..."

I let out a breathy chuckle -- about all I was capable of.  I 
started to deflect her comment, but there was something in her 
eyes...  Then it occurred to me -- that's how she sees me.  
Beautiful.

I've always thought of myself as rather goofy-looking.  My nose 
is too big.  My eyes are too small.  My bottom lip is too full, 
my top lip too thin.  I've got that stupid little mole on my 
cheek.  The hair stylists I go to seem to think that short and 
spiky is a good look for me.  My chest isn't hairy enough and 
what's there is starting to go gray.  My midsection is beginning 
to spread.  I do have a nice butt, and running keeps my legs in 
shape -- but my feet are funny and, let's be honest, male 
genitalia are silly looking at best, especially in the flaccid 
state.

But Scully -- the only woman, the only *person* in the world 
whose opinion matters a damn -- Scully sat at my feet looking up 
at me as if I were Michelangelo's 'David' or Da Vinci's 
'Vitruvian Man' come to life.  It was humbling.  And it made me 
realize, if I hadn't before, just how much I love this woman -- 
and how much she loves me.

I reached out to her.  She took my hands and got to her feet.  I 
pulled her close and kissed her, caressed her.  She shivered, and 
I held her tighter.

"You're gonna catch a chill."

"Don't care."

I leaned down and snagged the towel she'd dropped, wrapped her up 
in it again.  I rubbed her arms, her back, her ass through the 
towel -- she laughed, snuggled close to me.  I breathed in the 
scent of her bath oil, her body wash... her body...  It was 
intoxicating.

"Why don't you get ready for your massage?"

She looked up at me, surprised.  "Mulder..."

"We've got the table, might as well use it."

She smiled, shook her head.  "You...  I do love you, you know."

"Yeah, I've heard that once or twice."

She laughed softly, kissed my throat.  I pushed her back a 
little, pulled the towel a little tighter around her.  "Go on.  
Face down, under the sheet.  I'll join you in a minute."

She reached up and stroked my face, ran her fingers over my lips.  
I kissed them and she left the room.  I exhaled deeply, glanced 
down at my jeans and shorts bunched around my ankles.  I gave up 
and kicked them off, went into the bedroom and pulled on a pair 
of sweatpants, then headed for the living room.

The towel discarded on the floor, she was positioned as I'd asked 
-- lying on her stomach, the sheet pulled up over her hips, her 
face nestled in the face cradle.  Since I was barefoot I knew she 
hadn't heard me come in, so I spoke softly.  "Comfortable?"

"Mm-hm."

I pulled the sheet up to her neck and laid my palms flat on her 
shoulder blades, on top of the sheet.  I pushed gently and she 
exhaled -- good, that's what's supposed to happen.  I changed the 
CD to something more relaxing than romantic, then I folded the 
sheet back to just below her waist.  I rubbed some massage lotion 
in my hands then held them just above her back -- Eric said this 
was to facilitate the flow of energy between us.

I had a flash of memory -- Melissa and me standing next to 
Scully's hospital bed, our hands hovering over her comatose body, 
Melissa swearing that I could feel her life force if I would only 
let myself, if I wasn't in such a dark, angry place.  I shook the 
memory off, concentrated on the woman here with me now -- strong 
and healthy, full of life and passion and love.

What I'd read about Swedish massage said to use long, smooth 
strokes toward the heart -- I started at her shoulders and neck, 
kneading the tight muscles with my thumbs and fingers.  Moving 
down her back, I used my palms and the heel of my hands to smooth 
out the knots.  I trailed down her spine with my knuckles until I 
reached her waist -- at Eric's suggestion, I spent a lot of time 
there.  He said she carried a lot of tension in her waist -- as I 
worked there, I understood what he meant.  There was very little 
play in those muscles, and I tried to loosen them as best I 
could.

My eyes drifted to the slightly shiny patch of skin just below 
her waist -- where she had the tattoo removed.  I never saw it, 
she never mentioned it.  Never mentioned what had happened.  Yes, 
more pressing matters came up shortly after that -- her cancer 
was diagnosed, for one.  But I never really understood what the 
whole thing was about, what I had done to make her so unhappy.  
Except... she'd said not everything is about me.

Maybe this was something we should talk about.  Maybe it was 
something we should just leave alone.

I forced my thoughts back to her body, how it responded under my 
hands.  I could feel her relaxing as I worked, could hear it in 
the satisfied sighs and groans and grunts she made.  I went from 
her back to her arms and hands, then drew the sheet up and moved 
on to her legs.

When I decided to do this for her, I knew I had to see her as 
Eric saw her -- as a collection of parts.  Beautiful, sexy parts, 
yes -- but parts just the same.  So, even though I'd had the 
great pleasure of seeing and touching her naked body on several 
recent occasions, I kept her draped as I worked.

Something occurred to me as I massaged her hips, her thighs, her 
calves -- what I was doing here was the opposite of what I wanted 
to do in our relationship.  I wanted to understand and blend 
together everything she is, every facet of her.  Reflexologists 
theorized that every area of the body is consolidated in the 
nerves of the feet -- I decided then to save her feet for last.

When I finished with her legs I covered them again and laid my 
palms on the soles of her feet, over the sheet.  Then I moved my 
hands up her legs, her hips, her back, to her shoulders.  I bent 
down close to her ear and whispered.  "Ready to turn over?"

She gave a contented little sigh that sounded vaguely like 'um-
hm,' so I lifted the sheet just enough for her to scoot down and 
roll over.  I draped her again and removed the face cradle, then 
placed an eye pillow over her eyes.  She smiled at that, which 
for some reason made me inordinately happy.

I started again at her neck, her shoulders, her upper back, her 
chest.  I spent a lot of time on her arms and hands -- holding 
the tools of her trade sometimes made her hands cramp.  I felt 
the delicate bones moving under my fingers and she sighed again.  
The immense satisfaction I got from doing this for her was 
overwhelming.

Then I arrived at my final destination.  Scully's feet.  Her feet 
are beautiful, perfectly tapered.  She'd taken to polishing her 
toenails lately -- she rarely wore anything but clear polish on 
her fingernails, but she was bold in her color selection for her 
toes.  The last time we'd been together, they were a pale 
lavender -- tonight they were deep red.

I traced the fine blue veins along the tops of her feet, lightly 
touched the clefts between her toes -- her feet twitched, and I 
glanced up at her face.  "Didn't know you were ticklish."

"Just a little."  Her voice was soft, sleepy... relaxed.

I laid my hands gently on top of her feet.  "I'll be careful."

"'S okay, baby."  I smiled.  I loved it when she called me 
'baby.'  From anyone else it might be insulting.  Scully's use of 
the word made me feel cherished.

My hands encircled her ankles, then I put both of them on her 
right foot.  My fingers rubbed up and down her Achilles tendon, 
then down to her heel, then I repeated my actions on her left 
foot.

I'm not a reflexologist, and I knew better than to try to do that 
kind of intense work on her without proper training.  I also knew 
that soothing strokes and gentle pressure in the right zones 
would help her.  And I knew the zones I wanted to affect.

I started with her heels, shifting from one to the other -- they 
were the key to her lower back, hips and legs.  Then I rubbed her 
arches with my thumbs -- the arch was connected to her waistline.  
I spent a little more time there, as I had before, and she 
exhaled deeply.  I ran my thumbs further up the inner sides of 
her feet -- her spine.  Then skimmed over the balls of her feet 
to the outer area of the sole -- her arms and shoulders.  The 
undersides of her toes -- her neck.  I finished with long strokes 
toward the balls of her feet -- toward her heart.

Drawing the sheet over her feet again, I covered them with my 
hands and closed my eyes.  I felt her breathing, and I breathed 
in time with her.  I felt the energy flowing between us and I 
smiled -- Melissa would be pleased.

I moved my hands up her legs to her knees, her hips... there was a 
different energy there.  I moved to her side and held my hands 
above her abdomen -- over the scar -- not touching her, just 
hovering there.  I swear I felt our energy shift, change.  I 
heard a sound -- a groan, a sob maybe -- and stole a glance at 
her face.  She hadn't moved... and I realized the sound had come 
from me.

I drew in a shaky breath.  She removed the eye pillow from her 
face and slowly reached out her hand to me.  One hand still above 
her body, I touched her fingers with the other, felt the 
connection between us...  My eyes slipped shut and I heard her 
voice -- barely above a whisper, but clear and strong, 
emphasizing each word...

"Not your fault."

Shit.  How did she do that?  How could she take what I was trying 
to do for her and turn it around so that *she* was comforting 
*me*?  *Why* did she do it?  Was she so used to me being needy 
that it was automatic now?  Fuck that.  That's not what I wanted 
to happen.  I had to get my emotions under control, to keep this 
about her.

The hand that still hovered above her slowly dropped the few 
inches to her body -- my palm settled on her abdomen, and I felt 
the scar beneath the sheet, beneath my hand... our breathing in 
synch, our fingers entwined... our souls, too.  Then she spoke 
again -- softly but firmly, the words filled with love.

"Mulder, you... you have to forgive yourself.  For all of it.  
Please.  I've never blamed you for anything, you know that... 
but we can't move forward unless you forgive yourself.  No guilt, 
remember?  Please..."

I felt hot tears spill down my cheeks.  I felt her fingers 
tighten on mine.  I felt the energy between us shift again.  And 
then... the guilt was gone.  I just let it go.  There was no need 
to hold on to it anymore, no more need to punish myself.  Scully 
accepted me, loved me as I am.  In spite of everything.  Maybe 
*because* of everything.

I squeezed her fingers in gratitude, then wrapped mine around her 
wrists.  I shifted my hands up her arms to her shoulders, moving 
to stand behind her head.  I touched her neck, her ears.  My 
fingertips kneaded her scalp, then traced her cheeks, her lips, 
her nose, her forehead, her eyelids.  I cupped her face in my 
hands and leaned close to her, touching my lips to her eyes, her 
nose... her lips.  Her eyes still closed, she gently kissed me 
back.

"I love you, Scully."

"And I love you."

We stayed like that for a long moment, then I picked her up off 
the table, wrapped in the sheet that covered her.  Her eyes came 
open just a bit and she smiled, planted a sweet kiss in the 
hollow of my throat.  She slipped her hand behind my neck and 
snuggled against my chest as I carried her into the bedroom.

Damn.  I forgot to turn down the bed.

She looked up at me when I stopped, then glanced over at the bed.  
"I'll do that.  You go blow out the candles."  I slowly set her 
on her feet, but she kept her hand at my neck.  She pulled me 
close and kissed me gently, wiped away the remnants of my tears.  
"Hurry back."

I moved through the living room, snuffing the candles and turning 
off the CD player.  I stopped for a minute, looked around the 
room as I had done before she came home, and thought about her.  
About the different elements of her, and how to reconcile them, 
to combine them.

The dedicated agent and the loving daughter and sister.  One 
living a dangerous life, at risk of being hurt or killed on an 
almost daily basis.  The other trying to make her family 
understand how important the work is to her, that choosing the 
path she chose didn't mean she loved or respected them any less.  
Both deeply committed to what's important to her.

The skilled pathologist and the cancer survivor.  One surrounded 
by death, working tirelessly to unravel its mysteries.  The other 
celebrating life, reveling in the little blessings that come with 
just being alive.  Both with a reverence for life and a healthy 
respect for death.

The devoted partner and the passionate lover.  One challenging 
me, forcing me to look harder for answers we both know won't come 
easy.  Keeping me honest.  Keeping me sane.  The other soft and 
loving and demanding and selfish and giving and sweet...  Knowing 
what she wants, what I want.  Giving as good as she gets.  Both 
fiercely loyal, intensely faithful -- to me.  *Me*.  Warts and 
all.

Incredible.

She was lying on her back under the covers, watching the door, 
waiting for me.  She smiled as I came back into the room.  "What 
took you so long?"

I shrugged.  "Just thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"You."  She stared at me, trying to read me.  I shook my head a 
little, smiled to let her know I was okay.  She returned the 
smile, held out her hand to me.

"Come to bed, Mulder."

I took off my sweatpants and draped them over a chair, took her 
hand and slipped into bed next to her.  She immediately nestled 
against me in what I'd learned was her favorite sleeping position 
-- her head on my shoulder, her hand over my heart.  My arms went 
around her and I held her close, kissed her forehead.  She 
sighed.  She sounded happy.

"Mulder..."

"Hmm?"

She leaned up, so she could look into my eyes.  "Thank you for 
tonight.  For everything.  No one's ever done anything... taken 
care of me like this..."

I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, caressed her cheek.  "I 
like taking care of you."  She placed a kiss on my palm and 
snuggled next to me again, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on 
my chest and stomach.

"You know, if you ever left the FBI you could have a second 
career as a massage therapist."  I laughed quietly.  "'Course, 
you'd need a little more training than just tips from Eric."

Busted.  "How'd you know?"

I felt her smile against my shoulder.  "Eric's the only therapist 
I've ever had who spends a lot of time on my waist."

"You carry a lot of tension there."

She didn't say anything for a minute, and I wondered if she was 
angry that I'd gone behind her back.  Then she pressed her lips 
to my throat.  "No, Mulder, I'm not mad."  I breathed a sigh of 
relief, covered the small hand on my chest with my own.  She went 
silent again -- I thought she'd fallen asleep -- then she spoke 
softly, almost shyly.  "Mulder... they do couples massage at the 
spa.  Big room, two tables... candles, aromatherapy...  Do you 
think we could do that sometime?"

She referred to us as a couple.  She'd never done that before.  
Hell, neither had I.  At restaurants, we were 'Mulder, party of 
two.'  At the movies, we were 'two for "American Beauty," 
please.'  That was as close as we came to being a couple.  Until 
now.

I nuzzled her hair, breathed in her scent.  "I'd like that, 
Scully.  I'd like that a lot."

"Really?"

"Um-hm."

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

"Smelling your hair."

She laughed a little, shifted in my arms to look at me.  "Why?"

I studied her a moment.  "I like the way your hair smells.  Like 
lilacs on a cool spring night."  I threaded my fingers through 
her hair, trailed them along her neck, her shoulders.  "I like 
the way your skin feels.  Like satin... velvet."  She blinked at 
me, opened her mouth to speak, but I leaned in and kissed her 
softly.  "I like the way you taste.  Like fine wine."

I kissed her again, my tongue teasing at her lips until her mouth 
opened beneath mine and she drew it inside.  Our tongues 
caressed, explored.  Every time we kissed like this, it was like 
the first time -- fresh and familiar at the same time, finding 
different sensations, discovering new reactions.  Hungry, 
starving, we devoured each other.

My hands traveled the length of her small body -- tickled her 
ribs, smoothed over her hips, stroked her thighs...  Scully's 
hands weren't still -- she traced her nails down my chest, grazed 
my stomach, scratched my back...

At almost the same time, we reached for each other, gauging our 
readiness.  Then she gently pushed me onto my back and straddled 
me, my erection nudging her ass.  I cupped her breasts, my thumbs 
teasing her nipples.  She leaned into my touch, closing her eyes, 
whispering my name.  Then she rose up and lowered herself onto 
me, sheathing me inside her.

Then she stopped.  Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, and she 
slowly exhaled.

She did this every time we made love -- when I was fully inside 
her, she stopped moving entirely for a moment.  Even that Monday, 
Valentine's Day, when I fucked her against the living room wall.  
The first time I figured it might've had something to do with how 
long it had been for her, or my size relative to hers, and she 
was letting her body adjust.  Now I knew that wasn't it, but I 
had no idea what it was.  I wanted to know, wanted to ask her 
what was going on in her head at that moment -- but that's not 
something you ask the woman you love, not when she's just taken 
you into her body, filled herself up with you.  So I said 
nothing.  I just waited for her.

But instead of starting to move, she whispered to me.

"It's a miracle, you know... that we're here like this... that 
we've survived everything to get here..."

She opened her eyes then, looked into mine.  No -- she looked 
into my *soul*.  And I could see into hers -- I saw the depth of 
what she felt for me, and I was overwhelmed by it.  I could only 
hope she could see some fraction of how much I loved her too, 
because I sure as hell wouldn't be able to adequately communicate 
it to her.

"What I know, Scully, is that I'm the luckiest man on the face of 
the earth... because you're in my life.  You *are* my life."  She 
smiled -- a beautiful, dazzling smile -- and reached out to touch 
my face.  Jesus, I was crying again.  She gently wiped away my 
tears and I kissed her fingertips.

"And I thank God every day for you, Mulder... that you're mine."

Then, slowly, she rose up along my shaft.  I didn't move at all 
-- this moment was important to her, to both of us really, and I 
willingly gave control of it to her.  She closed her eyes again 
as she took me inside her once more, and as she did she 
whispered...

"Mine."

She moved again, and this time I moved with her, my hips rising 
up to meet hers, and I whispered...

"Yours."

Her eyes opened then -- I saw the desire there, the need.  The 
love.  I whispered to her again...

"And you're mine."

"Oh yes, Mulder... yours..."

We moved together, faster now, thrusting harder into each other.  
She leaned close, changing the angle, increasing the friction.  I 
reached between us, circling her clit with my fingers.  She 
tightened her inner walls around me, holding me inside her as we 
moved.

Words of love and devotion and possession poured from our lips.  
Our eyes were locked together, and I saw her orgasm approaching 
there before I felt it in her body -- her eyelids fluttered, she 
began to quiver.  Our rhythm faltered as my own climax built, my 
thrusts becoming erratic.  Once, twice more, and on the third she 
was flying, and I was flying with her...

Eventually she collapsed on top of me, spent.  None too steady 
myself, I wrapped my arms around her, held onto her.  After a 
moment she moved to get off me and I tightened the embrace.  
"Stay..."

I felt her smile against my chest as she settled again.  
"Forever."

I chuckled softly.  "Don't know if I can manage 'forever,' but 
for a little while longer, okay?"

"As long as you want, baby."  I smiled, stroked her hair.  She 
snuggled against my chest, against my heart.  "I like this.  
Listening to your heartbeat."

"So that's why you like to sleep like this."

She turned her face to my chest, gently kissed the old bullet 
wound at my shoulder.  "Reminds me you're here."  Suddenly she 
leaned up.  "Do you mind, Mulder?  I mean... would you rather 
sleep in another position?"  She slid off me then, curled her 
body against mine.

"I just like sleeping with you, Scully.  With my arms wrapped 
around you.  I'll take that any way I can get it."

Her eyes searched mine, but I couldn't tell what she was looking 
for.  Finally she closed her eyes, shook her head a little.  
"Mulder... you spend so much time concentrating on pleasing me, 
you don't think about pleasing yourself."  She opened her eyes 
again, and she put on a stern expression.  "I want you to be a 
little selfish.  To tell me what you want."

"Scully..."

"And I don't want to hear any of that 'I just want to make you 
happy' crap."  I must've looked a little hurt, because her 
expression softened a bit.  "Mulder, you... you're the most 
incredibly generous man.  Tonight was proof of that.  But I'd 
like to take care of you sometime, too."

"You take care of me, Scully."

"Only as much as you let me.  As a doctor, I tend your wounds and 
soothe your aches and pains.  As your partner, I support you and 
watch your back and kick a little ass when I have to.  But even 
in that role, Mulder, there've been so many times when you've 
shut me out..."

Because I love her.  Because I'm a selfish bastard when it comes 
to the work.  Because it was *my* work, my quest, and it had hurt 
her too much already.  It was why her brother hated me.  I shut 
her out to protect her.  To try and keep her safe, to keep her 
from losing anything more because of me.

I looked into her eyes then, but she looked away.  "I'm sorry, 
I'm forgetting the Rule."  No dwelling on the past.  Nothing but 
love and passion in our bed.

I turned her face back to me, smoothed away the little frown 
lines between her eyes.  "Scully..."

She leaned into me, kissed me softly, tenderly.  "There are two 
of us in this relationship, Mulder.  We both deserve to be taken 
care of.  To be happy."

My god, this woman... so loving, so giving.  I stroked her face, 
trailed my thumbs over her lips.  She didn't understand what she 
had done for me earlier, turning my concern around and making it 
hers.  She had no idea how much she gave to me just by being with 
me.  Loving me.  Letting me love her.

Yes, I focus on her.  Her safety, her pleasure, her happiness.  
As narcissistic as I've been told I am, I don't know that I can 
be selfish in this.  Despite letting go of the guilt, I don't 
know that I deserve to be happy.  "I know what you want from me, 
Scully...  I'm just not sure I can give it to you."

"I know it's hard."  She smiled then -- a broad smile, her eyes 
sparkling.  "Gets easier the more you do it."

I laughed, hearing my own words bounced back to me -- that's what 
I told her about saying 'I love you.'  "Okay, then.  Scoot over."  
I nudged her with my hip and rolled onto my side, pulling her 
close and kissing her.

"That's all you want, Mulder?  Not to sleep on the wet spot?"  
She nuzzled my neck, nipped at my earlobe.  "I seem to recall you 
said something once about spooning up like little baby cats..."

"And you responded by calling me Poopy-head."

"Mulder, we were undercover."

"What do you call this?"

"A different kind of undercover."

I smiled, moaned a little when her tongue flicked at that spot 
just under my jaw...  I tilted her face up, kissed her deeply.  
When we ended the kiss... she yawned.

"Oh God, Mulder, I'm sorry.  I'm just so damn relaxed..."  I 
stifled a laugh and held her close.  "It's all your fault... you 
and your Magic Hands..."

"I'll try not to be so good next time.  Sleep, Scully."

"Did you set the alarm?"

"Fuck.  No.  Don't move."  I rolled over to take care of it.  
"What time?"

"Seven."

I smiled a little.  "Six."

"Mulder, it's after midnight."

"I know."  I turned back to her, gathered her in my arms again.  
"But I want to make love to you at least once or twice before we 
have to go to work."

"That's probably what gets us into trouble.  We make love in the 
morning, then can't stop thinking about it the whole rest of the 
day."

She shifted in my arms, turning onto her side, her back to me.  I 
smiled and spooned up against her, wrapping my arms around her 
again.  "We could play hooky.  You put in a lot of overtime last 
weekend."

"Can't.  You have a profile to write.  And I have to pull the 
pencils out of the ceiling and redo your paperwork.  Besides, I 
miss our basement office."

I kissed her shoulder, her neck.  "I love you."

"I love you, too."

We settled in to sleep, then I glanced back at the clock.  12:28 
a.m.  Wednesday morning.  I moved close to her ear.

"Happy birthday, Scully."

She shifted a little to look at me, a mixture of surprise and 
pleasure in her smile.

"You didn't think I'd remember?"

"Mulder, you remembered twelve days ago.  In case you hadn't 
noticed, I've been wearing your earrings almost every day."

"I noticed.  I'm glad you like them."

"I do.  They're beautiful."  She turned over again, drew my arms 
tighter around her.  "I was kind of hoping for a repeat of last 
year's birthday present."

I smiled, my lips on her shoulder, remembering.  A dark, deserted 
baseball diamond.  My arms wrapped around her, like now.  Her 
hips nestled against mine, like now.  Because I never thought I'd 
get the chance to do it for real, like now, it was mostly just an 
excuse to hold her -- on my part, anyway.  And I think maybe on 
her part, too -- Scully was a tomboy, I'm sure she learned to 
play baseball at an early age.  We both wanted so much more from 
each other, even then, but couldn't bring ourselves to ask for 
it.

"What do you say, Fox Mantle?  You up for a little batting 
practice?"

I kissed the back of her neck, the tiny scar there, and we both 
shivered.  "Oh, yeah."

Did she realize that letting me 'teach' her to play baseball was 
letting her take care of me?  That all I need to be happy is to 
hold her close?  But I promised myself I'd try to be a little 
selfish in this -- to tell her what I want, what I need.

Even if all I need is her.

Then again...

"Hey, Scully?  Have I ever told you about my fantasies of making 
love to you on my big leather couch?"

END