TITLE - Conversation Piece
AUTHOR - Robby Keofe
CATEGORY - S, R, A
KEYWORDS - Mulder/Scully romance; WIP
SPOILERS - Mild ones for "Detour" and "Post-Modern Prometheus;" "One Son"
TIME FRAME - Post-"One Son." I'm a bit behind, I know.
RATING - PG, I guess.
FEEDBACK - Please! PLEASE! PLEASE!! C'mon, I'm begging here.
(skeeter@bcinet.net)
ARCHIVE - Go for it. Just let me know where.
SUMMARY  - A friendship is revived.
THANK YOU - Angie, the one and only. I was *THIS CLOSE* to posting this
segment with a serious chronological mistake; without her, there would be a
few "Unnatural" references (DUH!, right?), in addition to a few
capitalization disasters. <g> Thanks.
AUTHOR'S NOTES - A huge thank you to everyone who responded to the "A Funny
Thing Happened . . ." stories. If you like this one half as much as you
seemed to like those, I'll be one happy little camper. :-) 

~CONVERSATION PIECE ~
1/??
by Robby Keofe

Scully felt Mulder's hand gently pressing into her lower back, leading her
into the crowded, smoky jazz bar. It was his lame attempt to break the
monotony of the work week as it ascended into the weekend, and it seemed
less formal than suggesting dinner in an actual restaurant. 

"Whatcha think?" Mulder asked after they'd gotten seated and ordered drinks.

"Nice," Scully replied, lacing her fingers together atop the table. She
looked prepared for an interrogation, not hanging out in a bar on a Friday
night. He watched her there, staid and proper in her charcoal suit and
perfect hair, and a hint of worry crept into his mind. She looked distant,
her eyes detached and lost. 

"Scully." Mulder said, an amused grin toying at his lips. The waitress
delivered their drinks; they both thanked her, and Scully took a sip of
wine before responding.

"What?"

"We're in a bar," he stated. She stared at him blankly. "It's Friday night.
It's us, Scully.  Just relax. We're together." he added, as if he could
explain his intentions, reveal every ounce of hope and desire he felt for
her with a few simple words.

"And . . ." she asked, honestly perplexed.

"For God's sake, relax. Slouch or something. This is abnormal." he said
accusingly, though there was a forced, teasing note in his voice designed
to hide his discouragement. Disappointment began to ease itself over him; a
thick blanket of failure caused by yet another stupid attempt to show her
that they could function together outside of the FBI's basement office.

"I don't slouch, Mulder."

"Yeah, well, let's see if a few drinks help." He grinned at her, lightly
tapping at her fingers with his own from across the table. She didn't
respond, and he turned his head to the stage. "Nice to get out once in a
while, right?"

"I suppose so. Mulder, what's up with you tonight?"

"Huh?" he asked.

"Well, you've taken me to a bar, for one thing."

He shrugged at her remark, toying with a cocktail napkin. He shredded it
into ragged little pieces, much like Scully was doing with his heart; his
dreams of making her happy, even if only for a few minutes, were crushed by
her confused tone. 

"I was just thinking that maybe we could do something fun for once." he
told her weakly.

"What, waking me up in the middle of the night announcing that I have an
autopsy to do somewhere doesn't count as us doing something fun?" she
responded drily.

"Scully, is something the matter?" he asked, concern echoing in his words.

"No, I was just thinking that you probably have some videos to get home
to." she answered, taking another sip of her wine. She didn't look at him,
but kept peering around the bar. His eyes never left her.

"That was cold, Scully." he murmured, praying that he didn't really sound
as pathetic as he thought he did. He'd been hurt by her a lot lately; the
distance he thought was beginning to close had been deepened. She'd pulled
into herself, shutting down into a tired, drained woman that seemed a
frightening facsimile of the passion and vitality he wanted so badly to
believe she possessed. He'd seen that side of her on so few occasions, and
his heart yearned to see her like that again; warm, happy, like when she'd
sung to him in the woods, or danced with him at that Cher concert. He
watched her now, her eyes averted, one perfectly manicured finger dancing
around the rim of her wine glass. She barely resembled the playful woman he
longed to see in her, and it scared him. "Scully?" He began softly, and
waited until her eyes met his before he continued speaking. "You want to
leave?" He asked, hoping she'd say no, that she wanted to stay with him on
this makeshift date.

"Yeah . . . I wanna leave." She answered quietly. He stared at her for a
long moment, trying to find some discernible emotion in her cold eyes,
something tangible in the vast mysterious blue. There was nothing, and yet
it was she who broke their gaze, and she instantly regretted it; she backed
down, made herself look vulnerable. She stood up quickly, as though she
could disguise her aversion to looking in his eyes as nothing more than a
desire to make a hasty exit. She would pretend she didn't see pain in his
eyes, or love, or his longing to make her happy.

She said nothing as they walked to his car, nothing as he opened the
passenger door for her, with the exception of a mumbled, "Thanks." He stuck
the key in the ignition, but didn't turn on the car. He stared blankly
outside, into the thick blackness of night that seemed to be compressing
them, trapping them within these cold, tense moments. 

"Mulder?" She said, fastening her seatbelt and waiting for Mulder to start
the car. He didn't, simply sat there in heavy silence, unmoving, but she
could see his thoughts racing in his eyes. She fidgeted nervously in her
seat; Scully thought that after seven years they'd be beyond uncomfortable
silences, but, apparently, she'd thought wrong.

"I'm trying here, Scully," Mulder murmured, hurt that he tried to keep
hidden lingering in his soft words.

"What do you want from me, Mulder?" She asked softly, after a few moments
of staring into the night.

"I want the one thing that you refuse to give me," he whispered. She stared
at him blankly, rage quickly overwhelming her forced calm.

"Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about? What *haven't* you taken?
My career? Nope, you've got that. Any private time I could've possibly
spent relaxing, *alone*? Nah, any time I get a free nanosecond the phone
rings, and I end up chasing aliens all over the goddamn country. What about
any chance I had of anything approaching normalcy? Not gonna happen,
Mulder; my Mrs. Spooky reputation precedes me. So what, pray tell, have I
denied you?" There were moments in life where one wished to turn back the
hands of time; seconds, minutes, years, it doesn't matter; anything to
somehow reverse the irreversible.

This was one of those moments.

"You chose to stay," he spat, looking both angry and pained at the same time. 

"I know I did." She answered, looking out the window at the water pooling
on the pavement. It was raining. How perfect. He shook his head in annoyance.

"What is the matter with you lately? You've been so rebellious." Bad choice
of words, Mulder, his mind supplied.

"I've been *rebellious?* What am I, a ninth-grader who dyed her hair
green?" She tried to calm down, fighting the urge to kill him. She inhaled
deeply, catching a scent of Mulder, his cologne, his sweat, mingled in with
residual cigarette smoke they'd acquired during their brief stay at the
bar. Perhaps her inherent concept of time was failing her, but the few
minutes that had passed since they'd left the club seemed hours long. "I
didn't mean what I said." She apologized softly.

"Whatever, Scully." He finally turned on the car and jerked the wheel,
cutting off a huge SUV as they pulled into traffic. The driver honked, and
Scully waved apologetically, hoping that she could telepathically
communicate to the guy that her partner was a bastard and it wasn't her fault.

Mulder wasn't a cautious driver in the best of moods, and she didn't know
why she was surprised that he was far more reckless when he was angry. He
seemed to have a death wish.

"That light was red," Scully offered, on top of the horn-induced cacophony
as they flew through a stoplight.

"It was orange," he snapped.

"Yeah, five minutes ago! Are you trying to kill us?" She shrieked, glancing
around as he got on the interstate. "Why are you getting on 95? It's faster
if we go -"

"Who's driving?" He cut her off, his words colder than she'd ever heard
them. He'd never spoken to her so viciously, and she couldn't help the
tears that began to prickle her eyes. She forced them back; no way in hell
was she going to cry.

"Don't yell at me," she said, her voice sounding pathetic and weak.

"I wasn't yelling," he muttered, apparently unaffected by the hurt in her
voice. She shook her head, knowing that if she spoke again she'd begin to
cry, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. They drove up an exit
ramp, and approached yet another stoplight that Mulder seemed determined to
ignore.

"Mulder, stop!" Scully screeched, and he slammed on the brakes, nearly
sending her through the windshield. "That was mean, Mulder," she growled,
pushing her hair out of her eyes. "You did that on purpose. What if someone
had been behind us?"

"No one was behind us, Scully," he answered, sounding tired, as though she
were a child.

"We could've gotten hurt."

"Story of my life, Scully," he said, sadness heavy in his voice. She
pretended not to hear it, and stared out the window. He looked over at her,
her lips pursed, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He'd made her cry.
Suddenly, his anger melted away in the face of her own pain. "Are you hurt,
Scully?" he asked quietly, trying to watch her and watch the road at the
same time. His concern for her seemed to be winning out, and he hoped the
car would instinctively know to stay on the right side of the road as he
turned to her, resting one of his hands on her shoulder. She shrugged it
away, somehow managing to inch further away from him and closer to the
door. "Scully?" he pressed, hoping he hadn't hurt her. What the hell was he
thinking?

"I'm fine." She looked frozen, distanced from him both physically and
emotionally. "Watch the road," she added, and he quickly swerved, breaking
the car from its path toward a lamppost. He sighed.

"I do take advantage of you, Scully, and I'm sorry." His voice was soft,
but she could hear his remorse.

"Oh, that makes it all okay, then." There was an uncharacteristically cruel
sarcasm edging its way into her voice, and she didn't try to stop it. He
looked stabbed; his reaction seemed to build her confidence, and she
straightened up the slightest bit, so she was no longer hunched into the
door but almost sitting normally. She still wasn't relaxed, but she was now
facing the same direction as he was.

"Do you really think I've ruined you life?" he asked, pulling over near a
park. The rain had stopped, leaving everything glistening with water.

"Mulder, I don't live here," she informed him, sounding confused, as though
she thought he believed she was currently residing in the jungle gym. He
smiled at the tone of her voice.

"I know. But I don't want to give you a chance to slam a door in my face,
so we're stopping here."

"I can't have a serious discussion sitting in front of a child's
playground, Mulder." she said blandly, staring at the grinning plastic
beasts that all seemed to be laughing at them. He laughed and got out of
the car, and stood outside, waiting for her to join him. She shook her head.

"Get back in the car!" she yelled.

"Get out of the car!" he yelled back, grinning. She shook her head again,
harder, and he walked over to the passenger side. "Out. C'mon," he said,
opening the door and waiting for her to get out.

"No."

"Yes."

"I said no, Mulder." she said, her voice flat, as though she expected the
stubborn Mulder would actually say, 'Oh, okay, Scully. I see you don't want
to get out of the car, and since I have the utmost respect for you, I'll
just hop right in and take you home.' Yeah, right. And she had alien
corpses preserved in her freezer. 

He sighed, sliding his hands around her shoulders and under her knees,
pulling her out of the car. She struggled against his grip as he laughed. 

"Dammit, Mulder!" She yelped. He placed her gingerly on the ground and
locked the doors, watching her carefully over his shoulder in case she
decided to attack him. She looked pissed. Maybe this wasn't such a good
idea, his mind chided him. "I don't appreciate being manhandled," she barked.

"C'mon, Scully," he sighed, wishing that for about eight seconds she could
relax and see the humor in the situation. They were in a deserted
playground, it was Friday night, and she hated him. He just hoped it
wouldn't rain again. That would be overkill. He took her hand and began
walking toward the playground, half dragging her as she cursed at him under
her breath. They stopped in front of the smiling animals, large things on
huge springs that allow children to rock back and forth. "Have a seat," he
said, and smiled. "If you can't beat 'em, Scully . . ." he trailed off,
watching her disgusted expression. 

"They're all wet." 

"Hang on a sec," he said, and ran to his car for a towel. After digging
through the trunk for a while he found one, nestled among various files and
clothes and a bunch of stuff he wasn't sure he could identify. "Here." He
swiped the towel across the back of a lion, drying it. "Sit," he commanded,
and she glared at him before sitting down. He dried off the zebra next to
her, and sat.

"We're way too old for this," she griped, looking humiliated.

"Yeah, we are, but you're about the right height for it." he snickered.

"Shut up, Mulder." she said, without any real emotion as she glanced around
nervously. "Are you armed?"

"Why?"

"Don't drug dealers hang around playgrounds at night?" she asked, sounding
worried. He laughed.

"I really don't know, Scully." He answered, grinning, as she looked around.
"I'll protect you." he teased.

"I don't need your protection."

He'd been expecting that one.

"Oh, Scully," he murmured.

"What?" 

"You're sitting on a plastic lion. You can't possibly keep acting so
uptight in these circumstances."

"You're not forgiven, Mulder." Her eyes were darting around the park, the
consummate special agent, wary of the potential for a sudden appearance by
drug dealers.

"Fine. Neither are you." he countered. She glared at him, her eyes icy
lasers piercing into any ounce of cool he could possibly maintain. He felt
his composure wavering; he always wanted to cry when she looked at him like
that. "You told me I ruined your life, Scully."

"No, I didn't."

"You did."

"I was angry, Mulder." she said apologetically, rhythmically tapping her
small fingers on the chrome handles protruding from the lion's head.

"What did I do?"

"You told me that I was . . . God, I can't even remember. You told me that
you wanted the one thing that I wouldn't give you. Dammit, Mulder, that
hurt me. I have given myself to you wholly over the past seven years, and
you throw that out on me. How could you feel I owe you anything?"

"First of all, I've told you before that you owe me nothing, and I owe you
everything. That's true, Scully. It's completely true, and I would never
lie to you about something like that."

"Not even to manipulate me into staying with you?" she whispered, her eyes
averted.

"I wouldn't do that. You've got to believe me, Scully, I wouldn't. You've
given me so much, if you wanted to leave, I'd let you. You deserve
something better. I'd try to talk you out of it, but I wouldn't manipulate
you." He paused, shaking his head. "That's a harsh thing to say."

"And yet you still accuse me of holding out on you."

"Can you honestly say you haven't? Scully, you just said you've given
yourself to me wholly, and I don't think that's true."

"I do. And if you think I haven't, then I guess you don't know me very
well." she answered firmly, one foot idly making circles in the damp ground.

"No, I don't know you very well. You just made my point for me. You hide
from me, Scully."

"Fine, Mulder, go check my personnel file, and let me get home."

"I know what's in your personnel file, Scully. What I don't know your
favorite movie, or your favorite book, or your favorite flavor of ice
cream, for God's sake. I don't know the little things, and those are the
things that mean the most." He paused, leaning closer to her. She quickly
turned her head away, and he touched her chin, leading her back to him. "I
don't know you very well. But if I did know you . . . I'd like you."

She smiled faintly, her eyes warming, conveying the emotion she was
incapable of vocalizing. 

"Why didn't you want to go out tonight, Scully?"

The glimmering moment where she seemed at ease was lost as he spoke,
replaced with her standard tension and frosty exterior.

"I just didn't feel like it, Mulder. You're making an ordeal out of nothing."

"Am I? You've been so closed off lately, Scully, even more so than usual."

"You want me to apologize?" Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it,
and the fact that her head was hung, her hair blocking his view of her
face, wasn't helping.

"No, I want you to tell me why." He stopped, looking over at her hunched
form. She shook her head hard, biting down on her lip. Slowly, as not to
surprise her, he moved his hand to her hair, and began lovingly stroking
the auburn mass.  "Are you sad, Scully?"

She jerked her head up with the question, so innocently phrased, his voice
thick with concern. She blinked, trying to prevent the inevitable tears
that threatened to fall. He said nothing, simply played with her hair, his
gentle hands waiting to catch her as she began to crumble.

"Is that what you write on psych forms, Dr. Mulder? Patient sad?" She
forced a joke that failed; nothing is funny with a voice so completely
choked with repressed emotion.

"Let it go, Scully," he murmured, as the first saline tears began to drip
down her porcelain cheeks. She slumped forward, and he quickly wrapped his
arms around her so she wouldn't sink to the ground. "Scully, Scully,
Scully," he breathed into her hair as she cried into his shoulder.

"I don't even know why I'm crying." she sobbed after a few minutes.

"Well, that's okay. It's not like you have to turn in a report on it
Monday." He smiled, and she laughed. She lifting her head up from his
shoulder, revealing her shining eyes and extraordinary grin, so wide it was
nearly cracking her tear-stained cheeks. 

"Sorry," she said embarrassedly, noting his now-damp shoulder.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I wouldn't let anyone but you get snot on my
shirt."

She laughed again, an odd snort of a laugh, nothing like he would've
expected from her.

"Snort again, Scully, because it's so attractive." he teased, feigning
disgust. His face relaxed; their situation was not forgotten by humor. In
an odd way, their laughter intensified the pain, the contrasting palette of
humanity breathing grays all around them. "What's the matter?" he asked
gently, toying with a few strands of hair framing her face. He anticipated
her reaction, her retreat from their connection; he sensed her back down.

"How can you be like this now? How can you joke and laugh after what
happened last week, with Diana? It's like you're a different person." With
her words the tables turned, pulling her back into control.

"Oh, God," he whispered, incapable of formulating anything more intelligent
than that. He'd been thrown off guard with Diana reference; it was the last
thing he expected from Scully, queen of moving forward. Their argument at
the Gunmen's came back to him, and he cringed internally. On the outside,
his face was an expressionless mask, blank while he fished for some kind of
excuse to justify what he'd done to her. He wasn't about to tell her the
truth. He was hoping the entire nightmare could be forgotten, that she'd
never ask why. She never did before.

Was that what possessed him to be such a bastard in the first place?
Subconsciously, was he sick of her forever pushing him away, pretending she
didn't care? Would it drive him to treat her the way he had?

"Why can't you be honest with me?" her voice rose, anger bubbling beneath
the surface. She stood, tightening the belt on her trench coat. She was
seconds from leaving, but his pride had already suffered too many blows for
him to ask her to stay.

"Same reason you can't, I guess," he answered calmly, surprised at how easy
it was to regain his malicious facade. He tried to tell himself that he
didn't care if she was mad, if she was hurting. She deserved it. He knew it
was a lie, but it lessened the pain - he could convince himself he didn't
need her, didn't love her, that she was a rigid bitch, the ice queen. It
was so much easier that way.

The man who spent his life seeking truth was incapable of embracing the one
thing that was truly valid, truly real - his love for Dana Scully. 

"So tell me why," she pressed, which garnered nothing more than a feeble
shrug. "Okay," she said quietly, sounding defeated. "I'm gonna go."

What had happened?

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

"Scully, hang on a sec." Don't go. I love you. I need you. Words that
danced with honesty and passion on the edge of his tongue, doomed never to
be spoken aloud.

"Yes?"

This was it, he realized, his shot at making things right again. His last
chance, his best chance.

"I thought I could take you out tonight, to maybe make you forgive me
without my ever having to apologize." He paused and she snorted. "I want
you to know that I . . . I care, Scully. I care about you, and I'm so sorry
for this whole Diana thing. I was such an asshole, and I know that. I
didn't know what else to do. It was like this subconscious response to . . ."

"To what, Mulder?" she asked. When he finally answered her, his voice was
barely a whisper.

"I just wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me."

~End Part 1~

TITLE: Conversation Piece  - Part 2
AUTHOR: Robby Keofe

"What?" she hissed, surprise freezing her where she stood. "What did I ever
do to hurt you?"

"You never hurt me?" he challenged, slumping over so his head rested in his
hands. 

"I haven't," she insisted, staring at the sky, devoid of any light at all.
The millions of sparkling stars she expected to see were obscured by the
heavy clouds that promised rain.

"No? What about that little scene in the hospital, Scully? That ring a bell?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Bermuda, Scully," he answered, with forced patience. "The hospital in
Bermuda. Do you remember what you said to me?" he finished, his eyes
glowing with a predatory stare inspired by loss and anger. She nodded
slowly, memories of the Queen Anne and her field trip with the Gunmen
coming back to her. "What did you say to me, Scully? What did you say when
I told you I loved you?" he pressed, moving closer to her; with every inch
he covered as he came toward her, she took five steps back. He would chase
her to the end of the world, she realized; he wasn't backing down. 

"Mulder -" she began calmly, before she was cut off.

"Dammit, Scully, just tell me what you said. Why is that so hard for you?
Tell me what you said." 

"You were drugged, Mulder." Her voice was shaky, her words forced. She
looked scared, scared of him, but even this wasn't enough to make him stop.

"What is that supposed to mean? You thought I wouldn't feel it when you left?"

"I thought you wouldn't remember!" she yelped, throwing her arms into the
air. Shock overwhelmed frustration as she realized that she made the worst
possible statement.

"Right," he muttered. "I wouldn't remember." He shook his head, blinking
back the tears that had appeared in the corners of his eyes. "You think
that's just something I'd throw around, something I could forget about? I
didn't forget, Scully! I could never forget, why can't you see that? And I
*can't* let go of you. And it hurt, Scully, when you left me there. I told
you I loved you and you walked out the door." He slumped back onto his
zebra, shoving his palms in his eyes. She hoped he wasn't crying.

"You. Were. Drugged." Her voice was sharp.

"You keep saying that, Scully, but would it have made any difference if I
hadn't been doped up?" he asked her, sounding defeated. He already knew the
answer.

His words stung, resonating in the empty chambers of her heart, the one
place she refused to grant him access. He was right, what he said in the
bar; she did deny him. She did it subconsciously, gracefully, with the
stabbing mannerisms of a woman who didn't care. It was what hurt him the
most, the effortlessness she possessed while breaking him. She was a master
with the scalpel, slicing and dissecting everything that was pure and
honest about him, everything that made him beautiful, everything that made
her love him; she cut until it wasn't there, until she didn't have to see it.

"Yeah. That's what I thought," he murmured after a moment, not looking up
at her. 

"I didn't say anything." Her voice was soft as she sat gingerly on the
lion, across from him. Carefully she reached out to touch him; when her
hand brushed against his hair, he jerked. Her hand quickly fell to her lap.
She berated herself for the momentary lapse in the rigid exterior, the
affection she tried, and failed, to display. She watched him for a moment,
a surprising warmth easing itself through her as she realized her
intentions, to touch him, to comfort him, were good ones. He looked so
alone, his hands shielding his face from her view. He needed to be touched.
He needed to be held. He deserved these things, he needed them. He deserved
to be loved, to experience the one thing he'd never known. Maybe he saw
something different in her, saw more for his life than destruction and
pain. He wasn't all about aliens, she realized; he was haunted, tortured by
the seemingly noble desire to love.

He found redemption in her.

He loved her.

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she was crying for him. The events
surrounding the Diana beast were not designed to hurt her, not really, but
a defense mechanism. He didn't know how to love her, to tell her that he
believed in her, in them, so he responded with the one thing that he did
know; he knew how to inflict pain, to repeat the actions of all those who
hurt him before. He'd repeat the cycle of agony, it was so much easier than
breaking it.

"Mulder," she whispered, her voice broken and high.

"What?" He didn't look up.

"Why'd you take me out tonight?" she asked, but her voice was as gentle as
he'd ever known it to be. 

"I don't know . . ." he answered softly.

"Is it because you thought I was hurting?" Her voice was soft as she lifted
one of her hands to one of his; to her surprise, he clamped his other hand
around hers, sealing her small hand between both of his larger ones, and
began to cry.

"It was my fault . . . I shouldn't have been so mean to you . . ." he
trailed off, his body wracked by sobs, tears dripping down his face and
onto their entwined arms.

Guilt. She should've seen it coming. He could barely function if not
motivated by remorse.

He would never know that she loved him, it wasn't in his nature to believe
it. She could tell him every moment of every day for the rest of their
lives, and he could never believe her. He would never understand that he
deserved it, or that she meant it.

"Mulder, I'm an adult. I'm okay."

"I shouldn't have treated you like that." He was still crying. She wanted
to laugh, to release the tension, but that didn't seem too bright an
option. How had they gotten here? Why couldn't she have just agreed to stay
and have a few goddamn Cosmopolitans at the bar? They could've gotten
drunk, admitted their mutual love, giggled hysterically and sidestepped all
this depressing, melodramatic stuff. Avoiding the issue, it was a
specialty. They were good at it.

"It's over, Mulder."

"Not for me."

"Well, get over it," she said, as lightly as possible. He ignored the
teasing tone in her voice.

"I can't believe I hurt you." He sniffled. "I never meant to. You've got to
believe that."

"I do," she said truthfully.

"Dammit, what the hell is going on here? I just wanted to make you feel
better."

"I'm okay," she commented, her voice sounding as though nothing were out of
the ordinary. He chuckled softly.

"Well, now that that's taken care of, I guess we can go home," he joked.
She laughed and stood, stretching. He caught her hand. "I'm serious,
though. I want you to be alright."

"I am. Especially now. I feel better."

"Watching me cry makes you feel better? Damn, I'm more talented than I
thought." 

"Mulder," she grinned, her voice teasing.

"Yeah?"

"I love you," she said, reliving their unforgettable exchange in the
hospital. She smiled.

He stared at her, tears glistening in his eyes. The moments before he spoke
felt eternal.

End Part 2
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TITLE: Conversation Piece  - Part 3 of ??
AUTHOR: Robby Keofe

"That's funny, Scully. Hilarious." He stood, walking toward the car.

"What? Mulder, what's going on?" she asked, surprised as she struggled to
keep up with his strides. Usually he made an effort to slow down for her,
but not now.

"Look, Scully, whatever. I try to talk to you, and you crack jokes. Thanks
a million." He sighed. "Just forget it, okay? I'll take you home."

"C'mon, Mulder. It's 9 p.m." She smiled. "The night is young," she added,
grinning.

"Yeah, well, I think I've been embarrassed enough as it is," he said,
getting into the car. She stood on the sidewalk, unwilling to get in the
car, and he honked. The creep honked, and she was four feet away.

"That was really unnecessary, Mulder," she grumbled, slamming the passenger
door as she sat down.

"It worked, didn't it?" he answered coolly as he began to back up. She
shook her head in annoyance.

"What the hell is up with you? You've been hot and cold all night."

"Oh, what, and you've been a regular fountain of compassion?"

"I told you I loved you!"

He snorted. She stared at him, his eyes fixed on the road as though there
were something *really* interesting out there.

"Knock it off, Mulder."

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You're trying to avoid looking at me," she told him matter-of-factly.
"See, that's how well I know you."

"If you have a point, feel free to come to it."

She said nothing, simply fiddled with her seat belt.

"That was really mean, what you did," he said after a few moments.

"I didn't do anything!" she yelped defensively.

"Don't yell. I can't hear Billy when you yell." He smiled faintly, and for
the first time, she noticed "Uptown Girl" playing softly on the radio.

"Ugh, I hate 'Uptown Girl,'" she muttered.

He turned the volume up.

Bastard.

"'52nd Street' is better," she offered idly, looking the CD's sitting in
the console. She began alphabetizing them, for lack of anything better to do.

"The song, or the album?"

"The album. The song was awful."

"I agree," he said, almost reverently, as though this were the most
incredible coincidence the world had ever seen. He sighed. "This has to go.
I only turned it on to piss you off." He hit the eject button. "You can
turn on whatever you want," he added. As pathetic as it was, she was moved
by his last statement; he never let her choose the music. She decided to
leave the radio alone and stared out the window silently, mirroring his
actions. "Too quiet," he mumbled, driving with one of his palms and none of
his eyes as he put a new CD in. She grabbed the strap above her head, just
in case. "We're okay," he told her, sounding amused. She relaxed her grip
on the strap. He smiled faintly. "C'mon, Scully, with all the driving we've
done together, have I ever injured us once? No."

"You're right, we just get attacked by mutants and killer bees." 

Killer bees.

Memories of the previous year came flooding back to him; their intimate
moment in the hallway stolen from them by a bee. He remembered holding her
as she slumped onto the floor, fear-induced adrenaline pumping madly
through his body. His relief at finding her in that icy pod, and how that
relief was instantly overwhelmed by horror as he realized how dire the
situation was.

He'd gone to a frigid wasteland for her, frozen hell on earth to rescue
her, and she couldn't believe he didn't love her?

"Remember Antarctica, Scully?" he asked suddenly.

"Huh? Where the hell did that come from?"

"I was just thinking . . . we've been through so much, Scully. And we've
survived. That has to stand for something. That has to be more than
anything we could ever hope to find with anyone else."

"That's sad, Mulder. It's like you're saying we're bound together by tragedy."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that maybe all this happened for a
reason, as some grand illustration of fate. Maybe it was all meant to be,
even if only so we could come together."

"That sounds so selfish, though, Mulder - all these people had to die so we
could be together?"

"You're warping my intent here, Scully. Christ, what I'm trying to say is
the fact that we've survived, and that we're still alive, and still
together, that *means* something. And even though you apparently don't give
a rat's ass, it means something to me. We're not bound by tragedy, Scully.
We love each other, which is stronger than death. It has to be. I mean, how
the hell else could we have made it through cancer, Emily, that fucking
nightmare in Antarctica, just to name a couple of things in the long list
of stuff I don't like to think about?"

He saw her stiffen at the mention of Emily, and he wished he hadn't said
anything. It was such a difficult subject for her, and he imagined she
would never be able to discuss it. 

"That's what I tried to explain earlier," she said softly.

"How come you never told me you loved me before?" he asked after a moment.

"Because it was a secret," she said lightly, her eyes happy and childlike.
He laughed.

For a moment they looked like every other young couple, glowing with the
feeling that their lives were fresh and clean again, that the world
stretched out before them.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"No Perkidan this time?" she teased. He chuckled, glancing over at her.

"Actually, it was Tylenol 3."

"Pardon the error." She sighed. "You know, I'm sorry. I've been kind of a .
. ." she trailed off, at loss for the word.

"Rhymes-with-witch?" he suggested. She playfully smacked him on the arm.

Smiling at him, she realized that this was them at their best; this was
everything that was wonderful about them come alive.

"Wanna come in?" she asked shyly as he found a parking spot relatively
close to her building.

"Yeah, sure. Okay," he said, somewhat nervously.

"Could you have parked any further away?" she griped, but she was smiling
as they got out of the car.

"Did you see anything closer?" he snapped happily, resting his hand on his
spot on her lower back. His spot. His Scully. She'd probably kill him if
she knew he thought of her in the possessive, but he liked the sound of it;
he wanted her to belong to him.

Perhaps he didn't know it, but she already did.

She unlocked the door to her apartment and walked inside, where she quickly
shrugged off her jacket.

"Take off your coat," she ordered, and both were hung in the closet. "Want
some hot chocolate?" she called as she walked into the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure," he answered, following her. He watched her as she climbed
onto the counter like a child, and grinned.

"You look like a monkey."

"Yeah, well, you look like an ape," she retorted. He laughed.

"No, you were climbing up the cabinets like a monkey. You're actually much
prettier than monkeys."

"Oh, so you're telling me there's a compliment in there somewhere?"

He ignored the comment. Maybe his inherent sense of romanticism was failing
him, but he thought the monkey thing was pretty damn sweet.

"Want some help, Scully?" he chided, watching her struggle for the box of
hot chocolate.

"I don't need some big macho man getting stuff off the top shelf for me,"
she grumbled.

"We need to get you one of those little kids' playhouses to live in. The
shelves are really low," he teased. She grabbed a wooden spoon from a
container on the counter and hurled it at him. "Ow! That hurt, Scully!"

"I think you deserved that. You weren't properly avenged for the
'rhymes-with-witch' comment, and then the monkey remark, and now the cheap
playhouse shot . . . you had it coming, Mulder."

He laughed.

"C'mere, Scully," he sighed, going to the counter and pulling her down.

"You know, I'm really getting sick of you dragging me around tonight. It's
threatening my dignity," she griped, watching as he effortlessly reached up
and grabbed the box. He looked at her pointedly. "Oh, shut *up,*" she
growled, taking two mugs out of the dishwasher.

"Whatcha wanna do?" he asked, handing her a spoon from the silverware
drawer. She smiled at how well he knew his way around her kitchen, how
domestic it seemed, but she didn't say anything.

"We could watch TV," she suggested. "'L.A. Confidential' is on tonight."

"Yeah, fun," he said sarcastically. She shrugged.

"Kevin Spacey's in it. He's *so* hot," she mumbled, as if she'd forgotten
his presence in the room.

"Scully, he's got no hair!" Mulder yelped, instantly thinking of Skinner.
He shuddered.

"Oh, c'mon, Mulder, his hairline is just receding," Scully reminded him,
and Mulder ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously. "And, at the
beginning, Spacey's working on that porn case. See, it'll be fun for both
of us," she announced gleefully. Mulder shook his head. 

"1950's porn wasn't very good. Porn sucked back when people had morals."

Scully smiled, walking their hot chocolate into the living room. Taking one
of the mugs from her, he eyed her set of Trivial Pursuit, sitting under a
table.

"Hey, let's play Trivial Pursuit," he suggested as she sat down. He lifted
the cup to his lips. "ACK! Damn, that's hot, Scully!"

"You sound so accusatory, Mulder! Like it's really my fault!" she laughed,
pulling the dusty game out from its hiding spot. She pulled off the lid.
"Which color do you want to be?"

"I don't care. Hey, Scully, let's make this fun. If you get a question
right, you get to ask a personal question."

"What, Mulder?" she asked tiredly, setting up the board.

"For example," he continued, ignoring the exasperation in her tone. "If you
ask me, say, 'In what year did the War of 1812 take place?' and I get it
right, then I get to ask you 'When did you lose your virginity?' or whatever."

"Please, no virginity questions," she whined. He raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, I go first," he said, rolling the die. "Four!" he announced.
"History question!" 

"Calm down, Mulder. Who succeeded FDR?"

"What is this, the child's version?? Truman!!! Okay, Scully, how old were
you when you first had sex???"

She realized then that she was being tricked into revealing all kinds of
absurdly personal information under the guise of something as innocent as
Trivial Pursuit. Did Mulder really have to demoralize everything she loved?

"22," she mumbled, eyes averted.

"A little louder, Scully," he teased.

"Fuck you, Mulder."

"Okay, my turn again -" he began, ignoring her. She cut him off.

"It's my turn!"

"No, you go until you get a question wrong."

"That's not fair!"

"Sure it is!"

"Dammit, Mulder, we both know that you're the expert on random trivia here.
We take turns, so it's even."

"Okay, Scully," he sighed.

She rolled the die. 4. He grinned.

"History question!" He was enjoying this *way* too much, she decided. "Who
wrote 'Communist Manifesto,' Scully?" 

She stared at him blankly.

"Oh, c'mon, German guy! You know this!"

She was going to kill him.

"Kermit the Frog," she deadpanned.

"NO! KARL MARX! Jeez! My turn!" he screeched. "SIX! YAY! SCIENCE & NATURE!"

"I wasn't serious about the Kermit thing, Mulder -"

"SCIENCE & NATURE, SCULLY!"

"Okay! Alright, what chemical creates the green effect in plant leaves -
that is so *easy*! New question, Mulder. This one isn't fair."

"Uh-uh, Scully. No way. I believe that would be Chlorophyll," he said snidely.

"Mulder, my godson would've known that, and he's seven! That isn't fair!"

"You chose the card at random, right?" he asked, and she nodded slowly.
"Then it's fair," he concluded.

"Mulder -"

He cut her off, and she sighed in defeat.

"Okay, now I get to ask you a question," he said eagerly.

"Go for it," she said drily.

"Have you ever thought about having sex with me?"

End Part 3
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TITLE: Conversation Piece (part 4 of ??)
AUTHOR: Robby Keofe

The question had come at the exact moment she'd attempted to take a sip of
hot chocolate, and she ended up spitting it out all over him.

"Ugh, Scully, gross. I don't think I love you anymore," he said with
disgust, wiping his arm off.

"Shut up, Mulder, yes you do."

"Yeah. I do," he grinned. "But don't spit on me anymore."

"I'll try not to," she promised blandly.

"Okay, because of that, I get two questions."

"That is *not* fair."

"What is it with you and fair tonight? Anyway, have you?"

"Have I what?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Thought about having sex with me," he pressed.

"What do you want me to say, Mulder?" she asked. He smiled; she sounded
embarrassed. Mulder one, Scully zero.

"Is that a yes?"

"No, that's a mind your own goddamn business," she mumbled.

"C'mon, Scully. We agreed that if we get Trivial Pursuit questions right,
we get to ask a question of the other person. You agreed."

"I don't think you ever really asked my opinion."

"Do I ever?" he shot quickly. She glared at him. "Sorry. Anyway, let's hear
it."

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Scully, dancing around it is the same as admitting it."

"Okay, then, we can move on."

"Scully!" he yelped.

"Okay," she nodded, setting down her mug.

"Okay??" he pushed.

"Yes," she announced. He stared at her expectantly.

"Well??"

"Well, what? I answered the question, Mulder."

"Not really."

"It was a yes or no question."

"I wanted you to elaborate."

"Well, given that you didn't specify that you wanted me to elaborate, I
didn't."

"That's not fair! All this build up for nothing!"

"Kind of like sex with you," she teased. He stared her for a few moments.

"First of all, you've never had sex with me, so you don't know -"

"I was kidding, Mulder."

"And second of all," he continued. "I *really* don't love you anymore."

She sighed.

"Fine, Mulder, I'm sure you're wonderful in bed," she said, sounding
exasperated. He grinned.

"I love you again."

"Thanks, Mulder."

"Okay, now the second question."

"Mulder!"

"It's okay, Scully, just work your way around it if you don't like it," he
said sarcastically. "I had another question in mind, but let's refer to our
original model: okay, you've confirmed that you like to think about having
sex with me," he paused, waiting for her to jump on that one, but she let
it go. "So now that we've established that, what kinds of things - and I
expect specifics here - do you think about?"

"Mulder, this question is really out of line -"

"I'm not the one who didn't know who Karl Marx was."

"I don't know who Karl Marx was," she said drily.

"See, that, right there, explains why the question is fair."

She rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Sex in front of a fire is always nice."

He looked disappointed.

"You've survived seven years of sexual tension with *that*?"

"That's not the only one, Mulder, if you would shut the hell up, we could
move along here."

His jaw snapped shut.

"Do you remember that ice pod in the Antarctic?"

"Duh, Scully."

"I just remember being naked and thinking that we should have sex."

"You would get frostbite, " he pointed out.

"That's why they call it a fantasy!!" she exploded. "Not all your fantasies
are realistic, Mulder! Like the ones that have me in them??"

"Ouch. That hurt, Scully. And after I gave you my jacket."

"Huh?"

"Antarctica, Scully. I gave you my coat."

"Oh, that's right. That was nice of you, Mulder."

"Yeah, I almost fucking froze to death."

"I was *naked.*" She paused. "How much did you see?"

"You were *naked,*" he said, echoing her tone.

"Ugh, God," she groaned. "I never wanted to have this conversation, because
I was afraid to find out."

"It was just me, Scully."

"Still . . ."

"It could've been worse. I could've had Skinner with me, or something."

"Much worse," she agreed. "Not that Skinner would come to Antarctica to
save me, but even if he did . . . put it this way, I'm glad it was you."

"Aww, Scully."

"What?"

"I just thought that was sweet. You trust me."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"C'mon, Scully!" he groaned. "Tell me!"

"You tell me!"

He sensed her hesitance, the embarrassment and vulnerability she associated
with admitting her feelings. He owed it to her to tell her; he figured that
maybe if he opened up to her she would respond. He figured he'd make
something up that wasn't too disgusting; now didn't seem the time for that
Dr. Scully fantasy.

"It doesn't matter where, really . . . as long as it's just us, alone. I
guess that would mean in a place with no cell phones." He paused, staring
into her eyes for any indication that she wanted him to stop. He found
none; instead he saw her rapt interest, and he smiled. She wanted to know;
he wanted to tell her to show her how beautiful she was, how much he loved
her, how beautiful *they* could be. "Open windows; the curtains are ruffled
with the breeze, and it's cooling the room."

"A motel room?" she asked. She needed to be part of it, with him even if
only in their minds. She needed to see it as he did.

"No, your room. I want to make love to you in your bed," he said softly,
his hand easing itself over hers. She was trembling. "Please don't be
scared," he pleaded softly. "I just want to talk to you," he finished, his
voice barely a whisper. She stared at him, eyes wide with fear and
glimmering with something else.

"I, um, I think it's my turn . . . where's the die . . . " she trailed off,
staring at the abandoned board.

"Game's over, Scully," he told her quietly. "We're not going to play anymore."

The double meaning of his words was not lost on her.

"Anyway, where was I?" he asked casually, though keeping his tone soft.

"My room," she whispered.

"Okay," he nodded, squeezing her hand gently. He paused. "Do you want to
hear one of my fantasies, Scully? One of my favorites?" He decided he'd
share something real with her, something he loved to think about that he
hadn't been inventing spur of the moment.

She nodded vigorously before she could catch herself.

"Okay. Starting from the beginning. I come into your apartment, and wander
around looking for you. I find you in the bathtub, relaxing, your eyes
closed. You don't see me. I come in, Scully, and you're so beautiful. Your
hair is up in one of those little springy thingys, a scrunchy or something,
but these little frizzy curls hang down. The ends of your hair are damp.
You don't have any makeup on, and you're flushed from the heat of the
water. I stare at you, thinking abut how perfect you look, all soft and
hot. I walk further into the bathroom, and I ask if you need any help
washing your back. You jump, of course, completely surprised, but after you
recover you hand me a washcloth. I do your back, then my hands slide around
to your breasts. Your nipples harden, and I pinch them through the
washcloth, wishing you could feel my hands on you without the washcloth,
wishing that I could suckle and bite at your breasts, my hands clenching
with this incredible desire to slide lower, past your stomach and hips, and
then you let me, you spread your legs and -"

BRIIIIIING!!

"HOLY GOD!" Scully screamed, leaping up in surprise. He would've laughed at
her reaction if he hadn't been shocked out of his mind himself. 

"Don't answer it," he told her.

"I have to," she said, her voice lower than usual, husky wish arousal.
"Scully," she growled into the phone, her tone sure to feed a million
dominatrix-Scully fantasies. The moment he heard the words, "Of course,
Sir, he'll be right there," he flopped bonelessly onto the floor. "You have
to go," she said unnecessarily after she'd hung up. 

"Yeah, I got that," he mumbled. "Why didn't you say no?"

"Because it was Skinner," she said, by way of explanation.

"Yeah, but it's the weekend!"

"Mulder, do you think serial killers care that it's the weekend?" she
asked, sounding exasperated. Huh? he thought.

"Huh?" he asked. He wondered if she actually meant something by that, or if
it was the fact that she was so flustered. He smiled slyly. Scully was
flustered. Because of him.

She sighed, pressing the earpiece of the phone against her forehead
dramatically.

"VCS needs your help on something," she told him. He groaned.

"Now??" he whined.

"I said you'd be right there."

"Why'd he call your cell?"

"He said yours wasn't working." 

Mulder retrieved his jacket, which lay slung across the couch, and pulled
his phone from the pocket. He sighed. The battery was dead.

"I don't want to work, Scully."

"I'm not going anywhere," she told him, grinning.

"Yeah, but the mood is ruined. We'll never get here again. It's taken six
years and it's shot to hell with one phone call. The fates really are
conspiring against us."

"That's not true," she said confidently.

"I hope not." He smiled as they walked to the door. They paused in the
hallway; he leaned over, their noses touching.

"I love you," she said. He grinned and began walking toward the elevator.
"Hey!" she called after him, teasing in her voice. "Now who's walking out
on admissions of love??"

His laughter reverberated down the hall.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TITLE: Conversation Piece (part 5 of ??)
AUTHOR: Robby Keofe
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CONVERSATION PIECE by robby keofe
Part 5

"Hey," Mulder said affectionately, relaxing on the bed as he held the phone
to his ear. He was laying on the hotel bed, the same grungy room, different
city.

"Hi, Mulder. How's it going out there?" she asked, sitting at her kitchen
table.

"I wish you would've mentioned that this case Skinner called about was in
Detroit, but other than that, I'm okay. God, I'm glad I don't live in
Detroit. What an awful city. Our kids will never have to live in Detroit,
Scully," he said firmly, and she raised an eyebrow over sad eyes.  She
didn't want to remind him that they would never have kids. "That little
girl got shot to death in a school here a few months ago, remember that?"

"Kids have been getting shot in schools all over, Mulder," she reminded him.

"I know. School's dangerous now, Scully. I say we don't make our kids go to
school. We can just let them stay home. Let 'em be dumb."

She had to laugh aloud at that one; he sounded serious.

"Mulder, on the off-chance you and I ever have children, we are not going
to let them stay home and be dumb, as you so eloquently put it," she said
coolly, but she was smiling. The smile faded. "I can't have kids, Mulder,"
she said quietly. "We'll never have children."

"Yeah, we will," he murmured. "Maybe not naturally, maybe they'll even be
adopted, but we'll have kids, Scully. You're going to be a mother." He
paused.  "You'd be a wonderful mother," he finished shyly.

"I don't think our careers allow for it, Mulder," she said matter-of-factly.

"You don't honestly plan on chasing aliens for the rest of your life, do
you?" he asked, sitting up in bed.

"Well, um, I don't know . . . Mulder. That's an odd thing to say, isn't
it?" she stammered, unable to hide her surprise. 

"Well, I mean . . . I don't want to be in the basement for the rest of my
life, Scully."

"What do you want to do?"

"What do *you* want to do?" he countered.

"There's a lot left to be answered, Mulder. I have as much invested in this
as you," she said.

"I know, Scully. My own search, for Samantha . . . it just keeps becoming
more and more futile. I'm beginning to worry that I'm looking for something
I'll never find, and I'm just wasting my life trying to replace something
that's gone forever."

"What's that?" she asked carefully, not wanting to push him.

"I want a family, Scully," he told her softly. He inhaled, regaining
control that was faltering. "But there's still so much I have to know. Even
if only for you. The cancer, Scully, your abduction. I wanna know why."

"What if we never know why, Mulder? What if we never bring the men that
hurt me, that hurt so many women, to justice, then what?"

"We will, Scully," he assured her.

"But what if we don't? What if you never find Samantha? Will it have all
been a waste?"

"No."

"Why not?" she pressed.

"Because this search led me to you." He sighed. "I wish I was there,
Scully. I wish we were talking in person rather than on the phone."

"Well, we've talked a lot over the past 24 hours."

"But I want to see you, Scully. I want to hold your hand. God, Scully, I
want to be home. I want to kiss you. If I were there I could kiss you . . .
your face, your hair, your hands . . ." he trailed off, closing his eyes.

"My lips?" she breathed, in spite of herself.

"Oh, God, Scully, don't talk to me in that tone of voice," he said, trying
to make it a joke, but his own strained tone killed it. "I'll be home in a
few days," he said softly, closing his eyes.

"Yeah. And then you can kiss me anywhere you want," she said, her voice low
but light. He could *hear* her smile, inspiring a grin of his own.

"Mmm. Anywhere?" he growled seductively, smirking.

"Yup," she agreed quickly, a need for him to confirm his desire for her
overwhelming her standard proper demeanor.

"Well, we've established that you want me to kiss your mouth . . . what
about your neck, Scully? And your breasts and your stomach and the place I
*really* want to taste, your -"

"Mulder," she warned, blushing.

"What?"

"I can't have phone sex with you," she hissed, glancing around as though
she were afraid the Pope would magically appear and be spying on her from
the corner of her living room, waiting to send her straight to hell.

"Why not, Scully?" he grinned. "You started it."

"Well, now I'm stopping it," she said embarrassedly, looking over her
shoulder for the Pope one more time.

"Don't be shy," he said gently. "It's us, Scully."

"I know . . . I just . . . can't," she forced, her cheeks bright scarlet.

"What's so embarrassing about it?" he asked, not joking or annoyed, but
like he simply wanted to know, wanted to help her get over whatever shame
prevented her from opening up to him.

"The whole thing, I guess," she answered slowly. "It's wrong," she finally
concluded.

"Scully, why'd you have to be a Catholic?" he whined teasingly, and she
smiled. "You and your sex issues," he said dramatically. "And they wonder
why the religion is dying out."

"Oh, shut up, Mulder," she grinned, amazed at how relaxed she was, despite
the conversation.

"You were okay when we talked last night, weren't you?" he asked carefully,
suddenly worried that he'd offended her in some substantial way, made her
more uneasy about sex than she was before.

"Yeah, that was fine, Mulder," she admitted, sounding flustered. "But that
was different. You were just talking. This is real interaction . . ."

"Scully, if you have a problem with interaction, we're gonna be in *big*
trouble if you ever let me make love to you," he said lightly, and she
loved him for it. Her discomfort was fading. "But if it's easier for you .
. . you just talk. You talk and I'll listen."

"Mulder -" she began, but he cut her off.

"Please, Scully," he implored. She bit her lip.

"I already told you one of my fantasies -"

"Tell me another, Scully. I want to hear. I want to know what turns you on.
But more than that, I want you to be able to tell me."

"How about I write it down?" she suggested. "I'll do it now and e-mail it
to you. You'll have it in half an hour."

"Scully," he begged, his voice low.

"Okay," she said softly. "Okay," she repeated, more to herself this time,
like a little pep talk. "Um, do you remember Christmas Eve?" she asked
nervously.

"How could I forget, Scully? Our first Christmas Eve alone, just you and me."

She inhaled deeply.

"Okay, that was my fault. Pretend every question I ask is rhetorical. Don't
say anything. Just let me do this, okay?" She paused, and she heard nothing
but his breathing. "We sat down on your couch, and we watched 'A Christmas
Story,' because they were doing a 24-hour marathon of it on some cable
channel." She paused, and he smiled happily. "Anyway, every time something
funny would happen, every time I'd laugh, I'd move closer to you. Midway
through the movie I had my head on your shoulder, and your arm was around
my back, rubbing my arm. I don't even think you even realized you were
doing it, but you were touching my arm, and it was so affectionate and nice
and tender. It was so warm, sitting there with your arms around me. And you
drifted off around the scene with the pink bunny outfit, and I fell asleep
during the closing credits. We slept together, on your couch, and it was
perfect. Anyway, when I woke up the next morning, that movie was *still*
on, the whole marathon thing, and I looked over to see if you were awake,
and you weren't. But then I looked down, and you were . . . hard." She
stumbled over the word. "The typical morning erection, I guess. But I just
remember wishing that you were thinking about me, and I wanted to take off
your pants and touch you and get down on my knees and take you in my mouth
and . . . you know what? It doesn't matter, because I didn't do it. I
chickened out. I left a note to you about how I had to go to my mother's or
something, and I left. I just can't help but wonder what would've happened
if I'd stayed, if I'd done what I wanted to." She stopped, waiting for his
response.

Silence.

"You can talk now, Mulder," she informed him.

"Uhh . . ." he mumbled.

She smiled.

"Fox Mulder at a loss for words. I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm just . . . surprised, Scully. Surprised."

"That doesn't sound promising," she said, sounding ready to cry. He
laughed. "Mulder??"

"Oh, Scully, I didn't mean it like that." He laughed again. "I just wanna
tell you, that about made my entire decade, right there."

"Well, thanks, Mulder," she answered sheepishly. The laughter returned.
"What is so funny??" she asked sharply, sitting straight up.

"I love you," he chuckled.

"Yeah, that's hilarious," she said drily.

"Scully, it's funny. You call me the pervert and yet you want to demoralize
classic Christmas films by using them as a backdrop for sex."

"Shut up, Mulder," she muttered, repressing a smile. "Just shut up."

"Hey, Scully? I'm almost afraid to see what you can do to 'Rudolph.'"

"Yeah, Mulder, those deer really turn me on," she deadpanned, rolling her
eyes.

"They're 'reindeer,' Scully," he corrected her snidely. "They're better
than just regular deer."

"Pardon my error. I didn't mean to insult the Alpha Deer."  She paused, and
began pulling invisible pieces of lint off her sweater. "So, Mulder, your
mom got you a camcorder for Christmas, didn't she?"

"Um, yeah, but what does that have to do with Christmas movies and sex?"

"Ah, but Mulder, a home sex video is like the gift that keeps on giving.
We'll talk about it when you get back."

A huge grin spread across his face.

God, he loved this woman.

End Part 5
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TITLE: Conversation Piece (part 6 of 6)
AUTHOR: Robby Keofe

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sun was shining for the first time in days. Scully smiled as she stared
out the window, still in her white cotton pajamas with the little pink
hearts, watching all the people out enjoying their Sunday morning.

If Mulder were here, she mused, we could take a walk. She grinned at the
image; she and Mulder strolling down the street in their heavy winter
coats, holding hands, carrying a white bakery bag and coffee back to the
apartment. She began to feel warm, happiness and hope settling into her body.

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Scully. It's me."

"How much longer are you going to be in Detroit?" she asked, sitting down
on the edge of her unmade bed. She'd do it later, she decided, fingering
the bedspread.

"I dunno, a few days. What're you up to?" he asked.

"I was going to get some fresh bagels or something. If I ever get dressed,"
she commented, looking down at her pajamas.

"Oooh, Scully," he murmured lewdly.

"Stop it, Mulder. We are *not* taking that road this time," she scolded,
but she was grinning. She flopped back onto her bed.

The doorbell rang.

"Oh, damn," she groaned, forcing herself up. 

"What?"

"Doorbell. Hold on," she said, standing and walking to the door.

The doorbell buzzed again.

"I'm coming!" she yelped. "Sorry," she apologized to Mulder, whose ears
would probably suffer permanent damage.

"Ouch, baby. Very ouch," Mulder responded, doing a horrible Austin Powers
impression.

"Oh, God, Mulder, you doof," she sighed, opening the door. "MULDER!" she
screeched, leaping forward and onto him.

"Scully!" he laughed. "New rule: no screaming through the phone." He
grinned and held her to him, dragging both of them inside. He tossed the
phone onto the couch and looked down at the pretty redhead who'd attached
herself to him.

"I thought you weren't coming home for a while!" she exclaimed, her face
buried in his chest.

"All they needed was some profiling help, Scully. I left early this
morning," he grinned, running his hands through her silky hair. She let go
of him, her feet finding the wooden flooring.

"I haven't even taken a shower yet," she muttered to herself.

"Okay, well, how about I run my stuff home, get changed, and come back? We
can go get those bagels you were talking about," he suggested, smiling.

"You didn't stop at your place first?" she asked, walking toward her
bedroom. He followed, and looked around. 

"No. I wanted to see you. I missed you." Their eyes met, and they smiled as
she began making her bed. He reached for the other side of the covers,
helping her.

"Thanks," she said, tightening the sheets around the pillows. He said
nothing, simply grinned again, and picked a few scattered throw pillows off
the floor. He arranged them carefully on top of her bed and watched as she
gathered her clothes.

"Wear the purple one," he suggested, and she looked up from her sweater
drawer.

"What?" she asked, not sure if she'd heard him correctly.

"The purple one. I'll bet you look nice in purple," he said shyly, staring
at the 'Today' show on the TV so he wouldn't have to look at her.

"Thanks, Mr. Blackwell," she teased, grinning. She pulled the pale lavender
sweater out of the drawer and headed for the bathroom. "See you an about 45
minutes?" she suggested, turning on the water.

"Newsflash, Scully, that's about how long it takes to get to my apartment!"
he called back, flipping 'Today' off in favor of 'Real Sports' on HBO. "Or
I could just join you in there," he added.

"Yeah, right!" she shrieked. "And it does *not* take 45 minutes to get to
Alexandria from here," she reminded him, the shower giving her voice an
echo chamber.

"I know. I was just hoping you'd feel sorry for me and let me hop in the
shower with you," he said, smiling as he got up from her bed. 

"See you later, Mulder!" she answered. As he walked past the bathroom, he
heard her giggling, and his heart swelled. He ran out the door, down the
hall, down the steps and out of her building; the faster he got home, the
faster he could get *back.*

Driving home, his cell rang.

"Mulder," he announced, hoping it was Scully.

It wasn't.

"It's Skinner." Mulder heard his boss's gruff voice and sighed.

"Yeah, sir?" he responded dismally, checking his blind spot as he switched
lanes.

"You'll like this, I promise. I've got an X-File for you."

"What is it?"

"Near San Diego. There's been some trouble in a planned community called
the Falls of Arcadia. I'll talk to you about it in detail tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," he answered, his voice flat.

"Don't sound so disappointed, Mulder. It's a good one. I want to send you
and Agent Scully undercover - as husband and wife."

Mulder's ears perked up at the news. He grinned.

"Thanks, Sir," Mulder said brightly, then hung up.

Scully is gonna love this, he thought with delight. He reached for the
phone again.

"Hey, Mrs. Mulder!" he yelped cheerfully when she answered.

Silence.

"Huh?"

~The End~

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