Title: "Dulcet"
Author: Duchess Stephanie
E-mail: Ofiles19@aol.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: S(R)
Spoilers: Many, many, many
Keywords: MSR/RST
Summary: Sequel to "Cape Jessamine". After receiving a love note from Scully,
			   Mulder confronts her about her real feelings 
Disclaimer: Per usual, none of these characters are mine, the lyrics belong to
		 	            Meredith Brooks, Louie Says, Sarah McLachlin and Heather Nova,
			respectively, "Silence of the Lambs" is an innocent allusion to my favorite
			movie, and so on. 
Dedication: To my "someone" - I wish you knew how much I love you.  Also to
everyone 
                   who has ever taken the time to send me feedback on my work-
you make
                   it worth my time.  Love, Steph
**************************************************************************
"Electricity, eye to eye-
 Hey, don't I know you?....  I can't speak.
 Strip my senses on the spark
 I've never been defenseless, 
 I can't even make sense of this-
 You speak and I don't hear a word.
 What would happen if we kissed?
 Would your tongue slip past my lips?
 (Would you run away?)
 Would you stay?
 Or would I melt into you...
 Mouth to mouth, lust for lust
 Spontaneously combust..."  ("What Would Happen.." Meredith Brooks)
**************************************************************************
"She bends, and she breaks-
 She loves you but then she takes it away.
 She bends, and she bows-
 She's cold but she melts like snow."
	CD player whispering sadly in her ear, Dana Scully squirmed and writhed on
the firm cushions of the couch in her living room, laying flat on her back and
hoping that would be more restful. 
	She had been doing this for hours.  The TV had become too tedious, and she
was looking at her copy of "Silence of the Lambs," as opposed to, say,
actually reading it.
So she did the next best thing.  Which, coincidentally, was the last resort
and option to going absolutely insane.
	She sighed softly into the darkness.  Usually listening to the radio would
soothe her when she was restless.  But it was not helping tonight.  Nothing
was, actually.  When she was fighting insomnia, she usually could find escape
though the pain of others- lyrics.
	Scully wished that she had insomnia.  That would be infinitely better that
this waiting, these painful misgivings in her heart.
	A silence fell in her apartment, heavy and only momentary as the song changed
again.
"Spend all your time waiting,
 For that second chance-
 For the break that will make it okay
 There's always some reason to feel not good enough
 And it's hard at the end of the day"...
	She shut her eyes and exhaled, reaching up behind her head to hit the VOLUME
DOWN button, and the singer was cut off in the midst of yet one more glorious
tribute to misery. 
	Why was she feeling this way? 
	Because, Dana, she told herself.  You love him and you told him so.
	That had always been her greatest fear.  Rejection.  The deep, cutting pain
that only unrequited love can cause.  The sharp sting of cruelty that stems
from showing your feelings to others and having them laugh in your face.
Possessing a desire for one human being so fervent that sleeping in your own
bed was unbearable because you acutely felt the absence of their body beside
yours.
	She had been there before.
	So she built a fortress around herself, around her heart, and locked her
emotions inside it.  Made herself cold and withdrawn.  Frigid as ice.  The Ice
Queen, Colton had called her.  And it still hurt, knowing that she had these
feelings ... these passions-hatred and desire, and hope ... and love.
	For Mulder.
	Because she could only hold those feeling inside for so long before her
resolve strained, and she laughed, and cried, and yelled, and realized that he
made her complete again.
	So she had sat down at her desk, burnt aromatherapy candles, and felt such
amazing love towards him that she actually wrote a note to him telling him in
three little words how she was feeling.
	Then she had, somehow, slipped the note into his desk drawer and hoped,
somehow, that he would be able to comprehend all the emotion that she had
poured into that post-it note, the condensation of page after page of scented,
flowery confessions of passion. 
	Because she burned for him.  Glowed with her love for him.
	And here she was, feeling laid completely bare for the first time in years,
and hating it. 
	She was open, body, soul, and mind, to him and his will then.  And to someone
who abhors co-dependance, it was the worst feeling in the world.	
	So Dana Scully lay in the dark, on her couch, waiting for an absolution, a
verdict-anything.  At three o'clock in the morning.
	The darkness of the soul, she though wryly.
	But, really, what was she waiting for?  For him to do something about it?
Assuming that he had noticed a stray post-it in his desk and even acknowledged
it's presence.  Or even stopped to read it.  Fully comprehended the words
therewith.  Even considered the thought that it might not be a fraud or a
forgery.  And then deigned to acknowledge it.
	This was killing her.  Stifling her in the dark.
	Scully threw off her covers and sat up on the couch.  Tasted the darkness and
it's inherent loneliness, and stood up in her flowing nightgown.  Crossed
instinctively to her window, and drew open the blinds.
	The full moon over Georgetown cast silvery beams of darting light across her
living room floor.  Below her apartment, the city was still and quiet, behind
her, her room was dim. 	Scully put a hand tentatively to the window pane,
knowing it would leave smudges and fingerprints that she'd have to Windex away
later that day.  She didn't care.
	The glass was smooth and cold to her touch.  It was early April, infant
spring and not quite tranquil yet.  The air outside must have been chilly.
She dipped her head, and softly leaned her forehead to the window, listening
to her own breath, in and out so regularly.  She wished she could forget and
take back everything she had done.  Maybe it would be best if he chose to
ignore the note.  Then they could continue with grace and pretend nothing had
happened, and let things go back to normal.
	Even if she had to live with the hollowness.
	Even if it meant having the dreams every night ... painting vivid canvases of
them on her bed, a tangle of white and bronze flesh, hands and lips
everywhere, slowly starving from the absence of his body when she woke up hot
and sweating in the middle of the night. 
	In the wan moonlight, the silhouettes of her furniture were visible, and she
padded to the little table by her door, where she kept her hairbrush.  Silver
backed and inlaid with a complicated floral motif, it had been an heirloom
from her mother's side of the family.  Absently she brushed her almost
shoulder length auburn hair, feeling the bristles massage her scalp and gently
detangle her tresses, then tying it up in a loose ponytail with a green band.
	Scully went back to the couch, and sat down, no less troubled and feeling no
more tired that before.  Pulled a blanket on her lap.
	And heard a knock on her door.
**************************************************************************
	Her heart was in her throat before she even looked through the peephole,
knowing that there was only one person who would show up at her door this late
at night.  One person who she had been wanting to talk to for hours, yet was
deathly afraid to confront.  She considered a million things ... pretending
that she was fast asleep with the door shut, pretending that she was not at
home (even if she had nowhere else to possibly be), anywhere but there at that
time.
	Though, of course, if Mulder wanted to talk to her, a locked door wasn't
going to prevent that.
	"Who is it?" she called unnecessarily.  Her voice broke, which could be
mistaken for weariness, were her flushed cheeks and pounding pulse not giving
her away.
	"Scully?  It's me."
	Me.  Nothing else was necessary.  She composed herself as best she could, and
unlocked the door, in slippers and a nightgown.
	Heart in her throat, yet on her sleeve at the same time, she opened the door.
	"Mulder," she murmured, by way of greeting. 
	He looked almost as tired as she, though fully dressed in his out-of-work..
Jeans and a tight white T-shirt.  Leather jacket hugged to his chest and hair
brushed hastily.  Tendril hanging over his eye.
	"Scully" he responded, tone and expression unreadable.  "Hi.  Can I come in?"
	Stepped aside, she let him enter the dim room.  His eyes squinted in the
sudden dark, and Scully flicked the switch on the closest lamp, casting a
faint glow over the room.
	"You didn't have to do that," he said softly.
	"Oh, it's OK" she answered quickly. 
	"I woke you up" This was not the question his words might imply.  He knew her
better than that.
	"No" she answered, once more stating the unnecessary.  "I was awake"
	She piled her blankets and pillow on one end of the couch, while he watched
quietly, knowing that, unlike himself, she made use of her bed.  And her
bedroom.
She nodded at him to sit down, and he took the chair across from where she sat
on the couch. 
	"So was I" he admitted.
	"Ah" she said.  "Well, they say that fifty-seven percent of Federal Agents."
	"Suffer from work related insomnia" he finished with a halfhearted laugh.
"Yeah, I read that one.  It was in.," he furrowed his brows in thought. "..
The...  February? report?"
	"Yeah" She nodded, though she really had no idea.
	"Actually, that's not what I came here to talk about."
	"It's not?"  She spoke these words knowing that they were not even out before
she started to flush.
	"No".
	Like the world's purest innocent, she asked "What is it, then?"
	He looked in her eyes, and suddenly, intuitively, after seven years of being
closer than lovers, she knew there would be no B.S'ing or half truths tonight.
	"I think you know" It was not a harsh statement, nor even judgmental, just
plain statement of fact.
	Not even waiting for confirmation or denial from her, he reached into his
pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper.
	Her scrap of paper.
	It had obviously been read thoroughly and more than once.  He handed it to
her, and in her fingers, she felt that the edges had been worn smooth.  She
didn't even look down at it before starting to speak.
	"Please, Mulder, let me explain..."
	He interrupted her swiftly.  "No, dammit, Scully, let me talk."  He took a
deep breath and went on, deep hazel eyes dark in her swimming blue ones.  "I
found this in my drawer right before I left.  I read it.  I read it over, and
over again.  And do you know what I thought, Scully?"
	Her whole being leaned on the hesitant edge in his voice.
	"What?" she breathed in a shattered whisper.
	"I thought, 'Jesus, Fox'" He laughed shortly and shook his head.  "'This is a
forgery.  Some conspiracist assassin has finally found my Achilles heel.  Must
be.  'Cause there's no way in hell your partner wrote this note.'"
	He leaned over, elbows on his knees, as he continued.
	"Though God knows I wanted to believe it.  I said to myself, 'I need to get
over there right away.'  Before you changed your mind.  Like this is a whim,
because let's be brutally honest here, Scully ... you haven't given me a whole
lot to go on in seven years.  And then you just send me this ... this post-it
note, politely informing me that you love me."
	She was near tears, and she tried to speak, and he just spoke over her,
needing to finish what he had to say.
	"We've been best friends for years, now, Scully.  I trust you, you trust me,
and I know you care about me, but I'll be damned if you've barely given me any
cause to assume that.  Once in a blue moon, you'll say you trust me, say you
care, touch me, dangle me ... and that's about the whole lot of it."
	A tear slid down her eye, down the apple of her cheek and towards her chin.
He continued, softer.
	"And you tell me you love me.  Which is sort of suprising, 'cause..."
	He seemed ready to say something, when he stopped, and abruptly started to
say something else.
	"Scully, do you remember the time in the hallway?  Before that god-forsaken
bee stung you?"
	She nodded silently.
	"How about when you were first diagnosed with cancer?  Or when you almost
died from it after I faked my death?  How 'bout the time that necrophiliac
kidnapped you and you cried in my arms?  God, if we're going to be blatant ...
what do you think about our conversation after I got wrecked in the Bermuda
Triangle?"
	His voice was low and hoarse now, hesitant and scared in the first real
conversation they'd ever had.  She was just barely breathing, and impulsively
he grasped her slender white fingers and laced them through his.
	"Every time I touch the small of your back and imagine making love to you,
mentally kissing your lips every time I say, "Scully, it's me", when you pick
up your cell phone?  What do you think I'm trying to say, Scully?"
	She did not answer, somehow knowing what he was going to say before he even
said it.  They were like that.
	"How did you know it was me?" she asked quietly.
	"Because" he said simply.  "The more it confused me, the more I realized that
it was exactly the sort of thing you'd do.  And, besides, your eyes would have
given you away the minute I opened the door."
	She would have blushed had she had any power of will.  Of course, by then, he
had already lifted her from her seat and pulled her into his arms, which she
knew so well from few chance encounters with them, solace from mental and
physical pain, anguish, and heartache.  The soft cotton of his shirt absorbed
her tears as she became intimate with the rhythmic pulsing of his heart.  He
just held her, so close, and spoke to her, like he always had.
	"Scully?"
	"Yeah, Mulder?"
	"I love you ... too."
	And, in one fluid moment, he had both pushed away and leaned even further
into her.  In the heartbeat before they kissed for the first time, she saw the
smoldering heat in his hazel eyes, and knew that this moment would not be
spoiled.
	His head dipped and she stood on tiptoe, not quite reaching as his strong
hands clasped firmly round her waist to support her. Their lips brushed, soft
and sweet, and he murmured;
	"God, I've waited long enough for this."
	She shut her eyes, long lashes tangling in his as he kissed her again,
tasting the lips he had desired for so long.  And hadn't he known it.
Strawberries.  Fresh and ripe, like she was.  He held her tighter, not wanting
the moment to end.
	Scully was lost in this new maelstrom, this blissful experience, as she
inhaled the crisp musk of his after-shave, heard him whispering softly, saw
nothing but a soft glow behind her lowered eyes as she felt ... oh, God, she
felt ... his arms so strong and safe and the mounting intensity of his lips on
hers, which she had no other will than to submit to.
	He gently probed her lips harder, kissing and nibbling at the same time,
finding them slightly open and willing.  The kiss grew, deeper yet...
	...as the soft, moist heat of his tongue touched hers tentatively.  She
melted in his caress.  One of those situations where your knees can't hold you
up, and your vital signs are either way too fast or way too slow, and you feel
both utterly weak and yielding, yet totally safe at the same time.  And, for
several shining moments, in the middle of her living room, he held her in that
sweet captivity. 
	It was hard to tell who broke it apart, struggling for air after sharing one
breath, lips swollen and eyes glowing.
	Though, of course, Mulder would speak first.
	"Jesus Lord!" he exclaimed, huskily and not quite joking.  "If I'd have
known..."
	She panted and curved her heavy lips in a smile.  "I'd have done it a lot
sooner."
	He smiled back, though his expression was dead serious.  "Scully?"
	She looked at him, afraid to hear what he was going to say.  "What's wrong?"
	"Look, I know this is this incredible thing, and it's a lot to deal with, but
I need to tell you something.  I tried to tell you it once before, and I never
got a chance, but here we are and we're alone, and I don't know how I can say
this and make you understand it, but I need to tell you, because I don't know
how much longer I can stand keeping this from you."
	Her face fell, and she could not even tremble, so sure was she that he was
about to break her heart.
	"Mulder, I..."
	He silenced her once more, putting one finger to her lips. 
	"Scully, for years, I've searched.  Up and down, in and out, in pursuit of an
ever-elusive Truth that continues to evade me.  And you've always been right
there with me.  My hand and my light.  My guide and my hope.  You are ...
you're my human evidence, Scully-the only thing I can count on not to make me
crazy.  You ground me and finish me, Scully.
	"And, so, here I am, looking blindly for extraterrestrials and Flukemen,
seeing stars, questing anywhere and everywhere for something to devote myself
to-never realizing that my truth ... my devotion..."  He smiled softly,
cupping her chin in his hands and looking into her eyes, "..Was right here all
along.  You, Scully-you're my truth in the end."
	She had no idea what to say.  So she just pulled him back into her arms, and
cried softly, tears of joy, pain, and something else.  He tilted his head, and
kissed every tear on her face, tasting the salty drops on his lips.
	"I have loved you, Mulder, so badly" she sobbed.  "And I was so afraid ... so
scared to be hurt...""
	"Shhh" he hushed her tenderly, then held her away.  Looked at her tied back
hair, tear-streaked eyes.  Soft nightgown, that was transparent in the
backlight in the dim room-gossamer folds over the smooth curved outline of her
body in the moonlight.  His heart hurt with love for this woman.  Pulling her
back again, he whispered in her ear, "I want to make love to you, Scully".
	She looked up at him, startled, clear, baby blue eyes demanding of him a
million questions.  "What?" she asked softly.
	Slowly, Mulder ran his hands over the apples of her cheeks, sweeping the
loose tendrils of her hair behind her ears, and down the curve of her chin,
resting on her shoulders.  
	"I said, 'I want to make love to you, Dana Scully.'"  He repeated this
confession so quietly that she had to strain to hear his voice, and he stood
there, holding her shoulders, waiting for her verdict, subject entirely to her
will.
	She had heard him the first time, not entirely sure that he was saying those
words to her.  But he obviously was, because there he waited, while she
blinked and pulled away.  His eyes followed her wordlessly to her stereo,
where she extended one finger and clicked the volume up just a bit.  Heard a
softly singing voice and closed her eyes.
"...And it's hard watching, 'cause I'm part of you
 And it's hard not to know what I can do.
 I'm powerless to change your world, 
 I'm powerless to stop the hurt
 I'm trying hard to be your tower of strength-
 I'm trying hard to bring you back to joy.
 But I'll give you my heart,
 Give you my shoulder."
	"Funny."  She turned off the radio again, abruptly.  "That's my favorite
song."
	Still, his eyes followed her.  "Really?" he asked quietly.  "I didn't know
that."
	"No" she murmured.  Almost to herself, almost convincing Mulder that he
wasn't meant to hear it.  "You wouldn't."
	He sighed, and went over to her.  "What do you mean by that?"
	"There's.."  She faltered.  "Part of me says that there's so much you don't
know about me, Mulder.  And, maybe, part says I'm afraid to lost that mystery,
that edge.  Or, worse" her voice dropped lower yet.  "You'll know everything
about me and you'll realize that maybe we are two completely different people
after all."
	"Oh."  Mulder stopped.  "Ah.  The ever-enigmatic Dr. Scully.  Well, ma'am,
obviously it's you who doesn't know me as well as you think."
	He was very close to her now.  And smiling.  She stepped closer yet, and
asked "Why is that?"
	"Because" he said simply.  "If you did, you'd know that the more I get to
know you, the more I love you."
	She really had no response for that one.  "Well, Mulder, that makes twice
that you've made me speechless tonight."
	He raised his eyebrows, considering this.  Oh-so-casually wrapped his arms
around her waist, letting his hands pull her body to his, hard on soft, yin
and yang, Alpha and Omega.  The beginning and the end.  His truth, and love.
When she was pressed completely to him, he looked down at her face.  "Only
twice?  Can I go for three?"
	"You can try, if you want."
	He gazed seriously at her.  "What do you want?"
	Scully considered this man cleaved to her body.  Had to look up considerably.
Felt a hot rush of desire wash over her, knowing he felt it too.  She realized
every repercussion, result, and misgiving that could possibly come from her
answer.  She accepted them, and promptly threw them to the wind, knowing she
really could trust him.  Body and soul. 
	 "I want to see stars, Fox Mulder.  Possibly a galaxy.  Think you could do
that for me?"
	And her partner grinned widely.  "Well, Scully, we all know that in
situations like this, the best thing to do is compromise.  And I think that we
can take what you want and what I want, and somehow combine them."
	She laughed deep in her throat as his mouth lowered to hers once again.  And
was, for all physical purposes, quite unable to speak as he swept her into his
arms and carried her into her bedroom.
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Well, there it is! Comments and criticism are both welcomed with open arms:
Ofiles19@aol.com