Hello again, X-Philes!  Welcome to my second work, submitted for your 
approval. :)  This is a vingette, a "little something" for anyone who's 
got just a little bit of romance in them when it comes to "The X-Files."  
It's about an experimentation of sorts between our heroes, an attempt 
at a new dimension of relationship development between M&S. Hope you 
enjoy!

***************************************************

This story is rated "PG" for containing little more than a kiss and 
fantasies.  :)

**Copyright stuff:
"The X-Files", Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, et cetera, are property of Chris
Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, Fox Broadcasting, et cetera, et cetera.
(insert more fancy legal jargon here)  No infringement of copyright is 
intended by The Author.  The Author reserves all rights (or is gonna try 
darn hard to, anyway) to all characters/situations created by the same.**

***************************************************

Title: "A Kiss"
by Kiarana Lar
km4275@csc.albany.edu
kiarana2@aol.com


     "Mulder, don't . . ."
     "You're lucky I'm letting you even walk.  Now be quiet before I 
decide to throw you over my shoulder and take you home that way."
     At the start of the evening hours, Mulder aided his partner up the 
walk to her house with one of her arms draped around his shoulders to 
keep her weight off an injured left foot.  She grumbled loudly as she 
hopped her way slowly toward her own front door.  But despite a slightly 
sprained ankle, her disgruntledness at having to be helped home, and a 
moderately disheveled appearance, she was fine--only her pride had been 
wounded.
     "I'd like to see you try that," Scully groaned.
     "Why--you wouldn't do to me what you did to that guy back there, 
would you?" he smiled coyly.
     Unfortunately, Scully had no choice but to accept her partner's arm 
around her waist as she balanced herself on one foot to fish through her 
hip pack for her keys.  "Watch it, Mulder," she said.
     When she opened up her front door, she limped inside and turned 
around as if to tell Mulder goodbye, but he invited himself into her 
house without a word.  She glared at him as he strode past her, almost 
like a tall, dark ghost in his black coat.  Rolling her eyes and shutting 
the door, she watched as he threw his coat over an easy chair.  He still 
wore his suit, a sharp contrast to her casual oversized sweatshirt, 
leggings, and sneakers: she had opted to go for a light walk while he had 
remained at the office wrapping up the paperwork on a case.  In fact, it 
was that very decision that had left Scully in her present predicament.
     Dana Scully had chosen to walk off her professional frustrations 
with a stroll through a park not far from her house after work late that 
afternoon.  Distracted by the relaxing music from her Walkman, she hadn't 
been aware of the heavy footsteps of a man approaching her from behind.  
Luckily, her would-be attacker had been an amateur, easily subdued by 
self-defense tactics and her firearm; however, when police had arrived to 
see her straddling a man, pinning his arm behind his back and holding a 
gun to him, they hadn't been sure who to arrest.  She had practically had 
one metal cuff around a wrist before she finally proved to them she was 
indeed a federal agent.  After the ordeal at the police station 
regarding paperwork and prosecution, Scully was beginning to wish she 
could take another walk.  But she was satisfied in knowing that in return 
for her sprained ankle the criminal had walked away with a far more 
substantial injury--if he had walked away at all.
     "So tell me, Scully," said Mulder as he approached her again, "did 
you sprain that ankle before, while, or after you kicked that poor man in 
the groin?"
     "*While?*" she frowned, misunderstanding him.
     "Perhaps he was having nice thoughts about you," he smirked.
     "Well, I don't like what he was planning on doing with those nice 
thoughts," she uttered.  "Mu-Mulder, what are you doing?"
     He was now standing next to her, crouching down to her height as if 
about to scoop her up into his arms.  When she looked at him 
suspiciously, he gave her innocent eyes.  "We're going to the couch," he 
said, as if it were only obvious.
     She grumbled unhappily; she knew what Mulder was doing.  "We're 
going to the couch *because* . . .?"
     The man would not take no for an answer: taking her up in the same 
way he had helped her to the front door, he moved her reluctant form past 
a low table and onto the couch in her living room, sitting her down and 
dragging her legs across the cushions.  Before the small redhead could 
protest, he had already taken off her shoes--Scully couldn't help but 
notice the gentle care he took in making sure not to hurt her bandaged 
left foot.  Once she was comfortable, Mulder headed off in the direction 
of the kitchen.
     "Where do you keep your tea bags?" he called from afar.  She could 
hear the tinge of mischievousness in his voice.
     "Mulder!" she called in return.  *God, I don't want to be taken care 
of,* she sighed inwardly, even though she knew there would be no 
convincing her partner to the contrary.
     Still, Scully couldn't help smiling.  Something in Mulder had 
changed recently.  Somehow he had become different over the past few 
months: she remembered how when they had first been assigned to work 
together he had been somewhat resisting of their relationship--"You're 
the one they sent to spy on me?" he had said, or something like that, 
when they first met.  In the two years now that she had known him, she 
knew the dark feelings he kept inside him: feelings of frustration about 
never having been able to find his sister, feelings of rage at those he 
felt were hiding the reason why perhaps he never would.  In the beginning 
she had sensed he had even been angry at her, at least until he realized 
how much she believed in him, that she was on *his* side.  Scully 
remembered the night she had confessed her loyalty to him in the car, 
telling him that he was the only one for whom she would ever put herself 
in jeopardy.  And since then, that statement had only become truer . . .
     But at times she had been unsure how much value Mulder placed on 
their partnership--he had cloaked his emotions for so long that most of 
the time he was unreadable.  With all her skeptic needling, she had 
sometimes wondered whether he wished he weren't stuck with her.  But 
recent events had done nothing if not taught her otherwise: during her 
first abduction he had worn her golden cross (a fact she had had to 
discover from her mother); after her second he had let her cry for a long 
time in his arms, purging her fear.  She didn't need the times upon times 
that he had put himself on the line for her as proof that he valued the 
unique companionship they shared--what she meant to him was so visible 
in his eyes.  And now they both had finally come to terms with their 
mutual fondness . . .  Or . . . *had they?* she wondered.
     Interrupting her thoughts, Fox Mulder returned with two steaming 
mugs in his hands.  Apparently, he had found the tea bags with little 
need for her help.
     "Did you know you had some cool herbal stuff back there?" he smiled 
with his sleepy hazel eyes.
     "I had an idea," she responded.
     Mulder placed the two hot tea mugs on the coffee table and crouched 
down beside Scully.  Her blue eyes danced when she saw him return from 
the kitchen, and he'd actually managed to coax a smile from her.  That 
smile and those eyes . . . despite the fact that his affection for her 
was rooted firmly in their professionalism, he had a certain fascination 
with his female partner's appearance, although he himself could never 
determine exactly why.  After all, there must have been thousands of 
women with sweeter eyes, brighter smiles, more passionate voices . . .   
But then he thought about it . . .  No, no, there weren't.  There was no 
one else . . .  Dana Scully was what he had needed all those years, an 
anchor of stability and sensibility, someone who knew when not to let 
him float away from reality in his clouds of belief.  She was someone 
who heard him, but never shut him out--she *listened* to him, and was as 
devoted to him as he was to her.  After so long he had finally found his 
ally, someone who believed in him and would help him find . . .  
Wistfully he tried to suppress the thought, but couldn't.  His own soul 
relied on Scully: he knew that one day she would help him find the truth 
about Samantha's disappearance.
     "So, are you staying for dinner, too?" Scully pretended to 
complain.  
     "Dinner?" he joked.  "But Scully, that would be imposing."
     She was beginning to warm up to him, forgetting about the events of 
the evening that had put her somewhat out of sorts.  Mulder's humor, 
however unusual sometimes, had a way of cheering her up, even during the 
worst of times--Mulder was probably the only person who would present  
someone just regaining consciousness in the hospital a football video.  
But behind the joking, Scully saw something in his face and in his eyes 
as he looked at her.  It was something pensive and sincere and earnest, 
so emotional . . .  She realized part of what it might be: tonight could 
have ended a lot differently than it had.  Now she only had a sprained 
ankle, but what if she hadn't been able to get to her gun?  What if her 
assailant had discovered she was armed, or had been armed himself?  She 
might have been seriously injured, raped, or killed.  And Scully could 
tell that Fox Mulder was getting not just a little tired of his 
partner's life constantly being threatened.  Maybe he still had some 
guilt . . . *No, I don't want him feeling guilty over me,* she thought, 
feeling responsible herself.  They were FBI agents--danger was part of 
their daily life.  But with them it was different for some reason, they 
had become so close . . .  Unless their relationship was changing . . .
     *Oh my God . . .*
     When Scully looked at him, Mulder found himself unable to turn away, 
her soft eyes were so powerful.  Something was happening between them, he 
wasn't sure what . . . or maybe Mulder did know, and refused to admit it 
to himself.  Yes, the stronger the denial became, the harder it was to 
give in to it.  He couldn't help imagining what it would be like to, just 
once . . .  He had been wondering it for so long, and the feeling for it 
had become so strong in him that he was sure she could see it.  He was so 
tranquil in those calm seas of blue before him; if he closed his eyes, he 
could probably feel part of her inside him.  But he didn't want to close 
his eyes if it meant he could not see hers . . .  Mulder fantasized two 
situations in which he might close his eyes with her: if they danced, he 
would hold her close and enjoy her.  And if they . . .
     "Mulder . . ." she whispered quietly.
     Those few brief moments during which he leaned toward her had to 
have been the most frightening moments of his life.  They passed so 
quickly that before he knew it, his eyes were shut and his mouth had 
closed around Dana Scully's full, moist lips.  A primal instinct told him 
he should run from this, run fast and not look back.  But as he started 
to stroke her hair, a second, stronger instinct told Mulder that this 
sensation was the best thing he ever had or ever would experience with a 
woman.
     Had Scully not been there herself, she would have found it difficult 
to believe what was happening: she was *kissing* Fox Mulder.  She placed 
her hand on his head to pull him in closer, and she realized that this 
affection as they moved together was the most intimate touch she had ever 
received.  Mulder knew her inside and out, and was privy to even some of 
her vulnerabilities; even though now he caressed her lips, he had 
caressed other parts of her before--her mind, her spirit, her beliefs.  
Never would she have shared so much of herself with any man but him.  And 
now he was kissing her . . .  Experimentally, curiously, she slipped her 
tongue into his mouth, calculating its movements as it curled across his 
lips.  It felt so wonderful that she had to restrain herself from purring 
in his ear like a kitten.  Soon, however, Mulder pulled away--but it was 
not meant personally, Scully judged by the apology written all over his 
face.
     "Scully, you even kiss like a professional," he breathed, smiling.
     "I'll take that as a compliment," she said, smiling back.
     She was still playing with some of the strands of dark brown hair 
above his forehead as he spoke.  He still had his fingers plaited in red 
hair behind her ear.  Scully looked closely at him, wondering at the fact
that Mulder now wore the gentlest expression she had ever seen on his 
face.  "I know what you're thinking," she spoke calmly.
     "You mean you think the Redskins have a chance to go all the way 
next season, too?"
     "Mulder," she groaned, although she did laugh.  *You are so damned 
expasperating.*  "Besides that."
     He nodded, an agreement to return to seriousness.  "I guess we both 
knew all along, didn't we," he murmured.
     "Yeah," she said at length.
     The contentment didn't seem to want to leave his eyes--he stared at 
his partner intensely for a length of time that would have made anyone 
else uncomfortable.  They had finally reconciled with something in that 
long, deep kiss--they had reconciled with the resistance of such physical 
intimacy that had shadowed much of their relationship.  In Mulder's 
thoughts formed an image of the future, his future with her--in a strange 
way he could see being married to her, having children with her.  
Except--and the fact made him laugh out loud--that he would be too 
*embarrassed* to ever sleep with her.  She was *Scully,* for crying out 
loud, his partner.  In spite of their passionate kiss, they both knew 
that.  Perhaps the months of tiptoeing the subject of their attraction 
had resulted from a fear that any pursuit of it would destroy the bond of 
friendship they had built over the time they had worked together.  But it 
hadn't--and it wouldn't.  They both knew now.
     "What am I going to do, Scully?" he said somewhat sadly.
     She had no idea what he meant.  "What?"
     "What am I going to do when one day that guy comes who takes you out 
of my life?" he said.  "When he becomes the luckiest man on earth and you 
go off and get married and have kids?"
     "You say it as if it's going to happen tomorrow," she said.
     "What if it happens in a thousand tomorrows?  Who will I have, 
Scully?  You're the only one."
     "Then you'll be my maid of honor," she said.  Then she joked, 
"Besides, there's always my sister."
     But Mulder wasn't laughing.  He didn't like thinking about losing 
her.  It was a possibility he just couldn't cope with, no matter how hard 
he tried.  He let his hand slip away from her and actually turned his 
gaze aside as he sat on the floor.  "I don't want your sister," he said, 
pouting in an almost childlike way.
     "Mulder, there's a part of me that will never leave you, don't you 
know that?" Scully told him.  "I'll never let anyone take it away from 
you."
     Not answering, he slowly reached to the coffee table for his mug of 
now tepid tea and took a calming sip.  As he closed his eyes and 
swallowed, he felt her hand come to rest on his shoulder.  He glanced at 
her again, and allowed himself a small smile.  He was being selfish--she 
was trying to tell him how much he meant to her while he was wallowing in 
the misery of his thoughts.  Sometimes it didn't occur to him that if 
anything were to happen to him, perhaps his partner would find it hard to 
go on.  He set down his mug again, turning toward Scully.  He wanted to 
say something, but she spoke first.
     "You're a part of me, Mulder," she whispered.  "I'll never care for 
anyone else the same way I care about you."
     "Scully, I . . . same here," Mulder managed to say.  Then he grinned,
and started to rise to his feet.  "And for the wedding, I think I'd prefer 
something in a pink chiffon."
     Scully moved to a sitting position and leaned back on the couch with 
her arms folded over her chest as he stood to leave.  "Leaving so soon?"
     He shrugged ruefully with his hands in his pants pockets.  "I still 
have some things to wrap up about our last case.  Besides, I . . . I 
think you'll do just fine without me.  I'll see you tomorrow morning."  
Then he gave her a mock glance of suspicion.  "You'll still respect me in 
the morning, won't you?"
     "I'll try, Mulder."
     He bent over her, kissing her lightly on the cheek, and then crossed 
over to grab his coat from the chair where he'd left it.  Sticking his 
long arms through the sleeves, he gave Scully a warm and friendly glance 
before he walked out the front door and shut it quietly behind him.
     As silence spread across the room, Dana Scully sipped her tea, and 
allowed him to linger in her thoughts.


                                END.

(Yeah, I know this could have ended in one of two ways... :>  I opted for the
more realistic version.  I've been wondering if there should be a version two,
just to keep me busy... But I don't want to turn into a full-fledged romantic
just yet... The idea is certainly intriguing, though.  Suggestions?)

Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW! A Kiss: More (1/2)
Date: 10 May 1995 18:46:20 GMT


Okay, here we go again!!  
Finally, I finished it!  X-Philes, this story is a "sequel" of
sorts to my last vignette, "A Kiss."  It promises to take the M &
S relationship farther, and operates on the premise that the kiss
really got them both thinking...  BTW, if you haven't read "A
Kiss," do so before reading this!  You may survive w/o doing so,
but it'll only help you to read it.  Also, I do not necessarily
condone the occurence of the acts that occur in this story on the
show, so nobody bug me about that.  Lastly, I still have Scully 
in a "house" just for the sake of continuity.  An apartment next
time, now that that matter's cleared up.  :) Thanks, guys.  
Now here we go!
**************************
This story is rated "R" for strong language and partial nudity,
the latter resulting from sexual situations (you bet...).
**************************
**Copyright stuff:
"The X-Files", Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, et cetera, are property
of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, Fox Broadcasting, et
cetera, et cetera. (insert more fancy legal jargon here)  No
infringement of copyright is intended by The Author.  The Author
reserves all rights (or is gonna try darn hard to, anyway) to all
characters/situations created by the same.**
**************************

"A Kiss: More" (part 1)
by Kiarana Lar
km4275@csc.albany.edu
kiarana2@aol.com


     Again Mulder found himself buried without hope of rescue in
the red tape of a case.  Sitting at his desk, virtually swimming
in a sea of manila folders, his gaze began to fall out of focus
as he looked over an incomplete report.  He rubbed the bridge of
his nose and closed his eyes.  He was tired: he had hardly slept
at all in two days.  Two days ago, that was when . . .  He
groaned and threw his pencil down--he didn't want to remember; he
wanted to avoid that at all costs.  But he couldn't forget,
because any minute now she was going to walk through that door
and he was going to have to face feelings he thought he had
shoved away a long time ago with all the other primitive male
instincts that didn't belong in the workplace.  At least not in
*their* workplace, not the way they worked together.  He thought 
he had eliminated the complications long since.  Now they only
returned all the stronger.  And his dreams for two nights had not 
been filled with his sister for the first time in longer than he
could imagine.
     How could he have let himself take such a chance with her? 
Had he been arrogant enough to believe that he was above human
wants?  Not that he regretted the kiss . . . that deep, sensual 
. . .  But it had caused an end to his convenient, blissful
denial of the possibility that he could be attracted to his
partner.  Mulder laughed inwardly: after all, he should be the
last person to condone a "deny everything" policy.  It wouldn't
be as easy as that anymore.
     When his eyelids slowly opened again to accept the light, a
vision startled him.  There Dana Scully stood in the doorway of
the office, eyeing him.  Despite her stature, she was no small
presence as she remained there in her dark coat, holding her
briefcase and staring.
     "If you're having an out-of-body experience, I can come back
later," she said, raising her eyebrows.
     He gave the better part of a smile as he immediately sat
upright in his chair.  "Scully, welcome back," he greeted. 
"How's your ankle doing?"
     As he leaned to peer across his desk at her feet, he saw the
reason she appeared shorter than usual: she was wearing flat
shoes instead of her customary heels.
     "Fine, thank you," she replied.
     She routinely shed her coat, set her briefcase down, and
moved for her morning coffee without missing a beat--one would
not have thought she had been absent from work for the day that
she had.  Her outer garment fell from her shoulders, uncovering a
slimming black pantsuit worn with a simple off-white blouse. 
Mulder was watching her with more curiosity than anything else. 
*How can she be so damned cool?* he thought in awe.
     Truth be told, she wasn't.  She knew Mulder's moods well
enough to realize that his eyes were on her in a strange way. 
She *had* been gone for a day: naturally there would be some
awkwardness as things adjusted themselves back to normal.  She
was loath to take time from work unless something serious
necessitated it; theoretically, she could have returned the first
morning after her run-in with a mugger in the park--she'd only 
received a slight sprain.  But Mulder was insistent; besides, he
said Skinner would know what had happened and he would
understand--in that way he had of 'understanding.'  And now she
looked at him, and he looked at her--and then looked away.  In
fact, the removal of his glance from her was so abrupt that he
seemed embarrassed and she had to suppress a shudder.  Quickly he
picked up his pencil, and she, her coffee, and the two continued 
with their daily routine, past the moment.
     "How's that case coming?" Scully asked, sitting down.
     He sneered slightly, his tie sweeping over several file
folders as he hunched toward her.  "Depends--how good are you at
storytelling?"
     "That bad, huh," she muttered.
     "This report is riddled with holes I can't fill," he said. 
"I'm sure the police department was too occupied with cow-tipping
and square-dancing to bother handling evidence like
professionals."
     "Agent Mulder, are you referring to them as *hicks?*" she
teased him, eyes twinkling.
     Mulder gazed at her, lips parted slightly as his look
wandered downward, then back.  "Scully," he chuckled.
     "How unprofessional," she scolded playfully.  "In any case,
I doubt that even had the evidence *not* been lost, Skinner would
believe that that girl was actually possessed by the tortured
soul of Ethel Rosenberg."
     He allowed himself to laugh at the futility of it all,
pushing the file he was working on aside.  "Maybe this one'll be
good for the next time we're sitting around the campfire on
Halloween."
     "I'll bring the marshmallows," said Scully.
     It wasn't fair: he was miserable because of her and she was
making him laugh in spite of himself.  Mulder couldn't just
pretend nothing had happened two nights ago, yet he wanted to
forget himself in the wonderful indefinable something of her that
filled the room.  He wondered if underneath that perfect
composure she was thinking about what had happened between them,
too.
     Scully noticed the expression of uncertainty he bore and
rose to cross over to where he sat at his desk.  His eyes were on
her continuously as she moved.  She stood beside him, her hand
reaching toward him, but her eyes concentrating on the paper
clutter laid out in front of him.
     "You want some help filling in some of the blanks on this
before one of us tries handing it to Skinner?" she offered.
     Her hand came to fall on his shoulder, but he immediately
tensed at her touch.  The tightening of his muscles was so
apparent that Scully drew back her hand in surprise.  At that
point, Mulder knew he couldn't dare look at her; he kept his eyes
down and away from her, out of her sight.  But she knew him as
well as he knew her, and he was painfully aware that there would 
be no walking away from this unscathed.
     "Mulder," she said, noticing his uneasiness, "what's wrong?"
     He didn't answer her--nothing else could have made Scully
feel more uncomfortable.  His jaw shifted in the silence.  There
was not a word, not a glance, not a movement from him as he sat
there.  She would have given anything at that moment just to hear
him utter even some ridiculous joke to make her feel better, but
he didn't.  At length, Scully walked hastily to the ajar office
door and calmly shut it, after which she stayed there, tilting
her head slightly and folding her arms over her chest--her
partner had glanced there enough times in the past five minutes
to make her feel quite self-conscious.  "Mulder," she asked
again, "what's wrong?"
     When she took that tone with him--that tone that was so 
unquestionably *Scully*--he bristled, and his face darkened.  How
dared she react to him as if he were the only one who had to deal
with what was going on, as if she hadn't even taken part in what
they had done?  "Forgive me, Scully, if I'm having a little
trouble staying *professional,*" he spouted with bitter sarcasm. 
"I'm sorry that that doesn't suit you."
     "For God's sake, don't talk to me like that," she shot back, 
advancing on him.  "We're not adversaries, we're *partners!*  Now
*talk* to me."
     Scully was not going away; this matter was not going to be
left alone.  And when she looked down at him with those eyes, he
couldn't give her anything but honesty.
     "What happened two days ago should never have happened," he
said sadly.
     She'd known from the start that this had been on his
mind--it had been on hers constantly ever since he'd left the
house that evening.  She'd tried repeatedly to tell herself it
was just a kiss, that it didn't necessarily mean anything.  But
how could it not mean something with Mulder?  And afterward she
found herself wrestling with her desire for more from him than
just that one kiss.
     "I always knew that one day were going to have to confront
the fact that we were . . . attracted to each other," she said. 
She spoke in that low, soft (he would definitely have said
*sexy*) tone she took whenever their conversation became personal
or intimate.  "I never wanted us to regret anything if we did
decide to act on those feelings--"
     "Scully, no . . ."  When he saw the hurt expression on her
face, he immediately wanted to take back what he had said and all
but leaped from his chair to be near her.  Half-seated on the
edge of his desk, he faced her.  "I don't regret kissing you,
it's just . . . I value what we have already, and I'm afraid of
it being jeopardized."
     "So we ignore our feelings, or rationalize them and put them
aside?" she exclaimed more forcefully than she had intended. 
Then she scoffed, "That sounds like something *I* would suggest."
     "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery," he grinned. 
He couldn't help wondering what could be said for infatuation.
     Mulder cautiously raised his hand and cupped it around her
cheek.  His thumb traced a delicate path down the side of her
neck until his hand found her shoulder and hesitated.  He looked
into her face with an intensity he couldn't control, perhaps only
partly aware of his fingers as they slid down her back.  He
pulled her in close to him, breathing her scent as he felt her
arms come around his neck.  Scully's hot breath at his ear sent 
chills through his entire body.
     "I like the way you feel to me, Scully," he whispered into
her red strands.
     If Dana Scully could have held him this way in her arms
forever, she surely would have.  She treasured this intimacy, and
could not have traded it for any other relationship with any
other man.  But they were this close already--how could they not
be tempted by the prospect of something more?  Something even ...
sexual, she mused.  Their being working partners supposedly
precluded such involvement, but . . . her curiosity was
overwhelming, and her feminine needs were equally difficult to
ignore.
     In an action bolder than most things Agent Dana Scully would
have dared, she placed several slow, affectionate kisses just
below Fox Mulder's ear.  She heard him release a small murmur of
pleasure and saw the goose bumps start to rise on his neck.  In
response, he tilted her head back with both hands and nuzzled her
in the tender spot just beneath her chin.
     The two in their embrace danced close to a fine line: they
had done nothing yet that they could not retract; if they wanted
to, they could probably decide then and there not to take it any
further at little cost to their egos.  All they had done was hug
and kiss a little . . . a lot more than they'd done ever since
they first met, Scully groaned to herself.  Then why didn't she
do what was rational and stop it before it led to anything, 
led to what she *knew* it would lead to?  The answer was simple:
she didn't want to.  She wanted to take this as far as it would
go and back.  Suddenly, as if frightened by her own realization,
she pulled back from him.
     *Oh, no,* Mulder thought, pulling his face from her neck in
a panic.  *I shouldn't have done that.*
     But her glance reassured him.  Her fingers glided softly
across his face, brushing his lips in a more caring gesture than
anything he was accustomed to from her.  "Not on the firm's
time," said Scully in a half-whisper that was wistful as much as
it was slightly sarcastic--she had probably by now learned from
him a reserved contempt for their superiors.
     *Screw the firm,* Mulder wanted to say.  But he pondered
curiously what she would do if the "firm" were out of the
picture.  Well, if not on "the firm's time" . . . then when?  Was
that an invitation?  He was completely enchanted by the woman
before him: the luscious redhead had a sultry side to her that
had never even been hinted at before.  What would she do . . .  
Her fingers at the back of his neck gave him some idea.  But 
soon she slipped away from him, sharing with him a brief, yet
meaningful gaze before returning to her desk.
     "Scully," he called back, turning quickly.
     Scully was quick to make the subject of their conversation
something other than their intimacy.  "Why don't we finish up
this paperwork and then decide which one of us wants to take it
to Skinner?"
     Mulder raced to her desk, leaned forward, and aggressively
reached over to place one hand through her hair, drawing her
toward him.  "Don't walk away from this," he hissed passionately.
     She stared uncertainly into his eyes, indulging the memory
they brought to mind: the last time he had spoken to her that
way, they had been shut up together in a room in the Arctic; it
was then that she had learned never again to make the terrible
mistake of not trusting him.  But even then through his intense
anger she had seen the beginnings of their . . . what would she
call it?  She was so physically close to Mulder now that their 
noses were in danger of touching by accident.  She could feel his
breath on her face.
     "You *know* I can't walk away, she said, biting down hard on
the words as if she could keep them back.  "But I can't deal with
this right now, not here."
     "Then--"
     The startling ringing of the phone on Scully's desk abruptly 
interrupted them.  It was nearly the third ring before she
snatched up the receiver.
     "Scully," she gave her name instinctively.
     She seemed to be paying attention to the voice on the other
end of the line, yet her eyes seemed loath to leave Mulder.  He
watched her listen for a moment, utter something vaguely
apologetic, and then mumble a series of curt affirmatives, the
last one followed by a tight-lipped "Sir."  She laid down the
phone again and gave Mulder a look.
     "Looks like it's going to be you," she said, trying
obviously not to appear as relieved as she was.
     Mulder exhaled audibly and straightened.  "What do you think
I should tell him?"
     "Whatever it is, Mulder, for God's sake, don't tell him the 
*truth,*" she sighed.  "I guess it's time for that Boy Scout
campfire experience to come into play."
     "I get a feeling I'm going to come out of this looking like
the marshmallow," he griped.

               *          *          *

     Dana Scully reflected on the events of a workday that had
been more grueling than most.  Mulder had returned from a
half-hour meeting with Assistant Director Skinner thoroughly
bruised, his pride seemingly having taken several near-mortal
blows.  She wished she could have been there with him once she
saw him storm back into the office, tossing files around and
ignoring objects when they fell to the floor.  But Skinner was
probably well aware of Mulder's sensitive ego when it came to the
X-Files.  She had hated herself silently: why didn't she say she
would go instead, and to hell with Skinner's wishes?  She could
have at least accompanied him.  Why did the Assistant Director
have to upbraid her partner like some rookie right out of the
Academy every time they failed?  Whose damn side was the man on?
     The rest of the day after that event had been tense.  Scully
had wanted them to talk again, but she knew there would be no
reaching him when he was angry; he had to cool down first, and
then, perhaps . . .  But how angry at her was he, still?  Mulder
put up such a wall that they'd barely spoken to each other all
day.  She regretted leaving it that way, not letting him know
what she was feeling.  Now she was alone in her house, wishing
desperately that Mulder were there, her only comfort the mug of 
herbal tea in her hands.  *God, why did I push him away?* she
agonized.
     Scully was seated on her couch, watching the reflection of
the light in the surface of her tea, when she started at the
sound of sharp knocking at her front door.  She rose to answer
it, and looked through the peephole.  She held her breath when
she caught a glimpse of her caller, and opened the door.
     "Mulder," she said, feeling slightly uncomfortable.  "I
wasn't expecting you."
     He stood on her doorstep with his hands stuffed into his
coat pockets, looking boyish and bashful.  "I'm sorry I didn't
call first, Scully, but I . . . can I come in?"
     She stepped aside and allowed Mulder inside, closing the
door behind him.  She took his coat from his shoulders and laid
it aside, noticing the football jersey he wore in a sloppy sort
of way with jeans and sneakers.  He looked at her contritely with
his soft hazel eyes.
     "I just wanted . . . to apologize," he shrugged, his hands
having found another set of pockets in which to hide themselves. 
"I'm sorry I got mad at you today."
     "Don't say that," she told him.  "If you're angry, then I 
understand, it's all right--"
     "No, it's not, Scully, I--we can't leave this unresolved."
     "And how do we resolve it?"
     Mulder started to open his mouth, but nothing that could
answer the question would come out.  He turned and let himself
fall onto her couch, looking up at her as she stood above him. 
She looked diminutive in her large sweatshirt, which must have
been her favorite as often as he saw her wear it; her jeans were
close-fitting, flattering her figure much more than Mulder should
have allowed himself to notice.  He couldn't stop looking at 
her as she walked over to him and playfully ruffled his hair.
     "You want some tea, Mulder?" she offered.
     He smiled.  "Sure."
     He was left alone in her living room as she made her way to
the kitchen.  In her absence, Mulder had little with which to
keep himself occupied except his thoughts--and those only
insisted on returning to his partner.  Five minutes soon passed,
and it seemed as if she had been gone a long time--perhaps his
anxiety was beginning to make him impatient.  He decided to join
Scully in the kitchen, where she was watching a kettle on the
stove with her back toward him.
     "So that's why it hasn't boiled yet," he quipped.
     Scully, who hadn't heard him behind her, jumped when he
spoke and spun around quickly.  She tried to be annoyed at him,
but his grin was inevitably contagious.  After they stopped
laughing, they stood staring at each other awkwardly until the
kettle started to whistle; she fumbled to turn off the stove, and
then reached for a jar in an above cabinet.
     "Do you like honey in your tea, Mulder?"
     He took the glass jar from her, his fingers running over
hers as he did so, and unscrewed the cap with a look of mischief
on his face.  He dipped his finger into the honey and watched,
mesmerized, as a long thin strand of the sticky substance fell
back into the jar as he pulled up his hand.  He scraped the
excess on the rim of the jar and showed it to her as if in some
way proud of himself.
     "You don't mind, do you?" he said.
     The point of his sticking his finger into her honey jar
seemed moot, but his childlike face managed to evoke from her yet
another smile.  It was uncanny the knack he had for doing that  
. . .  Scully was spectator as he stuck his finger into his mouth
and licked it clean--she guessed he probably had a penchant for
cookie dough and cake batter, too, like any boy his age.  She
turned around and began pouring boiling water over the teabag in
the mug she had set aside, but as she reached to set the kettle
down, she felt a finger that was not her own come across her
lower lip, smearing honey there with a gentleness that took her
by surprise.  *Oh, God . . .*  It took all her better judgment to
keep herself from licking it right off him and then turning
around to find the sweetness in his own mouth.  She decided it
best to keep her tongue to herself and licked her lips
appreciatively.  After all, he was only playing . . . probably. 
But he was *really* turning her on . . .
     She shivered on feeling his regular, soft breathing on the
nape of her neck.  The restrained pleasure coursing through her
made her feel the incurable anguish of wanting to release it; if
he was doing this much to her now, she could only imagine what he
could do if they . . .  No, that couldn't happen--she couldn't
allow it.  Without a word she edged away from him, wanting to
leave the room, but finding herself inexplicably bound there 
by his presence.  She compromised between her opposed impulses by
stopping to lean on the frame of the open doorway to the kitchen. 
She thought the distance from him would alleviate her desire for
closeness, but it only augmented it.  Out of the corner of her
eye she saw--or more *heard*--Mulder set the honey jar down hard
on the counter.
     "This hurts, Scully," he said.
     "This *scares* me, Mulder," she retorted.  "I don't want to
feel this way about you."
     "That makes me feel better."
     "You know what I mean.  Do you think we'll solve anything by
just sleeping together and getting it over with?"
     After Scully heard her own words she immediately regretted
them.  Mulder stalked toward her and glared down at her, his eyes
so fierce they were almost invasive.
     "How could you even *think* I would think that way about
you?" he said just loudly enough for her to hear.
     He stormed out of the kitchen, ignoring Scully as she
pleaded his name.  She found him on her couch again, hunched over
on the edge of the cushion with his head low.  He didn't
acknowledge her as she took the position not two feet in front of
him.
     "Mulder, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," she apologized
quietly.
     Slowly he raised first his eyes to her, then his head. 
"When did this change, Scully?  For a minute there in the office,
you believed and I didn't.  *I* was afraid of this.  Are things
now back to the way they're 'supposed' to be?"
     She rolled her eyes, tossed her hair back to one side, and
stood with her arms akimbo in a pose that was simply signature
Scully.  She opened her mouth slightly and emitted an exasperated
sigh.
     "Is that what you want me to say?" she spouted.  "You want
me to tell you I believe?  Is that what you want?"  She took a
step forward, her blue eyes suddenly entrapped in his hazel.  He
stared up at her with parted lips and a subtly desirous
expression.  "Fine," she cried, flailing her arms.  "I *believe,*
Mulder!  I believed in this!  But if we pursue this it will
destroy everything we've built over two years!"
     "Why, Scully?" he asked gently; innocent curiosity crept
into his words and made him sound like a boy asking his father
why the sky was blue.  "Why would it destroy everything, why
would it be wrong?  Don't you have enough faith in our trust?"
     "Faith, yes, but not blind faith.  We're human--we can't let 
ourselves believe that this won't effect us."
     "We're human," he echoed, reaching out.  "It already has."
     Fox Mulder's hand came to her hip and closed itself around a
piece of her sweatshirt; almost effortlessly, as if with his
thoughts alone, he drew her in toward him.  Scully made no
protests as his arms encircled her waist and she slid easily onto
his lap, straddling him.  Her conscience, which had before
screamed out against this physical affection, now wondered if it
were something she shouldn't fear.  Her fingertips explored his
face, his neck, and his shoulders; Mulder's hands ran tentatively
over the sweatshirt covering her back.  
     "I'll admit, this scares me, too," he whispered.  "But if it
means we'll lose something, I won't--"
     "No, Mulder."  She quieted him with two fingers across his
lips.  "I promise you won't lose me."
     Scully could feel the blood rushing through every part of
her body as his hands crept up her top, in direct contact with
her skin.  They seemed to trace over every muscle in her back,
seeking out every detail of every curve.  Never once did he take
his gaze from her face.
     "I know I never told you how I feel about you, Scully," he
breathed; already she could hear his words coming out in gasps as
he struggled for air.  "But I think I lo--"
     "Tell me later," she said.
     Mulder's hold on her became tighter when he felt the wet tip
of her tongue tickle his earlobe.  Her mouth covered his skin,
its tenderness making him feel a strange combination of heat and
cold.  Scully's fingers were raking up his jersey, tickling his
sides, massaging his chest.  In return, Mulder kissed the hollow
of her neck, pulling down part of her collar so that his lips
could reach also her shoulder.  To hear her sigh in response
filled his being with a pleasure he couldn't imagine being more 
gratifying or more sensual.  It was a sensation that radiated
through his entire body, starting in the pit of his stomach and
continuing upward, sending chills through him and raising goose
bumps everywhere.  Of course, the sensation's movement downward
threatened to raise more than just goose bumps . . .
     As if in surrender, he raised his arms as his partner
eagerly pulled the football jersey up over his head.  She looked
at him for a moment before she leaned forward and teased his
lower lip with her tongue.  She was challenging him, daring him
not to cross that line they had danced so close to before.  And
he wouldn't--not until she said so.  His hands were at her waist,
his thumbs making soft circles low on her stomach.  But other
than that, he was motionless; more than once he fixed her in his
stare, showing her that he had accepted her dare.  At one point,
Scully delicately trailed her fingernails across his chest,
grazing his nipples, and brought her lips barely an inch from
his.
     "Say my name, Mulder," came her throaty whisper into his
mouth.
     When he did, the sound flowed off his lips as if the mere
mention of it were a taste of forbidden fruit.  "Dana . . ."

=====================================================================
======

Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW! A Kiss: More (2/2)
Date: 10 May 1995 18:48:07 GMT

**************************
This story is rated "R" for strong language and partial nudity,
the latter resulting from sexual situations (you bet...).
**************************
**Copyright stuff:
"The X-Files", Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, et cetera, are property
of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, Fox Broadcasting, et
cetera, et cetera. (insert more fancy legal jargon here)  No
infringement of copyright is intended by The Author.  The Author
reserves all rights (or is gonna try darn hard to, anyway) to all
characters/situations created by the same.**
Words to "I Burn For You" written by Sting (that song is Sting at
his *sexiest*...).
**************************

Last time, in part 1...

     "Say my name, Mulder," came her throaty whisper into his
mouth.
     When he did, the sound flowed off his lips as if the mere
mention of it were a taste of forbidden fruit.  "Dana . . ."

"A Kiss: More" (part 2)
by Kiarana Lar
km4275@cnsunix.albany.edu
kiarana2@aol.com


     Unable to bear the restraint any longer, Mulder finally
drank of her lips, tasting them in every way possible.  He took
only the briefest hesitation in peeling off her sweatshirt, and
then pressed her body against him.  Their kiss was fiery, mouths
opening and closing on each other, tongues pushing against each
other playfully.  He unhooked her bra, slid it from her
shoulders, and laid her down carefully on the couch.  Mulder knew 
there was a subject that had to be raised, and soon, but he
couldn't bring himself to it just yet; he wanted to feel more of
her first, to delay it just a little longer.  Scully must have
taken notice of his uncertainty as he positioned his hips between
her thighs.
     "I know what's on your mind," she told him.
     Caught in the middle of enjoying her amorous backrub, Mulder
could only mutter a low, distracted grunt against her cheek as he
kissed her there.
     Scully tucked one hand into the back of his jeans while she
used the other hand to give his face gentle, stroking caresses. 
"You don't want to wear one, do you?" she said, her tone
playful--she was well aware that she had pinpointed his fear.
     He should have known she would mention it sooner or later. 
He pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her.  "What makes
you think I don't want to?"  He groaned the words much more
unhappily than he knew he should have.
     "Mulder . . ."  She turned his name into a pleading whine
that made him laugh in spite of himself.  She smiled at his
reaction, but the mood became serious again as her hand moved
further down into his pants, under the waistband of his
underwear, fondling his bare skin.  He moaned, and his 
resistance against her collapsed, his rising pressing into her
body.  "You know how much I want you," she said.
     "I guess it's doctor's orders?" he said.
     "Nightstand on the left, top drawer, all the way in the
back," Scully informed him.
     He nodded in compliance, and started to push himself away
from her, but Scully pulled him back for a moment, bringing his
head close to hers and staring at him with intensity of emotion. 
"Wait . . ."
     "What?" Mulder asked, wondering if there were something he
had done wrong.
     "I just--"  She held on to him, touching him as if fearful
of his leaving and not returning for her to hold again.  She
wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers sliding
through his hair, petting it lovingly.  "I trust you more than
any man, Mulder, you know that."
     "Yes, yes, of course," he said quickly, stroking the red
hair around her forehead.  He glanced down her body, and ran his
fingertips lightly over one of her breasts.  Mulder looked into
her blue eyes again, her eyes that seemed to plead for his
forgiveness--he knew she must feel terrible, the thought in her
mind that perhaps he thought she didn't trust him with herself
when it came to sex.  "You don't have to tell me how you feel."
     Mulder climbed off of her, off the couch, and went alone to
her bedroom.  Scully watched him, admiring the movement of the
muscles in his shoulders and back as he raised his arms above his
head to stretch.  Soon he disappeared into the bedroom and out of
sight.  When the sounds of him rummaging through her belongings
stopped and he returned, she was slightly surprised--strange that
he should be so quick in his search through a room in her house
he couldn't have known as well as most of the others.  *Leave 
it to Mulder to go after what he wants,* she laughed to herself.
     "That didn't take very long," Scully smiled as he approached
her and dropped the blue foil square on the coffee table.
     "Well, I promise"--he slid on top of her, wrapping his arms
around her back--"I'll take the rest of this real slow."
     Ardently Mulder kissed Scully's mouth, savoring as he
embraced her the heat of her body that warmed him. Before, he had
feared being this close to her, afraid she might judge him or
shun the possibility that they could be lovers.  Now he was not
afraid.  Now he wanted only to give her all of himself--he sought
to be hers, to give her everything her mind and body asked of
him.  Dana Scully was the only woman with whom this act would
have meaning: this was the consummation of an intellectual
intimacy that no other relationship he'd had could rival. 
Unwillingly, his thoughts wandered to Kristen, the last woman
he'd slept with.  It hadn't taken long after he'd had sex with
her for him to realize he had done it *for Dana*--he had missed
her painfully, he had needed *someone* to fill what was missing
in him.  Now he had *her,* Dana, the only woman for whom he'd
ever felt anything important.
     "Dana, I love you," he gasped.
     He pulled her hips closer to him and looked into her eyes 
passionately.  Her gaze at him left him awestruck, and as he
finally motioned to undress her, Mulder realized that Scully's
eyes were the only ones that could ever reflect in their beauty
the truth that was the meaning of his life.  Her lips closed
around his, and darkness began to settle in the room as the night
began.


"You and I are lovers
Nighttime falls around our bed
In peace we sleep entwined
And your love flows through me
Though an ocean soothes my head
I burn for you
I burn for you"    --"I Burn For You", The Police


     Dana awoke the next morning in Fox Mulder's arms, the two
lying on the couch facing each other, arms and legs untangled
under a warm wool blanket.  She thought about the blanket,
surmising that Mulder must have gotten it from the bedroom closet
while she slept.  He breathed quietly into her hair, his chest
rising and falling peacefully against her body.  It was
wonderfully sensual, this lying here naked and motionless with a
man.  She always liked that part of it, especially if it had been
good the night before.  But this . . .  Last night had been the
best sex she'd ever had with anyone, and now she lay embracing
him and knowing that fact.  Knowing that last night she had made
love with Fox Mulder.  Knowing that something had finally been
fulfilled in her, and that now she was in love with him. Or 
maybe she'd always been in love with him, and either not realized
it or denied it.  But having shared with him their first kiss
three days ago had brought these feelings about him to head and
made them stronger, made her want to finally express them.  And
now as she lay with him, she felt none of the regret she'd been
afraid of--there was only love.
     Scully turned her head to read a clock on a far table.  The
hour was some ten minutes past six in the morning, meaning they
hadn't overslept--or at least *she* hadn't.  Mulder was still
fast asleep next to her, his face soft and innocent when she
pulled back to look at it.  She closed her eyes and leaned
forward to tenderly caress his neck with her lips, playing at the 
skin with the tip of her tongue.  After a minute or so of this
she felt him start to stir against her, emitting a tired groan as
his eyes fluttered open to meet hers.
     "Good morning, Mulder," she purred.
     "Morning, Scully," Mulder smiled.  His fingers traced over
her knee, her thigh, and her hip, after which he hugged her
tightly.  Shifting his position on the couch, he pulled her body
on top of him and extended his arms and legs, stretching his body
to full length.  Once his muscles relaxed, he lowered his arms
and stroked her back rhythmically with both hands.  He shut his
eyes for a moment, as if trying to extract from them the last
remnants of drowsiness, and then opened them again.  "I'm having
a little trouble believing what happened last night," he said
hoarsely.
     Scully's eyebrows shot upward to equal his disbelief. 
"*You* who believe that Elvis is still alive are having trouble
believing that we . . ."  She thought summarizing their act would
come easily--she *was* the doctor--but when she tried to summon
the words she wanted, her tongue seemed unwilling to form them. 
"You're right," she admitted.  "So am I."
     Neither of them needed any proof of the events of the past
night other than the fact that they lay embracing one another
unclothed.  Scully licked her lips and fondly placed them at
Mulder's jawline.  She closed her eyes, taking in his scent, his
taste; the slight bristly stubble on his chin tickled her skin. 
She pulled herself up, looked at his face--at its shadows and
darkness, the beauty of its open mouth, the light of its hazel 
eyes.  His mouth she kissed just once, her contact with him
fleeting.  "So what are we now?" she asked him.  "Lovers?"
     "Yes," he answered softly.
     "Friends?"
     He ran his hands through her silken red hair.  "Always," he
spoke.
     "Partners?"
     That query was harder to answer.  He didn't want to think of
the negative repercussions this could possibly have on their
work.  "Forever, if I can help it," he said.
     "Mulder . . ." she whispered, her tone now sad and longing. 
"As much as I care about you, we may have just done the one thing
that will tear us apart.  If anyone find out about this, we can
count on them not letting us continue working together on the
X-Files.  You know they've been looking for a good excuse . . ."
     "*No one* is going to find out about us, Scully," Mulder
declared emphatically, although he couldn't admit he was any
surer than she was that that promise could be kept.
     As Scully rested her head on his chest, she let out a small
laugh. "I can't help wondering if they're listening right now... 
For all we know, they might have been listening the whole time
while we were . . ."
     Mulder chuckled at what she suggested.  In their experience,
the constant fear of being overheard or watched was by no means
paranoid, and by now it could be turned into something of an
in-joke.  "I'll bet we gave those guys the best time they ever
had conducting surveillance," he said.
     They both laughed for a while at that, but the humor passed
quickly once they both started to think again about the all too
real ramifications of their romantic involvement.  It was enough
that they were already working too closely for the comfort of
some of the FBI higher-ups without their sleeping together. 
Perhaps Assistant Director Skinner would be somewhat reluctant to
see them separated--they were *good* together, he knew that--
but whether he was on their side seemed to be dependent on what
mood he was in on a particular day.  In the end he would never
dare defy his superiors and risk his own position for the sake of
his two renegade agents.  Scully thought back to her teaching
position at Quantico--that was the last place she wanted to end
up again.  She didn't belong there, lecturing to classes over
dead bodies; she belonged in the field, in the field with Mulder. 
As hard as it was to admit, she actually enjoyed having her
deep-rooted convictions and beliefs torn apart, the rules of
logic contradicted at every turn.  After two years of seeing
things that would make any doubting Thomas believe, she now found
it hard to deal with the idea of living without it.
     Mulder stared at the ceiling with one arm around Scully's
shoulders.  When his mind began to wander through the events of
the past, remembering all the times when she hadn't been with
him--or all the times she had come close to never being with him
again--he was reminded of her physical presence and breathed a
sigh of relief.  She was right: the consequences of their being
found out would be severe.  For that reason, they had to ensure 
that the nature of their relationship remained secret--he
couldn't stand the thought of being separated from her, not when
he needed her support so much.  He thanked whatever supreme being
ruled his fate for Scully, who always seemed to make his life a
little more bearable.  He squeezed her just a bit tighter.
     "Mulder," he heard her moan quietly, sounding like she was
drifting back into sleep.
     "Yeah," he answered, his own eyelids feeling heavy again.
     "We have to go to work," she murmured against his chest.
     "No, no, le's na g . . ."  His speech was interrupted by a
long yawn.  "Let's not go," he finished.
     "Don't be ridiculous," she said.
     She mustered the effort to push herself up far enough to
look at his face, and then laughed when he twitched his nose at
her hair brushing over it.  He stared back at her with calm,
dreamy eyes, and after a few moments of silence they kissed. 
Scully let the passion of their kiss grow gradually, but pulled
away immediately upon detecting his renewed physical arousal.
     "Too early in the morning for that," she teased.
     Wrapping her body in the wool blanket under which they'd
slept the night, Scully clambered off him and brought herself to
her feet beside the couch.  Smiling at the appearance of his
naked and vulnerable self sprawled lazily over her furniture, she
held her covering around herself with one hand while the other
she used to retrieve his jeans from the floor and toss them
across his hips to serve as a makeshift loincloth.  She retreated
in the direction of her bedroom while Mulder grinned in amusement
and rose to dress himself.  He was seated on the edge of the
couch having just finished tying his sneaker laces when he raised
his head to see Scully emerge in a white terry bathrobe, tied
loosely enough that he was titillated by the contour of the top
of one of her breasts.  Mulder stood, squaring his shoulders, and
watched her approach him.
     "I, um . . ."  Scully tucked some stray copper hairs behind
one ear, avoiding his eyes.  "I'm going to go take a shower."
     He understood what she was trying to say without having to
ask, and nodded.  "I guess I ought to . . . maybe find a suit,"
Mulder smiled slightly, shrugging in his wrinkled red football
jersey.
     "You know, Mulder . . ."  This time she looked at him
directly--his beautiful cool hazel eyes provided her partial
refuge from her doubt and uncertainty.  "We still have to figure
this out."
     His hands reached out for hers, their fingers interlacing as
he held them.  The gesture struck Mulder as reminscent of his
adolescence, of those sweet relationships in high school with
those sweet, beautiful-eyed girls who would look up at him with
young and innocent longing.  But those immature romances could
never fulfill the need he had even at that early age for someone
who would listen to him, understand and accept the darkness 
he kept secret from most people--the same darkness which had made
the pursuit of those high school affairs so unappealing.  For
years Mulder had wanted to find the woman who could be his
perfect counterpart, but now he had, and he knew he would never
find anyone else whose beauty and passion could equal Dana
Katherine Scully's.  Pulling her in a little closer, he bent
down, closed his eyes, and kissed her lips.  He felt Scully's
fingers tighten eagerly around his own.  When he tilted his head
back to release her, she was wearing that brilliant smile he
loved so much.
     "We'll figure it out," said Mulder, smiling casually in his 
know-it-all sort of way.  Then, more seriously, he murmured, "I
promise."
     She let him go as he went to retrieve his coat from a chair,
and then walked him to her front door once he had slipped it on. 
He appeared very at ease as he turned around after stepping
across the threshold, his arms free at his sides, his eyes
bright.
     "I'll see you at work, Scully," he said, turning to leave. 
     "See you at work," she said quietly, her smile soft.
     Dana leaned against the door as she gently shut it behind
him, her sigh the only sound before silence fell upon the house
again.  She shut her eyes, swallowing hard.
     "I love you, Mulder," she whispered to herself; the world
blurred when she opened her eyes again.
     For the first time as she said those words, she knew what
they meant.


THE END.
Comments?  Ideas?
What is the meaning of life?
Write me.  :)

Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW! KL's "A Kiss: Determinations/One" (1/3)
Date: 21 Jul 1995 03:52:13 -0400


ALL OF YOU READ THIS STORY! :)

Hola to all out there in X-Philedom!  Here it is, for all those
interested, the long-awaited (I hope) FINAL part to the "A Kiss"
trilogy (doesn't "trilogy" sound so cool?).  Mulder and Scully are
forced to confront and resolve issues in their newly-formed
relationship.  This story does indeed contain some plot, but not
enough to actually be an X-File.  Hope you like it, all
well-intentioned comments will be oh so warmly welcomed, because I
love getting mail from you guys.  :)

** This story is rated R for some mild cussing, but mostly for the
cuddling at the end ... ;) **

**Copyright stuff:
"The X-Files," Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Assistant Director Skinner, et
cetera, are property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, Fox
Broadcasting, all those people, et cetera, et cetera. (Insert more
fancy legal jargon here.)  No infringement of copyright is intended by
The Author. The Author reserves all rights (or is gonna try darn hard
to, anyway) to all characters/situations created by the same (you
can't touch Hayes without permission--he's mine).  
Laymen's version:  Just borrowing "The X-Files" for a spin, no offense
intended to the head cheeses.  But I wrote this and I consider it
sacred.  The story is original, unique, and mine; readers, accept no
substitutes.  **


"A Kiss: Determinations/One"  (Part 1)

by Kiarana Lar
kiarana2@aol.com
km4275@csc.albany.edu



     "I just thought we should talk, Mulder, that's all.  And . . . I
missed you."

     She heard him laugh slightly on the other end of the line, and
smiled warmly, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

     "I really think we should decide what we're going to do about
this, about us," Scully continued seriously.  "I think we need to do
that."

     Mulder was nodding his head on his end, even though he knew she
could not see him.  The empty silence that followed her voice
indicated that perhaps she was waiting for him to offer something.  He
said, somewhat offhandedly, "I don't know, Scully, I was thinking
maybe . . . maybe we shouldn't commit to anything right now.  Not
officially, anyway . . . I mean, it would probably be easier for us
that way."

     She hadn't known exactly what answer she'd been expecting from
him, but somehow that answer differed disappointingly--hurtfully--from
her expectations.  Still, it seemed as appropriate a solution as any
at the moment, considering their circumstances.  "Yeah," she
swallowed, finding her agreement difficult.  She forced more words
over the unexpected lump in her throat.  "Yeah, I think that's a good
idea."

     Another awkward pause ensued.  Scully really had no wish to speak
any further; she found herself closing her eyes, wanting only to take
in the silence, a silence that never would have mattered had they been
together.  But she made herself speak even though she didn't want
to--she felt a need for some kind of closure to this.  "Look, Mulder,
it's the weekend . . . would you like to come over?  We could fix
dinner or something . . ."

     "Scully, I . . ."  The guilt was evident in his low tone.  "I'm
still wrapped up in the new case, trying to smooth things out . . .
I'm sorry."

     Eyes still shut, she tried to ease her building tension in the
release of a long, deep breath.  Fox Mulder was always taking his work
with him, often putting it before his own personal needs--or the
people who needed him.  "Yeah, I understand," she replied tersely.

     He could hear the pain in her strained words.  It made his body
react with a sickness that started as physical, but soon penetrated
the pit of his soul.  He was making her hurt and he knew it.  He threw
his head back and sighed, wishing that there were something he could
do to remedy this; but he had been thinking a lot since what had
happened the night before last--they'd managed to go a day in the
office avoiding mention of it--and he just couldn't be with her right
now.  He needed time, he needed to be alone.  Mulder spoke into the
phone again, feeling emotionally tired, not knowing what to say. 
"I'll see you on Monday," he said, trying to soften the words.

     "Goodbye," she managed, and hung up her phone.

     That exchange had occurred two days ago; now it was Monday.  As
Scully walked into the office that morning she tried to maintain a
sense of calm--she was very tempted to strike Mulder with her
briefcase as he sat at his desk, his nose in a manila folder, not even
looking up as she came in and shut the door.

     "I've been expecting you, Scully," he said by way of greeting,
his face expressionless.  He indicated the case folder into which he
had been peering.  "Remember the woman found dead recently with the
crisscross slashes on her back?"

     "Yes," she answered with caution, waiting for the rest.  Her coat
came to a halt halfway down from her shoulders.

     "There's been another one, found this morning," he informed her,
rising from his chair.  "I got the phone call just before you came in. 
We could be looking at a serial killer."

     "Let's go," she said, hitching her coat back up and leading the
way out.

                      *          *          *

     Mulder was the first out of the car, walking with imperial
strides toward the bustle of Washington, D.C. Police activity,
flashing squad car lights reflecting off the crime scene tape
surrounding a narrow, dirty alley.  He walked toward a man he
recognized in the crowd of officers, a tall, dark-skinned agent in a
long black coat.  The agent on the scene turned in the direction of
the approaching footsteps, offering Mulder a professional handshake.

     "Agent Hayes," greeted Mulder casually, looking the other man
directly in the eye.  Hayes was one of the few men whose stature 
equalled his own.  Hearing the familiar sound of his partner's quick
steps on the asphalt behind him, Mulder stepped aside to introduce
her.  "This is my partner--"

     "Agent Scully!"

     The handsome, thirty-something FBI agent's eyes lit up upon sight
of the petite figure rushing up to her partner's side.  Scully met the
gaze of the man next to Mulder, and recognition brightened her face. 
"Agent Hayes," she smiled, joining the men.  "Fancy meeting you here."

     Mulder's eyebrows rose in surprise.  His acquaintance with Hayes
was limited to chance meetings in the elevator, but apparently Scully
knew him better than that.  The warmth she displayed bordered on the
unprofessional; the rising lilt of her voice was definitely more than
friendly.  He continued to watch their interaction with a vested
interest.

     "I could say the same," said Agent Hayes to Scully.  "I heard
about them sticking you to work on that weird paranormal stuff--why'd
they call you in on a regular murder?"

     Scully either didn't notice or ignored her partner's visible
bristling at Hayes' blase comment.  "Mulder's an expert on profiling
serial killers--if that's what we've got here," she explained.  "And
it's quite possible the marks on the back could indicate some kind of
ritualistic activity."

     The man nodded.  "Sick ritual."  He looked back at the crime
scene, then chuckled, giving his attention back to Scully.  "You know
me, I like things nice and simple--I hate getting stuck with cases
like this.  I just want to catch this perp and go home."

     Mulder tugged lightly on his partner's arm before Hayes could
continue making small talk.  He flashed the agent a brief, somewhat
distorted attempt at a smile.  "Um, we want to have a look at the
body--"

     But Scully didn't follow as Mulder instinctively started toward
the alley.  "Why don't you go on ahead, Mulder, I'll be there in a
second," she called after him.

     Mulder was already at the crime scene tape several feet away,
expecting his partner to be two steps behind, when he heard her.  He
turned around and glared at Scully, his darkening mien expressing a
pure annoyance that he'd once thought himself incapable of feeling
toward her; however, she was not looking at him, only talking with
Agent Hayes.  A man easily knew a leer in another man's eyes, and
Hayes appeared absolutely rapt by the redhead in front of him.  Then
he saw Scully smile that radiant smile.  In his almost two years of
work with her, Mulder had come to think that one had to be at death's
door to receive that kind of a smile from Dana Scully--or at the
threshold of ecstasy.  Something inside him growled.  Apparently there
were certain people to whom she gave that beautiful grin quite freely.

     He stood impatiently with his hands on his hips and one foot on
the curb.  He could have gone ahead of her and started taking notes on
the scene without her, but no--he decided he would wait.  She wasn't
long, and after a minute or so of conversation she began to walk in
his direction.  Mulder immediately turned his head away from her,
trying to erase the intensifying emotions from his face before she saw
them.  He said nothing to her, never looking at her, only raising the
tape for her as they both proceeded to view the murdered woman's
corpse.

                           *          *          *

     "What are your thoughts on the possibility that this could be
some kind of ritual killing?"

     "Just like on the last victim, the slashes on the back are
completely random, they follow no pattern, Scully.  Looks like someone
just hacked at these women for the sake of doing it."  He ducked his
head into the car, slamming the door hard and starting the engine.

     "A new serial killer?" Scully posed, buckling her seat belt.  "Or
two killers, one copycatting the other?  The first murder was all over
the news."

     "If that's the case, this guy--or these guys--will be harder to
find."  Strapping himself in, Mulder turned the steering wheel and
depressed the gas pedal.  "But whoever it is, he sure isn't neat--left
the bloody razor at the scene with half a visible print on it,
possibly more once it's dusted.  The two women murdered weren't
related in any way, they weren't particularly 'easy' targets, like
prostitutes--they just happened to both live in the immediate area,
which might mean our killer's close, he's too lazy to go far for his
victims.  To tell you the truth . . ."  His eyes squinted as they
focused on the road, which was starting to slicken with a falling
drizzle.  "I think it's just some jerk who thinks he's having a good
time becoming famous."

     When they arrived at the office, Mulder appeared noticeably
tense, his words few and his expression grim as he immediately sat at
his desk after shedding his coat to review the case file of the last
murder victim.  Scully stared at him, puzzled--before she had even
removed her arms from her trench coat sleeves, he had immersed himself
in the case folder she knew he must have read several times already.

     "Is there something about this case that's bothering you,
Mulder?" she ventured to ask, moving to her side of the room and
sitting in her chair.

     "Why?" he said with disinterest, eyes remaining on the contents
of the beige folder.

     "You seem somewhat . . . *taken* by it," she said.

     He shook his head hastily, indicating a sort of "It's nothing"
response.  "I don't like serial killers," he uttered carelessly.

     Mulder said nothing more, staring almost obsessively into his
file.  Scully knew he could probably feel her eyes trying to see into
him; he was probably well aware that she was trying to bait him into
talking to her.  Being shut out by people she considered close to her
was something she found difficult; she would not tolerate being shut
out by Fox Mulder.  Scully would drag their feelings about each other
along the ground if she had to, she didn't care--he *would* respond.

     "I didn't know you knew Hayes," she said, watching him.

     "I didn't know *you* knew him," he replied, his nonchalance well
rehearsed.

     She was careful on the ground she tread.  "He took me to lunch
once, a while ago," she said.

     A thick, uncomfortable quiet fell.  It reminded Dana Scully much
of the phone conversation she'd had with Mulder the past Saturday, one
comprised more of silence than of conversation itself.  Some part of
her she'd denied had known that things would not be normal, that their
world would not be the way they had left it when they returned from a
Thursday night on which they'd taken maybe one risk too many.  Now
this dark silence blanketed the room, one that before she'd thought
the two of them could possibly survive; the silence was bitter,
spiteful, burying mercilessly inside itself unspoken grief.  But,
contradictory to Scully's expectations, Mulder would break it.  He
would rise to her bait, but he would not let her trap him with it.

     "Does 'lunch a while ago' entitle you to socialize while we're
supposed to be investigating a murder?" he sneered, throwing the
manila folder down, turning away from her in his chair.

     Scully's eyes gaped open in angry shock: this kind of attitude
from Mulder was like a slap in the face.  "*Excuse* me?" she retorted
fiercely, already halfway to her feet before she'd finished the
sentence.

     Mulder was out of his seat so fast he nearly knocked it over, and
Scully started at the noise of it hitting the back wall and papers
falling.  He was angry--he was *furious*--but he determined that he
would not lose control of this.  He *would* control this.  "You threw
that whole thing with Hayes in my face, Scully, and you know it," he
hissed, closing in on her desk.

     "For your information, Mulder, we were discussing the *case!*" 
Her voice was rising, her lips trembling in anger.  "What the hell did
you think was going on?"

     Mulder took several breaths as he paused, moving a tightened jaw
as he gritted his teeth.  "You blew me off," he spat, his eyes
penetrating hers.  "You blew me off."

     They stood facing each other, gazes locked in a stalemate,
neither of them willing to concede.  But even as Scully stared at him
with all her stubbornness, she knew he was right: she *had* treated
him like a sidekick rather than a partner, and not all subconsciously. 
A weekend's worth of repressed rage and tears had built up inside her
after his seeming refusal to talk seriously with her about their
relationship; she wanted to force him to know how she felt, even if he
didn't want to hear it.  She didn't give a damn whether their feelings
belonged in the workplace or not--they existed, and she was going to
talk about them.

     "I was under the impression on Saturday that I was being dumped
like some stupid high school girl!" Scully blurted.  She folded her
arms tightly across her chest as Mulder paced away from her.  "Do you
want to explain that to me?"

     "*Dumped?*" he shot at her.  "Is that why you threw yourself at
Hayes?"

     "Mulder, I *know* that he happens to be attracted to me!  But the
man is still my friend, and you know as well as I do that friendships
are few because of this work!"

     "Are you implying something about *me,* Scully?" he yelled.

     His thundering roar threatened to shake the walls of the office.
Scully's eyes darted toward the closed door as she lowered her voice. 
"For God's sake, Mulder, the whole Bureau can hear--"

     "I'm past caring!" he cried, letting a fist fly at a pencil jar
on his desk.

=====================================================================
======

Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW! KL's "A Kiss: Determinations/One" (2/3)
Date: 21 Jul 1995 03:52:19 -0400


** This story is rated R for some mild cussing, but mostly for the
cuddling at the end ... ;) **

**Copyright stuff:
"The X-Files", Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Assistant Director Skinner, et
cetera, are property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, Fox
Broadcasting, all those people, et cetera, et cetera. (Insert more
fancy legal jargon here.)  No infringement of copyright is intended by
The Author. The Author reserves all rights (or is gonna try darn hard
to, anyway) to all characters/situations created by the same (you
can't touch Hayes without permission--he's mine).  
Laymen's version:  Just borrowing "The X-Files" for a spin around the
block, no offense intended to the head cheeses.  But I wrote this and
I consider it sacred.  The story is original, unique, and mine;
readers, accept no substitutes.  **


"A Kiss: Determinations/One"  (Part 2)

by Kiarana Lar
kiarana2@aol.com
km4275@csc.albany.edu


Last time, in Part 1 ...


     His thundering roar threatened to shake the walls of the office.
Scully's eyes darted toward the closed door as she lowered her voice. 
"For God's sake, Mulder, the whole Bureau can hear--"

     "I'm past caring!" he cried, letting a fist fly at a pencil jar
on his desk.


**Part 2**


     He knew his partner was staring at him as he stopped to catch his
breath.  Despite his efforts, he had lost the control he'd deemed
himself capable of maintaining.  He closed his eyes as he stood in
front of his desk, listening to the last of the pencils hit the floor. 
Scully was probably right: this case was affecting him more than he
wanted to admit.  Already two dead women in less than four days, and
the mutilation only served to bring back bad memories and the old
feelings associated with them . . . except they weren't exactly "old." 
The feelings--lots of them--had been there for a long time and he just
couldn't handle keeping them hidden anymore.  He was just starting to
realize the great release that Thursday night had been: when he was
with her, everything that made him angry didn't matter, and everything
inside him that held love for Dana Scully finally found an outlet. 
But when they had come back to work, it was as if all that had to be
erased; everything he'd let her see had to be denied again, and then
came the case . . .  Mulder should have talked to her on Saturday. 
But for some reason he couldn't, he'd thought he could sort things out
alone.  He could have talked to her, he could have seen her . . .  But
he'd been too afraid--he'd lost part of his faith in the strength of
their bond.

     His thoughts returned to the present when he heard Scully speak
to him.  "Mulder, you were right . . . what I did today was
deliberate, and I apologize," she said.  "But it's not about him, it's
about us."

     He opened his eyes and looked at her.  Finally, he *looked* at
her--their eyes met and looked at each other with understanding, not
anger.  "I know, Scully," said Mulder gently.

     Scully approached him, standing close to him and taking in his
soft face with the deep pools of her eyes.  Her tone became higher,
insecure.  "Mulder, I can't deny the feelings I have for you," she
told him.  "Before, I could control them--I *had* to control them. 
But now it's harder."  She reached out and touched his arm with care. 
"Why wouldn't you talk to me on Saturday?"

     He turned his own earnest eyes toward her.  "I never meant to
make it sound--"

     "Tell me why," she whispered.  

     Mulder swallowed.  "I was scared," he admitted.  "I needed time. 
I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't make myself . . .  I wanted to
be with you, but--"

     "Mulder, when we work, I think you forget about other people's
feelings," she said.  Some anger was still clear in those first words,
but as she continued to speak, it began to melt away.  "You get so
caught up in yourself and your own objectives that you shut people out
for the sake of your control.  You expect me to follow you at every
turn, and I have, because I believe in you.  But when you shut *me*
out, it hurts.  We got close, and you pushed it away; we got closer,
and you pushed it away.  I think you get intimidated by the
possibility that someone could actually *love* you," she said with a
tone of incredulity.

     He thought hard on her words.  He hadn't had many serious 
relationships in his lifetime--the last had resulted in a lot of pain.
Whether in his family or his social life, Mulder had come not to
expect reciprocated love in order to avoid disappointment--that she
could mirror his own feelings for her now seemed nearly unfathomable. 
That he might be accepted and this time not have to try so hard to
earn it . . .

     "When you said that to me on the phone, about us not committing
ourselves, *I* was scared," said Scully.  She spoke slowly,
deliberately, every word conveyed with all her emotion behind it. 
"I've been committed to you for a long time--I wanted to think you
felt the same way about me.  I thought you wanted to go back and erase
what had happened between us Thursday night."  Her fingers had
gradually come to clasp his arm.  "It was wonderful with you," she
said.

     "Scully, the last thing I want to do is forget that happened." 
He slipped an arm around her shoulder, his hand coming to rest at the
base of her neck.  "C'mere," he beckoned her quietly.

     His lips came down to embrace hers, but Mulder was able to make
the light kiss last only a moment before she pulled back in haste.   

     "Wait," said Scully.

     Intrigued and attracted by the glimmer he caught in her eyes, he
followed willingly as she led him by the hand to the door.  With her
free hand she locked the door in a swift motion as she placed her back
against it.

     "Here," she said.

     Scully slipped her arms around his waist and pulled his body
toward her until he pressed her against the door of his own accord.
His hands came to rest lightly on her shoulders as he bent down and
initiated another kiss, which increased rapidly in intensity.  She
responded immediately to the touch of his tongue as it entered her
parted lips, kissing him fervently in return with titillating motions
of her own mouth and tongue.  Mulder's fingers moved delicately
through her red tresses as he kept her firmly, yet not forcefully,
pressed to the door with his body, excited by the way her full curves
fit so perfectly against his own long lines.

     He withdrew from the kiss, and looked at her with imploring eyes
as he caressed her face with gentle fingers.  "I'm so sorry, Scully."

     "Apology accepted," she replied, placing a kiss on the point of
his chin.

     Mulder clasped his hands together at the small of Scully's back,
grinning down at her.  "You realize this is against office protocol,"
he said.

     She gave him her smile in return--that beautiful Dana Scully
smile he considered the gift of the gods to mere mortal men such as
himself.  She tilted her head up at him with all the self-possession
he had come to admire so much in her.  "Hell, yeah."

                           *          *          *

     The broad-shouldered man leaned back in his chair as he spoke
with a deep voice into the phone.  "Thanks for bringing that matter to
my attention, Deryl . . . yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

     Placing down the receiver, he scratched the hairs on the back of
his mostly bald head and adjusted his glasses, sighing.  That phone
conversation had not been pleasant, and he grimaced at its
implications.  He spent several minutes weighing the matter in his
thoughts, and came to realize that he did not like what he was now
forced to do--but procrastination would not improve that.  He set
himself in his purpose and lifted the phone to his ear again before
other judgment could dissuade him, dialing a familiar number.

     "I'd like to see you in my office as soon as possible," he said
without preamble, sourly as if the words themselves were unpalatable.

     He informed his secretary of his coming visitor, instructing her
to send the agent directly to his office upon arrival.  Walter
Skinner, therefore, was only minimally surprised when the knock came
on his door only minutes after he hung up the phone for the final
time.  Very prompt, he thought with the slightest hint of approval. 
The thought of now confronting this agent with a disturbing matter
such as what his colleague had just presented him with on the phone
made his stomach do an uncomfortable turn.  When he heard a second
rapping, it occurred to him that his mind had drifted, and his
attention snapped abruptly back into place.

     "Come in," he called, rising from his chair.

     The door opened slowly for Dana Scully, who closed it behind her
quietly as she entered the room with caution.  She lifted her chin
slightly when she faced the Assistant Director.

     "Agent Scully," he said, nodding at her.  He indicated the chair
in front of his desk with a pencil he was holding.  "Would you have a
seat, please?" he requested, seating himself again.

     She made herself comfortable in the proffered chair with
circumspection--as always with Skinner, she kept herself mentally
braced.  Meetings with the Assistant Director had an uncanny tendency
to be less than pleasant.  "What was it you wanted to see me about,
sir?" she asked, adding a certain amount of deference to her
inflection.

     "I was informed recently that the police have obtained a lead on
this murder case," Skinner began in his authoritative tone, tapping
his pencil on the desktop.  "They're confident they'll apprehend the
perpetrator."  He looked with hard sincerity into her eyes.  "Agent
Scully, I know this wasn't an X-File.  You and Agent Mulder are off
the case--your services are no longer required here."

     Scully blinked at him--not that she had any particular desire to
investigate two murders that had little if anything to do with her and
her partner's work.  However, there was something curious in the way
his eyes darted away from her momentarily--there was another reason
for his having summoned her to his office.  The man said nothing for
several seconds as his jaw shifted uneasily.

     "Is that all?" she questioned, wondering whether he had something
important to raise or was merely wasting her time.

     "Shortly before I called you, I spoke with Agent Deryl Hayes,"
said Skinner.  He noticed the recognition pass ever so fleetingly over
Scully's face and then continued sternly, "Besides discussing the
murder case he raised a very serious issue directly involving *you.*" 
He awaited her reaction.

     She raised her eyebrows expectantly, hands folded in her lap. 
"And this issue is . . .?" she prompted.

     "An *accusation,* Scully," he spat the words, more sharply than 
intended.  "Agent Hayes has accused you of inappropriate conduct."

     Her eyes widened immediately and shot toward his.  "Inappropriate
conduct of what sort?" she demanded.

     His face was clearly flushed, and he swallowed hard as if that 
would counteract his embarrassment at having to broach this topic with
her.  "Hayes asserts that you've been sleeping with your partner," he
said flatly.

     Again she found herself blinking dumbfoundedly--she could not
believe she was hearing this.  "Is that accusation on the record?"

     Skinner looked uncomfortably at his subordinate agent.  "No--not
yet."

     Scully's heart was beating rapidly, and she labored to keep her
breathing controlled.  She had considered Agent Hayes to be a man whom
she could trust, if only in the loosest sense: he had done favors for
her in the past, and they had developed a friendship she had felt
secure in relying upon.  She had tried her best to ignore the
increasingly uncomfortable pressure he put on her to become involved
socially--perhaps even sexually.  Even when he didn't mention it, his
attraction was always glaringly conspicuous in the way he measured her
with his eyes.  But after having rejected another of his advances
today--at a crime scene, no less--she was greeted with this betrayal.

     "Agent Scully," Skinner went on, noting her silence, "in light of
this matter, I feel compelled to ask you . . ."  This was not a
hearing, and he probably should have spared her the question--but if
this were to indeed become official, he would rather the inquiry come
from him than someone who didn't know her as well.  "Do you deny this
allegation, Scully?"  He received no answer.  She wasn't even looking
at him anymore; her stare was directed toward some point to his far
right, and she was coming to very much resemble a kettle on the boil. 
Skinner began to think--and an upsetting thought it was--that her lack
of response might be due to the fact Agent Hayes was right.  He asked
again, forcefully and with all his authority backing the words. 
"Scully, are you and your partner having a sexual relationship?"

     "How *dare* you ask me that!" she suddenly exploded, her eyes on
him so quickly that even the ex-Marine nearly jumped.  "How dare you
ask me without proof, on the basis of hearsay?"

     "I have known Agent Hayes for a number of years," he retorted. 
"I know him to be a fine, upstanding member of this Bureau whose
instincts and reputation I have come to trust.  Why would he make such
an accusation against you?"

     Scully was momentarily caught by surprise: Skinner was friends
with Hayes?  Slowly it became clear--she seethed at the visible
picture.  "If you know Hayes so well, then perhaps you've heard him
speak of me outside a professional context," she spoke with caustic
sarcasm.

     He nearly choked on the implied question, feeling significantly
discomfited.  Hayes had indeed mentioned Dana Scully several times in
the course of informal conversation, although most of the time his
comments about her were only passing ones.  *Most* of the time.  The
rest of the time Walter Skinner made his best efforts to ignore
remarks that bordered on violating his morals.  But never had he
regarded the other agent's interest as more than infatuation.  How
much more than that was it?  "Yes," he said--it was all he could
manage without having to lie.

     "Then you realize his motivations aren't entirely professional,"
she fired.

     She bore his scrutinizing gaze as he leaned back, his wide
shoulders expanding visibly underneath his white dress shirt.  Scully
finally understood what was happening, and it enraged her.  Hayes'
charges were completely unfounded, but Skinner trusted him enough to
listen.  Once she discovered his indictment, Hayes would no doubt be
willing to retract the allegations in return for her . . . favors.  He
thought he could blackmail her into sleeping with him.

     Hayes had an exemplary record; Scully's record, for all intents
and purposes, had been tarnished by the X-Files.  But Hayes hadn't
counted on Skinner knowing an agent who had been under him only two
years better than a companion of almost ten.  Skinner knew that Scully
was stronger than to be so easily manipulated.  He knew which agent's
integrity to trust.

     He leaned forward again, this time removing his glasses, which
had the effect of softening his face dramatically.  His dark eyes
seemed to open up, and although his characteristic sneer remained on
his face, his anger no longer did.  "If I find out that Hayes is
trying to blackmail you--"

     "*When* you discover Hayes' intentions," said Scully, raising
herself to her feet and squaring her shoulders in a pose that made her
an intimidating figure despite her petite stature, "I'm sure this
matter will be settled.  Or else you can drag the bastard in here and
we'll see how well he can lie to my face."

     He tilted his head up to look at her: she was a remarkable image
of strength, this woman--and she was no liar.  Anyone would know the
truth if they saw it in Dana Scully's eyes.  He no longer had a doubt
that Deryl Hayes was trying to use him to get to Scully, and he
resolved that he would make sure he didn't succeed.  But he thought
about the accusation that had been posed.  It was by all means a
possibility: after all, Dana Scully and Fox Mulder felt for each other
as friends more strongly than any other pair of agents he'd seen. 
Perhaps it was because they were uniquely alone in their work.  But
part of him prayed that should anything . . . *happen,* they would use
extreme discretion.  He could trust them that far.

     Skinner glanced away and jerked his head toward the door.  "Go,"
he said tersely, fidgeting with his glasses in his hands.

=====================================================================
======

Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW! KL's "A Kiss: Determinations/One" (3/3)
Date: 21 Jul 1995 03:52:23 -0400


** This story is rated R for some mild cussing, but mostly for the 
cuddling at the end ... ;) **

**Copyright stuff:
"The X-Files", Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Assistant Director Skinner, 
et cetera, are property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, Fox
Broadcasting, all those people, et cetera, et cetera. (Insert more 
fancy legal jargon here.)  No infringement of copyright is intended by 
The Author. The Author reserves all rights (or is gonna try darn hard 
to, anyway) to all characters/situations created by the same (you
can't touch Hayes without permission--he's mine).  
Laymen's version:  Just borrowing "The X-Files" for a spin, no offense
intended to the head cheeses.  But I wrote this and I consider it
sacred.  The story is original, unique, and mine; readers, accept no
substitutes.  **



"A Kiss: Determinations/One" (Part 3)

by Kiarana Lar
kiarana2@aol.com
km4275@csc.albany.edu


Last time, in Part 2 ...

     Skinner glanced away and jerked his head toward the door.  "Go,"
he said tersely, fidgeting with his glasses in his hands.


**Part 3**


     Scully perused him visually without words for a final time, and
marched toward the door.  She had her hand on the doorknob when his
voice called her back.

     "Scully?"

     She turned slowly around, but this time to face eyes that had 
suddenly become more truthful and giving than she had ever seen them.

     "Um . . . since Agent Hayes' claims were told to me off the
record," he said, "I'll keep this conversation off the record as
well."

     Her expression was stolid, dignified.  "Thank you, sir."

     With that, she walked out of the room, the door shutting firmly 
behind her.

                           *          *          *

     "Scully, what are you doing?"

     Her hand froze just beside the sponge on the counter as she
lifted her head in awareness of first his presence, then his voice
behind her.  "I'm washing the dishes,  Mulder."

     "No, you're not."

     "Yes, I am."

     Scully had just deposited the last dish into the sink after a
simple dinner--Mulder had invited her to his apartment after work that
evening, and she had helped him create some semblance of a satisfying
meal from the contents of his refrigerator and cabinets.  After they'd
finished eating, Mulder had accepted--although reluctantly--her
gracious offer to help him clear the table; apparently, however, he
refused to accept more than that, for his hand snatched up her own
from behind just before it could reach the sponge.

     "No," he declared with an edge of finality.  "You're not."

     Mulder took her hand, carefully placing it at her side, and moved
to place his own on her waist.  His nose poked curiously into the red
hair at her neck, gently easing it aside so that he could kiss the
skin there.  His lips were passive in their touch: he simply let them
brush over her while he took in the scent of her that was so familiar,
yet different, for he had grown accustomed to having to appreciate it
from a distance.  Closing his eyes, he felt her lean back into him as
her body relaxed, and she pulled his arms in a tighter circle around
herself.

     Scully closed her eyes and let herself relax completely in the
comfort of his arms, smiling at the experience of having Fox Mulder
protectively embrace her, having him breathe calmly beside her, having
his presence warm her body.  A provocative sound of pleasure came from
her throat as his moist lips grazed an especially sensitive spot, and
she turned around.

     Scully whispered his name once before pulling his head down for a
kiss, a kiss that was teasing and playful: she kissed the corners of
his mouth, each lip individually, allowing him to pursue but never
capture her as he gave chase to return her affections.  She reveled in
the game like a mischievous girl, laughing at his attempts to catch
her until finally he did, lifting her up off her feet so suddenly that
she gasped, her next breath shared with him in an ardent kiss.  He
released her gently, allowing her to slide slowly down the length of
his body until she landed softly on both feet.  He was smiling down at
her, for she appeared very clearly surprised.

     As the two paused, the sound of the hard rain outside that had
developed from the light drizzle of the morning came in through the
window and dominated the apartment.  Scully feared her pounding heart
could be heard over it when Mulder ran a finger across her cheek and
she followed his touch.  His lips were falling on different places on
her neck, moving in frustration around the blouse that kept them
separated from bare skin.  She could not deny that this game was by
the minute becoming more and more . . . intimate.  But as much as she
enjoyed the caress of his finger and lips on her skin, she interrupted
him, grasping the hand at her cheek; he stared at her with his soft
eyes, confused by her actions, but finally understood when he saw her
move across the room to his stereo.
     
     She did not browse his music collection, but instead reached
immediately for a CD that she brought with her and whose content she
refused to divulge--perhaps because she knew he would hate it, Mulder
mused.  He realized that she could not see him from where she stood,
so he quickly made his way to the couch, where he slipped off his
sneakers and brought himself to a comfortable kneeling position on the
cushions.  When Scully found him waiting there with a boyish look on
his face, she raised her eyebrows.  She was poised to make a witty
remark, but Mulder beckoned her with an extended hand before she had
the chance.  When she moved to sit facing him, he made a circular
gesture indicating that she turn around, and she cast him a suspicious
glance; however, she humored him, and sat on the couch with her back
to Mulder, tucking one leg underneath her and letting the other touch
the floor.

     She had no idea what he was planning; she grew somewhat nervous
when she felt him shifting position behind her, moving closer to her. 
But her misgivings faded once he grasped her shoulders and started to
work the tension out of the muscles there.  His mouth was close to her
ear as he massaged her.

     "How does it feel?" he asked.

     When she tilted her head back, her lips could almost touch his. 
"Wonderful," she murmured.  "Where did you learn how to do that?"

     "Latest offering at Quantico," he grinned.

     The music was something "New Age" that Mulder thought sounded a
little Irish, and as it began to permeate the air it mingled with the
falling rain--together they sounded almost like one song.  He was
pleasantly surprised by the beauty of the sound, and found himself
soon closing his eyes, letting it soothe his mind and body as he
touched Dana Scully, letting it carry his imagination where it would. 
He could almost feel her skin beneath the thin fabric of her tight
blouse.

     "Scully . . . what did Skinner want to talk to you about in his
office today?"

     There was a pause before her answer--Scully had not been
expecting him to ask that question, and he sounded concerned.  "I told
you: we were taken off the murder case--"

     "Besides that," he said, his tone knowing.

     She spoke carefully, removing all emotion from her voice.  "There
was nothing," she replied.

     "Are you sure?" he persisted.

     "Yes."

     Scully was grateful that Mulder ceased his questioning, whether
he knew she was lying to him or not.  Her discussion with Skinner was
not a subject she wanted on her mind, so she concentrated her thoughts
on Mulder.  She could feel his every fingertip distinctly, the touches
and movements of each sending chills throughout her body.  She gave
herself up to him, totally relaxed, her mind thinking of nothing
except the way this man sent waves of arousal through her just by
being near her, the way right now his hands kneaded her flesh and his
knuckles pressed deep into her lower back . . . the way his caress
danced lightly around her waist, making her flinch slightly with the
tickling sensation it created.  Scully placed her hands over Mulder's,
partly following and partly leading them as they traveled down her
hips and started along her thighs . . .

     Although she had to take a moment to catch enough breath to say
it, she finally managed, "I think this just exited the realm of the
simple backrub."

     "Do you want me to stop?" he whispered hoarsely.

     "Mmm . . . no," she sighed, inserting her fingers through his and
grasping his hands tightly, following as they tickled her knees and
came back to tease the insides of her thighs in delicate circles.

     She turned around to face him, placing her affectionate hands on
his chest, feeling back and forth across him with circular motions. 
She breathed heavily into his neck when she kissed him there with an
open mouth and an eager tongue; she breathed into herself the warm,
neutral scent of his skin.  She felt his arms come around her back and
pull her in closer.

     "Scully . . ."

     But the minute he spoke, she recoiled.  Mulder stared at her
numbly, wondering what grievous offense he had committed now.  To his
relief, she was laughing.

     "Dammit, Mulder, when are we going to get to the point where I
don't have to tell you not to call me that when we're--*close?*  No
one'll hear you, you know--don't you like my name?"

     Mulder, too, smiled.  "You're named after an Irish goddess, you
know."

     "I've heard that one," she said.

     He exaggerated an expression of thought.  "Okay, how 'bout: If
you rearrange the letters of your name, you get the Spanish word for
'nothing'?"

     "Thanks," she grumbled goodnaturedly.

     "Well, then . . . how about: I love you, *Dana,* and I love the
way your name sounds when I say it, and I love . . ."

      Mulder stopped.  For what seemed to be no apparent reason,
Scully was staring at his face with an intensity that came close to
being unnerving.  She seemed fascinated, and even moved closer to him
to better examine whatever it was that had her so enthralled.

     "Your eyes," said Dana, touching his temples gingerly.  "I've
always seen them, but . . . you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever
seen, Fox Mulder."

     He listened to his name, to both his names as they came from her
mouth: strange, he thought, how from her lips, in her voice, they even
sounded . . . prettier.  His name was not something in which he was
accustomed to taking pride.  She had a proud name: Scully, the name of
her father; Dana Katherine, which suited her perfectly.  *Fox* . . .
not even a "Bill Jr."  But when she said his name, she wasn't afraid
of it, her voice embraced it without tentativeness.  Maybe one day he
would lose his fear and make her say it more often.

     "Dan--"

     That was all that came out before she interrupted him with a sort
of "Be quiet" kiss on the mouth.  When she was finished, Mulder gazed
at her with a very questioning look, for he was beginning to feel very
passive in this whole matter.

     "Do you even realize how I feel about you?" she smiled. "You make
me safe, you make me laugh--you make me believe.  I love you--I loved
you before I fell in love with you.  That will never change, and I
need you to accept that as I give it--unconditionally."

     The conviction that captivated him that moment came not from her
words, but from her eyes.  Mulder stared at them and they never
faltered, never turned away.  They were so strong and beautiful . . .

     He advanced toward her, slowly leaning forward until Dana was on
her back on the couch, Mulder supporting himself on top of her with
his elbows as his arms slipped under her back.  He found he couldn't
take his eyes off her, and was suddenly filled with a joy that brought
the warmest smile to his face, along with a realization that he hadn't
really faced until now: Dana Scully, his two-year partner, best
friend, only trusted ally, did genuinely love him.  This woman who
would have sacrificed her life for him, who had risked her valued
career more than once in order to protect him . . . she loved him.

     "I accept," he said finally.  "Without condition--I promise."

     He could barely hear her mouth the word "Good" as her arms
encircled his shoulders and she brought him down to hungrily kiss him. 
The soft music rose, fell, swayed around them, mingling with the
rain's subtle, calming sound, soothing their minds with the images of
tranquility it created.  Occasionally as they kissed and touched they
looked at one another, transfixed in each other's gazes for brief
moments, expressing their powerful mutual desire in a unique unspoken
language.  Dana sighed in longing, feeling her temperature rise higher
with Mulder's every new exploration of her body.  She wrapped her legs
tightly around his hips, his own body pressing harder against hers in
response.  He was breathing hard into her mouth when his palm pushed
gently upward against her breast.

     "I want you," Mulder whispered.

     Despite the growing urgency of their need for consummation, Dana
unfastened the buttons of his denim shirt with remarkable grace of
efficiency.  She tugged it down quickly from his shoulders, letting
him pull it off the rest of the way while she ran her fingertips
lightly down his spine, inducing a palpable shiver across his skin. 
Draping her arms around the back of his neck, she watched his eyes
take on a glimmer of anticipation as his hands pulled her blouse out
of her jeans and began creeping up underneath it, stroking bare skin. 
By the time he unclasped her bra and reached up to fondle her, she was
already inhaling and exhaling in gasps.

     "I do love you, Mulder," she said, sliding her fingers around
through his short, soft hair.  "So much . . ."

     He gave her a meaningful glance as he heard what she spoke; now,
for the first time, they would say the words together.  "I love you,"
he answered her.
     
     The two made love that evening; as they embraced one another, the
warmth of love flowing between them, they found happiness in a sense
of completion.  Even without speaking they reached inside each other,
finding each other's hearts and saying what could not be said with
words.  Of all their beliefs, the only one that mattered was the
belief they shared in each other, and as they lay together that night,
touching as lovers, the bond that made them one was sealed.
     

THE END!

(My mailbox is ready--let me have it!)