Ommmm....The characters and situations of the X-Files TV program are the creations and property of Chris Carter and Fox Broadcasting and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. WARNING: Possible third season spoilers, and non-relationshippers should leave now. Any questions, comments(including posting difficulties), please send to hrb102@psu.edu. Questions by Hillary Bergen Dana Scully was tired. Pooped. Exhausted. Deplete of energy. Out to lunch. So it was perfectly acceptable to her to groan into her pillow when the phone rang. "Scumumph." "Scully?" Mulder's voice buzzed in her ear. "Murmumph, dmn't oo mvr smeep?" "What?" "Mulder, don't you ever sleep?" Scully repeated, raising her head from the pillow. She was greeted by a lick on the chin. "Ick. Clyde!" she protested. Mulder laughed. "Apparently I don't and neither does Clyde. Can I come over? I need your laptop to finish some stuff..." "Mulder, it's three o'clock in the morning, we just got in, we've been chasing swamp gas for three days through the Everglades, I haven't even taken a shower yet, and my apartment's a mess." "Your point?" "All right," she sighed in defeat. "Just let yourself in. And don't torment Clyde!" she shouted as she hung up the phone. "Idiot," she muttered into the pillow, feeling the Pomeranian cuddle closer to her. She ran through a now familiar pejorative litany as she pulled a hand through Clyde's tangled red fur, lulling herself to sleep. "Moron. Certifiable. Numbskull. Dimwit...*yawn*...few bricks short...*yawn*...of a load, couple...*yawn*...bubbles off..." =========================================================================== From: hrb102@psu.edu (Hillary Bergen) Date: Fri, 12 Apr 1996 12:39:00 -0400 Subject: Questions 2/? See disclaimers in part one. WARNING: Third season spoilers abound. Non-relationshippers should bail out. She woke and stretched languidly, thankful that the exhaustion was gone. She sat up, glad to see that sunshine streamed through the window. She rose and pulled up the sash, smiling as the breeze filtered through the screens. Birds twittered. Flowers bloomed. Children's laughter echoed down the street. "How disgusting," came a familiar voice from behind her. "I prefer to think I look attractively tousled in the morning, Mulder," she grinned, not bothering to turn around. She heard him come up behind her. She turned around to see him squinting in the light, stubble-faced and red-eyed. "I was referring to -that-," he grumbled, waving towards the window. "It's too early to be so picturesque." "Is it my fault you came over last night?" she chided gently, pushing him towards the bed with one hand, closing the drapes with the other. "Go back to sleep, Mulder." He fell on the bed, not even noticing when Clyde climbed up on the bed to sack out with him. Scully smiled at the picture. The two men in my life, she thought fondly, and an odd pain made her eyes fill with tears for an instant. She shook her head and swallowed them away as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her. She raised her head when she heard the bedroom door open. She had finally been able to clean up and take a shower; ergo she felt human again. No suit, either. Just jeans and one of Ahab's old shirts that still managed to smell like Old Spice and sea spray. Mulder came out of the bedroom and sat down in the large wingback chair, sprawling lanky limbs in all directions. "How does such a small dog take up an entire Queen-sized bed?" he asked. "Practice." She smiled softly. "Have some coffee." She nodded towards the kitchen. "If I talk dirty to you, will you get it for me?" he asked, pouting when she shook her head at him from her corner of the couch. She was already comfortably stationed in the sun with her favorite copy of _Moby Dick_. Mulder knew she wasn't moving for anything less than an earthquake or a Reticulan invasion. She bent her head back to the book, hearing him pad barefoot through the kitchen to the coffeemaker and rummage through the cupboard for a mug and spoon. She muffled a chuckle as she heard Mulder curse at Clyde who had exited the bedroom and was now probably circling his ankles. If she wasn't mistaken, he said something about a "red-haired bed hog." Mulder came out of the kitchen, sipping the coffee. "Vanilla Amaretto?" he commented appreciatively. "I'm flattered." He looked at her curiously. "What's so funny?" he demanded. She waved a hand at the dog, now looking adoringly up at Mulder, yards of pink tongue scrolling out of the side of his mouth. "Your red-haired bed hog," she said. He grinned. "I was talking about you, Scully." He deftly dodged the throw pillow that suddenly lived up to its name. =========================================================================== From: hrb102@psu.edu (Hillary Bergen) Date: Fri, 12 Apr 1996 12:43:08 -0400 Subject: Questions 3/3 See disclaimers in part one. WARNING: Third season spoilers and relationship story ahead. Get out while you still can. Mulder had showered and changed and returned, bringing the Star Wars trilogy and Chinese food. All the paperwork from the last case was done; she was impressed and a little touched that Mulder had stayed up so late finishing it all for a change. He had changed into a soft cotton shirt and jeans and she couldn't help but think that he looked absolutely delicious standing in the doorway balancing paper cartons of moo goo gai pan and the chronicles of Luke Skywalker. She chided herself for thinking unpartnerlike thoughts as she welcomed him in. Half an hour later, she was nibbling on an egg roll and watching her heroine, Princess Leia Organa, kick Han Solo headfirst down a garbage chute. She chuckled at the sight of Clyde trying to beg some of Mulder's Kung Pao Chicken. He took one wary eye off the dog. "What now?" "Well, you may be a bit like Han Solo," she said, "but Clyde makes a funny Wookie. Maybe an Ewok," she conceded. "You don't have enough hair to look quite like Princess Leia," he commented, cocking his head to one side. "However, I do remember getting shoved down a garbage chute more than once." "More like a sewer or two," she amended, "and you also deserved it at the time." Stretching herself out on the floor, she turned her attention back to the movie and rolled on her side, pillowing her head on her arm. She heard him move over to her and felt him spoon himself against her, curling an arm around her waist. "Do you mind?" he murmured into her hair. "No," she sighed, relaxing into him, only half-wondering why she didn't mind. He only rose to put the next movie in and to start the coffee. Each time he rose, he came back, curling himself around her. They were halfway through _The Empire Strikes Back_ before he spoke again. "I think I heard that tone in your voice a few times last week," he said, referring to the contretemps between Han Solo and Princess Leia. Scully laughed. "Scruffy looking nerf herder." "Who's scruffy lookin'?" he mocked. "Scoundrel," she retorted. "Your highnessness." "Flyboy." "Your worshipfulness." "So you concur with Bureau opinion on that one." She tried to keep her tone light, bantering, hoping for a silly comment that she could smack him for and relieve the tension. The answer wasn't quite what she expected. He pulled back a bit, forcing her to turn on her back to look up at him. He had the strangest smile on his face. "Ice Queen? No," he said simply. "Has that been bothering you?" She felt herself blush; irritated with herself, she tried to turn away. he pulled her back; she knew she would have to answer him. "Sometimes," she admitted. "Sometimes, I don't even feel like a real person anymore, but a mechanical agent, a holographic doctor, not even human, a machine who only works on dead people..." She closed her eyes against his inquiring gaze, for the second time that day forcing back tears. "My life seems to revolve around death. I just haven't felt human in a while, I guess," she admitted, more to herself than to him. He drew her to him, rocking them both gently back and forth. "You should know by now that inhuman people are remarkably unconcerned about their level of humanity. Or their tobacco intake," she commented wryly. "And I only smelled cigarette smoke that once in Comity and I believe they were Marlboros, not Moreleys." She elbowed him in the stomach, smiling, and turned over to watch the movie again. She felt his arm go around her and rest against her. His fingers wound their way through her hair. "You know," he began. "You're not an Ice Queen." "Oh no?" "No. You are simply...discerning. Discriminating. And most men in the Bureau know that and it makes them nuts." He mused on his own words for a while. Dana was certainly discriminating. When they had first met, he had been on the receiving end of that evaluative gaze. He didn't think she realized that she did it; it was the first thing that impressed him. The ability to instinctively size people up, to find every nook and cranny of their souls with that electric blue gaze. "You spoiled me for the rest of the men in the Bureau, Mulder," she laughed. "What can I say?" "Say I don't have to go home tonight." Oops. He hadn't meant to say that out loud...really he hadn't. "Okay," she yawned. "I hope you don't mind a red-haired bed hog," she said. "I don't mind Clyde that much," he said. Her couch was more comfortable than his, anyway, and the mutt was good company. "I was talking about me, Mulder. For someone so intuitive about the paranormal, you are dense about women." He watched, fascinated, as she rose from the floor and held out a hand to him. "Are you sure?" he asked. She looked down for a moment, her hair hiding her face briefly. Then she looked up and he didn't need to ask anything else. "I don't want you to leave," was all she said. He rose, pulling her close. They stood quietly for a moment together, enjoying the embrace. In unison, they turned and walked into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind them. Clyde raised his head curiously, then lowered it. He yawned, exposing rolls of pink tongue. He debated on starting in on the Sweet and Sour Pork, but decided against it. You didn't mess with the head dog's dinner. He sighed a doggy sigh, drifting off into dreams of all the leftovers he could eat. The End