TITLE: Act of Acceptance (1/1)

AUTHOR: Brandon D. Ray

EMAIL ADDRESS: publius@avalon.net

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere and everywhere, so long as my name
stays on it and no money changes hands.

FEEDBACK: Oh, hell yes....

Ephemeral: *FEEDBACK*publius@avalon.net

SPOILER WARNING: Fire; Duane Barry/Ascension; Irresistible; The End

RATING: NC-17, for explicit sex.

CONTENT WARNING: Male and female created He them. Got it?

CLASSIFICATION: SRA; MSR

SUMMARY: Mulder finds himself in deep depression in the aftermath of a
case, and Scully must find a way to comfort him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a companion piece to "Act of Faith". I don't
think you need to have read that one in order to get this one, but it
would probably add some nuance. All you really need to know is that M&S
are already involved in a romantic relationship, which has been going on
for several months now.

DEDICATION: To Shannon O'Connor, who emailed me about "Acts of Faith",
gave me the confidence to attempt this companion piece, and helped me
work out what this story ought to be about.

DISCLAIMER: Nope, I do not own these characters or situations. If I
were THAT smart, I would be rich.

Act of Acceptance

by Brandon D. Ray

I've failed her.

I'm her partner. I'm supposed to watch her and cover her back. She's
supposed to be able to trust me, she's supposed to be able to depend on
me to guard her and keep her safe. And I've failed her.

Again.

I draw my knees up a little closer to my chest. I am curled in a tight
ball on the bed in our motel room. The lights are out, and it's night,
so the room is totally black. Nothing to see. Nothing to interfere
with the images the continue to flash within my mind.

It was supposed to be a routine investigation. Another serial killer,
this one stalking the streets of Des Moines. Seven deaths in as many
months, and always at the full moon. We had been requested by the VCU
-- me for my alleged profiling skills, and Scully for a reason which
those bastards chose not to disclose to us. Not that we would have
refused if they had told us. Scully's professional pride would not have
allowed it.

We arrived in Des Moines in late afternoon, and to save a little time we
separated: Scully to the motel to get us checked in, and me to the
local sheriff's office, where the Bureau had established a temporary
office.

I remember exactly when I realized what they had done to us. I was
sitting in a rickety folding chair in the conference room which had been
appropriated for our use, reviewing the case file. I wasn't supposed to
meet Scully for dinner for another hour yet, and so I had plenty of
time. I remember wondering for perhaps the hundredth time why they
hadn't faxed this to us, or emailed it, but then I turned a page, and
suddenly I knew.

The son of a bitch liked redheads. Petite, female redheads in their
late 20s or early 30s. I sat in that chair looking at the photographs
of his seven victims, and every last one of them....

I felt my gut churning as I stared at the file, and I felt the panic
rising in my chest. Those motherfucking sons of bitches had really done
it this time. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what
their plan was: They wanted to use Scully as bait. They wanted to put
her on the street, apparently alone and unguarded, and wait for the next
full moon.

Which was tonight.

The next thing I remember is holding my cell phone to my ear and
listening to the ring ring ring at the other end. Come on, Scully, pick
up. Pick up, dammit! I have to talk to you, I have to hear your voice,
I have to know you're okay. Scully! Pick up!

Fuck!

She could have been in the shower. Her phone's battery could have
died. She could have been stuck in heavy traffic, unable to take her
attention from the road.

But in my heart, I knew.

The drive to the motel is a blank to me. I remember nothing, and I mean
nothing -- that twenty minutes has simply been excised from my life.
One moment I was sitting in the conference room, listening to the
ringing of her phone, and the next I was jamming on my brakes in the
parking lot of the motel, hurling myself from the car, diving across the
parking lot, slamming my shoulder against the door to our room, falling
to my knees as it burst open....

And Scully was there. Her clothes were torn, her beautiful face was
bruised and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she lowered
her weapon away from me.

And for a timeless interval all that registered with me was that she was
alive. She was alive. She was alive.

And the suspect was lying dead on the floor at her feet.

The bastards' plan had worked. It had almost worked too well. Somehow
the motherfucker had known we were coming. He must have known. He had
picked us up at the airport and followed her here, and when she was
alone he moved in....

And I failed her.

I should have been there. I should have been watching her, guarding
her, doing my job as her partner, her friend, her lover.

But I failed her.

It's cold in this room. So very, very cold. So dark. So lonely. Like
a morgue.

I left her at the emergency room. I couldn't stay; I couldn't stand
it. I couldn't be there while they examined her and treated her
injuries, knowing that I was to blame for them. And I knew I didn't
dare be present when the ASAC finally caught up with us. I knew that if
I saw that man in my current state of mind, I would try to kill him.

So I left her. And yes, in so doing I failed her yet again.

I hear the door to the outside open and close -- the door which through
some miracle was not damaged when I forced it open two hours ago. The
door opens and closes, and I know she must be here. My body tenses,
lying there on the bed, and I wait in silent agony to see what she will
do and say. She has every right to be angry; she has every right to be
furious and hurt and disappointed. I have done nothing right today, and
I deserve only her rage and her contempt and her pity.

"Mulder?" I hear a soft rustling noise, and then the bed creaks as she
sits down on it next to me. "Mulder? It's me. It's Scully." Her
voice is very soft, and if I were not so sure that she must hate me for
what I've done, I might think that it was gentle. But I know better. I
know better.

"Mulder. Mulder, please come out." Come out and face the music. Come
out and accept your punishment. Come out and take what you deserve.

Something touches my cheek, soft as a feather, and I realize it's her
hand. I jerk my head away, rejecting her touch. I am unclean, dirty,
and I will not allow it to soil her. I've done enough to her already.

Silence falls in the darkened motel room. If I listen carefully I can
hear her breathing as she sits on the bed next to me. I wish that she
would yell at me; I wish that she would scream at me; I wish that she
would punish me and hurt me. But still she sits there, quietly
breathing, not saying anything. And so I wait.

Her voice, when it comes, is still soft and gentle, and her words make
my heart ache, even though I know that they're true. "Mulder, this
isn't going to work."

I know that, Scully. I know it isn't going to work. I figured that out
while I was lying here waiting for you to return. It isn't going to
work, and that's okay. I thought I could be more than your partner,
more than your friend. I thought I could love you and let you love me.
But I should have known better. I shouldn't have exposed you to that.
Everyone who I have ever loved has wound up getting hurt, and now it's
happened to you. God, as if Duane Barry and Donnie Pfaster and all the
others weren't enough of a warning....

She moves a little closer to me on the bed. "No, Mulder. I know what
you're thinking, but that's not what I meant. You are the only
stability in my life; the only thing that keeps me going. I love you,
and I know you love me, and I'm not going to let you use this to hurt
yourself. That's what isn't going to work, Mulder. That's what I
meant."

Dammit, Scully, don't do this to me! Why can't you take the warning,
accept the wake up call, and get out? All I've ever brought you are
fear and suffering and pain. You've nearly died so many times in the
past five years, and always because of me. Always because of me. Get
out, Scully. Get out and get the hell away: Away from the Bureau, away
from the fear, away from me. Get out.

I feel the mattress shift again, and now she's lying next to me and
spooning herself around me from behind as she whispers softly in my
ear. "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder. You're not getting rid of me
this easily. We've both been through too much, and we've waited too
long to allow something like this to come between us. I won't let you
go, no matter what."

I want to pull away from her, I want to keep my distance so my filth
won't get on her, but somehow I'm unable to move. Her arms are wrapped
around me, and she's gently stroking me, touching me, petting me. I
feel her breath against my neck, and it's familiar and friendly and
comforting. And slowly, so very slowly and gradually, I begin to relax,
just a little.

"That's right, Mulder," she says. "That's right. You need to relax.
You need to come down a little. Just come down, Mulder; just come back
to me. Just let the tension go, just let me hold you for a little
while. Just for a little while, Mulder. Just for a little while." And
her hands continue to stroke me, touch me, pet me, and I feel myself
relaxing just a little bit more.

And then without warning things just start bubbling up inside me. All
the pain, all the fear, all the guilt, everything I've been holding
tightly down inside since I realized this afternoon what those bastards
had done to us, everything just comes pouring up and out, and my body is
wracked with sobs and spasms, and I'm jerking and heaving and cramping,
and I can't stop it I can't stop it I can't stop it and the tears are
hot, so hot they burn my eyes and my cheeks....

And Scully is still there, still holding on to me, even as my body
spasms in her arms. And she's talking to me, and her voice is so low,
so soft, so loving. I don't even hear the words, I don't know what
she's saying, but the words don't matter, all that matters is the
delicate, gentle tone, the warmth of her body, the comfort of her arms
around my waist, holding me, loving me, grounding me....

Finally I run down. I don't know how long that lasted; I have no
concept of the passage of time. But it doesn't really matter, because
it's over now. It's over, and Scully is still here with me, still
holding me, still touching me, still talking to me.

"It's okay, Mulder; it's okay. It's over now, and I'm still here. I'm
not going anywhere; I think you know that by now. I'll always be here;
I'll always be with you. Forever, Mulder. Forever." And her hands are
still touching me, and her arms are still around me, and her breath is
still soft and warm against the back of my neck as she whispers my name
over and over and over. And finally, at long, long last, I feel my body
truly and completely relax, as I give up my battle against Scully, and
allow her to begin to care for me and comfort me.

"That's right, Mulder." Her voice; her touch; her warmth. "That's
right. Just relax and let me help you. I want to help you; I want to
take care of you, and make you better. That's right. Relax." And now
she's shifting her position on the bed, and with gentle, loving hands
she's arranging my body, drawing me out of that tight little ball,
stretching out my legs, rolling me onto my back, uncrossing my arms and
laying them straight down at my sides. And then she stretches out on
top of me and rests her head against my chest, covering me like a warm,
living blanket.

# # #

I must have drifted off for awhile, but whether it was to sleep or to
some sort of fugue is impossible to say. Now I am awake again,
gradually becoming aware of my surroundings, and the first thing that
impinges on my consciousness is that something has changed. Something
is different. Something is missing. I don't know what it is, but
something is missing.

Scully.

My eyes fly open, and I struggle into a sitting position and look wildly
around the room, but it's still dark and I'm unable to make out much of
my surroundings. The lost and terrified part of my mind, the part that
knows how horribly pathetic and unworthy I truly am, is certain that she
has finally come to her senses and has gone, and takes satisfaction in
the fact that her apparent loving gentleness was only a ruse, a trick.
Now she's gone, gone for good, and at last I can be alone with myself,
alone with the only person who deserves all the pain and suffering that
seems to follow me everywhere I go.

Alone.

I'm finally alone.

My body starts to shake, and even as the lost and terrified part of me
exults in this new desolation, the other part of me, the part that
always reaches out to Scully, is crushed and wounded and in despair.
Did I really think she loved me? Did I really think she would stay with
me, be with me, care for me? Did I think she would even be able to
stand the sight of me after all the things I've done to her? Could I
really have been that stupid and gullible? And I draw my knees up and
bury my face against them, but I don't allow myself to cry. Crying
might be cathartic. Crying might ease my pain, and I cannot allow that
to happen. I cannot.

And then I feel the bed shift, and once again her arms are sliding
around my waist, and I suddenly realize that I'm no longer wearing any
clothes, Scully must have undressed me while I was asleep, and now I
feel the warmth of her bare skin against mine as she gently guides me
back down onto the bed, all the while whispering to me as her hands
stroke and caress and touch my arms and chest and shoulders.

"It's okay, Mulder; it's okay. I'm still here. I didn't leave you; I
would never leave you. You were asleep, you were resting, and I just
needed to get up for a minute and use the bathroom. It was just for a
minute, but I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. I should have
realized that you'd notice I was gone and wake up again. I'm sorry,
Mulder; I'm so sorry." And her hands continue to touch and stroke and
pet me, but even as I feel my body start to relax again, even as the
warmth of her body starts to seep into mine, the other part of me, the
haunted part, is watching her, wary and defensive, waiting for the next
sign of her true feelings.

"We'll take all the time we need, Mulder," she says. "We'll take all
the time we need. I'm here, and I'm not going to leave you. I know I
made a mistake just now, I know I hurt you by not being here when you
woke up, but that's all it was -- a mistake. Just a mistake, Mulder;
just a mistake. I love you and I'm committed to you. I made that
decision a long time ago, and nothing can make me take it back. Not
even you can make me take it back, Mulder; not even you."

I feel myself -- not just my body, but myself -- relaxing further, as
she continues to touch and caress me with her hands and her words and
her presence. And Scully moves closer to me on the bed, and now her
body is pressed against mine from head to toe, bare skin to bare skin.
She's so soft and warm, and her hands tracing patterns across my chest
and shoulders are so gentle and tender.

I can't believe this is happening; no one has ever been like this to me;
the mere presence of another human being has never been this comforting,
this calming. Scully has cast a spell over me; she truly has. And
although a small part of me continues to quake in terror at the
implications of that, the rest of me is reveling in it, bathing in her
warmth and love and concern. If I can just surround myself by her, if I
can just get all the way inside her, then maybe I can finally be clean.
Maybe I can finally wash off all the accumulated filth and grime.
Maybe...maybe...maybe....

"Mulder," she says, and her voice is still so very soft. "Mulder, I'd
like to do something for you. I'd like to do something that will make
you feel better. I'd like to bathe you. Will you let me do that for
you? Will you allow me to do that?"

I feel tears forming in my eyes as the meaning of her words filters
through. She wants to care for me. She really, really wants to care
for me. I don't know if I can accept that, although dear God I want
to. I've wanted this, needed this, needed someone to care for me for so
very long. So very long. But I don't dare accept it; I can't possibly
accept it. I don't deserve it; I'm not worth it. I'm broken, and all
the care in the world can't fix me. Nothing can fix me. But I'm so
selfish, so very selfish, that I want her to try. Please, God, let her
try.

She must be reading my emotions on my face; somehow, even in the dark,
she can tell what I'm thinking. Because the next thing she says is,
"Okay, Mulder. Okay. I have to get up for just a minute, but I'm only
going to get the things I need for your bath. I'll be right back." And
she moves on top of me for a moment and presses her lips against mine in
a chaste, gentle kiss.

And then she's gone, but somehow I'm not quite so alone as I was
before. I'm distantly aware of the light coming on in the bathroom, and
then I hear water running, and before I really have time to miss her
she's back, and she's sitting down on the edge of the bed next to me
again. And for just a moment the room is quiet, still and dark.

And then I feel something warm and wet touch my shoulder. I jerk
reflexively, but then I realize it's just Scully. Just Scully and a
washcloth. Just Scully. And the washcloth begins to move, tenderly,
gently, methodically, grazing across my shoulders, working first down
one arm and then up the other one. Moving between my fingers, caressing
my wrists and elbows, and finally coming back to my shoulders again.

Then it's gone, and I hear a gentle splashing noise. And then the
washcloth returns, and this time it's caressing my chest, and it's
neither too damp nor too dry, neither too warm nor too cold. It's
perfect; everything is perfect. It's just what I need, and somehow
Scully knew. Somehow she knew.

The washcloth moves down onto my abdomen, moving in soft, gentle
circles, going lower and lower with each pass, and despite myself I feel
my muscles tense. This is not about sex; it can't be about sex. God,
Scully, don't let it be about sex; I couldn't take a pity fuck, not from
you. Please, Scully, not from you.

But I should have realized she would know better than that. The
washcloth continues on its downward spiral, and finally reaches my
groin. This is where it could go bad; this is where everything could
fall apart, and trying to do too little is just as dangerous as trying
to do too much. But Scully knows what she's doing, and she washes my
thighs and penis and testicles carefully and thoroughly, and then moves
on down my legs. I never thought it would be a relief to have a woman
touch me there and not become erect, but as she moves away I feel myself
sag down into the mattress giving silent thanks to God and to Scully
that we've passed that hurdle successfully.

The washcloth moves on down my legs, bathing my knees and shins and
finally arriving at my feet. She spends a great deal of time on my
feet, working the washcloth between my toes and drawing it across my
soles, using just enough pressure so that it doesn't tickle. And then
at last she's done, and the washcloth is gone and she's moving up
against me again, wrapping her arms around me and pressing her body
against mine.

And I'm clean. I'm really clean. For the first time in years, I'm
really, truly clean.

The knowledge hits me like a hammer blow, and suddenly I find myself
short of breath. This is impossible; this can't be happening. I don't
get clean; it just isn't something that's possible for me. I shower and
wash off the sweat and dirt of the day, but nothing can remove the
stains that cover me, permeate me, pervade me. Nothing can do that.

But something has. Someone has. Scully has. Scully.

Scully.

And again she's been reading my thoughts. "Mulder, I love you so. I've
wanted to do that for you for so long, but I've never known how to
start. And now that I've done it for you, I want to do it again, and
again, every day, for the rest of both our lives. I want to bathe you
and care for you and keep you clean. I want you to know that you're
clean and loved and cared for. I want you always to know that, Mulder.
Always." And she moves up slightly on the bed, and now her face is
hovering above mine, and I can feel her gaze in the darkness as she
looks down at me and whispers, "But I'm not quite done. I haven't
washed your face yet."

And then I feel something warm and wet rasping against my forehead, and
a shudder ripples through my body as I realize it's her tongue.
Scully's tongue. She's licking me and caressing me, she's bathing my
face, working across my forehead to my temple, then slowly and
thoroughly starting on my cheek.

If the washcloth was intense and intimate, this is just off the scale.
No one has ever done anything remotely like this for me. No one.
Ever. I have never even dreamed that something like this might happen
to me, that anyone would care enough to give me this. I'm stunned, in
shock; it's just not part of my world, but it's so right, so perfect,
and she's still doing it, she's going on and on and on, and dear God I
love her so much.

And now she's working on my chin and moving down my jaw to my ears and
neck, licking me gently but firmly, cleaning every square centimeter of
my flesh. This is so like the touch of a lover, but so different as
well. In another context it would be incredibly arousing, but Scully
seems to know just how to do it, just how to apply each stroke of her
tongue so as to convey comfort and only comfort.

Now she's down to the base of my neck, and I think finally it's over,
the bath is finally finished. I'm so totally calm and relaxed now, and
so totally comfortable, just having her hold me in her arms. And Scully
raises her head from my neck and looks down into my eyes, and for a
moment she just looks at me and strokes my hair gently with her hand. I
can tell that she's thinking about something, but I have no idea what it
might be. And so I just wait for her to decide what to say.

"Mulder," she says at last, with just the slightest bit of doubt in her
voice. "I have one more thing I'd like for you to let me give you.
Just one more thing. Can you accept one more gift from me tonight?
Just one more?" She searches my face, and there are question marks in
her eyes.

I want to speak, I want to tell her that what she's already given me is
more than enough; it's enough to last me a lifetime, and I intend to do
whatever I have to do to make it happen again and again and again. I
want to tell her how much I love her, and that I'll accept anything she
wants to give me. But I can't speak; I just can find any words, and so
I try to project my feelings with my eyes.

Finally she smiles, and then she nods, very slightly. "Okay, Mulder.
Okay. I have one more gift for you, but I don't want you to
misunderstand." And she leans down and kisses me gently on the mouth,
briefly but thoroughly, and a premonition of what may lie ahead sweeps
through me. This could be very, very good, or it could be very, very
bad. If she's going to do what I think she's going to do, it would be
so easy to make a mistake, so easy to step on one of the many, many
unexploded bombs which lie hidden in my mind.

All in an instant my anxiety comes charging back. I want to warn her; I
want to tell her no; I want to protect her. Please, Scully, don't do
this; everything is so nice, so comfortable, but if you try to do this
I'll screw it up, I know I will. I just can't avoid screwing up, it's
part of who I am, and you know that. Surely you know that. You're the
only one who really knows me, the only one, and you must know that I
can't do this.

"Shhh." Another kiss on my lips. "Shhh. It's okay, Mulder; it's
okay." And for just one relieved moment I think maybe she's changed her
mind, come to her senses. "It's really, really okay. We can do this;
we can make it work. You know I don't do pity sex, Mulder; I know you
know that. I have too much self-respect for that; I respect YOU too
much for that. I would never, ever make love to you because I felt
sorry for you. You know that."

Another kiss, this one longer and more intimate than the others, and her
tongue swirls briefly into my mouth and then is gone again. "But this
isn't pity sex, Mulder; it just isn't. It's comfort sex. It's comfort
sex, Mulder, and that's completely and totally different. We can do
this, Mulder; I know we can. Because I love you, and I know that you
love me." And she kisses me again, and I finally feel myself begin to
respond.

After a timeless interval our lips separate, and she continues, her
voice barely above a whisper, "This is for you, Mulder. Tonight is for
you; just for you. Just this once, you need to accept without giving."
And then she smiles, and there's mischief in her eyes. "Tomorrow
morning, though, I fully expect you to fuck my brains out, okay?"

Incredibly, I'm able to nod, just a little bit, and even smile. I'm
actually able to give consent for this. And she kisses me one more
time, and then starts to trace a path down my chest with her tongue, and
the full force of my anxiety comes racing back once again.

God, I didn't realize this was what she meant. I've never let her do
this to me; I've never allowed her to put her mouth on me. I never even
imagined that she would really want to, I can't imagine that ANY woman
would ever want to. It's always seemed so impersonal; so degrading, and
as her tongue continues to move down my chest and onto my abdomen, I
flash back and recall:

Erica Matthess, my high school sweetheart, who did this because it was a
way to avoid fucking me;

Phoebe Greene, who did this to keep her distance while maintaining the
fiction that she cared for me;

Diana Fowley, who did this and pretended to like it because she thought
it would keep me from leaving her;

The one prostitute I hired, all those years ago in Miami, who did this
because it was a quick way to make fifty dollars;

All those women in my videos, who did this because it was in a script
and someone was paying them.

And then her lips are closing around me, and I swear I hadn't even
noticed that I'd become erect. And her mouth slides down over me, down
and down and down, and finally I'm all the way in, and she just rests
there for a moment, holding me in her mouth, and her tongue is licking
and swirling around me.

I feel a shudder race through my body, and then another, and I am
shocked to discover that I am actually enjoying this. This is good, so
very, very good, and even as the thought forms in my mind it gets
better, as Scully's head starts to bob up and down, up and down, up and
down, her lips sliding gently along my shaft, her teeth scraping ever so
gently, and her tongue licking, caressing, exploring.

God....this is so intimate; it's so wonderful. How could I ever have
thought that this was degrading and impersonal? But I already know the
answer to that question: It's because this is Scully who's doing this;
that's why it's special. Because it's Scully; only Scully; never anyone
but Scully. Scully who loves me and cares for me and would never hurt
me or leave me. She's not like the others; she's not someone outside,
not someone with her own agenda. She's part of me, she's essential to
me, she completes me and makes me a whole person.

She's Scully.

She continues to minister to me, and now she adjusts her position
slightly, and increases her pace, sliding her arms around my thighs and
clutching my buttocks, touching and squeezing and caressing them. This
is not going to last very long; already I can feel my orgasm building in
my groin, growing stronger and stronger, escalating towards the
inevitable explosion....

.....and she's still going, she's still moving her lips over me, taking
my cock in her mouth, making love to me with her lips and tongue, and I
just don't believe this, my breath is coming now in short, sharp gasps,
and my pulse is pounding in my cock, throbbing and pulsing, and every
nerve ending in my body is totally alive, totally aware....

.....and now she's brought one hand back around and she's cupping my
balls, holding them, touching them, caressing them, and rubbing one
finger gently against my perineum, while her other hand continues to
squeeze and caress my buttocks, and dear God what she's continuing to do
to me with her mouth I can't believe it I can't believe it I can't
believe it....

.....and it's building and building and building, only a few more seconds
now, only a few more strokes, and she seems to know it and it's
affecting her, too, because she's moaning and growling but never once
stopping or even slowing down and I hear someone calling her name,
yelling her name, screaming her name, and I realize it's me....

.....and then I'm there and it's happening and I'm coming and oh God it's
so good so damned good and she's staying with me as my hips jerk and
buck uncontrollably she's staying with me and still holding me in her
mouth and now she's sucking and sucking and sucking, taking it all,
draining me dry....

.....and I collapse on the bed, spent, exhausted, and for another moment
Scully continues to suck on my cock as it rapidly softens, licking it,
caressing it, cleaning it....

....cleaning me....

# # #

I gradually return to full awareness. It's dark, but I'm not cold
anymore. I'm lying in the bed, and Scully is with me, her arms around
my waist from behind, spooning me and holding me and loving me. At some
point she pulled the blankets up over us, and now its as if we were
wrapped up together in a warm, intimate cocoon.

I want to tell her how much that meant to me; I want to tell her how
good it was and how much I love her. And I will; I swear I will. But
right this moment I'm feeling just too damned content and comfortable to
move or speak or even think very much.

God, I love her so much. So very, very much.

And she loves me. There is no longer any possible doubt about that.

And she's humming.

Fini

--
"If I heard 'Silent Night' one more time I was going to start taking
hostages."

--Special Agent Dana Scully, "The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas"

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

Okay, I succumbed. I've established an online archive of my own X-Files
fanfic:

http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html