Title: Some Enchanted Evening (1 of 2) By: Tess E-mail: tnv099@aol.com Distribution: Usually yours for the asking. Spoilers: None. But I'm envisioning this as being set sometime in late S5 or S6 Rating: PG-13 Content: SAR Disclaimer: If I owned Mulder and Scully, I would not be nervous about what is going to happen in S8. I don't own them and it is thanks to CC, Fox and 1013 that I am nervous. I'll have to trust them. Special thanks to Aly for maintaining a website for me. You can visit it and find all of my stories at: http://acovington.home.mindspring.com/tess/index.ht ml And Char always takes the time to read what I've written and then kindly makes it better with her thoughts and suggestions. This time is no different than any other. Thank you. Some enchanted evening you may see a stranger you may see a stranger across a crowded room And somehow you know you know even then that somewhere you'll see her again and again Some enchanted evening someone may be laughing you may hear her laughing across a crowded room And night after night as strange as it seems the sound of her laughter will sing in your dreams Who can explain it who can tell you why fools give you reasons wise men never try Some enchanted evening when you find your true love when you hear her call you across a crowded room Then fly to her side and make her your own or all through your life you may be all alone Once you have found her never let her go Once you have found her never let her go Rodgers & Hammerstein - South Pacific Some Enchanted Evening by: Tess I pull into the circular driveway and wave off the valet indicating that I am just here to pick someone up. Scully and I are booked on a 9:00 p.m. flight to Chicago to attend a two-day seminar. 'Law Enforcement and Community Relations' or some other bullshit title. I'm not really sure what the seminar is about. I've spent the last two weeks trying to weasel my way out of it. But Skinner is adamant. Damn continuing education credits have seeped their way out of corporate America and into the bureaucracy of the federal government. I jog up the steps of an old Victorian mansion that has been converted into a banquet facility. Scully is here to attend a family party. She made arrangements to drive to the party with her mother so that I could pick her up and we could take one car to the airport. I step into the mansion's foyer and head toward the music. My eyes scan the room, looking for my partner. I stop when I hear the lilt of a woman's laughter. The sound is enchanting and instinctively, I turn to find the source. She is on the other side of the room, talking to an older woman. She's wearing a dress that reminds me of the color of cranberries, overlaid with black lace. Its floor-length skirt has a deep slit, which reveals strong, shapely legs. Her feet are encased in a pair of strappy black heels that look painful to wear but are sexy as hell. I can't see her face, but her hair is a mass of dark red curls that brush her nearly bare shoulders. A cousin? I wonder, immediately intrigued. The hair would seem to indicate that she is a relative. "Fox." I am startled out of my reverie and turn as Margaret Scully glides up to me. "It's lovely to see you!" she exclaims as she rises up on her toes. I obligingly lean toward her and brush my lips across her cheek. "You look wonderful." She blushes at my compliment. "You are a charmer," she smiles. "Yes, ma'am," I grin. "I'm here to pick up Scu..Dana, but I don't see her." Mrs. Scully looks over my shoulder and then back at me in confusion. "But..." "Mulder!" I turn at the sound of Scully's voice. The woman in the cranberry dress raises a hand and beckons to me. "Mulder!" I peer across the room at this beautiful stranger. How does she know my na...Scully? Mrs. Scully takes me by the arm and leads me across the room. As we draw closer, I see that the woman whose laugh had captured my attention is in fact, Scully. She touches me lightly on the arm and tips her head back to meet my gaze. "Hi," she says softly. She is exquisite. She's Scully and yet she's not. Her eyes are sparkling; her lips, painted a shade that compliments her dress, curve upward prettily. I am...captivated. She is speaking again and I blink, forcing myself to pay attention. "...to introduce you to someone. Aunt Grace, I'd like you to meet my partner, Fox Mulder. Mulder, this is my aunt, Grace Donnelly. She and my Uncle Nick are celebrating their 50th anniversary today." "I'm pleased to meet you Mrs. Donnelly," I murmur, taking the older woman's hand in mine. She is a handsome woman. She wears her fading auburn hair in a soft knot on the nape of her neck and her blue eyes dance merrily as she shakes my hand. I am struck with the notion that this is what Scully will look like in about 35 years. "Are you Mrs. Scully's sister?" I ask. "Sister-in-law," she corrects. "Dana's father was my brother." I nod and search my memory for the banal small talk that I learned at the countless dinner parties my parents gave during my childhood. "Congratulations. 50 years of marriage is certainly a milestone. I'm sorry that I have to steal your niece away before the party is over." Scully's aunt laughs and turns to face her sister-in- law. "You told me he was handsome, but you didn't mention how polite he is." Scully groans and leans toward her aunt. "Say goodnight Gracie," she says. "We've got a plane to catch." "Now, now...my dear Dana. Surely you have time for one little dance with this handsome young man," her aunt says suggestively. Mrs. Scully laughs out loud; delightedly watching her sister-in-law and daughter square off. "Aunt Grace!" Scully's cheeks are flushed and she flashes an uncomfortable look at me before turning her attention back to her tormentor. "Oh come now, sweetheart. I haven't seen you on the dance floor all evening," her aunt says pleasantly. "Consider it an anniversary present." Scully plants her hands on her hips and glances toward the overburdened gift table, arching one brow. Her eyes narrow ominously. "My gift is over there with all the others," she says through gritted teeth. "Yes, yes. I've no doubt that it's quite lovely," her aunt soothes. "Still..." "I'm sure we have time for one dance," I interrupt, suddenly and inexplicably eager to hold her. "But...but..." Scully sputters as I lead her onto the dance floor where the band is playing something slow and bluesy. She moves easily into my arms and settles one hand on my shoulder. As I grasp her other hand in mine, she glances over her shoulder toward her mother and aunt who are beaming happily at us. Scully flushes prettily and drops her forehead against my chest. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she groans. "They mean well." She glances up at me and I see that her cheeks are still rosy with embarrassment and her eyes are sparking with a hint of temper. I know that I'm staring, but I don't seem to be able to stop myself. Scully tilts her head back, giving me a quizzical look. "Mulder? Is something wrong?" I shake my head quickly. "Huh? No, nothing's wrong." "Then why are you looking at me like that?" "You're pretty," I blurt without stopping to think. She jerks her head back in surprise and I rush to cover my gaffe. "Of course, you always look pretty," I amend quickly. "I mean, I've always thought you were..." I groan and shake my head again as I blunder my way deeper into a mess. I take a deep breath and try again. "I've always thought you are a beautiful woman," I say softly. "But something is different tonight. I just can't quite put my finger on it." Scully tips her head and waits. "Your hair?" I speculate, eyeing one shiny tendril that brushes across her shoulder. "I curled it," she explains. I frown, studying her face for another second or two before drawing her closer. She watches me oddly for a moment, then shrugs and rests her cheek against my chest. My fingers trace the pattern of the velvety leaves woven into the lace of the dress over the small of her back as I lead her around the dance floor. The music ends and I am still considering this difference I see in my partner and friend. It is more than smoky makeup, tumbling curls and a sexy dress. Scully excuses herself to make a quick trip to the ladies room before we head to the airport. She hands me her coat check ticket. "Would you mind?" I fetch her coat and wait for her outside of the ladies lounge. We make our way back into the party so Scully can say her good-byes. "Happy Anniversary, Aunt Grace," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to her aunt's cheek. She turns to the man standing next to her aunt. "Uncle Nick, I'm sorry I have to rush out. I had a wonderful time." Her uncle gathers her up into a big bear hug and growls playfully into her neck, earning a tiny giggle from my usually staid partner. "Bye, sweetie. Don't be such a stranger." He sets her back onto her feet. "Say, aren't you going to introduce me to your young man?" he asks. He turns his attention to me, thrusting out his hand. "Nick Donnelly, Dana's uncle." Scully purses her lips and flicks a narrow-eyed glance toward her aunt, who smiles back innocently. I shift Scully's coat onto my left arm and shake hands with her uncle. "Fox Mulder, Dana's partner." We exchange pleasantries for a few moments and Scully interrupts, just as her uncle begins grilling me about my family and my job. I half expect him to ask what my intentions are toward his niece. "Well! We're going to miss our flight if we don't hurry," she says brightly. "I still have to say goodbye to Mom." She catches me by the hand and drags me away from the smiling couple. A hug and a kiss for Scully, followed by a hug and a kiss for me from her mother accompany admonishments for us to be careful. I help Scully into her coat, lifting her hair out of the collar. My hands linger as one curl twines itself around my finger while Scully snaps open a tiny, beaded, useless excuse for a handbag to check its contents. I quickly free my finger from Scully's hair when I catch her mother eyeing me contemplatively. Scully blows her mother a kiss and we hurry from the building. The valet's look of irritation changes quickly when I slap a bill into his hand. "Took longer than I thought," I tell him, opening the passenger door for Scully. We both admire the pale flash of thigh exposed by the side slit of her skirt as she slides into the car. "No problem, man," he assures me with a suggestive grin. I shake my head and climb into the car. We are running very late and traffic near the airport is heavy. We check our bags at the counter and begin to hurry toward the departure gate. I hear our flight being announced and grab Scully's hand, setting off in a light jog. "Wait! Mulder!" She's pulling against my hand, forcing me to stop. "I can't run in these shoes," she gasps. She braces one hand on my arm as she leans over and slips her shoes off. I reach for her hand again and she fumbles for a moment, juggling her shoes and trying to lift the hem of her dress from the floor. I grab her shoes out of her hand and we set off at a dead run through the airport. We stow our coats in the overhead bins and collapse into our seats moments before they close the doors of the plane. I tuck Scully's shoes under the seat in front of her and by the time the plane has lifted off the ground, we have our breathing under control and are settling down for the flight. Scully squirms in her seat by the window. "I wish I had thought to ask you to grab a change of clothes for me when you stopped by my place to pick up my bag," she mumbles as she tugs at her gown. "This is not the most comfortable dress to travel in." She shivers and rubs her hands over her bare arms. I stand up and grab a blanket out of the overhead bin and spread it over her. She snuggles under the thin wool of the blanket. "Thank you," she smiles gratefully. She is asleep before the beverage service starts. As usual. The flight is not crowded and most people are either reading or trying to catch some sleep. I sip Coke from a plastic cup, idly crunching on the ice as I ruminate on the changes I had seen in my partner this evening. It was more than just the physical differences, I muse as I struggle to put my finger on it. Suddenly my head jerks up as I recall the expression on her face as she looked up to greet me. She was happy. I recognize that as the elusive difference. She had seemed younger, unburdened. She had laughed! She was beguiling. I realize that I want to see that side of Scully again and again. Three Weeks Later The sky is threatening rain as Mulder and I hurry down the street, stepping into the restaurant just as the first fat drops begin to fall. The weather has kept many people home and the restaurant is half-empty. We are quickly shown to a booth along the far wall. When the waiter appears, Mulder unhesitatingly orders our usual. A large pizza, half veggie for me - half sausage and green pepper for him. "Something to drink?" the waiter asks. Mulder quirks a brow at me and I nod. "A glass of Merlot for the lady and I'll have a beer. Whatever you have on tap is fine," he says. The waiter brings the drinks in short order and I watch as Mulder fiddles with his beer. He is seemingly intent on drawing patterns in the condensation forming on the glass. I stifle a sigh, having come to recognize this strange behavior. Mulder has been mercurial of late. His moods can fluctuate with lightening speed. Happy one minute - pensive and moody the next. The silence lengthens as he continues his little art project. "Hey Mulder," I call. "What's up?" He seems startled by the sound of my voice. "Nothing's wrong. Why?" "Let's just say you've been acting weird lately." "Lately?" he smirks. "Fine," I clarify. "Weirder than usual. Even for you." He's playing with the silverware now. "Do you remember when I picked you up from the anniversary party a few weeks ago?" he asks tentatively. I nod; wondering what that has to do with anything. "I met someone there," he tells me as he traces the checked pattern of the tablecloth with the tip of his knife. "I met a woman there," he explains. "A beautiful woman." He drops the knife onto the table and sighs. "And I can't get her out of my head." A part of my brain registers the queasy feeling forming in the pit of my stomach, while the rest of my brain does a quick scan of the women who had been at the party. An image of my cousin, Jessica, flashes in my mind's eye. A leggy, beautiful brunette, she is exactly Mulder's type. I'm confused. I thought I had spotted Mulder the moment he walked into the party. I don't know when he would have had time to speak with Jessie. Perhaps they met out in the foyer... "Have...have you seen her since?" I ask carefully. "I've seen glimpses of her," he replies. Glimpses? Was he following her? "She had the most wonderful laugh," he continues. "It was the first thing I noticed about her." "Really," I murmur. I don't want to have this conversation any longer and I'm not exactly sure why that is. Mulder barrels ahead with his description of his dream girl, not affording me an opportunity to examine the cause of my sudden agitation with this topic. "What really knocked me out though was her smile." His voice is soft in his reverie. "And when we danced...she's this tiny, little thing but she fit perfectly in my arms." I gasp when he looks up and meets my gaze with his own. A dozen different emotions hit me all at once - joy, shock, fear, hope...anger. I know that Mulder has watched each emotion pass across my face for he has gone quiet and still, braced for my response. "Mulder," I say in a dangerously quiet voice, "are you saying that you would like us to begin *dating*?" He nods. "All because one night you saw me wearing my hair differently and dressed in something sexier than what I normally wear?" My voice is flat and careful. My interrogation voice. The waiter slides the pizza onto the table and discreetly slips away. "No." Mulder's voice is calm; his eyes are sure and steady. "Because that night I saw a different side of you. I met a woman who is happy and funny. A woman who lets her emotions show. I would like to get to know that woman better." I know my confusion must show plainly on my face, because Mulder tries again to explain. "Before that night, I thought I knew everything about you. But now I know there is much more. I want more than just a glimpse of that side of you that you try so hard to hide from me." He pushes the pizza to one side of the table and leans across to take my hands in his own. "You are Scully, my best friend, whom I love. And if that is the only person you can be when you are with me, that won't change. You will always be my best friend. I will always love you." His voice drops to a whisper. "But, I think I can fall *in love* with Dana Scully." Oh God. I free my hands and fumble for my purse on the seat next to me, standing quickly and nearly knocking over my wineglass. Mulder steadies it and reaches out for me as I step away from the table. "Please," he calls softly. "Please. Don't leave." I stand rooted in place. "I'm not...I won't..." I take a deep breath. "I'll be right back." I can see that he is afraid I'll bolt. I want to, but I won't. "I promise," I say and he nods, lowering his hand to the table. I rush to the ladies room, which is mercifully empty. I dampen a handful of paper towels and press it against my hot cheeks with shaking hands. Oh God, I think again. I never saw this coming. I brace myself against the sink and try to organize my chaotic thoughts. He's out there waiting for me and I don't know what I'm going to say to him. I'm so confused. Stunned. I never expected this. I smooth my skirt against my thighs with damp hands and force myself to take several deep, even breaths before walking back out to face Mulder. He looks at me warily when I slide back into the booth. "Scully..." he begins. I shake my head and he falls silent. "I'd be lying if I said I had never entertained the idea of what it would be like if our relationship were different or if I said I wasn't attracted to you," I tell him. He is sitting so still on his side of the booth, his entire body appears to be braced for a blow. In my mind as I left the ladies room, I had planned to tell him that I thought it was a bad idea; that I was not interested in changing our relationship so dramatically. Looking at him now, my heart clenches painfully at the thought. "Mulder...what if it doesn't work out? I don't want to lose what we have. I don't want to lose you," I say plaintively. He leans closer. "Scully, I'm not suggesting that we start sleeping together." He smiles softly at the violent blush that suffuses my face. "I don't want to lose what we have either. But I was so entranced by that tiny glimpse I had of you. Please, don't hold back on me anymore. We'll take our time getting to know each other in this new light. We'll see where it leads us." I am having a difficult time getting past the sudden image I have of being wrapped around a naked Mulder and I force myself to concentrate on his words. Can I do what he asks? It's true that I've hidden a part of myself from him. Protecting myself without ever being aware of it - can I let him meet the woman inside? I realize that I want to. I can't pretend we never had this conversation. We have to find a way to move forward - to move through this. If something is to come of it, we'll know soon enough. If not, I'll fight to keep our friendship. I am suddenly aware that my eyes have been closed while I reflected on all that has happened. I blink to find him staring at me, worry lines drawing his mouth down. I smile shakily and nod. "All right. Let's try." Mulder's smile is stunning in its beauty. "Hungry?" he asks. Suddenly famished, we eat cold pizza and Mulder finishes his now flat beer. The rain is falling steadily as we leave the restaurant. Mulder opens his umbrella and we crowd under it. We quickly walk the three blocks to Mulder's apartment, our arms brushing against each other's with every step. Mulder reaches for my hand and tucks it firmly in the crook of his elbow. I curl my other hand around his arm as well and he settles the warm palm of his free hand on top of mine. I had followed Mulder home from work when we decided to eat dinner near his apartment. Now I wondered if he would invite me up to his apartment. I am torn between hoping that he will and praying that he won't. When we turn the corner onto his street, he leads me directly to my car. He holds the umbrella over our heads as I unlock and open the car door. Suddenly nervous, I am afraid to open my mouth for fear I will make some inane comment about the weather. I resolutely keep silent and lift my eyes to his. "Drive safely," he says softly. "I will," I whisper back. He leans close and my eyes drift closed as his lips brush warmly across my forehead. "Goodnight," he murmurs against my temple. I slide into the driver's seat and start the car. In the rearview mirror I see him standing in the rain, watching me leave. On the drive home, I realize that if we are going to stand a chance at making this work, then I am going to have to make many of the concessions. Mulder has always been open and honest about who he is. I have been both envious of his ability to be so free with himself and bewildered by his desire to do so. I have zealously safeguarded so many of the little things that make me the person I am. I have carefully selected each tiny part of myself that I felt it safe to reveal. And while I enjoy working with Mulder and need him in my life the way I need air to breathe, my jealous hoarding of all of those little pieces of myself have robbed us of many chances - of finding so much more of each other - I realize this. "That stops now," I whisper resolutely. End Part 1 tnv099@aol.com http://acovington.home.mindspring.com/tess/index.html Some Enchanted Evening (2 of 2) By: Tess E-mail: tnv099@aol.com acovington.home.mindspring.com/tess/index.html Disclaimers and Headers in Part 1 Three Weeks Later Our work is too much a part of us, so it's only natural that some of our off-hours time together is spent discussing the work. Out of town on a case last week, we fell into a pattern that pleased us both. Dinner was spent going over the case, reviewing our notes and planning our strategy for the following day. By the time we had ordered dessert, however, we had silently agreed to shelve the shoptalk and spend a little time on our getting-to-know-you plan. It's Saturday and we're planning on spending what promises to be a glorious autumn day poking around the countryside. "Come on in, Mulder," she calls as I knock on the door. Fishing out my key, I let myself into her apartment. She rushes past me in a blur of denim and white cotton as she heads into her bedroom. "I'll be ready in just a minute," she promises. She hurries back into the living room and settles down on one end of the sofa, tugging on her hiking boots and tightening the laces. One major difference I've noted in Scully since we've started our little experiment is in her clothing. I never even knew she owned a pair of jeans, let alone the fact that she loves to laze around the house in her most ancient pair - the ones with a hole in the knee - and a old cardigan sweater of her father's. She is seemingly unaware of my contemplation of her attire as she pulls a pale blue sweater over her T-shirt and reaches for her new suede jacket. Like donning a suit of armor, she used her wardrobe to protect herself. As far as I knew, casual for Scully consisted of a pair of pressed khakis, a crisp white T-shirt and blazer. The most laid-back clothing I'd ever seen her wear over the years were her pajamas, cut in men's style. They were always a little too big for her - and they effectively hid the woman within. Now, I can't help but wonder if she's hiding stacks of lacy bras and panties in her lingerie drawer. We drive for about an hour to reach the countryside. Well, I'm sure that at one time it was the countryside. Now it's more of a village of touristy shops, art galleries, antique stores and restaurants. We eat lunch in some trendy little cafe and spend the afternoon poking around the stores. I have to drag Scully out of a candle shop where she spent what felt like hours taking hits off of jar after jar of scented candles. We stop in another store that has an old-fashioned ice cream counter tucked in the back. I settle for a cup of coffee and Scully is making happy little noises as she licks a strawberry cone. I stifle a groan behind a sip of coffee as I watch her pink tongue lap out over the ice cream, her straight, white teeth nibbling delicately on a frozen strawberry. I shift uncomfortably on my seat and stand abruptly. Throwing a couple of bills onto the counter, I grab her by the hand and lead her out into the late afternoon sun. "What's the rush?" she asks, squinting in the bright sunlight. I tip her sunglasses down from the crown of her head to cover her eyes and head toward the car. "It's a long ride," I tell her. She shrugs and we continue toward the car. We parked near a railroad crossing. The train doesn't run through this town any longer and the ticket station has been converted into a newsstand selling papers, magazines, flowers and candy. Scully tosses the remains of her ice cream into a nearby trash can and idly flips through a magazine while I grab the New York Times and the latest issue of Sports Illustrated. "Ready?" I ask. "Sure," she replies absently, putting the magazine back in the rack and turning to face me. Her eyes widen as I present her with a small bunch of fall colored flowers. She gives me a look of surprised pleasure as she takes the bouquet from my hands. "Thank you," she says, impulsively rising up on her toes to brush her lips across mine. She steps back and blinks uncertainly at me. Before she can pull further away, I wrap my arm around her back and pull her close again. I lower my head and rub my lips over hers, teasing until she relaxes, her hand coming up to curl around the back of my neck. Her mouth is cool; her lips a little sticky from the ice cream and she tastes like strawberries. Breaking apart, she eases back onto her heels. "Let's go," I murmur huskily. In the car, Scully tunes the radio to a classic rock station and we are content to spend the drive home quietly listening to the Eagles, Chicago and the Stones. We're heading back to Scully's apartment for what she has affectionately dubbed 'movie night'. We each take a turn picking a video. She says that a person's taste in movies can tell you a lot about them. One thing I've learned is that Scully has a sometimes-base sense of humor. Well, she thinks the Three Stooges are idiots, but no one is perfect. The last movie she chose was Spinal Tap. "I've never seen it," she told me as she plucked it from the shelf. I had more fun that evening watching her reaction to the movie than I did actually watching the fictitious band's on-screen antics. Her laughter was bawdy and infectious and I smiled more than once as I watched her wipe tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. Tonight was my night to choose the movie and when we arrive at her apartment, I reach into the back seat and grab the bag from the video store. Scully pulls a candle out of a shopping bag and sets it on the mantle. She lights it and steps into the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot chocolate. I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and a bag of pretzels and we move into the living room. She pulls off her boots, while I push the tape into the VCR. "Field of Dreams?" she protests as she studies the empty box. "Hey! I'm giving up the World Series tonight," I counter and drop onto the sofa next to her. By the time Shoeless Joe asks Ray Kinsella if he's in heaven, Scully has slipped under my arm and is resting her head against my chest. She is quiet, caught up in the movie and when Ray and his father play a game of catch, she is surreptitiously drying her tears on my sweater. She crawls onto my lap as the credits roll and the soaring end title of the soundtrack plays. Settling her knees on either side of my thighs, she pulls my face to hers. I freeze in delighted surprise at her sudden, yet gentle aggression. I hesitate too long. She braces her hands against my shoulders and leans back. The gleam of laughter in her eyes, in which I had rejoiced earlier, was now dimmed with anxiety and wounded pride. I don't waste time trying to explain. Instead, I lean forward and offer my lips to her again. She smiles with relief and her mouth plays over mine in a series of nibbling kisses. I tangle my fingers in her hair, trying to hold her still so that I can deepen the kiss. Instead, she rises up on her knees and covers my mouth with her own. Her tongue slips out to tease mine and I taste a hint of the repressed passion that is Scully. Her sighs are soft and languid. Her fingers tremble as they glide over my face and throat, and her kisses are sweetly erotic. She excites me more with one delicate caress of her small hands than any other lover I have ever known. Yet her hands do not stray from my face and neck. She does not seek to loosen our clothing nor does she rub herself intimately against me. I realize that she is not ready to take the leap tonight from first kisses to making love. And much as she arouses within me a desire to make her my own, she has always kindled in me a fierce need to protect her. Kissing her soundly, I regretfully push her back. She slips down onto my lap and drops her head onto my shoulder. My hands move in long strokes along her spine and I feel her muscles loosen, her body sag. "I loved the movie," she murmurs against my throat. "You just liked it because Kevin Costner was in it," I accuse. "Well, yeah. That helped. But did you see the guy who played his father at the end?" she sighs theatrically. "He was *hot*!" I take her lips in a smacking kiss and lift her from my lap. She laughs and tugs me to my feet, walking me to the door as I pull on my jacket. "Goodnight," she whispers as she lifts her face to mine. "Sweet dreams," I sigh against her mouth. She watches me walk away and it's only as I step onto the elevator that I hear the snick of her door closing. As I walk to my car, I struggle with an ever-growing need not just to make love with her, but to crawl into her arms and never leave. Three Weeks Later He is waiting for me when I come home from Mass. I don't even try to hide the beaming smile on my face. "You're early." He stands as I climb the steps and drops a quick kiss on my upturned lips. He had been away for a couple of days, visiting his mother. He called me when he got home last night and I told him to come over this afternoon. "I missed you," he growls against my mouth. After our telephone conversation, I had trouble falling asleep. I couldn't wait to see Mulder. I had missed him more than I knew was possible. I decided last night that today would be the day. Today, I'm cooking for Mulder. I'm not a bad cook; I just don't have much opportunity to do so. Our lifestyle lends itself to takeout or dinner in some diner. When I'm at home, I usually go for something quick and easy - a salad or stir-fry; the occasional bowl of cold cereal. So while I lay in bed trying to sleep, I decided to make a home cooked meal for two. I mentally thumbed through my recipe box. Chicken Kiev? I wondered. Maybe duck. I wanted to impress him. Finally, I hit on the perfect meal; an old recipe of my grandmother's. She had raised nine children and had cooked to satisfy the appetite of a small army. Old-fashioned cooking; food that warmed the belly. Comfort food. On my way home from church I stopped at the supermarket and now I unpacked the groceries under Mulder's watchful eye. "Whatcha doing?" he asked. I turned and leaned against the counter. "I thought I would cook Sunday dinner." He looks slightly alarmed. "I know how to cook!" I say indignantly as I tie an apron over my dress. "Oh, I didn't mean to imply that you didn't." His voice is placating. His eyes are still worried. I grab him by the shoulders and turn him toward the kitchen door. "Why don't you just go watch television or read the paper, or whatever it is you usually do on a Sunday and leave me alone for a little while." I'm still a bit perturbed and I try to push him out of the room. He digs his heels in and I push a little harder. "But I usually spend my Sundays bugging you on the telephone," he protests as I successfully shove him out of my way. I hear him muttering under his breath for a few minutes and then the booming voice of John Madden fills the room. Good. Football. That should keep him occupied for a little while. I catch myself humming a little as I brown cubed sirloin in a pot, peel and dice potatoes, chop the celery and carrots. The oft-times vocal feminist in me is outraged at this little display of domestic bliss, but on some primal level I am contented by the notion that I am feeding my man. I turn the flame down under the pot to allow the stew to simmer while I lay out a loaf of crusty Italian bread and put the rest of the groceries away. When we finish eating, Mulder cleans up while I go into my bedroom to change. I pull on my most comfortable jeans and a soft well-washed flannel shirt. I pick up the paperback novel that I've been reading and flop down on the sofa. Mulder wanders into the room, drying his hands on a dishtowel and he sinks down next to me. He cranes his head around so that he can read the back cover of the book. "You're reading a dirty book!" he crows. I roll my eyes and ignore him. "Did you get to the good parts yet?" he asks gleefully. "It's a *romantic thriller* I sniff disdainfully and return to ignoring him. I know that Mulder quickly loses interest in teasing me if I don't rise to the bait and tonight is no different. He slumps back against the cushions and flicks the television back on. He flips through all 80 plus channels offered by my cable provider and doesn't stay on one for more than 20 seconds. A second sweep through the selections finally has him settling on SportsCenter. Half a minute later, he yawns dramatically and lies down with his head on my lap. I shift my book to rest it on the arm of the sofa and begin to stroke my fingers through his hair. Mulder is an incredibly tactile person and he rolls his head against my legs as I lightly scratch his scalp, knead his neck muscles and play with his hair. His belly is full. He is content and I hear his breathing even out as he drifts into sleep. He turns his head and drowsily nuzzles his face into my stomach. I set my book down and continue softly smoothing my fingers through his hair, over his forehead and down his cheeks. The sports announcer's voice is a low drone in my ear and as the shadows steal across the room, I am finding it more difficult to keep my eyes open. I click off the television and slip out from beneath Mulder, easing his head onto a throw pillow. I gingerly stretch out on the sofa. Mulder mumbles softly and throws his arm around me. We sleep. When I awaken, it is completely dark. I peer across the room at the clock on the VCR. It's after midnight. I should wake Mulder up and send him home or better yet, I should just drag him into the bedroom with me where we can stretch out on the bed and get comfortable. Then again, I can feel every even breath that he takes against my back and his hand is lying warm and strong against my stomach. I'm pretty damn comfortable right here. I stretch a little and Mulder rouses behind me. "What time is it?" he yawns. "12:20," I tell him. "That late? I should get going," he groans. "You...you could stay here," I offer quietly. He shakes his head no, sits up and then climbs to his feet, pulling me up with him. He wraps his arms around me and hauls me up on my toes. "Love you," he whispers against my hair. I clutch him tightly. "I love you too." Mulder sets me back down and kisses me slowly. Softly. Sweetly. "I'll see you tomorrow," he assures me. I let him go. Three Weeks Later The entire inn is decorated for the holidays. In our room, a fire dances cheerily beneath a mantle decorated with evergreen boughs. Through the window I can see hundreds of tiny white lights twined in the bare limbs of the trees. I am sitting on the bed, shirt unbuttoned to the waist, trying to appear cool and calm. I am anything but. The bathroom door swings open and Scully steps out, nervously making her way toward the bed. When she draws near, I take her hand and pull her between my legs. She is delectable, dressed in a frothy, romantic nightgown in the palest shade of pink. I loosen the knot of the sheer robe and slide my hands inside to wrap around her as I stand up and draw her against my chest. We shuffle across the carpeting in an impromptu and lazy dance. Without her shoes, Scully's head reaches only as high as my breastbone. I bend, wrapping my arms around her hips, and lift her off the floor. From her new, superior position, she looks down into my upturned face. She rakes her fingers through my hair and rolls her mouth over mine. Moaning, I clutch her closer and turn aggressor; deepening our kiss, taking us both under. I set her back on her feet and sit on the edge of the bed, burying my face against her stomach. "You are exquisite," I assure her, falling back onto the bed and pulling her down on top of me. I lift my head and our lips meet in another long, passionate kiss. When we part, she groans and seeks my mouth with hers again, pressing me into the pillows. The room is filled with the sounds of soft sighs and hushed tones, wet kisses and the whisper of clothes falling to the floor. She slips off of me and settles her back against the mound of pillows at the head of the bed. Her hands rest on either side of her head, palms up as if inviting me to clasp them. I crawl up the bed and settle myself over her. She arches, moving sinuously beneath me and I am lost. I pull the pillows out from beneath her and brace my forearms along either side of her head, settling myself into the cradle of her hips. As I move to join our bodies, I study her face. When I slide deep within her, her smile is delighted. Blissful. Happy. I drift back to awareness long minutes later. Scully is sprawled over me. Her smooth belly is pressed to mine. Her breasts lay warm and soft against my chest and her breaths are hot and even on my neck. I tighten my arms around her and roll over, crushing her into the rumpled sheets. She looks at me questioningly, startled by my sudden shift from sated exhaustion to fierce possessiveness. "Happy?" I ask. She strokes soothing fingers along my cheek and I turn my face to press my lips into her palm. "Very." I cover her mouth in a passionate kiss. "Good. Because now that I've found you - I'm never letting go." The End Author's Notes: Considering this is one of my all time favorite R&H songs, it's surprising that I haven't used it yet. But I could not get a handle on how to depict Mulder and Scully meeting as strangers without writing a pre-XF story. I hope this was successful. I probably should have waited to post this for a few weeks when I am sure we will need a shot of MSR as S8 gets under way. I hope that you will let me know what you thought of this story at: tnv099@aol.com