TITLE:  Losing Sleep
AUTHOR:  A. Kelley Nolan
EMAIL:  akelleynolan@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION:  Wherever.  Just let me know.

RATING:  PG-13 for language and mild drug reference
CATEGORIES:  VR
KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance, UST
SPOILERS:  None

SUMMARY:  There are conversations you can have at two in the morning 
that you can't have any other time.

Disclaimer:  Everybody in this belongs to somebody else.

*********************

It started on their very first case together, when she lay on the bed 
in his hotel room, propped on one elbow, and listened to him talk for 
hours. Since then there have been dozens of times, one of them 
knocking softly on the other's door, seeking some escape from another 
sleepless night. In motels across the country they have engaged in 
this ritual: someone knocks, someone answers, they curl up in a chair 
or stretch out on the floor or flop down on the bed, and watch bad 
late night movies until someone falls asleep.
 
Most often it is Scully who knocks. His sleeping habits are so poor he 
doesn't dare seek her company every time, and she can always be fairly 
certain that he will be awake when she is. She knocks, or pushes open 
the connecting door, and waits for the smile of invitation. The next 
hour or so follows an almost invariable pattern. They may chat, but 
more likely they watch TV quietly, until she steals a pillow and 
finally drifts off to sleep. When he realizes she is out he sits and 
watches her, sometimes for a minute or two, sometimes nearly until 
dawn breaks, and then softly slips into her room to catch as much 
sleep as he can in her bed. He's not sure he could handle waking up 
next to her, and he sleeps best when he can burrow down into cool 
sheets that are brushed with her scent.

Mulder knocks less often, because there aren't nearly as many times 
when he can be sure she is awake. He knows that her insomnia is tied 
to her body's natural cycles, and he has learned these rhythms by 
heart. He knows that for about a week before her cycle begins, she is 
filled with nervous energy and hardly sleeps at all, and he knows that 
for a couple of days after it starts nothing short of a sonic boom 
directly in her ear will wake her. He knows, too, that about halfway 
through there is a subtle shift in her body chemistry that leaves them 
both keenly aware of each other, stealing heated glances, although he 
tries not to think about that too much. When he knocks she greets him 
with an expression of sympathy, affection, and relief that makes his 
chest hurt, and he settles onto the bed next to her and generates some 
excuse to touch her. He likes it even better when she touches him, 
when he curls up with his head in her lap and feels her fingers gently 
brush through his hair, or even when they lean up against the 
headboard together and she nudges his shoulder with hers at something 
funny on television.

They talk sometimes on those nights, because there are conversations 
you can have at two in the morning that you can't have any other time. 
Many of the little secrets they know about each other they have 
learned in half-lit motel rooms a long way from home. They both hide 
them away carefully to be looked at later, like shiny treasures. They 
have told each other about first loves and first heartbreaks, summer 
camp adventures, childhood fears, college roommates. They know each 
other's favorite ice creams (Haagen-Dazs Vanilla Swiss Almond for her, 
whatever has the highest chocolate content for him) because Mulder 
likes to snack during their late night talks and she indulges him, 
although she inevitably wakes up with a stomach ache.

Gradually as time has gone by they have edged toward more personal 
topics. For the first few years, their conversations stayed strictly 
in the past, as if by tacit agreement they would never mention 
anything that had happened since they had met. After Modell things 
began to change, albeit at a glacial pace. They inched toward each 
other, willing to talk around the edges of the intersection of their 
lives. A couple of years, some false starts, more near-misses, a 
reprieve from cancer, and they had reached the point where they could 
relate to each other in the present tense. Certainly no one could 
accuse them of rushing into anything.

Some nights still involve microwave popcorn and reruns of "Gunsmoke," 
but more and more often the reruns are accompanied by quiet, aimless 
talk. At least, they tell themselves it isaimless, even as they both 
realize that it makes them more dependent on each other than ever. 
They are aware that neither of them really has anyone else they talk 
to. Who else is there to understand?

This night it was Lebanon, Ohio, in the midst of an investigation into 
an allegedly malicious haunting at the old Shaker village. Mulder was 
prepared to believe it was the ghost of a sexually frustrated Shaker, 
but it looked like it was likely to be a nurse at the retirement home 
that now used the facilities. He had suggested the sexual frustration 
angle might still hold, but she had pointed out that didn't 
automatically make someone malevolent and then arched an amused 
eyebrow in his direction. He had blinked, and then grinned in spite of 
himself.

When the clock glowed 12:01 at her, Scully gave up. Midnight was her 
personal capitulation time. If she wasn't asleep by then, she knew the 
chances were slim for at least a couple of hours. She glanced over at 
the connecting door between their rooms. It was cracked just a little. 
Mulder prefers it that way since the cancer. She suspects it makes it 
easier for him to slip into her room and watch her sleep, make sure 
she is still breathing, without disturbing her. He doesn't know that 
she knows he does that, and she isn't prepared to take it away from 
him yet. She could see the bluish flicker of his TV around the edge of 
the door. It didn't necessarily mean he was awake, but the chances 
were good.

She slid out of bed and walked over to pull open the door. The one on 
his side stood wide open, as always, and he was stretched out on the 
bed, his feet crossed at the ankles, one arm stuck behind his head. 
"You asleep?" she asked softly.

He let out a small snort of laughter, and she smiled. "C'mon in," he 
said, his voice warm and low. "BYO pillow, though, Scully. I dropped 
the extra one in the tub."

"How -"

"Don't ask."

She decided that was probably a good idea and retrieved her own pillow 
before crossing back to his room and joining him on the bed. "What are 
we watching?" she asked as she settled herself cross-legged next to 
him.

"_The Bad News Bears Go To Japan_."

Scully winced but made herself comfortable.  She leaned forward with 
her elbows on her knees and watched intently, determined to find at 
least a cure for insomnia in the television screen.  Mulder had given 
up on the movie right about the time the team decided to go to Japan, 
so he watched her, instead.  At least she made him smile.  She was so 
focused.  He could tell she was intent on being fair, on giving the 
movie a chance to at least lull her to sleep.  He couldn't see her 
face, but he knew there was a little frown of concentration between 
her eyebrows, and that made him smile even more.

"I feel like I'm witnessing a historic moment," she said after a 
while, not taking her eyes from the screen.

He chuckled.  "Really?"

She nodded and glanced back at him, face serious.  "Do you think it's 
possible this truly is the worst movie ever made?"

"Not as long as _Plan Nine From Outer Space_ still exists."

"Hmm.  Runner up, maybe?"

"I'll give you runner up," he smiled.

She turned back to the TV and resumed her thoughtful posture.  She was 
wearing boxers and a t-shirt, and the position made her shirt ride up 
a little in back so that he could see the smooth curve at the base of 
her spine and the tattoo coiled there.  He reached out and touched the 
bright design softly.  She didn't stiffen, didn't even seem at all 
surprised.  He took a deep breath and let his fingers trace the 
tattoo, whispering touches against her warm, smooth skin, just his 
fingertips moving in slow circles.  She was so soft.  A giggle escaped 
her, and he tore his eyes from her back up to her face, which he could 
barely see in profile.  "The movie's not funny, Scully."

"No, it isn't," she agreed.  "But that tickles."

"Really?"  He left his circling, trailing his fingers up the groove of 
her spine, and she actually shivered before she arched away from him.  
Mulder grinned.  "I had no idea you were so ticklish."

"Only some places."  She tried to look dignified, but his eyes were 
glinting at her with such amusement that it was hard to keep a 
straight face.

"I think I'm very turned on."

Scully dutifully rolled her eyes and leaned across him to grab the 
remote from the nightstand.  Her body brushed against his as she did, 
and only very intense concentration kept the truth of his last 
sentence from being painfully obvious.  She clicked off the television 
and scooted around so she could face him.  He was still stretched out 
on the bed, looking up at her with an expression that combined enough 
different and generally contradictory things that she didn't want to 
explore it too deeply.  She sighed dramatically.  "Why are we here, 
Mulder?"

He groaned.  "Shit, Scully, I don't have nearly enough weed in me to 
get that metaphysical."

She cocked an eyebrow.  "Do you have some?"

"What?"

"Weed."

He stared at her for a second, trying to decide if she was serious.  
"Three words - random drug tests."

She shrugged.  "It just sounded kind of good all of a sudden."

"Always does when you haven't slept for a couple of days."

"Yeah.  But that's what I'm talking about.  Why are we both here, not 
sleeping, yet again?  What the hell's the matter with us?"

"Um...governmental duplicity?  Interstellar conspiracy?"

She frowned.  "I don't think I'm losing sleep over putative alien 
invasions."

"Well, no, _you're_ losing sleep over hormone surges."

Scully looked at him levelly a long moment, delighted not to feel a 
blush spread over her cheeks.  It didn't surprise her that he realized 
that, but it was definitely...weird.  "I'm not sure I'm comfortable 
with you knowing that."

Mulder shrugged.  "Five years, Scully.  I could make you out a 
calendar."

"That's...unnerving."

"I prefer to think that forewarned is forearmed."  He winked at her, 
and she allowed a smile to tilt the corners of her mouth.

"Okay, so we've solved my mystery.  What about you?"

"What about me?"

She tilted her head and studied him.  He was beautiful to her.  A 
beautiful mind, a beautiful man.  It hurt her to see the weariness in 
his face.  Her voice was soft, almost tender, when she spoke.  "Why 
don't you sleep, Mulder?  What do you see when you close your eyes?"

Mulder felt a sizzle of electricity shoot through him as he looked 
into her eyes.  It felt a lot like fear.  He didn't know if he could 
do this, have this conversation with her.  If he was honest, he was 
bound to reveal something that might be much better kept to himself.  
And if he wasn't honest...well, that wasn't even a possibility.  Not 
with Scully.  He felt her hand, warm and small, on his stomach, and he 
forced himself to focus on what she was saying.

"Do you have nightmares?" she asked quietly.

He gave himself until the count of ten to decide whether or not to 
answer her, but he knew what he would do by six.  He wasn't good at 
saying no to her.  "Sometimes," he admitted.

All the playfulness had disappeared from her face, replaced by concern 
and understanding.  She knew he had plenty of potential subjects for 
nightmares.  She knew she probably figured in some of them.  A soft 
heat seemed to be spreading from her hand through his skin.  "Not 
always?"

"No.  Just once in a while."  He covered her hand with his, let his 
fingers slide up to her wrist.  He watched his hand glide slowly up 
and down the soft white skin of her inner arm, half hoping she would 
let him lose himself in the touch.

She didn't stop him, but she wasn't letting him off the hook, either.  
She watched his face, could tell from the way his eyes didn't meet 
hers that he was hoping to avoid something.  "What about all the other 
times?"  He lifted his gaze to hers reluctantly, his hand dropping 
down again.  She twined her fingers through his, making his breath 
catch in his throat.  "Why can't you go to sleep?"

"Just...thinking.  Too much, I guess."

"About what?"

Mulder sighed softly.  "Scully, it's late.  I don't know if we should 
get into this right now."

She looked at him a long time, then pulled her hand back with a sigh.  
She wasn't angry, but he could feel her disappointment.  "Never mind."

She was going to leave.  He could see her shifting, getting ready to 
stand up and go back to her room.  As hesitant as he was to do this, 
he didn't want her to go.  Not ever, but definitely not tonight.  He 
caught her hand.  "Wait.  Don't leave."

She stopped, looked down at him appraisingly.  The uncertainty was 
clear in his face, and she saw the flicker of need in his eyes.  She 
let her hand relax and soften in his.  "It's okay, Mulder.  I'm not 
trying to bully you into telling me something you don't want to."

He pushed himself up so they were sitting knee to knee and could read 
each other's expressions better.  He didn't let go of her hand.  
Their fingers were threading restlessly, his thumb stroking the inside 
of her wrist.  How far would she ask him to go?  How far was he 
willing to go?  After a long moment he answered, quietly.  "It's not 
that I don't want to.  I do.  It's just...difficult."

Scully held both his hands now, palm to palm, their fingers laced 
together.  Her face was serious and thoughtful, and she didn't let her 
gaze waver from his eyes as she sought some answer there.  She spoke 
slowly, a little hesitantly.  "I think I know you better than anyone," 
she said softly, making it vaguely a question.  He nodded his 
agreement, and she bit her lip while she tried to decide how to 
continue.  "I don't want you to feel like you ever have to hide 
anything from me."

"I don't," he assured her.  "But...this might be the one thing I 
should."  Scully didn't answer, just looked at him, waiting for him to 
decide.  She wouldn't insist.  She would be mildly hurt if he refused, 
but no permanent damage would be done.  He felt her hands in his, 
thought about the strength in those small miracles of flesh and bone, 
looked into her face and saw the gentleness and the fierce 
protectiveness there.  Fuck it.  He knew he couldn't stand on the edge 
of this cliff forever.  Might as well take that first step.  He took a 
deep breath, and she knew the truth was coming.  "Most of the time," 
he said slowly, as if testing out the words in a new language, "when I 
can't sleep, I'm thinking about you."

"Me," she repeated carefully, and his eyes flickered in her direction 
for confirmation.  She wasn't particularly surprised, but she felt a 
knot of warm tension building in her stomach.  Her voice dropped 
almost to a whisper.  "What about me?"

"About how much you've lost to this quest, how much they've taken from 
you.  About how I wish for your sake you'd just walk away and never 
look back, and how I'm scared shitless that you'll leave me."  The 
words spilled out, and he stopped suddenly, biting his lip as if he 
was afraid he'd said too much.

"Mulder."  She waited until he looked at her, to make sure she had his 
attention.  "I'm not leaving.  I'm not going anywhere."

"You should," he said weakly.

"No.  This is my work, too.  It's my quest now, too.  Nobody's holding 
a gun to my head...at least not at the moment."  She flashed him a 
ghost of a smile, but he just gnawed his lip harder.  "Listen to me," 
she said, pressing her palms tighter to his.  "I'm here because I want 
to be."

"You're here because you were assigned."

"That's not why I stay."

He looked up at her and swallowed hard.  All those things they didn't 
say to each other were laid out on display for him in her eyes.  This 
is one truth you know for certain, she seemed to be saying.  This is 
one you don't have to run after or run away from, because it's right 
here.  He nodded slowly.  "I know."  He brought one of her hands up to 
his face, turned into her touch as she spread her fingers along his 
jaw, brushed his lips against the pulse in her wrist.  For a moment he 
just breathed, trying to gather his thoughts, absorbing her touch, 
then he looked back at her and didn't try to hide the regret he knew 
was in his eyes.  "It's cost you so much, Scully."

"It's cost you, too."

"It's cost you your innocence."  He'd lost his so long ago he barely 
remembered it, but he knew that the loss still made him ache for it.

Scully nodded, conceding the point.  "But you didn't take that from 
me, Mulder.  They did.  And they didn't take my faith, or my belief in 
you, with it.  I'm here with you because this is where I want to be."

Might as well throw myself off the cliff all at once, he thought.  
Cowards die a thousand deaths...  His voice didn't work the first time 
he tried, so he licked his lips and tried again.  "Scully...if I had 
to choose, between the work and you, the truth and you..._anything_ 
and you...I would choose you."

She looked at him for a long time, trying to decide how far down this 
road he was planning to go.  Further than he ever had before, 
apparently, if just looking the words at each other wasn't enough 
anymore.  His eyes were very green, and he was watching her from under 
his lashes as if he was getting ready to bolt.  She squeezed his hand 
lightly.  "You already have."

Mulder had never told her what happened, but she had pieced together 
the story behind the chip in her neck.  He had been vague to the point 
of obstructive about its provenance, and had mentioned the deal he had 
been offered only in passing, but it had been fairly easy to guess 
what had happened, particularly after cornering the Gunmen and 
demanding some answers.  He didn't know about that, but he wasn't 
terribly surprised that she had figured it out.  "I would make the 
same decision again," he said softly.

"I know.  Mulder..."  She had to look away from his face for a moment, 
to gather her courage.  "The work is part of me now.  Literally.  But 
so are you.  If there were no work - no conspiracies to unmask, no 
dark secrets to drag into the light - I would still be wherever you 
were.  The work is where I need to be.  You're where I want to be."

He wasn't sure if his heart stopped or if it had started beating for 
the first time in years, but warmth flooded through his entire body.  
He reached up and cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing over the 
curve of her cheekbone.  "This isn't just friendship for either of us, 
is it?" he asked.  It wasn't a question.  He knew the answer to that 
as surely as he knew his own name.  But this was a secret whose time 
in the light had come.

Scully shook her head slowly.  "It hasn't been for a long time."

They sat there, knees brushing and fingers clasping, and looked at 
each other.  They both knew declarations had just been made, although 
the words would have to wait for a braver night.  He ached to touch 
her, to gather her to himself, but he knew that needed to wait for 
another night, too.  Scully knew both those things, but she wanted 
something to tie this moment in her memory.  She reached up and took 
his face in her hands, and leaned toward him.  Her lips brushed his 
eyelid, his cheekbone, his jaw, and the soft puff of her breath made 
him shiver.  Her kisses were just a whisper against his skin, against 
his lips.  She hovered there, barely touching him, just her breath 
against his mouth, and he was lost.  He leaned forward, into her 
touch, and felt another shiver of pleasure rush through him.  The kiss 
was soft, tender, slow, undemanding.  It was the first kiss of 
children and the thousandth kiss of old lovers.  It was a whispered 
promise.  He could have sat there, kissing her like that, all night.

Finally they drew apart.  He couldn't have spoken then if he'd wanted 
to, but he knew she was listening to his eyes just like he was 
listening to hers.  She let her hands slip from his cheeks, down his 
chest, to find his hands again.  "Mulder," she whispered, her eyes on 
their clasped fingers, "don't leave tonight."  She looked back up at 
him.  "After I fall asleep.  I want to wake up with you."

He nodded.  "Will you be able to sleep?"

"Eventually," she smiled.  "Will you?"

"I doubt it.  But I won't leave."

She tugged his hand to pull him down, and they lay down on their 
sides, facing each other, their hands linked in the space between 
them.  She was tired, drained, and she knew she would sleep soon.

"Thank you, Scully," he whispered.

"For tonight?"

He shook his head, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it 
tenderly.  "For tomorrow."

-Fin-