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

RATING:  R
CATEGORIES:  SR
KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance
SPOILERS:  Tiny one for "Pusher," but then again the show's been over for years.

SUMMARY:  She looked at him a long moment, a wicked plan hatching in 
her mind.  "Care to make this interesting?" Mulder caught her tone and 
smiled to himself.  Scully wanted to play.  "What'd you have in mind?"

Disclaimer:  If I owned them, I'd live in Malibu, not Boise.  Mulder, 
Scully, Skinner, etc., belong to some combination of Chris Carter, Ten 
Thirteen, Fox, and The Man.  Gerald Westover belongs to me, I suppose, 
but I'm more than willing to loan him out if anybody wants him.

Author's Note:  There's no specific timeframe for this story, but I'd 
say it feels seventh seasonish.  Complete notes at the end.

----------------------

"Hey, Scully, I think I found a new X-file."  She lifted an eyebrow 
obligingly to show she was listening.  "This couple in Fairfax gave up 
sex for Lent."

She considered her possible responses and settled on, "That was very 
devoted of them."

"I think they missed the whole point.  Everyone knows you give up 
brussel sprouts for Lent.  Maybe..." he struggled to think of anything 
worth giving up for that long, "I don't know, NASCAR or something."

"Yeah, *they* missed the point," she smiled.

He looked thoughtful.  "I bet I could do it, though."

"What, give up sex for Lent?"

"Sure.  I could manage."

She grinned at him.  "If Lent was 24 hours long."

"I can be a very patient man, Scully.  Obviously."

"I don't know, Mulder.  You know what they say."  Her voice dropped 
into a husky, teasing tone that made the hair stand up on the back of 
his neck.  "Once you've had red, you can't stay out of bed."

"Well, *you* know what they say.  Once you've had Fox, all you think 
of is..."  He laughed with delight at her genuinely shocked 
expression, and she thought it was the best sound she had ever heard.  
"I'm just saying, I could totally outlast *you*, G-woman."

She looked at him a long moment, a wicked plan hatching in her mind.  
"Care to make this interesting?"

Mulder caught her tone and smiled to himself.  Scully wanted to play.  
"What'd you have in mind?"

"A little bet.  To see who lasts longest."

"Without sex?"  She nodded.  He had absolutely no interest in not 
having sex with her, but she had a twinkle in her eye that hinted it 
might be worth his while to play along.  "Interesting," he conceded.  
"What's the bet?"

"Well...how about *he* who caves first has to be the other's love 
slave for a weekend?"

He grinned.  "Okay, I cave."

"You're right.  You'd just give up immediately.  Or maybe I would...  
How about this?  If you cave first, you spend a weekend with me doing 
exactly what I want."

"Sounds promising."

"I'm thinking shopping, art museum, maybe botanical garden, and a 
little 'Steel Magnolias' thrown in for good measure."

"I think I saw that advertised -- 'Eunuchfair,' wasn't it?"  She 
twinkled at him a little smugly.  Man, she was cute.  "And what if you 
cave first, Scully?  What do I get?"

"Well, I don't really see that as a statistical likelihood.  I've got 
a biological advantage."

"Humor me."

Her eyes took on a sultry, come-hither look, and she stepped a little 
closer, trailing a finger down his chest playfully.  "Whatever you 
want, Mulder."

"Hmm."  He bent and kissed her lightly, just because he could.  "All 
right, I've got it.  You will go with me to an Orioles game."

"An Orioles game."  She studied his face, looking for clues.  That 
didn't sound too bad.  And it almost certainly wasn't all he had in 
mind.  "What's the catch?"

Now his eyes twinkled at her playfully.  "You will wear a baseball hat 
and a giant foam finger."  She groaned, but he put a finger to her 
lips to let her know he wasn't through.  "You will eat a ball park hot 
dog and drink ball park beer."

Ooh, he'd thrown down the gauntlet.  She straightened, trying to feel 
a little less like a horny adolescent and more like a professional FBI 
agent.  "It's a bet."

"Great.  Starting tomorrow?"

"No, starting right now."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!  I've got plans for tonight," he said, catching her 
around the waist and drawing her against him.  "Involving you, me, and 
some Cool Whip."

"Guess you'll have to rethink them," she smiled.  "Maybe you and a 
nice warm sock..."

Now he was slightly shocked.  He didn't know women knew about the sock 
thing.  "Okay, Scully, I want an amendment to the deal."

"Are you caving already?"

"No, nor will I.  But I want a time limit on this.  I've waited my 
whole life for you, and I don't want to be without you now that I've 
finally got you."

She considered an amendment of her own, that appealing to the other's 
overwhelming adoration of you was totally unfair.  She reached up and 
kissed him, very softly and tenderly.  "I love you," she murmured.

"I love you, too.  That's what I'm saying."

"Okay, I concede the time limit.  How long?"

He considered.  An entire day seemed like too long not to wrap her in 
his arms, two days seemed like torture, but he knew that for whatever 
reason she wanted to do this.  He picked the biggest number he could 
think of without feeling his heart contract.  "Two weeks?"

Two weeks? she thought frantically.  Shit!  She was sure he'd say a 
week, and that within three days they'd be rolling around on her 
living room floor.  Or maybe the dining room table.  This bet was less 
than five minutes old, and it had already totally lost its appeal.  
This would be the time to call it off, to laugh and tell him to forget 
it, which was all she wanted to do.  What was she thinking?  She had 
known that sex with Mulder was good.  But making love to Mulder and 
being made love to by him...lying facing each other with their legs 
tangled together, teasing and laughing...or laying silently in bed 
afterward, tracing their fingertips over each other's skin...catching 
each other up in a firestorm of passion...well, that was way better.  
She thought about last night and the way his eyes had burned as he 
looked up at her, the way he tossed his head back and she had bent to 
kiss his exposed throat as he came inside her --

"What's the matter, Scully?  Having second thoughts?"

She looked up at him, her throat feeling suddenly dry.  "You really 
think you can last two weeks?"

He shrugged.  "If I have to."  His hand found hers, and his face 
turned serious and soft.  "There's no reason for us to do this, you 
know.  You can change your mind.  I won't even hold you to the ball 
game."

She thought about it.  "Thanks for the offer," she said at last, 
squeezing his hand.  "I appreciate it.  But I'm kind of curious."

"So this is by way of an experiment?"

"I guess so."  She looked up at him, saw a distinct lack of enthusiasm 
on his face.  "Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Not really," he admitted.  "I know that I want you every day for the 
rest of my life.  Or at least until my knees give out.  And I hope you 
want the same."

Bastard, she thought fondly, and wondered how often in the next two 
weeks he would play the sweet card.  "I do."

"So why bother?"

"Well, I can only think of one reason."  He cocked an eyebrow at her.  
Scully reached up and brushed her lips against his ear.  "Imagine the 
sex at the end," she breathed.

"Okay, is that kind of move allowed?" he asked, sounding a little 
shakier than he'd intended.

"What kind of move?"

"You know -- the ear fuck.  And other such enticements.  Like, am I 
allowed to kiss you?  Because no kissing is a dealbreaker, Scully."

"I think kissing's all right."

"Good."  So he did, lingeringly and thoroughly.  "What about touching?  
Can I touch you?"

"Touching's okay," she answered a little breathlessly.  "But not if 
it's intended to incite lust."

"Like this?"

"Oh, wow...  Yeah, that would definitely be off limits."

"It's good to know my boundaries," he murmured, his lips nuzzling 
against that spot behind her ear that made her see stars.  "Do I get 
to stay over?"

"That'll make it a lot harder."

"Not a lot."

"Mmm..."

"Besides, it's not a real test if we're doing stuff differently."

"This is a set-up, Mulder."

"Totally," he agreed.

"Okay, I'll see your bet and raise you.  You can stay over, and I will 
still be sleeping naked."

"So will I, Scully, so will I."  He gasped a little as she kissed the 
hollow at the base of his throat, flicking her tongue into it.  "And 
this ends two weeks from now --" he glanced at his watch behind her 
head -- "at 10:23 a.m."

"Or whenever one of us caves."



DAY ONE

This isn't so bad, he thought.  I can handle this.

He looked down at her, curled up against him in the circle of his arm.  
They were on the couch at her place, watching the Yankees blow the 
Phillies out of the water.  Correction, he was watching.  Her eyes had 
closed quite a while ago, and he was pretty sure she was asleep.  He 
kept looking at her anyway.

They had done a little harmless making out during what she called the 
"third, fourth, and fifth inning stretches," and after that she was 
content to just snuggle up against him.  He had to admit, he loved 
those moments, when they felt like just a normal couple, totally 
comfortable, not waiting for the other shoe bomb to drop.

He couldn't feel his arm anymore, but that was okay, too.  He bent 
down and kissed her very softly.  "Hey," he murmured.  "Let's go to 
bed."

"S'okay, I'm not tired," she mumbled, her voice indistinct with sleep 
and his shoulder.

He chuckled.  "Game's over.  And you're half a blink from comatose.  
C'mon."

She made a vague groaning sound of displeasure as he stood up, but she 
followed him down the hall to the bedroom.  He was fairly sure she 
never opened her eyes and was traveling only by instinct.  He pointed 
her in the direction of the bathroom so that she could perform 
whatever mysterious rites she did in there.  He heard water and vague 
clankings, but it all seemed to take less time than usual.  When she 
came back out she had on one of his t-shirts, contrary to her earlier 
threats, and she slipped under the covers immediately, curling up on 
her side.  "Mulder?" she called quietly, without opening her eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Don't be long."

He smiled.  "Yes, ma'am."  His own preparations took only a minute or 
two -- wash, rinse, brush, spit -- and then he was back in the 
bedroom.  There had been no hurry.  He could tell by her slow, even 
breathing that she was already asleep.  For a moment he just stood 
next to the bed and watched her and felt his heart twist a little, in 
a good way.  He slid in next to her, reaching instinctively to touch 
her, and she snuggled closer to him in her sleep.  This is the life, 
he thought, smoothing his fingertips down her arm and listening to her 
soft, contented breathing.  This is my life, he corrected, and grinned 
up at the ceiling and whoever might be up there to thank.  It was a 
long time before he fell asleep.



DAY TWO

Mulder woke up first.  It was early -- the light outside was faint and 
gray -- and he was spooned up against Scully with his arm draped over 
her and his nose pressed into the back of her neck.  She'd lost the 
t-shirt sometime during the night.  If there was any better way in the 
world to wake up, he couldn't think of it.  She was warm and soft 
against him, and he was feeling pretty glad to see her.  Making love 
to her in the morning was quickly becoming one of his favorite things.  
It was usually slow and lazy, sometimes playful, mostly quiet, just 
the two of them reveling in each other.  He'd totally forgotten about 
the bet.  He moved his hand to rest flat against her stomach and 
nuzzled her neck, leaving soft kisses on her sleep-warm skin.

Scully stirred, arching her back against him a little in a feline 
stretch, and then settling firmly back into his embrace.  Now this was 
a fantastic way to wake up.  His scent surrounded her.  He was long 
and strong, and she could feel his bare skin from her head to her 
toes.  Sensory overload of the best kind.  "Morning," he whispered in 
her ear.

She wasn't quite ready to open her eyes, but she smiled and reached a 
hand back to slide into his hair.  "Morning."  She ran her hand down 
his arm, feeling the smooth muscles with pleasure, and laced her 
fingers through his on her stomach.  She felt the pleasant scratch of 
his beard as he bent to kiss her shoulders and sighed a little.

The sigh was apparently what he had been waiting for.  He wordlessly 
urged her to turn toward him, and she found herself on her back, 
looking up at him as he hovered over her.  His eyes were warm and 
green -- mossy, she thought, soft, comfortable.  Mulder's breath 
caught in his throat as she smiled at him.  Her eyes were deep blue 
and bright from sleep, and her hair spread on the pillow like flames 
on snow.  "You're beautiful," she breathed.

She lifted a coppery eyebrow at him.  "I have morning breath."

"Beautiful morning breath."  He leaned down and kissed her softly, 
then her chin, then under her chin so that she arched her neck a 
little and made this purring sound in her throat.  He let his lips 
drift down to her collarbone, a favorite place for both of them, and 
slid his hand slowly to her hip.

And then the phone rang.

He stopped his meandering progress over her body and looked up at her 
as it rang a second time.  "Better get that," he said softly.

"It's six o'clock in the morning.  No good news ever came on a 6 a.m. 
phone call."  He didn't answer, just looked at her, and after another 
ring she sighed and picked it up.  "Hello?"

"Scully, it's Skinner."  He sounded irritatingly alert for this hour.

"Good morning, sir," she said, meeting Mulder's eyes significantly.  
He rested his chin on her stomach and watched her.  "Is everything all 
right?"

He didn't answer directly.  "I'm sorry to disturb you so early.  Are 
you and Mulder in the middle of something?"

Scully froze for an instant before she realized that he was talking 
about a case.  "Um, no, not really, sir.  We just wrapped up the 
Beckett case yesterday afternoon.  Do you need us on something?"

"We've got a missing 13-year-old girl from Ohio, last seen at a truck 
stop just over the Pennsylvania border, getting into a car with a man.  
She's been gone three days.  It doesn't look good."

Mulder was watching the way her eyes changed as she listened, and he 
could tell that whatever Skinner was saying was bad.

"It's not an X-file," Skinner went on.  "I think it's probably all too 
explainable.  I want you and Mulder on it.  His profiling skills will 
come in handy, and I'm afraid your forensic skills may, too."

"When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible.  We've got a pretty reliable sighting of the car 
heading into the Allegheny National Forest.  You'll liaise with the 
Park Service law enforcement personnel there.  Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a definite pause on Skinner's end.  "You'll let Agent Mulder 
know?" he asked finally.

Scully felt herself blush a little.  "Yes, sir."

"Good.  Keep me informed, Scully."  He broke the connection without 
further ado.

She hung up the phone and sighed.  "Well, Skinner totally knows."

Mulder considered it, thought about the implications, and decided he 
didn't care at all.  "New assignment?"

She nodded, reaching down to stroke his hair.  "It sounds ugly.  
Missing 13-year-old girl, guy at a truck stop, been gone three 
days..."

"Shit."  He didn't have to ask why Skinner wanted them on it.  
"Where?"

"Credible lead placing them in or near Allegheny National Forest."  
She saw his eyes darken and knew this was going to be a tough few 
days.  "Do you have enough stuff here to just go?"

He shook his head slightly, with a heavy sigh.  "No, I'm going to have 
to go back to my place and pick up some clothes."

He hauled himself unwillingly out of bed, and she smiled in spite of 
herself at the sight of his lean, naked body, which -- incidentally -- 
still looked happy to see her.  "Hey, Mulder?" she called, as he 
started digging for his jeans.  He looked up at her, saw her grinning.  
"You were totally about to cave."

He stared at her, stunned, for a second, then laughed and threw a 
t-shirt at her.  "I'll be back in an hour."



DAY THREE

They'd been up for almost 36 hours straight.

They had arrived at the Park Service offices just after noon.  The 
rangers were competent, professional, and slightly sickened that they 
were probably about to launch a search for a dead little girl.  
Nobody said it, of course, but everybody knew it was the most likely 
scenario.

The girl, Alexa Jost, had met a guy she called WyldKnight in an 
internet chat room.  He said he was "older," that he lived in 
Pennsylvania, and that he'd like to meet her.  That was about all her 
friends were willing or able to tell them.  The internet provider had 
been able to provide logs of their chats, though not transcripts.  
The logs were enough to tell them that this girl had spent hours 
almost every day talking to this guy, most f them in the middle of the 
night.

The profile on WyldKnight had come through in the early afternoon and 
gave them only a name and a credit card number.  Gerald Westover.  By 
dinnertime (prepackaged sandwiches from the park's convenience store), 
they knew that Gerald Westover was 31, a roofer from St. Mary's, 
Pennsylvania, and that he owned a car that matched the description of 
the one spotted at the truck stop.

It got worse from there.  Gerald Westover was nowhere to be found.  
He hadn't been at work in several days.  His neighbor in St. Mary's 
thought he had gone camping in the forest.

The night was spent forming up search parties, assigning territory, 
assigning agents and rangers to interview every single person they 
could find in the park.  The search began at first light, with a lot 
of territory to cover.  At just after 11 a.m. they had a report from 
one of the interview teams that a camper in the park had noticed 
Westover's car leaving through the east gate two or three days before.  
The car had a blown muffler, he explained, and it was late at night.  
Hard to miss.  Nobody had seen or heard from him since.

When the search was finally called for the night, Mulder and Scully 
retreated to their motel, fell on his bed fully clothed, and slept 
dreamlessly.



DAY FOUR

At just after 5:30 a.m. the call came that Gerald Westover had 
returned to his house, very much alone.  Mulder and Scully dragged to 
the station, knowing the worst was about to happen.

Westover made only a token attempt at denial.  The girl had come on to 
him, he said.  She had sent him pictures of herself.  She had wanted 
him.  So he gave her what she wanted.

Scully swallowed back a wave of nausea and looked away as Mulder, on 
the other side of the one way glass, narrowed his eyes and leaned 
toward the prisoner with unmistakable menace.  "Does that include 
dying?"

Westover shrugged.  "Little bitch had it coming.  Said she was gonna 
call the cops, or her daddy, or some shit like that."

Mulder was breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, and his hands were 
clenched into white fists at his side.  Then after a moment he calmly 
pulled out his gun, thumbed the safety, and pointed it directly at 
Westover's face.  "Where is she?"

Westover looked up at him with an expression of unalloyed panic, and 
he must have believed what he saw in Mulder's face, because he started 
talking immediately.  In the woods, in the Hickory Creek wilderness, 
on a ridge, please don't shoot me.

Mulder didn't even respond to him, just turned his back and walked out 
of the room.  In the parking lot, he stopped Scully, reaching for her 
just because he had to touch her, to ground himself against the tide 
of horror rising in him.  "I hate this job sometimes," he said softly.

Scully squeezed his hand, just a momentary touch.  "I know."

The dogs found Alexa Jost's body in a hallow grave on a ridgeline 
around 4:00.  She was naked, taped up in a black plastic bag, and even 
a cursory examination showed that she had been raped, probably 
repeatedly, definitely brutally.  Mulder walked about a hundred yards 
down the ridge and threw up.

A few hours later the worst things had been done.  Alexa Jost's body 
was in a locker at the local coroner's office, waiting for an autopsy 
in the morning.  Her parents had been notified.  Gerald Westover was 
in jail, where pretty much everyone involved hoped he would rot.

Mulder and Scully looked at each other over the roof of the car.  
Another night in the motel, or just leave, get as far from here as 
they could?  "Home," she said softly.

The drive took several hours.  She dozed while he drove.  Sometimes 
when she woke she could see his jaw set tight in the flash of oncoming 
headlights.  It was long past midnight when they got to her apartment 
and trailed in wearily.  Only a few hours before they had to be back 
at work.  He disappeared toward the bathroom, and she tossed her keys 
on the table, put down the computer, kicked off her shoes, ran her 
fingers through her hair.  It was good to be back, good to be away 
from that ugliness.  She was just grateful she wouldn't have to do the 
autopsy on Alexa Jost.  She flipped idly through her notes, toying 
with the idea of beginning her report that night.  She usually liked 
to do them when everything was fresh in her mind.

The sound of the shower somehow made it through the fog of her 
thoughts.  It had been on for a while, she realized.  That meant a 
rough night ahead.  Mulder could handle the victims of a vast, 
faceless conspiracy.  He could deal with the victims of natural, or 
supernatural, disaster.  It was the victims of simple human brutality 
that shook him to the core.  A couple of times, Before, they had 
sought comfort in each other after cases like this, hoping to drive 
away the darkness with lips, teeth, hands, and straining bodies.  It 
was only ever a temporary solution.  More often it went like tonight, 
with him standing in the shower until the cold chased him out, 
desperately trying to feel clean again.

She flipped the file shut and walked down the hall quietly.  Billows 
of steam were pouring from the bathroom.  She wasn't going to let him 
end tonight shivering and alone.  That was Before.  She couldn't erase 
what he'd seen, but she could be there with him.  It was all she could 
do.

She let her clothes fall to the floor and went into the bathroom, 
pulling the curtain aside.  He was standing in the spray, his head 
hanging down, one hand stretched out to the cool tile to steady 
himself.  His skin was red from the scalding water.  He looked up at 
her with haunted, hollow eyes, and without a word she stepped into the 
burning stream of water with him.  She wrapped her arms around him, he 
bent his head to her shoulder, and he held her tightly as the steam 
rose around them.  They stood there until the water poured cold off 
his back.

Scully led him to the bed.  He laid his head against her breast, 
clutching her close to him, and she wrapped herself around him, skin 
to skin, stroking his hair softly.  She felt his hot tears on her, but 
eventually he drifted into a troubled sleep.  She stayed with him, 
awake, holding him and keeping the demons at bay.




DAY FIVE

The day didn't start on a high note.  Through exhaustion or sheer 
willpower, they both slept through the alarm.  Scully had finally 
fallen asleep about an hour earlier and was working on less than one 
satisfactory night of sleep over the past three days.  Mulder didn't 
even hear it in a dream.  He woke when a bright beam of sunlight 
slanted through the window and right into his eye.

He winced and slowly, slowly opened his eyes.  He was still cradled 
against her, her hands holding him to her.  God, I must be crushing 
her, he thought, and moved to slowly disengage himself when he 
suddenly realized that it seemed very bright in the room.  Way too 
bright.  He craned his neck to look at the clock on Scully's side of 
the bed.

"Shit!"  It was after eight, they were already late.  "Scully," he 
murmured, shaking her arm gently.  "Wake up.  We're late."

She groaned, came slowly to consciousness to find him already out of 
bed and searching through his drawer for some clean underwear.  He 
seemed to be in an awfully big hurry.  And then it occurred to her how 
light it was, and her eyes widened.  "What time is it?"

"Almost 8:30."

"Shit!" she exclaimed, and vaulted out of bed, stubbing her toe on the 
footboard in the process.  She hopped around on one foot, muttering 
expletives, for a minute, then joined him for the fastest shower in 
the east.

The next 15 minutes were a blur.  She put her hair up and tried to 
find her makeup bag, while he ironed the one clean dress shirt he had 
found, which had slipped off the hanger and pooled in the bottom of 
the closet in an apparent attempt to discover new and exciting kinds 
of wrinkles.  Three-day-old muffins for breakfast on the way out the 
door, and then separate cars to work.  They made it in by 9:15.  
Neither one of them had come up with a good reason why they were both 
late.

Not that it mattered.  Skinner hadn't expected to see them until 
afternoon, if at all.  He had actually assumed they would just stay 
the night in Pennsylvania.  He called to ask them to come see him for 
an informal debriefing when they got in and was surprised when Mulder 
picked up the phone.

"What are you doing here, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder looked at the calendar in confusion.  Was it Saturday or 
something?  No, it was definitely a work day.  He answered as well as 
he could under the circumstances.  "Um, we drove back last night, 
sir."

There was a brief silence.  "What time did you get in?"

"I'm not sure.  After midnight sometime.  We're just working on the 
reports now."

"I didn't expect you to today, Mulder."

His voice dropped a little.  "I think we'd both like to get this one 
off our desks as soon as possible, sir."

"Understood.  Look, finish up your reports, drop them by my office, 
and then take the rest of the day off.  You could both use a little 
down time."

"Thank you, sir."

There was sort of a grunt from Skinner's end, and then the line went 
dead.  Mulder looked over at her thoughtfully.  "Hey, Scully, how much 
longer on that report, do you think?"

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily.  "I don't know.  
It's not happening very fast today.  How about you?"

"About halfway there.  When we're done, we're sprung for the day."

Scully looked up at him.  Usually when he said something like that, it 
just meant that he intended to take off, but this time his eyes looked 
surprised and a little hopeful.  "Are you serious?"

"That was Skinner," he said, nodding briefly at the phone.

"Give me about an hour."

Fifty-five minutes later they dropped off the reports and left the 
Hoover building like Edmond Dantes fleeing the Chateau D'If.  They had 
no real idea what to do with themselves, though.  They headed back 
toward Georgetown, bought sandwiches at a cafe that was way more 
crowded than either of them liked, and strolled over to a park to eat 
them.  When he was finished with his sandwich and had been firmly 
denied a bite of hers, he flopped back on the grass and closed his 
eyes happily, feeling the sun warm his face.  A good day to be alive, 
he thought.  I will not think of Alexa Jost.  A good day to be with 
the one I love.  He reached a hand out for her without opening his 
eyes, and she obligingly slipped hers into it.

"If they be two, they are two so as stiff twin compasses are two," he 
murmured.  "Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show to move, but doth, 
if th' other do."

She smiled at him, sun-dappled and content.  He didn't get in these 
whimsical moods often, but she loved it when he did.  "Donne?" she 
guessed.  She had been surprised to discover that he had a secret 
fondness for a Jacobean poet.  He claimed it was because the man wrote 
some "very hot stuff," which was true, but she had a suspicion he just 
loved the ripple of the words.

"Got it in one, Scully," he smiled.  He opened one eye, squinting a 
little against the sun, and turned his sultry gaze on her.  "Remind me 
to read you some in bed one of these days."

She felt her throat go dry and realized she had unconsciously licked 
her lips.  Hoo, boy.  "Come on," she said, tugging on his hand as she 
stood up.  "Walk with me."

They strolled over to the little creek that bisected the park and onto 
the bridge that curved gracefully over it.  Scully leaned on the 
railing, looking down into the water.  It looked just like Mulder's 
eyes -- green and brown and shadows and sunlight.  She watched it, 
mesmerized, until she felt him come up behind her, his hands on the 
rail outside of hers, his body right against hers.  Only a few layers 
of fabric separated their skin, and she could picture every curve and 
plane of him through the cloth.

He moved his hands, threading his fingers with hers, and began softly 
kissing her ear, nibbling the lobe lightly, breathing in the scent of 
her hair and her skin as he brushed his lips against that damned 
traitorous spot behind her ear that always sent a shiver through her.  
It did this time, too, and she felt his lips curve in a smile against 
her skin.

She turned in his embrace, slid her arms up around his neck.  "We're 
being awfully conspicuous," she said quietly.

Mulder shrugged.  "Does it matter?  Skinner knows.  I imagine anybody 
we'd like to keep in the dark already knows.  I say we just forget 
about them."

"That should be easy."  She reached up and kissed him, capturing his 
lower lip between her teeth, and then working her way slowly down his 
throat.  It was hard to kiss him standing up, so she made do with what 
was closer.  She had a sudden flash of pulling up his shirt and 
kissing him right over his thudding heart, licking his flat nipples, 
and fought back a shudder of desire.

His hands were stroking slowly from her shoulder blades down to her 
hips as he tilted his head a little to give her better access to his 
neck.  "So we've got all afternoon, Scully.  All right.  What are we 
going to do with ourselves?"

She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes hooded with desire but 
hiding something else he couldn't quite identify.  "Mulder, are you 
caving?" she asked in a voice that went straight to his groin.

"More like tenting," he replied, and bent to kiss her again, pleased 
with his wit.  He stopped a millimeter from her lipds, then drew back 
and looked at her.  "Wait a minute -- the bet?  Are we still on the 
bet?"

"Of course," she purred.  "Unless you want to cave."

Mulder looked down at her, at the smoky blue of her eyes and the 
teasing curve of her mouth, and an idea began to form.  As it took 
shape in his mind, he smiled back at her, resolved to meet her 
challenge.  It would be *so* worth it to win.  "I'm not caving," he 
said in that husky bedroom voice that he knew melted her.  "Are you?"

"No way."

She looked him straight in the eye, but he heard the slight catch in 
her voice.  The first chink in her armor.  Oh, he was going to win, 
all right.

"Mulder, last night..."

This was a different voice, and it brought him back to the present 
moment.  She looked troubled, and her hand on his cheek was soft, 
soothing, not meant to inflame.  Last night? he wondered, and then 
realized what she meant.  More than once a night like that had ended 
in him burying himself in her, clinging to her, desperately needing 
something that spoke of life and not the stink of decay and cruelty.

"If you had needed me last night," she went on softly, "you would have 
had me.  I don't ever want you to doubt that.  *This* is a game.  
*We're* not."

He looked at her for a long time, feeling an ache in his heart that 
had nothing to do with sadness or loss.  As she watched him and 
searched his eyes, she saw that he understood completely, saw the 
moment when all he was thinking of was her, his twin compass, and how 
they moved for each other.  He bent and kissed her softly and slowly.  
"I know," he whispered against her lips.  "I know..."

They stood there a little longer, hands in each other's hair, kissing 
softly, before he pulled back a little and met her gaze with his old 
twinkle.  "So, Scully, this game that we're playing...  How far are 
you gonna let me get tonight -- third base?"

She grinned.  "Maybe.  Just as long as you don't try to steal home, 
because I'll call you out."

"You can't be the catcher and the umpire."

"Sure I can.  It's my glove."

He laughed, and she tucked her arm through his as they started walking 
again.  "So what are we going to do today?  Got any ideas involving 
excitement, adventure, and really wild things?"

"I was thinking more laundry, take-out, and cable TV," she replied.

"Wow, what a let-down."  He smiled at her, then bent and kissed the 
tip of her nose.  "Tell you what, I'm going to go to my place, feed 
the fish, and get some clean clothes, then I'll meet you back at your 
place.  I'll bring dinner.  Sound good?"

"Sounds great," she admitted.  She realized this scenario pretty much 
left her in charge of the laundry, but she was better at it, anyway.  
He sorted things by "mine" and "not mine," shoved everything from the 
"mine" pile into one load, and created several extra loads out of the 
"not mine" pile because he had no real idea how to handle anything 
that wasn't preshrunk cotton or dry clean only.  She caught him by the 
tie and pulled him down to her.  "Bring your game face."

Mulder grinned.  "Count on it."

An afternoon of errands later, Scully walked in the door, balancing 
the laundry basket on her hip, and was greeted by a wave of rich, 
spicy scent.  She closed her eyes and breathed in an exotic 
combination of spice and fruit and sweet grain and flashed back very 
pleasantly to the night she and Mulder had made love for the first 
time, when afterward they sat naked on the living room floor feeding 
each other tagine and couscous.  She glanced over there now with a 
warm glow of remembrance and was surprised to see that her coffee 
table had disappeared and that laid out on the rug was a tablecloth 
her mother had given her years ago, with covered dishes and flickering 
candles and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice.  She smiled 
to herself.  "Quite a little seduction scene you've got here, Mulder," 
she called.

He popped his head out of the kitchen, and his eyes crinkled at the 
sight of her.  "Hey," he said, and walked over to kiss her, decided he 
liked it, and kissed her again.

"Do I smell Moroccan?"

His smile turned mischievous as he bent and breathed in her scent, 
trailing his mouth softly across her skin and letting his breath 
tickle across her nerve endings.  "Nope," he murmured.  "You smell 
like Scully."  He took the laundry basket from her, gave her a wink, 
and strolled down the hall toward the bedroom.  "Would you mind 
picking out some plates and glasses?" he called over his shoulder.  
"I'll put these away."

Something was definitely up, she thought.  Carpet picnic, wine, 
candles, a meal chosen to ignite tactile memory, Mulder being helpful 
with laundry...  It would take more than that to make her cave, but 
she appreciated the effort, and it was bound to be fun.

Mulder stood next to the bed, listening to her clinking in the kitchen 
as he folded t-shirts and jeans and tried to remember her towel 
system.  She had strong opinions on the subject, which he found both 
strange and endearing.  He could honestly say that he had never 
thought about how a towel should or should not be folded before he met 
her, but he had to admit they looked a lot nicer in the linen closet 
than his did.  And they really did fall completely open just by 
grabbing one corner.  She was a wonder to him on so many levels.

He felt her hands slip around his waist and up to his chest, felt her 
kiss him softly between his shoulder blades, then lay her cheek 
against his back.  "Missing me already?" he asked.

"Would you be alarmed or pleased if I said 'yes'?"

"Neither.  I'd be overjoyed."

"In that case, yes."  She felt his chuckle through his body, and she 
felt herself surrounded by a sense of complete contentment.  This 
moment was all she really wanted out of life, she realized.  He had 
covered her hand with his and was stroking it softly with his thumb.  
"I love that I can touch you anytime I want," she said softly.  "I 
love that you're standing barefoot in my bedroom, folding your jeans.  
I love that you know where the tableclothes are."  She was quiet a 
moment, just feeling his strong back beneath her cheek and his hand on 
hers.  "I love making love to you, but I think these are my favorite 
moments."

He turned and sat on the edge of the bed so that they were just about 
eye to eye, and drew her between his knees, resting his hands on her 
hips.  "Know what my favorite moments are?" he asked.  She shook her 
head, cupping his face in her hands.  "Watching you put your makeup on 
in the morning.  Washing dishes with you.  Reaching toward you in the 
middle of the night and feeling you snuggle closer to me without ever 
waking up."  His eyes glowed a little as she let her thumbs trace 
across his mouth.  "I love every blessed ordinary moment with you.  
The liver eating mutants and the alien conspiracies I could live 
without -- would gladly live without -- but this is what makes my 
heart keep beating."

God, she thought, it's a pity about this damn bet, because that line 
could have gotten him incredibly lucky.  She bent and kissed him, 
still holding his face in her hands, feeling a familiar tingle of 
warmth all over her body.  He leaned into her touch, deepening the 
kiss, until she finally pulled away a little breathlessly.  "Dinner's 
getting cold," she reminded him.

"We could always reheat it," he suggested, recapturing her mouth with 
his and sliding his hands up to the sides of her breasts.

She caught his hands and chuckled.  "Foul ball, Mulder."

He sat back and looked at her, eyes twinkling merrily.  "Good call, 
ump."

"I calls 'em like I sees 'em," she smiled.  "Come on, let's have 
dinner.  If you're good, I'll let you eat couscous out of my navel."  
She flashed him a dazzling, wicked smile over her shoulder, before 
disappearing into the living room.



DAY SIX

Scully sat at her desk, a report ignored in front of her, watching 
Mulder eat sunflower seeds.  The man has an oral fixation, she 
thought.  Thank God.  He was totally engrossed in whatever he was 
reading and seemed completely oblivious of her attention.  She watched 
him pop a seed in his mouth, twirl it with his tongue to get the salt, 
crack it open lightly with his teeth, suck the little seed out with 
one quick motion that she saw as a movement in his jaw, chew languidly 
a few times, then swallow it down, his throat working.  God.

She found herself indulging in one of her basement fantasies, the one 
where she just climbed on top of him in his chair and sucked that 
gorgeous lip into her mouth while her hands reached for his -- Stop 
it, she thought fiercely.  She could feel the flush starting on her 
chest and silently cursed herself for ever coming up with this stupid 
bet.  The night before they had fed each other, licking the spicy 
juices off each other's fingers, gazing at each other heatedly over 
glasses of sweet, cool wine.  It should have been an hour of terrific 
foreplay, and indeed it wasn't long after they dumped the dishes in 
the sink that they were both naked from the waist up, his hands 
roaming over her body, his mouth everywhere.  And then she had reached 
for the button of his jeans, and he had stopped, hovering over her 
with fiery eyes, his hair falling forward over his forehead.  His 
breathing was a little ragged, matching her own.  "Are you caving?" he 
whispered.  She came within a hair's breadth of saying yes, dammit, 
and just pulling him back onto her, but something stopped her.  Did 
she really want to win this dumb bet that badly?  She didn't think so.  
She thought it was because she either wanted to prove to herself that 
she still had some control let when it came to him, or to see him have 
no control over himself when it came to her.  Either way, he wound up 
rolling off her, laying still and breathing deeply for a few minutes 
until he had cooled down, and leaving her aching and unsatisfied.  By 
the time they went to bed, he had mastered himself enough to spoon up 
against her as always, which kept her agitated and itching for him all 
night.

And here he was, nibbling sunflower seeds like they were the curves 
and peaks of her body.  Mulder glanced up, saw her watching him, and a 
tiny smile quirked his mouth.  Maybe he was truly oblivious before -- 
maybe -- but he definitely knew now.  Well.  Time to turn the tables.

"Mulder?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

He didn't even look up from MUFON World or whatever he was reading.  
"Mmm?"

"Have you ever thought about having sex here in the office?"

There was a satisfying hacking sound as he inhaled a seed, and she 
smiled to herself.  Mulder one, Dana one.  When he had coughed the 
seed back out of his airway, he looked up at her with eyes wide, only 
to find her looking as serene and enigmatic as a sphinx.  She met his 
eyes levelly, coolly.  He called it her "visual chicken" game, and he 
secretly found the combination of smart and sassy a huge turn-on.  He 
cleared his throat of one last little piece of seed.  "Once or 
twice..." he admitted.  She arched one perfectly plucked copper 
eyebrow.  "...a day, for the past seven years.  Which comes out to -- 
what? -- about 5000 times, give or take?"  She smiled, and her skin 
took on that slight glow it did when she felt beautiful, which only 
made her more beautiful.  "What about you?" he asked.  "Ever think 
about it?"

"Me?  No."

He grinned at her.  "Liar."  She gave him her full Scully smile then, 
the heart-stopping one, and he wondered briefly if he could slip a 
defibrillator onto the next supply order without anyone noticing.  At 
least he had a doctor to give him CPR.  Ooh, mouth to mouth...  He let 
that train slide out of the station for a moment, then quickly 
derailed it.

"But if I ever did think about it," she went on casually, "it would 
probably involve your desk, the slide projector, and scotch tape."

Holy shit.  He dropped his voice to a growl.  "Don't be a desk sex 
tease, Scully, or I can't be responsible for my actions."

"Eek, my virtue."  Her eyes twinkled at him, and he laughed in spite 
of himself.

"Know what I imagine?" he asked, suddenly shifting the mood, his eyes 
glittering darkly.

Scully thought she probably had a pretty good idea, but she shook her 
head slowly, just to see where he'd take this.

He walked slowly over to her and crouched down next to her chair, 
breaking into her space completely.  She felt like she'd slid into the 
eye of a hurricane, like there suddenly wasn't enough air, and she 
drew in her breath as he put a hand on her knee and his mouth right 
next to her ear.  "They might be listening," he murmured.  That was a 
crock of shit, but this was a delicious game.  His breath was hot 
against her ear and made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.  
He proceeded to tell her, in whispered, pornographic detail, exactly 
what he imagined, his hand moving ever so slowly further up her thigh 
beneath her skirt, until his fingers brushed against her panties.  
When he finished his story, she was flushed, slightly sweaty, and 
incredibly turned on.

He moved to stand up, but she turned quickly, her hand snaking behind 
his neck to pull him into a kiss.  Her mouth was hot and hungry, and 
she shifted to press herself against him.  He was still crouched 
awkwardly, his hands on her hips to hold her close and himself 
upright, and he could literally taste her desire.  "We could be home 
in 20 minutes," she whispered.

"Mmm," he hummed in agreement.  Nothing more substantial would come 
out for the moment.  He flicked his tongue against hers, felt her sigh 
into his mouth.  "All you have to do is cave, Scully."

It took a moment for that thought to penetrate her distracted brain, 
but then she pulled back and looked at him, eyes glazed and breathing 
heavily.  Her eyes slowly focused, and she smiled a little, her lips 
still parted and swollen from his kisses.  "Uh-uh."

He managed an unconcerned shrug.  What he didn't know was how he was 
going to manage to stand up.  "I guess we'll just have to finish this 
in eight days then."  He stood slowly and was grateful his knees 
didn't pop.

"Guess so," she agreed and watched him walk back to his desk.  Eight 
days?  There was no way.



DAY SEVEN

I should've said "Two weeks, exclusive of weekends," Mulder thought 
grumpily.  Weekends were their best times.  Some days they would 
actually go somewhere and do something, together, something tame and 
wonderful like shopping or the gym or a picnic in the park.  Some days 
they'd stay in bed until hunger forced them out, making love until 
they were famished and their legs were all wobbly.

Instead, today he was pounding along a jogging trail, sweat pouring 
off him in the DC summer heat and humidity, trying to will his body 
into submission.  He was at about four miles, and he was pretty sure 
he'd be good to go by five if he didn't collapse from dehydration 
first.  He had awakened to find her draped over him like a sheet, one 
leg across his hips, an arm bent on his chest, her breath warm on his 
skin.  The actual sheet had been kicked off in the damp heat of the 
night, so he could see the entire length of her body against his.  
The curve of her spine, the flare of her hips, the smooth, strong 
muscles of her legs.  He loved how fair her skin was against his, the 
sprinklings of freckles in improbable places, little groups of three 
or five, on her hip, the back of her thigh, like constellations.  He 
had spent hours cataloguing them and devising intricate names and 
mythologies.

It was his exploration of the constellation he called Franklin's Tower 
that woke her.  She stirred against him, making that happy little 
sound in the back of her throat that always made him smile.

"Did I wake you?" he murmured.

Scully wasn't quite up to syllables yet, or even to opening her eyes.  
She just nuzzled her face against his chest and said, "Mm-hmm."

"Sorry.  I didn't mean to."

She smiled against his skin.  "You were planning to just fondle me 
while I slept?"

"Well, you know...whatever I can get at this point."  She looked up at 
him and smiled, the dazzling one.  One of the dazzling ones, actually 
-- he had several variations logged in his memory.  And he was totally 
incapable of cool under the influence of each and every one of them.  
"You smile at me like that, and I'm afraid my heart's going to stop."

She chuckled and pressed her lips to his chest, feeling the strong, 
steady thud beneath her touch.  "Nope, seems fine," she declared.  "A 
little fast, maybe..."

"You're a wicked woman."  He drew her up to him for a long, lingering 
kiss that changed from playful to tender somewhere in the middle.  
"Good morning..."

"It certainly is," she agreed, and kissed him again softly before 
nestling down in his arms.  She loved waking up like this, loved his 
clean, sleepy scent and the warm feel of him surrounding her.  She had 
been surprised when they began sharing a bed how she sought contact 
with him all the time, like he was her personal security Mulder.  
Even the times Before, or when they had slept fully clothed but 
needing comfort.  She figured he would be a clingy sleeper -- he was 
touchy even when he was awake -- but her desire to wrap herself around 
him all night had startled, and even embarrassed her, at first.  She 
had never been like that with other lovers.  In fact, she had always 
been mildly annoyed when her space was invaded.  But Mulder wasn't 
just a lover, and she sought the touch of his skin like an addict.  
Even if it was just their fingers twined together, knowing he was 
there made her feel safe and cherished and home.  And although he 
joked that there were easier ways to kill him than to suffocate him in 
his sleep, she knew he was deeply moved by the faith in him that it 
betrayed.  "Mulder?"

"Yeah?"  He was lazily sttroking her back and sounded sleepy and 
content.

"I love you."  His hand on her back stilled.  Scully looked up and 
found him watching her, his eyes bright green and luminous, eyes that 
she realized she would gladly drown in.  He hated saying "I love you, 
too" because he thought it was a cheap, throwaway answer like "fine," 
and so he didn't.  Instead, he cupped her cheek in his hand a moment, 
almost reverently, then bent and kissed her.  Scully thought fuzzily 
that with a mouth like that, he didn't need to talk.  All his 
devotion, all his desire, were poured into his kiss, and there were no 
words necessary to tell her how he felt.  She wondered for perhaps the 
thousandth time why they had waited so long, why they had insisted on 
pretending that what was between them wasn't what they both knew it 
was.  But he tried to tell you, she reminded herself.  He tried, and 
you were too afraid to leap with him.

She wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself closer to him, and 
his embrace tightened gratefully.  His hand was stroking over her hip 
to cup her ass, and she could feel him, hard and ready, against her 
leg.  God, he could take her from zero to sixty in about five seconds 
flat.  She was more than ready for him.  She slid on top of him, 
straddling his waist, and he reached for her, his mouth on her neck, 
her breasts, her fingers digging into his hair.  "Mulder..." she 
breathed as his tongue swept her nipple, teasing and licking, and then 
his mouth closed on her and suckled hard.  "God!"  She tugged his face 
back up to hers and kissed him hungrily.  She wanted him inside her, 
now, and by the way he was kneading her hips, urging her toward him, 
he seemed to be having the same thought.

Which was when she remembered.  "Shit."

"What?" he asked, a hint of concern making it through his rapid 
breathing.

"The bet."

Mulder opened his eyes all the way and stared up at her, at the flush 
on her skin, her kiss-swollen lips, her glittering eyes.  They were 
about 15 seconds from the main event, he was aching for her, he could 
feel her wetness on his belly, and she wanted to stop because of some 
stupid bet?  He said the only think he could think of.  "Are you 
kidding me?"

She looked miserable, desire fighting principle armageddon-style in 
her eyes.  Hanging her head to avoid his gaze, she tried to steady her 
breath.  This was important, she reminded herself.  If she couldn't 
control this, couldn't control her own response to him, then she could 
be swept away by him.  Reluctantly, she moved off of him.  "I'm 
sorry," she whispered.

"So am I."

His voice was tight, and she glanced at him, found his eyes on her 
with a mixture of disbelief and frustration and something a little 
more vulnerable.  Confusion, maybe, or uncertainty.  He rolled his 
eyes back toward the ceiling, staring up at the light fixture as he 
tried to bring his body back under control.  After several minutes of 
very tense silence, he heaved himself off the bed and started 
rummaging for clothes.

"Mulder?" she asked tentatively, watching him pull on shorts and a 
t-shirt.

"I'm going for a run.  I'll be back in a while."  He looked over at 
her, met her gaze fearlessly, his jaw tight.  "This isn't fun anymore, 
Scully."

Which was how he came to be sweat-drenched and tired enough not to be 
aroused five miles later.  He had considered being a complete asshole 
and going back to his apartment for the day, maybe for the weekend, 
but he quickly discarded the idea.  Scully didn't deserve that.  He'd 
agreed to this, and it was obviously important to her, even if the 
reasons totally eluded him.  He resolved to talk to her about it at 
some point that day, assuming they were able to have a conversation.  
He realized that that was what bothered him most about this.  Before 
they'd become a couple, they'd gone days -- weeks -- without 
discussing their feelings or any thoughts of a personal nature.  It 
was all part of the vast and uncharted Unresolved Sexual Tension 
territory.  But since they'd become a couple, the danger zone had been 
largely demilitarized and disarmed.  There were still a few unexpected 
landmines here and there, but basically the place had been swept, and 
all those things they hadn't ever been able to talk about before were 
fair game.  He felt like this bet was the emotional equivalent of 
stringing the razor wire back up, and he hated it for that.  He hated, 
too, that he couldn't see her reasoning.  It had never really been 
just a joke with her.  She wanted to learn something from this, but he 
wasn't sure what.  Vague inklings flitted at the back of his mind like 
shadows, but none of them seemed to make any sense.

When he got home, the apartment was empty, and there was a Post-It 
note on the bathroom mirror.  "Gong to get breakfast stuff.  Back 
soon."  No "I love you," he noticed, and knew immediately that she 
would have felt that sounded like manipulation.

He felt better after a shower.  His muscles were pleasantly achy, the 
sweat had washed down the drain, and he was generally feeling calmer 
and more himself.  He could hear Scully moving around in the kitchen 
as he got dressed and felt a pang of guilt as he realized that her 
movements seemed quieter, more contained, than usual, as if she was 
trying not to disturb him.  That was definitely another thing he hated 
about this.  He pushed his hands through his wet hair, spiking it out 
in several directions, and walked into the kitchen.

Scully didn't turn around, although she heard his soft footsteps.  
She didn't like being tense around Mulder.  It reminded her of times 
Before, when there was nothing they could say to each other that 
wouldn't touch a nerve and so they had just lapsed into silence, 
sometimes for days on end.  Stupid, stupid bet, she thought viciously, 
and stupid need to prove something to herself.  He would never put 
this tension between them.  A hundred other tensions, yes, but not one 
like this.

Mulder stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.  
There was nothing sexual about the gesture, just a need to connect 
with her, and she leaned back gratefully against his chest, covering 
his arms with hers.  He kissed her hair softly, rested his chin gently 
on the top of her head.  "I love you," he murmured, and she felt the 
low rumble of his voice through his chest and into her back.

She turned in his embrace so that they were facing each other and slid 
her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his chest and 
hugging him close.  "I know," she said into his shirt.  For a moment 
they just held each other comfortably.  Scully was the first to speak, 
when she found the courage to.  "I'm glad you came back...  I thought 
you might decide it was easier to spend the weekend at your place."

He almost laughed.  She knew him well enough to read his mind.  "It 
might be," he admitted.  "But it wouldn't be home."

She tilted her head up to look at him.  She liked the sound of that.  
"This is home?" she asked softly, with a slight smile.

"You're home," he corrected, and bent to kiss her very tenderly on the 
forehead.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay.  Are you?"

She thought about it for a second.  There wasn't much more she wanted 
from life than this.  "Yeah, I am."  She felt him suddenly go still, 
like a cat watching a bird, and glanced up to see his gaze fixed on 
something over her shoulder, a definite gleam of excitement in his 
eyes.  "What is it?"

"Are those waffles?"  Scully laughed out loud and admitted that they 
were.  "Is that blackberry syrup?"  She nodded.  "And -- oh, my God -- 
is that bacon?"

"I wanted to make it up to you," she said simply.

Mulder looked back down at her, the bacon lust in his eyes replaced by 
a gentle glow.  He tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear.  
"There's nothing to make up.  I'm sorry if I made you feel like there 
was."

She wondered if he would ever lose the power to make her speechless.

His mind and his gaze drifted back to breakfast.  "Real bacon or that 
horrible soy stuff?"

"Genuine pork products," she replied solemnly.

He looked down at her and grinned, an expression that never failed to 
make her heart do little backflips.  "Must be love."

She matched him tooth for tooth.  "Must be."

"Scully," he began hesitantly, "I thought quite a bit on my run.  And 
I do want you to talk to me about this --" she noted the careful 
choice of words, as she was meant to -- "but later, after waffles.  
Okay?"

"Deal."



DAY EIGHT

It was the next day before they got around to it.  It had taken an 
hour to rouse themselves out of their carbohydrate-induced stupor, and 
then the heat chased them, and about two-thirds of the rest of the DC 
population, to the movies, where it was crowded but deliciously cool.  
They spent the rest of the day tracking air conditioning and 
overindulging in Slurpees before crashing from their sugar highs into 
an early, deep slumber.

Mulder woke up first the next morning.  He did that a lot, coming 
fully awake almost suddenly, usually while it was still dark outside.  
He lay still with his eyes closed, his senses fully alert, listening 
for what might have awakened him.  The brain, he knew, is actually 
programmed to ignore the familiar and notice new stimuli.  As usual, 
though, there was nothing.

Well, not quite true.  There was Scully's body against his, her 
breasts flattened against his ribs, her leg tangled between his.  
There was the soft breeze of her breath against his collarbone, the 
faint citrus and ginger scent of her.  He knew that scent would be all 
over his skin, a thought which sent flickers of tenderness and arousal 
down his nerves.  Outside, the birds had started their morning racket.  
Close to sunrise, then.

He concentrated on the feeling of her in his arms.  His poor sleep 
habits had become a lot more agreeable since he started waking up next 
to her.  He loved the chance to watch her sleep, watch the moonlight 
play over her face and the shadows drift across her skin.  He had 
spent more hours than he could count watching her sleep in cars and 
airplanes and hospitals and even occasionally motels.  Even in the 
dark days, when they could hardly speak to each other, when she slept 
she was his.  Now here she was, her body wrapped around his, her 
breath on his skin like a blessing, and he knew without question that 
this would only end when one of them did.  He drew her closer to him.

The movement seemed to rouse her a little.  She shifted, and he could 
feel the humidity between her legs against his hip.  He froze.  Don't 
wake up, he willed her.  I'm feeling content and peaceful and awed by 
you, and that will almost certainly lead to sliding inside you if you 
wake up and see the look on my face.  He suddenly remembered that talk 
they hadn't had the day before.  Shit.  Dontwakeupdontwakeupdont -- 
Her hand began to drift.  To his surprise, Scully had turned out to be 
a nocturnal fondler.  In some half-dreaming state, her hands would 
often drift over his body, just smoothing over the lines and planes of 
him, maybe engraving the tactil memory of him in her mind.  Her hand 
trailed down his chest, around to his flank, across his hip.  Her 
fingertips traced idly through the hair on his thigh, getting 
dangerously close to his semi-erect penis.  He breathed shallowly, 
trying to think about anything else, but then her fingers brushed the 
inside of his thigh, his scrotum, and he leaped out of bed like he'd 
been burned.

The sudden jostling woke her, and she looked up at him blearily from 
his pillow.  "What are you doing?" she asked in that rough, sleepy 
voice he loved.

"Going for a run," he decided.  Her eyes flickered to his erection 
knowingly, and he saw amusement flash across her features.  "Then I'm 
going to go feed the fish."

She was too tired to care and let her eyes slip closed.  "What time is 
it?"

"Early.  Go back to sleep.  I'll be back in a couple of hours."

She nodded, started drifting again.  After a moment, she realized that 
he was still standing there, that he hadn't left.  She opened her eyes 
and looked up at him as he watched her, a question on his face.  She 
arched an eyebrow curiously.

Mulder's voice was quiet but steady when he spoke.  "I was thinking of 
bringing some more work clothes over."

Ah.  Bits and pieces of him had been making their way to her apartment 
for the past couple of months.  They hadn't slept alone since they had 
started sleeping together.  They were, for all intents and purposes, 
living together.  Her already full bookshelf was now dangerously 
overflowing.  A copy of "Plan Nine From Outer Space" was hidden inside 
her armoire.  His Indian blanket was draped neatly across the back of 
her couch.  His toothbrush and shampoo and razor were in her bathroom.  
And all of his casual clothes were folded in her drawers or hanging in 
her closet over his shoes.  The only things that remained at his place 
were most of his work clothes, ensuring that he had to go there at 
least a couple of times a week.  She suspected he kept them there as 
an insurance policy, a way to save a little face in case he felt like 
she didn't want him around.  Not that that had ever happened.  So 
moving more work clothes over was...a declaration of sorts.  Pretty 
soon, she had a feeling, the fishtank would appear, and then it would 
be time to have a conversation about saving on rent, etc., etc.

Scully could barely see the hopeful glint in his eyes, but she knew it 
was there.  Take the plunge, she told herself.  You're not going 
anywhere, and neither is he.  "Why don't you bring them all over?" she 
suggested softly.

She felt his smile, felt the happiness that radiated off him in waves, 
but he said simply, "Okay."  He bent down to her, brushed her hair 
tenderly away from her face, kissed her softly.  "Go back to sleep.  
I love you."

"I love you, too," she murmured, closing her eyes and taking his 
advice.

Later Mulder stood in his apartment, looking around as if he was 
seeing it for the first time.  He'd lived there for years, but it 
didn't feel like home anymore.  Maybe it never really felt like home.  
In fact, he wasn't sure he really even understood what that meant 
until he moved in to her place.  Somewhere he was wanted, and missed 
when he wasn't there.  That was certainly never the vibe at the Mulder 
family house.  He'd been serious when he told Scully she was home.  
She'd been his only safe place for a long time.

And now his apartment felt as impersonal as a hotel room.  All of his 
favorite things were at Scully's -- including, of course, Scully.  
There were blank spots on the walls where he had taken down photos and 
paintings.  The desk had slowly emptied over the weeks, and all that 
was left on his bookshelves was the kind of stuff he picked up at 
truck stops during long assignments to wile away the time.  He didn't 
care if he never set eyes on that damn couch again as long as he 
lived.  It was like the former home of someone who had died, after the 
family starts cleaning out the detritus.

He put another vacation pellet in the fish tank and watched the little 
UFO bubble away for a moment.  "Soon, boys.  I think I'll be taking 
you home soon."  He wondered briefly how the hell you move a tank full 
of fish.

He went into his closet and pulled out the rest of his suits, dress 
shirts, and ties.  He'd come back up for the shoes and socks.  And 
that was it.  His closet was empty, except for some boxes of files on 
the shelf up top.  He couldn't help smiling.

The door at Scully's place was irritating at the best of times.  You 
had to bump it just right with your hip while simultaneously lifting 
and twisting the handle.  Almost impossible with your hands full of 
suits and shoes.  Mulder slithered gracelessly through the door with 
his keys in his teeth and was just grateful he made it to the couch 
before everything fell out of his arms.  The clothes slid onto the 
cushions in a heap, a couple of shoes tumbling to the floor.  He 
mentally waved it away as something he'd deal with later.  "Scully?"

"In here," she called from the bathroom.

"Seated or supine?"  She chuckled and swished some water around loud 
enough for him to hear it.  "Ah, supine.  Did you eat?"

"Yeah, I was starving.  Sorry I didn't wait."

"S'okay."  An idea flahsed, and he quickly shucked off his clothes 
before going to pour a bowl of cereal.  The other way around seemed 
more natural, but he didn't want his cereal to get soggy.  Scully 
looked up at him with an almost total lack of surprise when he walked 
into the bathroom naked, carrying his breakfast.  She was lounging -- 
lolling -- in the tub, and her hair was in damp little tendrils around 
her neck.  Beautiful.  "Scooch up," he directed.

She scooted forward, making room for him to slide in behind her, then 
leaned back against his chest comfortably.  She had always thought her 
tub was absurdly large.  She could actually stretch out full length in 
it, and she generally felt guilty about the enormous water consumption 
when she took a bath.  It definitely made sense as a tub for two, 
though.  She settled herself a little more securely against him, 
hooking her arms over his knees.  "Is that the cranberry stuff?" she 
asked, catching a whiff of tang and ginger over the steamy bergamot of 
the bath.

"Yeph," he replied around a mouthful.  She turned her head against his 
chest, mouth open like a baby bird, and he looked at her with 
amusement.  "I thought you ate."

"I did, but I love that cranberry stuff."  He obligingly fed her a 
spoonful, being careful not to drop oat nuggets into the water, then 
they returned to their previous positions.  Scully let her fingers 
trail through the water, making curly little patterns on the surface.  
"Did you get your suits and things?"

"Mm-hmm."

"No problems?"

Like what? he wondered.  Shape shifters in the shoe boxes?  He took 
the easy answer.  "Just getting in the door here."

She was quiet a moment longer.  She knew she was trying to convince 
herself that this couldn't be as easy as it was.  She felt like she 
was probing at perfectly sound teeth in the hopes of finding a cavity.  
"Do you miss your apartment?"

Mulder chewed thoughtfully.  "No.  It was weird.  It just 
felt...blank.  Hard to believe I ever lived there."  Past tense, he 
thought.

It was duly noted, and they fell into companionable silence.

He tipped the bowl up to get the last of the milk, then put it on the 
floor next to the tub.  A little canoodling was in order.  He smoothed 
his hands up her arms, reveling as always in how soft her skin was, 
different than his own.  Something to do with the two hundred dollars' 
worth of German skin care products on the dresser, and something to do 
with Scully.  She made a contented little noise as he touched her 
shoulders, his thumbs working in gentle circles along the muscles 
toward her neck.  Scully bent her head forward to give him better 
access, and he slowly, softly, massaged from the base of her neck up 
to her skull and back again.  He moved her hair aside and bent to 
replace his fingers with his lips.  His kisses were feather-light, 
barely brushing her skin, but she was getting boneless against him.  
He let his fingers drift down to rest at the sides of her breasts, not 
touching or demanding more, just making her aware of his presence.  
When she was warm and relaxed and enjoying a low thrum of desire, he 
nuzzled the nape of her neck and murmured in her ear, "Hair?"

"Mm-hmm," she agreed with a little hum of pleasure.  "As long as I get 
to return the favor."

"I can live with that."

By stretching as far as he could, he managed to rinse out his bowl in 
the sink and brought it back to use a a dipper.  She tilted her head 
back against him, and he slowly poured the warm water over her head, 
cupping his hand to keep it out of her eyes.  He repeated it until all 
of her hair was wet, then squeezed some of her citrusy-smelling 
shampoo into his palm and started working it into her hair.

God, he has great hands, she thought, closing her eyes.  Of course, 
she hadn't found a part yet that she didn't like.  His fingers were 
strong but gentle, carefully working every tendril into a lather and 
massaging her scalp so that her entire body tingled with the pleasure.  
He could have made a fortune as a stylist.  Women would pay big to 
feel like this.  "Lean back," he said quietly, and began pouring more 
warm water, slipping his fingers through her hair to make sure all the 
soap was out.  He kissed the wet crown of her head.  "All done."

Scully twisted around and stretched up to him, whispering against his 
lips not entirely innocently.  "You're amazing."

"You're easy," he grinned, but he allowed himself to be thoroughly 
kissed.

"Okay, switch," she announced.  She stood up and slipped past him, not 
quite managing to avoid his seeking hands or his mouth on her hip, and 
slid down behind him.  Mulder moved forward so that he could rest his 
head on her breasts and belly.  For a long moment, they just stayed 
like that, her arms draped over his shoulders, her hands on his chest, 
her cheek resting against the top of his head, his fingers trailing up 
and down her arm.  Then she pressed a tender kiss to his ear and sat 
up straighter, her hands sliding into his hair.  It was oddly soft, 
not like any other man she'd ever known, and she watched it slip 
across her fingers with pleasure.  "I love your hair."

He smiled, not bothering to open his eyes.  "I know."

"How do you know?" she asked, giving it a playful tug to make sure he 
was good.

"Every single time we've hugged your fingers have wound up in it."

She considered that and realized with a start that he was probably 
right.  "Always?"

"Maybe not the first year," he conceded.  "But definitely since then.  
Other times, too."

"Checking for head wounds doesn't count."

"Deny everything," he chuckled, and she seriously considered a sharp, 
painful yank.

She decided against it and just rubbed his scalp softly instead, going 
through her mental catalogue of the not nearly enough physical contact 
they'd allowed themselves over the years.  He was right -- she went 
straight for his hair.  Funny she'd never noticed that.  Her voice was 
thoughtful.  "You must love my neck then."

"Why?"

"That's where your head always winds up.  In spite of the height 
disadvantage."

He made a sound kind of like "huh" and was quiet a moment.  "Your neck 
is warm and soft, and it always smells like just you," he said by way 
of explanation.  He tilted his head back as far as he could so that he 
could see her face, and even upside-down her smile made his heart skip 
a beat.

She bent and kissed his forehead, then lifted his head back to its 
normal position.  The water was almost cool now, and he felt it 
trickle pleasantly down his neck.  Then her hands were smoothing the 
shampoo through his hair, working up a lather with gentle scrubbing 
and the merest scrape of her nails on his scalp that sent a shiver up 
his spine.  Their hair would smell the same, he realized.  A dead 
giveaway if anyone happened to sniff both of them.  The scent was a 
little girly, but he loved the idea that it claimed him as hers.  He 
let his hands caress her legs as she poured water over him again in a 
slow, steady stream to wash out the soap.  Only Scully could make 
pouring water into a complete sexual metaphor, he thought to himself.  
Which reminded him.

"We never did have that talk."

She dipped another bowl and tipped his head forward so she could reach 
the back of his neck.  "No, we didn't."

Mulder waited a beat in case she had something to add, but apparently 
she didn't.  "Were you hoping to avoid it?" he asked.

There was a pause while she considered her honest answer.  "No," she 
decided.  "But I was glad to have more time to think about it."  She 
rubbed both hands briskly over his head, flicking out the extra water 
and spiking his hair on end.  "Done."

He turned around so he was facing her, and they adjusted their legs so 
they were within touching distance.  Her face was calm, no hint of 
apprehension.  "Let's talk now."

Scully nodded.  "Okay.  Can we get some clothes on before we get all 
pruney?"

He thought about that for some time, searching her eyes, then said 
simply, "No."

Her eyebrows shot up, but it was more in amusement than anything 
dangerous.  "What do you mean 'no'?"

"No hiding."  He took both her hands so they were palm to palm and 
threaded his fingers through hers.  "This is me."

They looked at each other silently for a long moment.  He knew he was 
asking a lot of her, that this would be difficult for her even encased 
in a protective layer of denim and wool.  He could see her in his 
mind, sitting on the couch with her feet drawn up under her, making 
herself as compact and self-contained as possible.  It was hard for 
her to say the words when they really mattered.  When she really 
wanted to tell him something important, something deeply true, she 
usually wrote it down, pouring her heart onto paper.  He had a handful 
of those messages -- a couple of journals, a few letters.  He knew 
them by heart, but every once in a while he took them out to look at 
them, at her neat, clear handwriting describing the shape of her soul.

Not that he was any better at the deeply emotional stuff.  He tended 
to ignore it until it either went away or broke him.  With Scully, 
though, he had always been fairly reckless, flinging himself at her 
feet, handing her his heart, while his fears and desires sailed 
through the moment like shrapnel.  She had once told him that it was 
kind of like french kissing a fragmentation grenade.

It was something that had both gotten better at in the past year or 
so, willing themselves to confide more, to be more vulnerable to each 
other.  The shift had started before their relationship changed and 
had only become more important when that happened.  Scully watched him 
watching her, the gray-green play of uncertainty and hope in his eyes, 
asking her to trust him enough for this.  It was the unbeatable 
argument, although she didn't think he really understood the power it 
had over her.  She couldn't refuse him a question of trust, and she 
realized that the impulse to hide was weak in her, a mere flicker of 
the destructive flame it had once been.

She leaned forward and kissed him softly, lingeringly, breathing her 
gratitude into his mouth.  When she drew back, he smiled, but she saw 
the flare of emotion in his eyes.  "Don't try to distract me, woman," 
he teased, although it came out pretty shaky.

"I'm not," she assured him.  "Although I don't think it would be 
hard."

"It will be if you keep that up."

She flashed him a grin, tightened her grip on his hands.  "I'm not 
sure how to start," she admitted.  "Ask me something."

"My only question is why.  I'll do anything you want or need me to do, 
Scully."  He looked at her questioningly, making sure she knew that, 
and she nodded.  "I just need to understand why we're doing this, 
because it's contrary to everything I want for us."

Her eyes dropped, unhappy.  "Yesterday...you were angry."  She 
remembered the expression in his eyes and frowned a little.  "No.  
Not angry.  Frustrated and...something else."

"Scared."  She looked up at him in surprise, and he sighed, drawing 
their linked hands to his chest and cradling them there.  "I remember 
what it was like when we couldn't talk.  I hated it.  It was like 
walking around with me chest gaping open all the time.  Anything that 
puts distance between us -- physical, emotional, psychic, whatever 
kind of distance..."  He took a deep breath.  "Yesterday, I could see 
the walls again.  I could see just where they would go, and it scared 
the shit out of me."  He saw the hurt on her face, and he raised her 
hand to his lips.  "I know that's not what you want, that that's not 
what this is about," he assured her.  "I know you want to learn 
something from this.  I just don't understand what."

She nodded again, slowly, and bit her lip as she tried to put words to 
her thoughts.  "It's not about you," she said at length.  "It's not 
even about us.  It's about me."  She glanced up at him, saw the 
encouragement in his smooth face.  For a man with a decidedly limited 
repertoire of facial expressions, his features always practically 
shouted his meaning to her.  Suddenly everything she could think of to 
say sounded silly to her.  She loved this man with all of her heart, 
soul, body, and reason.  She loved him the way she was supposed to 
love her God.  And of the two, she realized that she had more real 
faith in Mulder.  The pointlessness of this exercise swept over her so 
fast it sucked the breath out of her.  The speeches and the analogies 
she'd worked on disappeared in the wake of it, but she had promised, 
and she grasped at the first image that came to her.  "I think we're 
like fusion, Mulder."  His eyebrows crinkled a little in confusion, 
but he listened quietly as she hastened to explain.  "We came together 
as two separate, very different things.  With a lot of pressure and a 
lot of heat we became something new -- something different than we 
were separately, something that cannot exist by itself.  And it's 
beautiful, this new thing.  But I guess...I guess I want to see if I 
can still recognize the part that was just me."

He looked at her thoughtfully, biting his lower lip as he worked 
through the problem.  "And not making love helps you do that?" he 
asked at length, without judgment, just needing to clarify.

"It helps me to see where I end and we begin."

Mulder nodded slowly.  She knew he believed her, although she could 
see that he didn't agree with her.  He was still looking at her, but 
she could tell the moment when his eyes focused on something past her, 
a picture in his own mind.  "You know how I see us, Scully?" he asked, 
his gaze still on his dreamscape.  "Like binary stars.  They're 
amazing things.  From far away they look like one star -- one light, 
one heat.  But when you get closer, you see two, eternally spinning 
around each other in a cosmic dance.  They can be different sizes, 
different colors, different intensities, but they're held together by 
this force of attraction that keeps them the perfect distance from 
each other so that the dance can continue forever."  His eyes shifted 
back to hers.  "They're always separate, but they can exchange matter, 
which lets them evolve in ways that no single star ever could.  It's 
beautiful."

Her breath caught in her chest again.  Damn him and his poetry, making 
flames of desire lick at her stomach.  "That's how you see us?" she 
asked softly.  "Twirling in a cosmic dance?"

He nodded, licking his lips.  "Held together, and apart, by 
attraction."

"That's...hot, Mulder.  God."

His eyes widened in surprise, and then he laughed, a breathless, 
nervous sound.  "Yeah..."  Her eyes were doing dangerous things to 
him.  The shadow of longing was sliding over that brilliant blue, like 
sharks swimming below the surface, and he knew he wouldn't be able to 
resist it this time.  He couldn't stand another run away from her.  
Time to force her hand.  He prayed, for the first time, for her to be 
weak.  "See, the thing is, Scully, that whether we're dancing stars or 
heat-fused atoms doesn't matter to me.  I *want* to disappear into 
this, because I'm a better me as a part of us than I ever have been 
alone."

"Me, too."

Thank God, the crack was widening.  He slid his hands up her arms 
unconsciously, wanting to touch more of her, and her hands found their 
way to his thighs.  He dropped his voice to the low, dark tone that he 
knew made her crazy.  "Do you remember what you said to me the first 
time?"

She was vaguely aware that he was using the voice with intent, but she 
felt the flush creep up her throat nonetheless.  She wondered which 
first time he meant -- the real one? the second one, after Modell? or 
the most recent one?  Regardless, she didn't remember saying much more 
than "Oh, my God," so she just shook her head.

"You told me to let go."  He thought back to that moment, after 
Modell, when she had taken him into her body and he had moved above 
her, his skin slick with the effort of staying in control after his 
failure a few hours before, begging for forgiveness with his body.  
She had looked up at him, her eyes filled with infinite tenderness and 
understanding, her hands cool on him, and whispered the words.  
Looking at her now, he saw the shadow deepen in the blue, and he knew 
that she remembered it, too.  "That was the first time that we made 
love and I knew you loved me," he said softly.  "Let go and trust me.  
Let go -- I'll catch you.  Let go of what you're hanging on to, 
because everything starts new tonight.  Let go and hide in me, I'll 
protect you."  He shook his head a little with the wonder of it.  
"It's been like that for me every time since.  Even the quick and 
dirty times.  I see your love for me, and it...it does something to my 
heart.  Makes it bigger and stronger."

Scully could tell her breathing had gotten shallow as she watched him 
and listened to him.  He was using an old trick he hadn't pulled out 
in a while, turning her confession into his own.  He was trying to 
talk her into something without ever actually saying it, but God help 
her, she was ready to be convinced.  It was a strategy, she recognized 
that.  She also knew that he was incapable of lying to her, and that 
the words came from a different location than the ploy.  She waited, 
almost holding her breath, for the argument that would let her 
capitulate.  She knew it was coming.

Mulder didn't disappoint her.  His voice was soft, urgent, and saw his 
eyes begin to flash, like heat lightning.  "I don't care if I can't 
see my edges anymore, if I can't tell what's me and what's you and 
what's us.  Everything I'm proud of, everything I cling to, every 
truth I know about myself is because of you, created with you.  This 
is it for me, Scully.  Until the end, I'm a part of us, and part of me 
is you.  I hear you in my head, I feel you in my heart, I taste you on 
my tongue every minute of every day.  We balance each other.  We 
finish each other.  There is no me without you anymore, and I don't 
want it any other way."

His eyes were like a summer storm on the prairie now, and she felt 
herself bending like tallgrass before the wind.  There was only one 
answer to that.  She reached up, cupped her hand behind his neck, and 
pulled him down to her.  No preliminaries, just heat and silk as their 
mouths found each other and he touched her, drawing her closer so 
their chests pressed together.  He breathed her breath, gave her his.  
Like stars, he thought, almost dizzy with it.  "Scully..." he 
whispered against her mouth.  She gently bit his lip in answer, and he 
swallowed a groan.  "Don't start this if we're not going to finish 
it," he said, and she felt his voice against her teeth.

She drew back enough to meet his eyes, her fingers still threaded 
through his hair.  She could feel his chest rise and fall against 
hers, could feel the tattoo of his heartbeat through her skin.  
"Forget the bet," she breathed.  "No more games.  I just want you."  
She leaned back into him, claiming his mouth again.

She felt him rising out of the tub, felt him get a good grip on her 
wet body and lift her out to wrap her legs around his waist as he 
carried her to the bedroom.  She knew that at some point he must have 
broken their kiss, but she didn't remember it, and his body seemed to 
be everywhere.  He laid her on the bed, and they danced like twin 
stars.



DAY NINE

It was late, but not late enough to be early.  Mulder looked up at her 
from where his cheek rested on her smooth, flat belly and smiled.  It 
had turned out to be one of those wobbly-legged days after all.  Wave 
after wave of passion sweeping over them, cresting, leaving them 
breathless and gaspin.  They had stumbled into the kitchen a few hours 
before and gulped juice from the carton, ate cold pasta with their 
fingers, until they were a tomatoey mess.  The foray ended with her on 
the edge of the counter, her kness spread wide and her hands gripping 
his shoulders as he slid into her, pulling a moan from both of them.  
They grabbed some fruit and cookies and headed back to the comfort of 
the bed.

Now, hours later, the cookies were gone.  The fruit was, too, and had 
been used to good effect.  And Scully had the contented, sweaty look 
of a satisfied woman.  She looked down at him, gave his ears a gentle 
tug.  "C'mere."

"I don't know if I can move," he replied truthfully.

She grinned.  "Give it a shot."

He lifted himself on weary muscles and crawled up her body, dropping 
down for a long, soft kiss when he arrived at his destination.  "Hi."

"Hi," she murmured, chasing his lips for another kiss before he rolled 
gently off her.

They lay side by side, facing each other.  In a few hours they would 
have to get up, go to work, spend another day with the unthinkable.  
For now it was enough to look at each other, letting their fingers 
trail lightly over beloved features that they knew by heart.

"I like this," he said, all sweet innocence like he hadn't had his 
face betwen her thighs a few minutes ago.

"Has its high points," she agreed.

Mulder nuzzled her neck, carefully avoiding the bite mark she was 
going to be pissed about in the morning, and let his lips curve in a 
smile against her throat.  "I like that you caved first."

"Mmm--"  The happy sound broke off mid-hum, and she pushed his head 
back so she could stare at him.  "What?"

"You caved," he repeated smugly.  "And I quote, 'Forget the bet.'"

"I was just calling it off," she protested.

He laughed.  "You can't call off a bet once you're in the middle of 
it.  That's the same as losing."

Scully's eyes narrowed, but there was no anger in them.  "Is this in 
the guy handbook?"

"Chapter four."

"Damn, I wish they'd give out a copy of that thing in junior high.  
It would make life so much easier."  She flopped her head back and 
looked at him with an unmistakable glint of amusement.  "I suppose 
it's not worth pointing out that you seduced me?"

He didn't even try to pretend he was shocked by the accusation.  "I 
just told you how I feel."

"Same thing.  So I lose, huh?"

"Well, not entirely."  He kissed the tip of her nose, then rolled out 
of bed and walked over to where he'd dropped his clothes the day 
before.

"What are you doing?" she asked, watching him dig through the pile for 
his jeans.

"Trying to find my wallet."

"It's too late to look for a condom."  He flashed her an appreciative 
smirk, then stood up with his wallet in his hand.  He opened it up and 
pulled out two slips of paper.  "What are those?"

"Tickets for the ball game."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at how predictable that made 
her.  "You already bought them?"

"Days ago."

"How did you know?"

He shrugged.  "I knew I wanted to win."

"I wanted to win."

"Yes, but my reason was better."

"Are you saying I'm shallow?" she teased.

He settled on the bed next to her.  "You wanted to win, but I knew it 
was an intellectual exercise for you.  It was an emotional one for me.  
So my reason was more important to me than yours was to you.  Heart 
trumps head every time, Scully."

She looked down at him, propped up on his elbow next to her, his face 
turned up to hers with an expression of complete trust.  "What was 
your reason?"

"I wanted to be able to give you something."

"A baseball game?"

He shook his head, smiling.  "Look at the tickets."

She did, while he began kissing her softly from her shoulder, down 
over her breast, to her stomach.  "Orioles versus Yankees..."

"Go, team."

"You really did buy them days ago."  She tried to sound stern, but 
only succeeded in making him smile against her stomach.  "The game's 
this weekend..."

"Mmm."

"Mulder.  The game's in New York."

He looked up at her, and now he just looked pleased with himself.  "I 
never said it would be a home game.  We fly up Friday night, come back 
Sunday.  We've got a room at the Library Hotel."

"Not the paranormal room?" she asked with a genuine twinge of alarm.

"No such luck, it was already booked.  Had to settle for a junior 
suite on the literature floor.  We go to the game Saturday afternoon, 
and the rest of the weekend...  Well, that's up to us."

She touched his cheek, tears filling her eyes.  "Your gift is you."

"Half right.  It's us."  He reached up and kissed her slowly and 
tenderly.  "Merry Christmas, Scully."

"Christmas isn't for five months."

"Yeah, well, that's about how long I'll be paying for this trip."  He 
smiled and kissed her again.  "I love you."

"I know.  Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm so glad I caved."

-Fin-

----------------------

Author's Notes: * This started out as a short piece of fluff.  It's 
still fluff, but I have no explanation for how it got so long. * 
Mulder would certainly have faced a disciplinary board for his actions 
on day four, but that's why this is fanfic not fanreal. * I don't 
really believe that Mulder would be a fan of Donne, but I wouldn't be 
surprised if he could quote him.  The man did write some very hot 
stuff.  I was thinking of "To His Mistress Going to Bed" in 
particular, but any number of poems would do. *Thanks to The Grateful 
Dead, Alexandre Dumas (pere), Douglas Adams, Dr. Hauschka's skin care 
products, and the Library Hotel for making appearances in "Spot the 
Allusion." * More thanks to Wikipedia, for reminding me how fusion and 
binary stars work.  I could spend hours just following links there. * 
Special thanks go to Nature's Path Optimum Zen cereal for inspiring 
the bathtub scene.  It didn't exist when this takes place, but it 
should have. --0-998962734-1154034159=:28256--