TITLE:  No Promises
AUTHOR:  A. Kelley Nolan
EMAIL:  akelleynolan@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION:  Wherever.  Just let me know.

RATING:  PG-13 for not very explicit suggestiveness
CATEGORIES:  VR
KEYWORDS:  UST, Mulder/Scully romance, touch of angst
SPOILERS:  None

SUMMARY:  As soon as his lips touched hers, he knew it had been a 
mistake. He had kissed Scully out of hunger, out of fear, out of love, 
but he couldn't do it as a joke, and she knew it the second he did.

Disclaimer:  Everybody in this belongs to somebody else.

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

Scully slumped on the couch. She was beyond tired. She was well on her 
way to brain dead. She noted with interest that there wasn't a single 
thought in her head. She wanted to sleep, preferably for a very long 
time, but her body was still keyed up enough that she knew it would be 
a while. TV, she thought numbly. This is exactly what TV was invented 
for. She clicked on the set, tossed the remote onto the coffee table, 
and stretched out on the couch. History Channel. Perfect.

Mulder wandered in, and she was startled to realize that she had 
almost forgotten he was there. Of course, he'd been gone quite a long 
time. "Fall in?" she mumbled, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He rubbed at his stubbly jaw. "No, but I think I may have nodded off 
at some point."

The mental image made her giggle, which made his eyebrows shoot up, 
and she swallowed it quickly, looking up at him without lifting her 
head from the pillow of her arm. His eyes were dull, his skin a little 
pale, his shoulders slumped. "You look like I feel."

"I feel worse than I look. Scoot." He made a half-hearted waving 
motion with his hand, and she obligingly pulled her legs up. He 
flopped down into the space she had made for him and leaned his head 
back against the cushions, his eyes sliding closed. It was no good. 
His body was ready to drop, but his mind was still jangling. He sighed 
and lifted his head feebly to look at the TV. It took a minute to 
register what he was seeing. There seemed to be a lot of half-dressed 
people with strange hairstyles and great tans. It dawned on him 
finally that it was part of the History Channel's ongoing attempt to 
recreate every aspect of ancient Egyptian life on film. Surely they 
were almost done by now?

Scully felt the warm length of his thigh against her shins, and her 
feet fit perfectly around the curve his ass. Nice, she thought. She 
fought the impulse to wiggle her toes, just to see what he would do. 
Not much, if the utter exhaustion on his face was anything to go by. 
His arm came down to rest on her legs, his hand curling over her knee. 
That was nice, too. He was warm and familiar, and she was too tired to 
be anything but comfortable with his touch.

For a long time they sat that way, not talking, not moving, just 
converting oxygen to carbon dioxide. When her body had just about 
drifted into the same state of somnolence as her mind, she felt him 
shifting her legs and then stretching out behind her and laying his 
head on the curve of her hip. One arm slid up to rest along her back, 
one draped over her legs, and he curled his long legs up practically 
to his chest to fit himself onto the couch. She could feel him from 
her shoulders to her toes, which were incidentally nestled pretty darn 
close to his groin, and she shivered a little at the contact. 
"Mulder?"

He didn't open his eyes or move a single muscle. "Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Snuggling." She could practically see the thought occur to him, 
although he still didn't look at her, and he couldn't really get any 
more boneless and immobile. "Is that okay?"

Scully reached down, combed her fingers gently through his soft, short 
hair, letting them brush over his forehead. No, she thought to 
herself, it absolutely shouldn't be okay. But she knew that wasn't 
what was going to come out of her mouth, not when he was so warm and 
cozy and sleepy against her back. "Yeah," she said quietly. "It's 
okay."

He made a small, contented sound and nuzzled against her like a child. 
"I'm so tired, Scully."

"I know," she murmured, still stroking his hair gently.

"I think I'm getting too old for this." He tightened his grip on her, 
shifted to make himself a little more comfortable, and managed to fit 
the curves of his body perfectly against hers. His mind registered the 
fact that he was nestled against his partner and that if he were alive 
right then he'd probably have some explaining to do to the feet that 
were about an inch from his penis. But, things as they were, he 
instead felt a subtle tingle of contentment throughout his body, and 
he thanked his lucky stars that he was tired enough to just enjoy this 
without creating another Incident they would never talk about. Her 
fingers were still in his hair, absently tracing slow, soft circles on 
his scalp, and he snuggled his cheek a little deeper into the curve of 
her body. "Hey, Scully?"

"Hmm?" She was slipping over the edge into sleep, lulled by the lazy 
satisfaction of his presence.

"What kind of detergent do you use? It smells really nice."

She opened her eyes again and looked down at the top of his head, as 
if she could tell from that angle if he was kidding. "It's unscented."

"Really?" She felt his breath through the fabric and onto her skin as 
he tested her answer. "Must be you that smells so nice, then."

She smiled, let her hand slip down from his head to the back of his 
neck, to rest in the curve where his neck met his shoulder. He let out 
a soft sigh, and then they both drifted into sleep.

Scully woke up some time later and was, for a moment, deeply 
disoriented. She was on her couch. She wasn't alone. The TV was 
flickering with Egyptians. She closed her eyes again and thought for a 
moment until it came back to her. The ache in her spine helped remind 
her. Her body felt like somebody had been kicking it with steel-toed 
boots. She was sore just about everywhere she could focus on. Her 
brain felt a little less mushy than it had, but that wasn't of any 
practical value right then. And, if she wasn't mistaken, the warm, 
solid body cradled against hers was Mulder. She shifted enough to look 
at him but not disturb him and realized she could have banged pots in 
his ears without him noticing. He was out. Total dead weight on her 
hip and over her legs. She kind of needed to go to the bathroom, but 
there was no way she could extricate herself without waking him, and 
she knew he needed the rest.

With a small sigh, she settled back down and just looked at him. It 
was a strange angle, a sort of horizontal profile, but she knew that 
face like the back of her hand. She studied it when he talked, when he 
was thinking and oblivious to everything else, when he fell asleep in 
cars or airplanes, most of her mind on the task at hand but a small 
portion of it allowed to wander over his features and memorize the way 
they looked right then. She wondered if he had any idea how beautiful 
he was to her. She knew he thought the same about her. She had caught 
the unguarded expression in his eyes too many times to doubt it. She 
missed his eyes when he slept. They told her everything she needed to 
know, if she was willing to pay attention. She contented herself with 
the delicate curve of his ear, the dark slope of his eyebrow, the 
crescent of his lashes on his cheek, his sensitive mouth. That mouth 
had featured in some of her more fevered dreams and a number of sweaty 
nights when she was wide awake. It was a face to wake up next to every 
morning.

Whoa. Back the train up, honey, because that way lies madness. She 
reminded herself of her strict rule against fantasizing about her 
partner, at least most of the time. And the rule was definitely in 
effect at any time when he was pressed up against her like a second 
skin, sleeping peacefully with his arms wrapped around her. She shook 
her head a little to clear her thoughts and let herself fall asleep 
again, remembering the dark, sweet taste of his mouth.

Mulder slept deeply. If he dreamed, he didn't remember it. Like being 
dead, only he got to wake up wrapped around a very alive little body. 
Maybe that's what heaven is like, he mused hazily as he struggled 
toward consciousness. He forced his eyes open enough to confirm that 
he was still in the last place he remembered being and that the soft 
swell underneath his cheek was indeed Scully. Heaven must be 
individualized, he thought, and felt a flare of gratitude. He tilted 
his head to watch the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, then up 
to the soft pout of her lips, the sweep of her copper hair falling 
over her cheek.

He loved watching her sleep. He hoped she didn't have any idea how 
much he did it. In cars and airplanes and hotel rooms, he would look 
at her, just look at her, so glad to see peace claim her at least for 
a little while. She never had nightmares, at least nothing that ever 
woke her gasping for breath like he did, but he could tell when she 
dreamed by the rapid flutter of her delicate eyelids. He would sit 
then and think hard at her, trying to send wonderful dreams into her 
mind. He knew it was silly, but part of him hoped. If it was possible, 
he would find a way.

He carefully lifted his arm from her and glanced at his watch. It was 
late, but there were still a couple of hours before dawn. His legs 
ached from being pulled up against him for so long. He could leave, he 
was pretty sure he could slip out without waking her. That would make 
this night like all the others. But he suddenly wanted very much for 
this one to be different.  He wanted to be able to wake up with her. 
Gingerly, he lifted her hand from where it lay, sleep-heavy, on his 
neck, and moved it over his head to rest in front of her on the couch. 
Then slowly and carefully he crawled further up her body until he was 
spooned behind her. He tucked himself into her, his knees bent to 
hers, his arm snug around her waist, and nuzzled his face into her 
hair. Perfect, he thought as he slid into sleep again.

That was how Scully found them when she woke for good to weak morning 
sunlight coming through the window. She sucked in her breath a little 
when she realized her incredibly difficult to explain position. She 
could feel him along the entire length of her body. She didn't 
remember him moving to spoon against her. She didn't remember his hand 
slipping under her t-shirt so that his warm palm was on her belly. She 
didn't remember his breath on the back of her neck. She certainly 
didn't remember his erection pressing gently against her, although she 
had a feeling she would for a long time to come. She'd become adept at 
ignoring those, at being totally casual about his desire for her. 
She'd seen him naked, taken his body into hers. She'd touched him, 
tasted him. And she understood that it was an autonomic response that 
he couldn't control. It was much easier to be detached, however, when 
it wasn't pressing into the small of her back.

God, it felt good waking up with him like this. She wanted to twist in 
his arms and cup his face in her hands and leave kisses on his eyelids 
and his cheekbones and his mouth. She wanted to feel his arms tighten 
around her and draw her closer to him. This was sooo dangerous.

"Mulder?" she whispered. There was absolutely no response. He didn't 
twitch a muscle. She tried again, just a little louder. "Mulder?" He 
made an indistinct sound that was difficult to quantify, but she 
didn't recognize it as one he had ever made awake. She slipped her 
hand over his where it rested on her stomach and trailed her 
fingertips up and down the backs of his fingers, tickling the 
sensitive skin. He moved slightly, trying to tangle her fingers with 
his.

"You awake?" she asked.

"Mm-mm."

He sounded just like her nephew when he didn't want to get up in the 
morning, and she smiled. "Was that 'mm-mm' or 'mm-hmm'?"

"Mm."

"Mulder." She reached up behind her and slid a hand into his hair, 
intending to tug him into wakefulness. Instead, she froze when she 
felt the whisper of his lips against her nape, drifting aimlessly 
along her hairline.

"This feels nice..." he murmured at last, his voice rough and deep and 
incredibly sexy with sleep.

"Yeah..." God. Don't do this now, she thought. I don't know if I have 
the strength. She did tug then, gently. "Come on, we have to get up." 
His arms tightened around her as she tried to move. "It's still a work 
day," she reminded him.  "Don't make me shoot you again."

"Ha. Ha." But he released her so that she could stand up, and he 
hauled himself to a sitting position, pushing his hands through his 
hair in a way that his expensive stylist never intended. "God," he 
groaned. "What time is it, Scully?"

She grabbed his wrist and twisted to look at his watch. "Just after 
six. Time to get ready, if you've got clothes here."

He rubbed his eyes, trying to think. "Do I still have an emergency 
shirt here?"

"In the closet."

Mulder nodded, then looked up at her. She was watching him with an 
expression he couldn't quite place. "Is it okay?" he asked softly.

"I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't." She smiled to let him know it 
wasn't a challenge. "I'm going to get in the shower. Get some coffee 
started?"

"Sure." He watched her walk toward her bedroom and wondered if the 
mess he had made could still be cleaned up.

They both showered quickly. A million nights on the road had taught 
them not to dawdle in the morning. She glanced up at him and smiled as 
he walked into the kitchen, buttoning his shirt. "Breakfast?"

He immediately looked wary. "What do you have?"

"Fruit, yogurt, and granola." Scully gave him an eyebrow, and he 
shrugged in defeat.

"As long as we can stop on the way in for a snack."

"Honestly, Mulder, how you don't weigh three hundred pounds, I'll 
never know."

"Lucky metabolism." She handed him a bowl with the threatened squirrel 
food. "Thanks, honey," he grinned, and bent down to steal a teasing 
kiss. As soon as his lips touched hers, he knew it had been a mistake. 
He had kissed Scully out of hunger, out of fear, out of love, but he 
couldn't do it as a joke, and she knew it the second he did. The touch 
lasted a fraction too long, his breath was just slightly too shallow. 
He pulled back, gave her an uncomfortable smile. The expression in her 
eyes was uncertain, not quite readable, and she turned away with a 
thoughtful frown between her eyebrows to pour another cup of coffee.

The ache in his chest came on him without warning, as it had been 
lately. This is what it would be like living with Scully, he thought 
suddenly. Waking up to her warmth, jostling for space in the bathroom, 
eating stuff that was good for him, looking up and always - always - 
finding those bright blue eyes. The ache wasn't the dull, distant 
thing it used to be, either. Lately it had grown sharper, harder to 
ignore. He felt it sucking at him sometimes, grabbing his ankles and 
clutching him in place. He had begun to wonder if there was a way 
forward. A way past the denial, the dance of fear, the occasional 
nights of shared hunger or desperation. Leaning against her counter, 
eating yogurt as he watched her glide around him, he knew it wasn't 
enough anymore.

He blinked with surprise as he realized she was holding a tie out to 
him. It was one he thought he had lost a couple of months ago, 
possibly in Missouri, and he had mourned its passing. It was one of 
his favorites. "You left it in my room," she said softly, in answer to 
his unspoken question, and the ache got a little more jagged. "I kept 
forgetting to give it back to you."

He slipped it around his neck, trying to understand the expression on 
her face. It was almost, but not quite, enough to give him hope. 
"Thanks. Much better than the gravy-stained ones in my bag."

Scully smiled and retreated to finish getting ready. There was no 
other word for it. It was a strategic withdrawal in the hopes of 
minimizing casualties. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her? 
She pictured him as she dried her hair. Something equal parts hope and 
fear and a couple of other emotions without good English names had 
been sliding across his face all morning. He was coming to a decision, 
getting ready to make some leap, and she hoped to God they both had 
parachutes. Whatever it is, he'll say it today, she thought. This 
morning, before we leave, because he'll want it to be here, where 
there's nothing but the two of us. He believes in the value of 
setting.

And he did. Right before they left, as her hand reached for the 
doorknob, he stopped her, his fingers finding the lapels of her 
jacket. "Scully." His voice was soft, hesitant, and she looked up into 
his face with a shiver of anxiety racing up and down her spine.  She 
noticed that his hands were trembling a little bit. His eyelashes 
fluttered almost bashfully, and then he seemed to take a mental breath 
and met her eyes bravely. "I liked this," he said at last. "Waking up 
with you."

She felt herself spinning. We're going to do this now? Now, when I'm 
hung up and off kilter from spending a night cocooned in this man, a 
night that had nothing to do with grief or lust or terror? His eyes 
were more gray than green right then, and there was the 
fearful-hopeful something she had seen before, slipping through the 
depths. He wasn't asking her to jump. In a way, this was much harder. 
He wanted her to stay on the plane with him and see where it was going 
to go. She swallowed down a knot of fear and decided to honor his 
courage with her own. "So did I."

His eyes flickered. "Maybe...Maybe we could try it again?"

Her throat was dry, but the word came out like honey. "Yes." There was 
no other possible answer. She had long since lost all the arguments 
with herself. He already held her heart, he already inhabited her 
soul, he had already claimed her body. He was infinitely worth the 
risk of losing him, or losing herself. "Yes," she said again, stronger 
this time, letting him see her answer in her eyes.

A hundred images flashed through his irises, flinging themselves into 
her subconscious to be sorted out later. For now there was just him 
leaning down, his lips meeting hers softly. There was no demand, there 
wasn't even a promise. It was an acknowledgement, and for a moment 
they just stood that way, sharing each other's breath. They stepped 
apart, shrugged on their coats, and walked out into the cold together.

-Fin-