Alternatives 2:  Obstacles 
By Shannon O'Connor (shannono@iname.com) 
and Brandon D. Ray (publius@avalon.net). 

FEEDBACK:  We're begging you, here.  We're groveling: 
shannono@iname.com and/or publius@avalon.net 

SPOILER WARNING:  Set a short while after the events of  "Tithonius," 
which is to say, about five months after the events in "Alternatives 
1:  Frustration." There are various small spoilers for episodes aired 
up through that time. 

RATING:  NC-17 

CONTENT WARNING: Smut. A little angst. MSR to the max. 

CLASSIFICATION:  SRA 

SUMMARY:  Moose and Squirrel get the X-Files back.  Things can't get 
any better than that.  Or can they? 

========== 

AUTHORS' NOTES: 

Brandon goes first this time: 

After we posted "Alternatives 1: Frustration", Shannon and I convened 
some focus groups, and to our shock and dismay we discovered that 
there were still a handful of people scattered hither and yon about 
the Internet who hold good opinions of us. We knew we couldn't allow 
that to stand, and so we set out immediately to rectify the situation. 
(Hmmm....)  And so here you have it: "Alternatives 2:  Obstacles." 

Over to you, babe.... 

Who, me? *bats eyelashes charmingly* Pure, innocent little ol' me? 

[Sorry folks, got possessed by Scarlett O'Hara there for a second ... 
which now that I think of it, is pretty damned appropriate for THIS 
series ...] 

Anyway, Brandon covered it pretty well there. So now you know the 
whole truth about how to get us to write more smut ... tell us what 
wonderful, wholesome people you think we are. And do it often. ;) 

Oh...and no marriages or other long term relationships were harmed 
during the writing of this fic. ;)  (Brandon's wife fell off the couch 
laughing when she saw this line on the first story, and she hasn't 
called the family lawyer -- yet -- so we guess it's okay to use it 
again...) 

And now...on with the show.... 

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

Alternatives 2:  Obstacles 
  

What a wonderful day.  What a really, really wonderful day. 

It didn't start out all that wonderful.  For openers, I slept through 
my alarm.  Again.  That's been happening kind of a lot, lately.  It's 
hard to get motivated to get up and go to work when all you've got to 
look forward to is the shit detail (literally). 

Then when I DID finally roll off my couch, I found that the hot water 
was out in my building, and I wound up taking not just a cold shower but 
a FREEZING cold shower -- and I didn't even have the dubious pleasure 
of sexual frustration to go with it. 

So I took my shower, got dressed and went outside...and during the night 
it had snowed and the city had thoughtfully plowed the streets, leaving 
my car half-buried in a snowdrift.  Another 20 minutes were lost while I 
shoveled it out. 

I finally arrived at work just before ten.  On the way in it had 
occurred to me to call Scully and let her know I was running a little 
late, but that I'd be there soon, but she didn't answer her desk phone 
or her cell phone.  And I didn't even consider calling Kersh.  There's 
no way I can stand talking to that man before I've had my first cup of 
coffee and at least a donut or a bagel. 

So I finally arrived on the third floor, where Scully and I have two 
desks jammed in with the rest of the great unwashed masses.  I stepped 
off the elevator and rounded the corner...and she wasn't there.  I 
stopped for a moment and frowned.  Not that it was THAT big a deal -- 
she'd probably just gone for coffee or to the bathroom or something. But 
I'd been having a pretty rotten day thus far, and only the anticipation 
of seeing Scully as soon as I got to work had been sustaining me. 

Still frowning, I walked over to her desk and looked down at it.  A set 
of file folders was stacked neatly on the corner of her desk, and a 
half-drunk cup of coffee sat next to them.  Scully's cell phone sat 
next to the coffee, which explained why I hadn't been able to reach 
her that way, and a memo pad with notes in her clean, methodical 
handwriting was next to the cell phone. 

It looked very much as if she'd been called away from her desk in the 
middle of doing something, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.  The 
last time that had happened she'd almost been killed by her own "partner," 
during that fiasco in New York City -- 

"Hey, Spooky!  Lookin' for the missus?" 

My shoulders tensed at the sound of Colton's voice, but I managed to 
keep enough control so that I was able to turn slowly to face him rather 
than whipping around on him.  He was leaning against a pillar about ten 
feet away, an annoying smirk on his face. 

"Actually, I was looking for Agent Scully," I said.  "Do you know where 
she is?" 

His smirk broadened, making me want to rip his lungs out.  "She got 
called into Kersh's office about half an hour ago.  Maybe she's finally 
come to her senses." 

For once in my life I actually did the sensible thing: I just said, 
"Thanks," and turned and walked away, trying not to look like I was 
in a hurry. 

Kersh.  Shit.  My worst nightmare seemed to be coming true.  I'd thought 
that the two days she was in New York investigating an X-File without me 
had been the worst of my life -- up until she was shot, at which point I 
realized that no matter how bad things are, they can always get worse. 
And if that son of a bitch was planning to send her away again...well, 
something was going to have to be done. I didn't have a clue as to what 
that something might be, but something was going to have to be done. 

I got on the elevator and punched the button for Kersh's floor.  Luckily 
I had the car to myself, so there were no intervening stops, and in a 
matter of seconds I'd arrived.  The doors slid open, and there was 
Scully, the biggest smile on her face that I have ever seen, and as 
she realized I was standing in front of her the smile got even bigger, 
and she yelled, "Mulder!" 

And the next thing I knew she had THROWN herself at me.  I am not 
making this up -- staid, sensible Special Agent Dana Scully threw 
herself across three feet of intervening space, almost knocking me 
down as she wrapped her arms around my neck.  I staggered backwards 
and banged up against the wall, and it was only through a miracle that 
I managed to avoid falling to the floor and taking her with me.  And she 
was talking a mile a minute, and what she was saying was music to my 
ears: 

"Mulder!  Oh, God, Mulder!  I just got through with Kersh and Skinner, 
and oh, Mulder, we got the X-Files back!  We got them back!  Spender 
and Fowley are out, and we're in!  Oh, Mulder!"  And then she kissed me. 

And there was nothing partnerly about that kiss, let me tell you.  I had 
never before had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of a Dana 
Scully I'm-about-to-drag-you-down-on-the-floor kiss, but there was no 
mistaking it; that's definitely what it was, and it seemed to go on 
forever.  Her tongue was deep in my mouth, and she was grinding her 
teeth against mine and making soft whimpering noises which were going 
straight to my groin, and I was helpless to stop her.  Hell, I didn't 
WANT to stop her.  The earth was moving, and it wasn't just because the 
elevator had started up again. That kiss was the stuff dreams are made 
of, and I never wanted to wake up. 

Finally she broke the liplock and took a couple of steps back.  She was 
still wearing that big, shiteating grin, and there was a light in her 
eyes that I hadn't seen there in ages.  Then the elevator came to a 
halt again and the doors slid open.  She shook her head slightly, and 
before I could utter a word she grabbed my hand and dragged me off the 
elevator and towards the cafeteria. "Come on, partner," she said. 
"We've got some planning to do." 

The rest of the day is a blur to me.  Scully and I spent the entire time 
hashing and rehashing, arguing good-naturedly about which case to look 
into first, speculating on how long it would take Skinner to push the 
paperwork, dreaming up ways to get Spender and Fowley out of OUR office 
NOW.  It has got to go down on record as one of the happiest days of my 
life -- not that that's saying very much, but still.... 

Finally the work day came to an end.  Scully and I walked together to 
the parking garage, not quite holding hands.  I felt like a teenager 
walking his best girl home after school, and I just couldn't keep the 
grin off of my face. We were getting the X-Files back.  We were actually 
getting the X-Files back. 

Of course, the X-Files weren't the ONLY thing on my mind; I'd also been 
thinking quite hard about that kiss she'd given me.  She'd seemed to be 
completely unambiguous in her intentions in those few seconds, but once 
we'd stepped apart from each other and headed for the cafeteria she'd 
dropped back into her Special Agent persona and hadn't said a word about 
it. 

I wondered if she was regretting it, or maybe was embarrassed by it. 
Maybe it had just been an impulse brought on by the excitement of 
getting our work back.  Yeah, that was probably it, I remember thinking 
wistfully.  She just got carried away by the moment, and now she 
probably was sorry she'd done it. Oh, well.  It had been fun while it 
lasted.  And then we got to her car and she climbed in and with a 
little wave and a happy smile she drove away. 

So why am I driving over to her place at eight o'clock at night?  Or, 
to be more accurate, why am I sitting here in my car looking up at her 
apartment window at eight o'clock at night?  There wasn't really an 
invitation in that kiss, was there? She didn't really mean what she 
seemed to mean, did she?  She's my partner and my friend, right?  If 
she wanted anything more out of this relationship she would have long 
since told me, wouldn't she? 

Wouldn't she? 

One way to find out.  I get out of my car and head for her building. 

#          #          # 

I knew he'd come over tonight. 

I'm standing next to my living room window, looking out at him sitting 
in his car. He's been down there a half-hour, at least, probably trying 
to come up with some plausible excuse for why he's here. 

When will he ever understand that he doesn't have to make up a reason 
to come see me? 

I still can't quite believe what I did today. Launching myself at him 
like that, practically throwing him to the ground in my excitement. 
And then sealing my mouth to his as if we'd been doing it every day 
for the past six years. 

God, it certainly felt like we had. His tongue instinctively went for 
the most sensitive spots, like he had some kind of radar. That one kiss 
felt like everything good in the world all wrapped up in one package, 
and the hardest thing I've ever done was pull away when the elevator 
stopped. 

I still can't quite believe I did that. I mean, it's not like I have 
a long history of kissing men in elevators, although I do seem to have 
been making something of a habit of it recently. 

At any rate, I managed to pull myself together after that and get 
through the rest of the day without any more unpartnerly displays. I 
think Mulder had a little more difficulty; he fidgeted uncomfortably 
in his seat for a good twenty minutes after we got to the cafeteria, 
and it was another hour before he'd look me in the eye again. 

Nice to know I can have that kind of effect on him, because that kiss 
certainly affected me. 

Problem is, I don't really know what comes next. Eventually, he's going 
to get up his nerve and come up here, and I'm going to have to decide 
by then how to play this. Do I blame it on the emotion of the moment? 

Or do I tell him the truth and let things follow naturally? 

Only one problem. If things "follow naturally" tonight, we won't get 
too far ... 

Oh God. He's knocking on the door already. I didn't even see him get 
out of the car, but I can see now that it's empty. 

Time's up, Dana. All you can do is take a deep breath, then go over 
and let him in. 

So I do. 

#     #     # 

I think I'm going to surprise Scully tonight.  Which is only fair, 
because she sure surprised the hell out of me this morning. 

I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I've been over to her 
apartment when it wasn't work related.  Well, that's not quite true -- 
there have been a number of occasions, usually on a weekend, when I 
just couldn't bear to go without seeing her, and so I'd stop by the 
office and pick up a file, sometimes almost at random, and head over 
to her place to "discuss" it. I'm pretty sure she knows it's all a 
charade, but it's become a game we play, and we're both pretty 
comfortable with it. 

And now I'm going to break one of the cardinal rules.  I'm going to 
show up without any excuse at all, just because I want to see her. 
And I'm going to tell her that.  To her face.  If I don't lose my 
nerve. 

Now I'm standing in front of her door, and I still haven't figured out 
what I'm going to say.  I guess I'll just have to wing it.  I raise my 
hand and rap on the door. 

For just a moment I think maybe she didn't hear me.  I know she's home; 
her car's parked out front.  But she could be in the bathroom or 
something. Maybe she's taking a bath.... 

Not gonna think about that.  Not yet, anyway.  Maybe later, if I'm more 
lucky than any human being deserves to be.  But not yet. 

The door opens, and there she is.  And oh sweet Jesus have I made the 
right decision.  She's standing there in front of me, barefoot, wearing 
a pair of sweatpants and, if I'm not mistaken, one of MY FBI Academy 
sweatshirts.  I'd been wondering where it had gotten to, and I guess 
now I know -- and my cock twitches slightly and starts to harden at 
the vision of Dana Scully wearing my clothes. 

"Hey, Scully," I say, putting what I hope is an affectionate smile on 
my face. 

Her eyes widen slightly, and I think maybe her pupils are dilating, 
just a little.  "Mulder?" she says.  "Is something wrong?" 

I shake my head, still smiling.  "No.  Nothing's wrong.  I just missed 
you.  Mind if I come in?" 

Her eyes widen further, making her look like a deer caught in the 
headlights, but she just shakes her head and steps back out of the 
way.  "Sure." And the small beginnings of a smile appears on her face. 

I cross over to the sofa and sit down, and turn back to look at her. 
She's standing at the door staring at me, seemingly transfixed.  I 
raise my eyebrows at her, and that seems to startle her, because she 
jumps slightly before finally shutting and locking the door.  Then 
she walks over to stand awkwardly in front of me. 

"Can I ... can I get you something?  To drink?" 

Now THERE'S an interesting question, Agent Scully.  I allow my smile to 
broaden slightly.  I don't know where I'm getting this sudden rush of 
courage from, but it's either going to get me killed or it's going to 
get me my heart's desire. 

Jesus.  Did I just think that?  Is Dana Scully really my heart's desire? 

I guess maybe she is. 

And I shake my head slightly, and say, "No, Scully.  No, I don't want 
anything."  And I pause and smile even more widely.  "To drink." 

#          #          # 

To say I'm surprised would be an understatement. To say I'm nervous, 
well, that would be, too. 

To say I'm aroused ... oh, boy. Oh yeah. That smile ... I'm either 
going to melt into a puddle right here, or ... 

Or I'm gonna have to turn the tables on him. Pretty quickly. 

So I give a Mona Lisa smile of my own, raising an eyebrow. "Was 
there anything in particular you *did* want, Mulder?" I ask, 
keeping my voice low and husky. 

His hands twitch, but admirably, that's the only visible reaction. 
Well, that and the bulge between his legs, but he had that when he 
came in. 

Yes, I notice these things. I imagine I've known about it every 
single time he's gotten a hard-on in my presence, whether or not 
I had anything to do with it. 

And right now, I'm pretty damn sure I've got *everything* to do 
with it. 

When he finally speaks again, his voice is all syrup and sweetness. 
"Oh, I had a thing or two in mind ..." he drawls out, his eyelids 
lowering to half-mast. 

Okay, something's got to give here. It's been a good day, to say 
the least, and I'm feeling playful. So I lean forward and poke 
him in the side with one finger. 

THAT gets a reaction. His body automatically jerks away from my 
hand, and before he can do anything else, I plant the fingers of 
both hands into his stomach and start tickling. 

Now THIS is something he didn't expect. I'm laughing out loud 
now as he squirms around, his arms flailing futilely as he tries 
to grab mine, then dives forward to get in a tickle or two of his 
own. I'm practically dancing around in front of him, trying to keep 
him from getting a good grip, and we're both laughing like maniacs. 

Finally, his long arms win out. He gets hold of one of my wrists, 
then wraps his other arm around my waist and yanks me off my feet, 
pulling me down on top of him as he falls back onto the sofa. 

All we can do is lie there for a few minutes, trying to catch our 
breath through our laughter. I feel giddy as a teenager, proud of 
myself for pulling a good one over on him. 

This is fun. 

And then he shifts beneath me, and I feel his erection pressing 
against my lower abdomen. I raise my eyes to meet his gaze, still 
tinged with laughter but darkened by his arousal. 

And before I can say a word, he wraps a hand around the back of 
my neck and pulls my mouth to his. 

#          #          # 

Take me now, Lord.  I have now kissed Dana Scully twice in the 
past twelve hours -- and, in fact, I'm still kissing her.  And 
even more amazingly, she's kissing me back.  I do not fucking 
believe this, and nothing else in the future is ever going to 
compare to the intensity of this moment.  So just take me now. 

No, wait.  I take that back.  Don't take me quite yet, Lord, 
because it's just gotten better.  Her soft, warm little hands 
are sliding up my neck and caressing my cheeks and ears, and 
now her fingers are tangling themselves in my hair, and she's 
moaning into my mouth as she squirms around on top of me, 
trying to get -- well, "comfortable" is probably the wrong 
word for this. 

I pull her more tightly against me, and I instinctively thrust 
my hips upward, rubbing my hard-on against her belly.  And she 
moans.  Again. 

Suddenly she breaks the kiss, and for an instant I'm afraid. 
Maybe this was too much.  Maybe she just got carried away and 
now she's sorry, or angry, or both.  But then I look up into 
her eyes and I know better.  I look into her eyes, and suddenly 
I'm even more short of breath than I was, because I don't think 
I've ever in my life seen anything more erotic than the expression 
on Scully's face.  Not ever. 

She's predatory.  Wanton.  And she's directing all of that energy 
right at me. 

And then her mouth descends on me again. 

#          #          # 

God, this is even better than I remembered. 

Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that we're 
not standing upright in a moving elevator inside the Hoover Building. 
No, this time, we're stretched out on my sofa, our bodies rubbing 
together like we're trying to sink right through each other's skin. 

My tongue is taking inventory of his fillings at the moment, and 
then I move on to sweep it along his gums and the roof of his mouth. 
His own tongue twists around mine as it wanders inside my mouth, and 
his groan reverberates through my head and down my spine. 

My legs are moving seemingly of their own volition, my bare feet 
stroking along his calves as far as I can reach. My hands are 
sliding through his close-cropped hair, my fingertips massaging 
his scalp, while his hands simply hold me to him, one still at 
the nape of my neck and the other in the small of my back. 

The hand at my waist shifts, moving down to cup my ass through my 
sweatpants for a moment before sliding up under my shirt. *His* 
shirt, actually, one he probably forgot I borrowed on a case a 
couple of months ago and never gave back. I figured he'd never 
notice it. 

His mouth pulls back from mine just enough for him to speak. "Nice 
shirt, Scully," he says, his breath as warm on my lips as his hand 
is on my back. "Wherever did you find it?" 

The teasing tone in his voice, already roughened by arousal, sends 
new frissons of pleasure across my skin. I smile slowly, my tongue 
darting out to wet my lips ... "accidentally" brushing his in the 
process, of course ... and I breathe out: "Want it back?" 

His deep chuckle resonates through my body, and his other hand dives 
down to join the first under the shirt. He drags his fingertips in 
lazy circles along my back and sides as he replies, "No ... but I'd 
like to take it off." 

A little voice in my head screams //YES!// at his words ... but 
then I remember the reason for my earlier reticence, and I pause 
for a moment. 

Mulder apparently interprets my reaction the wrong way -- which 
doesn't surprise me -- and immediately withdraws his hands, moving 
them back to rest lightly at my waist, on top of the shirt. I see 
the apology coming before he starts it, and I cut him off. 

"No apologies, Mulder," I say sharply. "You haven't done anything 
to apologize for." 

His brow furrows in puzzlement, and I sigh, pushing myself (reluctantly) 

off his chest to sit on the edge of the sofa. I put one hand on the 
back of the cushions and lean over him, not touching him, but looking 
him in the eye as I speak. 

"I want this, Mulder, just as much as you do," I say firmly. "I've 
wanted this for a long time, and I don't want you to ever doubt that." 
I falter then, and my eyes fall away from him. "But tonight ... 
well ..." My voice trails off, and I take a deep breath, then spit 
it out: 

"Mulder, I'm on my period." 

Dead silence reigns for a good thirty seconds, and I finally muster 
up the courage to meet Mulder's gaze again -- only to find him grinning 
like an idiot. This only annoys me, and I snap, "What the hell's so 
funny?" 

His smile widens, and he shakes his head. "Oh, Scully," he says gently, 
one hand coming up to brush back a loose strand of hair at the side of 
my head. "I was so sure you were about to fire off a whole list of 
reasons why we can't do this, and then you say *that*." His hand cups 
my cheek. "I'm just relieved, that's all." 

My eyebrows lift. "Relieved?" I say, my voice dripping sarcastic 
disbelief. "I just told you we can't do *this* tonight, and you're 
*relieved*?" 

At this, the confusion returns to Mulder's expression. "Why can't we?" 
he asks. 

I sigh. "I just told you, Mulder," I say. "I'm on my period." 

Mulder shakes his head. "That doesn't bother me," he says, still 
not comprehending. 

I just look at him, and finally he gets it. "Oh," he says, deflated. 
"It *does* bother you." 

I nod slowly. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but I just can't," I say. "I've 
never been able to get past that. And besides, I wouldn't ... I 
don't ..." 

I stop, confused about how to say what I want to say, but Mulder 
finishes my thought for me. "You want the first time to be perfect," 
he says softly. 

I look back up at him, taking in the softness and love in his eyes, 
and I can't help but smile. "Yes," I whisper. "I think, after 
everything we've been through, we deserve it." 

He returns my smile, nodding slowly, before looking away and pushing 
himself up on the sofa. "Well, then," he says, "I'd better be going 
while I still can." 

Hold on, buster. You're not going *anywhere*. 

I reach out for his arm before he can go any further. "And just what 
makes you think I'm through with you, Agent Mulder?" I ask archly. 

His eyes widen at my tone. "But you said ..." 

"I know what I said," I interrupt, my hand starting a slow caress of 
his forearm. "But there are always alternatives, you know." 

Oh, I wish I had camera. I want to capture the look on his face. 

Now THAT is a panic face if ever I saw one. 

#   #   # 

Jesus. 

If that necking session was intense and world rocking, what Scully just 
said is positively mindblowing. 

I mean, this is Special Agent Dana "I'm Fine" Scully, and she just 
looked me square in the eye and told me that she wants me.  No 
barriers, no circumlocutions, no deflections.  Just, "I want this 
Mulder, just as much as you do."  Straight Scullyfeelings, plain 
and unadorned and laid out on the table for my inspection. 

I don't think she's ever done that before.  Not once.  Even when she 
was dying of cancer she always held a little bit back.  But tonight 
she's hiding nothing.  She's not even trying. 

Suddenly my body starts to tremble.  This is a thousand times more 
important that I realized.  A hundred thousand times.  And if I 
screw this up I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself. 
It'll just be the final verse in the long miserable litany of my 
existence. 

The seconds are racing by, and any minute now the door is going to 
slam shut again.  I've got to say something.  Now.  I've got to 
match her baring of herself. 

And I take a deep breath and look deeply into her eyes, and I say, 
"Scully, I..."  Not right.  Start over.  She's watching me intently 
now, like a hawk, and I realize that the next words out of my mouth 
are going to change my life -- OUR lives -- forever, for better or 
for worse. 

And then it hits me.  It's utterly simple.  So plain and obvious that 
I don't know why it took me even this long to figure it out.  And I 
smile up at her, and I say, "Yes." 

And Scully smiles. 

#          #          # 

I could do this all night ... just sit here, half on top of him, and 
look at that smile. Does he have any idea what that smile does to me? 

Guess there's one way be sure. I'll just have to show him. 

I can feel my smile turning feral as I lean in toward him again, and in 
another second we're in the middle of another searing-hot kiss. I'm not 
holding anything back, and it doesn't feel like he is, either. This is 
ten times more intense than the last kiss. If they keep getting better 
at this rate, it'll only take another two or three before my heart gives 
out. 

I manage to focus my thoughts enough to reach for his shirt and start 
sliding the buttons open. At the same moment, his hands go back under 
the back of my shirt, and we smile against each other's lips. In sync, 
as usual. 

His hands on my waist help me brace myself high enough up to finish 
opening his shirt and slide it open. As I lower my body back onto his, 
my hands immediately move onto the warm skin of his chest, my fingers 
going straight for his nipples and circling them slowly. 

I feel his moan from head to toe, and I finally break our marathon 
kiss, moving my lips to the underside of his jaw. His head tilts back, 
and I nip and kiss my way down the curve of his neck and onto his 
shoulder, spending a little longer on the spots that get the most 
reaction -- a squirm, a shiver, another moan. He has his hands back 
in motion now, caressing my sides under the shirt, his thumbs brushing 
the sides of my breasts with each pass. 

"Scully ..." My name is a groan on his lips, and I offer an answering 
moan against the skin of his chest as my mouth approaches its goal. 
And when my lips land on his right nipple, his body jerks like it's 
touched a live wire. 

Oh, I could get used to this ... 

My tongue comes out to sample the salty taste of his skin, then 
meanders across his chest to lave his other nipple. He sighs shakily, 
bringing one hand up to cup the back of my head. Not holding me down; 
just holding me. 

Time to move this forward, I think. My mouth never stops its movements, 
but I snake one hand down to pop open the button of his jeans. 

He jerks again, his hips bucking up slightly, and I push my lower body 
away from him enough to get my hand on the zipper tab. I start to move 
it down ... 

And then he's moving my hands away again, pushing me up off him, and 
it's my turn to be confused. 

#     #     # 

I must be a masochist.  I just about have to be. 

It really would explain so many things about my life -- including why 
I'm pushing Scully away from me right as she was about to pull down 
my zipper and finally, at long, long last, wrap her dainty little 
surgeon's fingers around the most massive hard-on I have ever had 
in my life. 

It's not that I don't want her to do this.  God no.  I'm sure there 
must have been something in my life, somewhere, sometime, somehow, 
that I wanted as much as I want to have Dana Scully's fist holding 
onto my cock, although at the moment I can't think of what it would 
be.  But still I'm pushing her away, and I just can't help myself. 

I look up into her eyes again, and the lust I saw before is still 
there, but now it's tempered with confusion, and more than a little 
anxiety.  I smile nervously up at her.  This isn't going to be a 
bonebreaker, it really isn't that big of a deal, but it is kind of 
embarrassing and I'm not sure how to tell her about it. 

"Mulder?" 

Her voice is soft and tentative, and just hearing her say my name 
sends a lightning bolt racing down my spine and out to the tip of 
my hard-on. And I close my eyes for just a moment and I swallow, 
and then I take a deep breath and open my eyes, and I say, "God, 
Scully...I want this so much.."  And I pause for just a fraction 
of a second, and then I add, "But not here." 

"Not here?"  Her brow furrows as she apparently tries to parse the 
meaning of my words.  "Why not?  I don't understand.  You mean 
you don't want to do this in my apartment?" 

I shake my head, feeling that I'm on a little bit firmer ground now 
that she's asked a concrete question.  "It's not your apartment," I 
say. "Not that at all.  I love your apartment; I feel safe here. 
It's more of a home to me than any other place in the world."  She 
smiles at that, and I hurry on.  "It's..it's...aw, hell, Scully. 
It's the sofa." 

"The sofa?  What's wrong with the sofa?" 

"There's nothing wrong with the sofa.  It's a beautiful sofa, and I 
will never forget the fact that we had our first real kiss on this 
sofa." Despite myself I sigh in exasperation.  "It's not really the 
sofa, either -- it's me." I hesitate, and then finally I just say 
it all at once.  "I feel just a little too much like I'm taking 
advantage of a girl in her parents' living room." 

Give Scully credit:  She only whoops once before she gets control of 
herself.  Hell, give me some credit, too:  I actually manage to squelch 
the feelings of hurt and self-abnegation that threaten to surface as 
she laughs at me. 

And then she's leaning down with a happy affectionate smile on her 
face, and she gives me a soft, gentle kiss before saying, "Well, then, 
Agent Mulder, why don't we move this party to someplace more 
comfortable?"  And she grabs my hand and rises to her feet, pulling 
me after her, and she leads me down the hall to her bedroom. 

Her bedroom.  Scully's bedroom.  I've only been in this room twice 
before: Once right after she shot me, and the other time when I was 
officially dead and needed a place to hide while she covered for me. 
Both times were moments of extreme stress, and I guess when you stop 
and think about it this is a moment of stress, too, albeit a different 
kind of stress. 

There's something almost surreal about walking into Scully's bedroom 
holding her hand.  I mean, we've just been making out on her sofa like 
a couple of horny teenagers, but this...this is different.  This is 
her ultimate sanctuary, and I suddenly realize that admitting me to 
these sacred precincts is an act of intimacy far beyond anything else 
we've already done, or anything we're likely to do, at least tonight. 

Scully doesn't give me any time to contemplate this epiphany, however; 
she just drags me over to the bed and pushes me down onto it, and then 
she dives after me and starts pulling off my clothes. 

#     #     # 

You know, when Mulder's right, he's right. This is a hell of a lot 
better than the sofa. 

His shoes and socks are gone almost before he knows what I'm doing, I 
think, and then I'm back to that zipper again. He lifts one hand, as if 
he's going to either stop me or urge me on, I'm not sure, but just at 
that moment my own hand finds his cock through his boxers, and his arm 
flops back down on the mattress like so much dead weight. 

He's panting already, his hips shifting reflexively, and I realize I'd 
better be careful if I don't want this to be over too soon. It's 
beginning to hit me just how long it's been since I had sex, and I 
imagine it's been at least as long for him, or at least close to it. 
Masturbation is one thing, but there's just no substitute for the feel 
of someone else's hands on your body. 

So, reluctantly, I pull my hand away from his erection and instead turn 
my attention to getting his jeans down his legs and off. It's a little 
awkward, but he manages to pull himself together enough to offer some 
help, and they're gone soon enough. 

Automatically, I shake the jeans out and fold them in half, tossing 
them neatly onto the chair under the window. I turn back to Mulder to 
find him sporting a shit-eating grin, and I pull the eyebrow-arch on 
him again. "What's so funny?" I ask. 

"You," he says, a few chuckles escaping. "Only you would rip a man's 
pants off, then take the time to fold them up so neatly." 

Oh, he's gonna pay for that one. 

Slowly, carefully, I crawl on my hands and knees up the bed until I'm 
hovering over him, my face inches from his but my body not touching him 
anywhere. I lower my mouth toward his, he stretches up to reach me ... 
and I dodge to the side, instead bringing my lips to his ear. "Do you 
have a problem with my methods, Agent Mulder?" I murmur. I still don't 
touch him, but I do blow gently into his ear, which elicits a violent 
shiver from him. 

"Uh ..." he manages, his hands moving up, a little shakily, toward my 
body. Immediately I go up on my knees, grabbing his wrists and pushing 
them toward the top of the bed, where I wrap his hands around the 
spindles of the headboard. 

My mouth returns to his ear. "Now," I say softly, teasingly. "You just 
keep your hands right there, and nobody'll get hurt." 

He chuffs softly. "Speak for yourself," he says, then half-yelps in 
surprise as I thrust my tongue into his ear. The yelp falls off into a 
groan as I finally lower my body atop his, rubbing gently against his 
skin. I draw my hands down his arms from wrists to shoulders, then 
brace myself up to sit on his stomach. 

"Is it just me," I drawl out, my fingers moving in abstract patterns 
across his chest, "or is it a little warm in here?" 

I see his eyes widen momentarily as I grab for the bottom of my -- his 
-- sweatshirt and yank it over my head. I come free of the soft cotton, 
shaking my tangled hair back into place, and look down at him, smirking. 

Yeah, that got a reaction. His eyes are saucers, trained on my breasts 
as if he's never seen any before in his life. They like the attention; 
I can feel them swell under his gaze, the already hard tips throbbing 
in time with my heartbeat. Or maybe his, I'm not entirely sure. 

I toss the sweatshirt in the direction of the chair, resisting the urge 
to fold it, too, and lay my hands back on his chest. "Now," I say, my 
voice husky with arousal, "where was I?" 

My mouth moves back to that spot just under the tip of his chin as if 
drawn by a magnet. I don't know if that's just a particularly tasty 
part of him, or if it's the low moan he lets out when I suck on the 
skin there, but I really, really like this little spot. 

Wonder if the shadow of his beard would be enough to hide a hickey 
there? 

Mmmm, maybe another time. Other parts of him are calling to me -- some 
more insistently than others -- so I move on, kissing and sucking and 
licking my way around his face and neck. He's really behaving himself, 
keeping his hands in place even as his body bucks and shivers under me, 
and I decide to reward his perseverance. 

I pull my mouth from the juncture of his neck and shoulder with an 
audible *pop*, then bring my face back up to his. His skin is flushed, 
his eyes are squeezed shut, his breathing is irregular and rough ... 
and he looks absolutely gorgeous. 

"Hey, Mulder," I whisper, my mouth just bumping his. "Look at me." 

His eyes pop open to meet mine, and the depth of arousal I see there 
sends a bolt of pleasure straight to my core. Still looking into his 
eyes, I part my lips just slightly and brush them against his once, 
then again. 

His moan undoes me, and I press my mouth to his once again. 

#     #     # 

Scully is kissing me again. 

That's such a simple statement, and it's getting just a little 
redundant at this point, but I can't help thinking it:  Scully is 
kissing me again. 

God is she kissing me. 

The kiss in the elevator was one thing:  Spontaneous, surprising 
and certainly arousing, but over in a matter of seconds and leaving 
me unsure what, if anything, she meant by it. 

The kisses on her couch were more definite:  Deliberate, erotic and 
more than a little frantic, and leaving no doubt whatsoever as to her 
intentions. 

But this kiss...there just aren't words to describe this kiss.  What 
words can possibly do justice to the fact that Dana Scully's half- 
naked body is writhing on top of mine, while her tongue plunges 
deeply into my mouth and her hands aggressively explore every patch 
of my bare skin that she can reach? 

There just aren't any words for this. 

I realize that my own hands are still tightly gripping the spindles of 
the headboard, and in the back of my mind I'm absently amazed at 
my own willpower and self-restraint.  I'm not the most obedient person 
in the world -- hell, let's just say it, I'm a malcontent and a 
troublemaker. But Scully put my hands there and told me to leave them 
there, and so I'm doing it.  I'm just doing it.  Despite the fact that 
every muscle in my body is quivering at high alert, just aching from 
the desire to wrap my entire self around her and touch every square 
centimeter of her skin simultaneously. 

I wonder if she realizes just how significant it is that I'm still 
holding on to these fucking spindles? 

More importantly, I wonder how much longer it's going to be before 
she releases me from this, and allows my hands the liberty to touch 
her again? 

She finally breaks our latest kiss, leaving me gasping for breath 
as her tongue traces the outline of my jaw and moves on down to my 
neck.  The room is filled with moans and whimpers and other soft, 
erotic noises, and I'm quite sure that I'm making my fair share of 
them, but I'm already past the point where I'm able to sort out 
which sounds are mine and which ones are hers. 

Now she's nibbling on my right shoulder, kissing, nipping and licking 
over and over and over.  Every hair on my body is standing on end, 
and I shudder repeatedly as her teeth scrape against my skin again 
and again and again. 

Now she moves down to my chest, and once again her mouth captures 
my right nipple, and my hips buck uncontrollably as she sucks it into 
her mouth and gently bites down on it.  My nipples have always been 
incredibly sensitive.  Somehow none of my previous lovers ever managed 
to discover that, but Scully seems to know it instinctively. 

God, I want to hold her.  I want to let go of these spindles and wrap 
my arms  around her and crush her to me so hard that neither one of 
us can breathe. I want to own her and possess her.  There's nothing 
left of the sensitive '90s guy I try to project to the rest of the 
world; this is sheer, animal lust we're talking about here, raw and 
naked and powerful. 

But somehow I manage to hold back. 

Scully releases my nipple after several minutes of sweet, sweet 
torture, and her mouth continues its downward track, browsing 
possessively over my chest and then down onto my abdomen.  Her 
warm, soft tongue flicks in and out of my navel, sending another 
series of shudders racing through my body, and then she moves 
lower still.  And then, finally, her hands grip the waistband of 
my boxers, and she looks up at me again and smiles. 

#          #          # 

I will never, not in a million years, forget this moment. Mulder is 
spread-eagled on my bed, his skin flushed, his chest heaving as he 
tries, desperately, to rein in his breathing. His hands are still 
obediently attached to the headboard, and I consider for a moment 
telling him he can let go. God knows I want him to touch me as much 
as I'm sure he wants to. 

But not yet. 

Instead, I turn back to the task at hand -- that is, getting rid of 
these pesky boxers. They're just making it harder for me to do what I 
really want to, which is touch every square millimeter of skin on 
Mulder's body, until he's so far gone he can't even get out a coherent 
moan, much less a word. 

I slide my hands between the cloth and his hot skin, curling my 
fingers just enough so my nails scrape against his ass as I push the 
elastic band down in back. He automatically lifts his hips a fraction 
to give me room to work, and I take advantage, giving his cheeks one 
good, firm squeeze before pushing the material down to the top of his 
thighs. 

I lean back, then bite off a giggle at the sight. The *front* of the 
waistband, unfortunately for Mulder, isn't going anywhere without 
help, caught firmly against the base of his erection. He's shifting 
against the elastic, trying to work it free with just his hips and 
legs, but he's not making any headway. 

I take pity on him and gently ease the waistband down, my eyes 
immediately drawn to his cock. 

My, my. Impressive. My core throbs in anticipation at the sight, and 
my hands practically itch to touch him. 

But not yet. 

I slowly push the boxers down his long legs and off, letting them drop 
to the floor. Then I roll off the bed for just a moment, long enough to 
get rid of my sweatpants.  I turn to look at Mulder and the look on his 
face is so nakedly hungry that for just a moment I want to say to hell 
with it and pull off my panties, too.  But I can't.  I just can't ... 

Instead, I climb back onto the bed and settle myself between his legs, 
my back to him. I can feel his eyes on me as I lean forward and pick up 
one of his long, graceful feet, wrapping both my hands around it and 
beginning a deep, slow massage. 

I place my thumbs against his instep and rub firmly in small circles, 
my fingers applying counter pressure on the top of his foot. After a 
few moments, I move one hand up toward his toes, kneading the balls of 
his feet gently with my fingertips. 

He's really, really enjoying this. I don't even think he realizes that 
his moans are almost continual now, and his other foot is squirming 
constantly against the sheet. 

My hands move higher up on his foot, one pressing into the heel while 
the other wraps around his ankle. I give it another few seconds, then 
switch feet, and if anything, his moans and movement increase when I 
start on the other foot. 

I keep my hands busy where they are and carefully turn on the mattress 
until I'm sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, facing him. His 
eyes are closed again, but I want him to see what I'm about to do, so 
I say, "Mulder, look at me." 

His eyes open slowly this time, and just as they wander over to meet 
mine, I lift his foot to my face and suck his big toe into my mouth. 

#          #          # 

Oh god.  How did she know about my feet? 

They've always been intensely ticklish, which of course means they're 
also an erogenous zone, but not everybody makes that connection. 
I should have realized that Scully would be among the elect.  The way 
that she's rubbing and massaging my feet is just incredible, sending 
jolt after jolt of electricity slamming up my spine and into my cock, 
which throbs harder and harder with each stroke she makes.  My head 
is thrown back, and I'm breathing in harsh, ragged gasps, and someone 
in this room is moaning almost constantly. 

She commands me to look, and somehow I find the strength to obey. 
My eyes flutter open and I drop my gaze to hers, and she flashes an 
intensely erotic smile and sucks my right big toe all the way into 
her mouth. 

#          #          # 

Yeah, I think it's safe to say he likes this. Because the second he 
realizes what I'm doing, his head falls back onto the bed, and he 
lets out the longest, loudest groan so far. A groan that rockets 
from my ears right through my nervous system and to my clit. 

God. This is supposed to be all for him, but I'm getting nearly as 
turned on watching him as he is from what I'm doing to him. 

I turn my attention back to his toe, concentrating on giving it the 
same treatment I have planned for his cock. I pull my lips up until 
they're just covering the nail, then swirl my tongue around the tip 
several times. He must figure out what I'm doing immediately, because 
his whole body jerks and shakes, and his repertoire of moans continues 
to increase. 

My mouth slides back down until his toe is completely inside, and I 
rub the flat of my tongue against the bottom several times. Then I 
tilt my head forward, my hair falling around my face, and begin to 
suck in earnest. 

His toes are curling reflexively by now, making it hard to keep up my 
"toe-job" for long, so I give it just another few seconds before I 
release him and turn my attention back to the rest of his body. 

I place my hands on his legs and slowly draw my fingertips up toward 
his knees, pausing several times to bend down and swirl little patterns 
on his skin with my tongue in random spots. I move forward gradually, 
inching closer to him as I gently push his legs farther apart. 

He's moving constantly now, squirming against the sheets and my hands 
as I finally -- finally! -- reach my goal. Well, our goal; I'm sure he 
wants me there as badly as I want to be there. 

I slip my hands, palms up, under his thighs and lift slightly, tilting 
his pelvis up to give me easier access. I flick my eyes to his face and 
say his name again to get his attention, and as soon as his eyes focus 
on mine, I lower my head and take him in my mouth. 

#     #    # 

Oooohhh....jeee.....zzuuuusss.... 

#     #    # 

Mmmmm, he tastes just like I imagined ... salty and a little tangy ... 
almost bitter, but good ... like dark chocolate, maybe. 

I don't try to take him very deep at all immediately. It's been a while 
since I've done this, but I do know I always have to work up to that, 
or I'll end up gagging and coughing. And THAT would certainly ruin the 
moment. 

So instead I pull back until just the tip is in my mouth and swirl my 
tongue around the head, applying just a little pressure. He moans. I 
slide my mouth off and rain tiny, wet kisses up and down the entire 
length, then drag the flat of my tongue along the underside from the 
bottom to the top. He groans. 

This is fun. 

I go on, cataloguing his reactions to different touches for future 
reference. Wrapping my hand around the base and flicking my tongue 
against the ridge where the head meets the shaft garners a spasmodic 
jerk of his hips. Sucking lightly on the very tip while my fingertips 
graze up and down the shaft gets a lovely pelvic roll-and-thrust 
maneuver I think I'd like to see again. So I do it again. 

It works. 

Smiling, I get back down to it, this time bringing both hands into the 
action. I wrap one around his cock and begin to stroke, slowly but 
firmly, from root to tip, noting with some satisfaction that his hips 
almost immediately settle into the same rhythm with a series of tiny 
thrusts. My other hands goes lower, cupping and stroking his balls 
carefully in the same rhythm as the movements of my other hand. His 
breathing sounds unnaturally harsh in the otherwise quiet room, but 
I'm not sure if it's really that loud or if it's simply my own 
heightened senses. 

My hands keep up their steady pattern on his cock and balls, and I find 
myself talking to him, saying things I've never said during sex, not 
in the 15 years since I lost my virginity. But I'm saying them, and 
apparently it's doing the trick, because everything I say just seems 
to make him writhe and moan more. 

"Mulder ... God ... I love seeing you like this ... touching you like 
this ...love feeling your cock in my hand ... God, you're so hard ... 
mmmm ... I can hardly wait until I get to feel you inside me..." 

#     #     # 

Sweet suffering Jesus.  I don't believe this is happening.  I simply do 
not fucking believe it. 

Not an hour ago I was sitting in my car looking up at Scully's window, 
trying to figure out whether she might just possibly like to be more 
than partners and friends.  Now I'm lying in her bed, stark naked, 
holding on to these goddamned spindles for dear life, while Scully 
herself is curled up at the foot of the bed and running her tongue 
and fingers up and down the length of my cock, over and over and 
over. 

Oh god.  Now she's taken the head into her mouth again, swirling her 
tongue around the tip, and she's extended the middle finger of the hand 
that's been playing with my balls and is gently tickling my perineum. 
Oh god.  Oh god.  Oh god. 

I'm not going to be able to take much more of this.  I really, 
desperately want to touch her, to run my fingers through her hair, 
to stroke and lick and bite her.  Of course, what I REALLY want to 
do is roll her onto her back and pound my cock into her until she 
forgets how to say her own name. That's not going to happen tonight, 
and I honestly do understand, but one day very soon I AM going to get 
even with her for what she's doing to me tonight.  Payback's a bitch, 
Agent Scully. 

And then suddenly, without any warning at all, she plunges my cock all 
the way into her mouth. 

#          #          # 

I hum in the back of my throat as I tilt my head and carefully draw my 
mouth all the way down to the base of his cock. The tip bumps against 
the back of my throat, but I manage to stay relaxed enough to hold off 
the gag reflex. 

I rest there for a moment, then take a deep breath through my nose and 
pull up, applying gentle suction as I move. I quickly settle into a 
rhythm, my head moving steadily up and down, my hands running 
continually across his thighs, groin, and lower abdomen. 

Then I feel a touch on the top of my head, and without stopping what 
I'm doing I glance up at Mulder. His eyes are screwed shut and he's 
breathing through clenched teeth, and he apparently lost control of 
his hands, because they finally let go of the headboard. One is at 
this moment tangling itself in my hair -- not pushing or directing 
me, thank God -- while the other is gripping the rumpled sheet next 
to him in an apparent attempt to pull it right off the bed. 

I chuckle lightly against his skin, enjoying the sound of his gasping 
breath and broken moans. I wanted him incoherent; well, looks like I'm 
getting my wish. 

Time to give him his. 

I slide my hands back to the inside edges of his thighs and raise 
myself over him, my lips moving up until they're just barely covering 
the tip. I slowly cover his cock with my mouth completely again, take 
his balls back in my hand, and set to work in earnest, feeling my 
cheeks hollowing from the suction as I bob my head up and down. I 
slip my free hand under the other and go back to rubbing lightly 
across his perineum with the first two fingers. 

His hips are pumping now, not deeply but in short, jerky thrusts. I 
know he'd been holding himself back from this before, trying not to 
move enough to choke me or cause me any problems, and it gives me a 
little extra rush to know he can't even control that now. 

Little bursts of sound are emitting from his mouth, mostly moans and 
grunts but sometimes nearly forming a word -- "Uh" and "God" and the 
occasional "Sc..." I don't even think he knows he's saying anything 
at all; I imagine I'm just getting a little overflow from what's 
going on inside his head. 

And then his hips jerk up and freeze in place, his back arches, and 
his fingers dig into my scalp. He stays like that for one long 
moment ... and then he bellows out my name in one long scream and 
jerks and shudders spasmodically as his orgasm hits him full-force. 

#     #     # 

Oh god.  Oh god.  Oh god.  Oh god. 

No.  No.  Not god.  Not god.  Scully.  God Scully.  Jesus Scully. 
Please Scully.  Don't stop Scully.  PLEASE don't stop Scully.  Please 
don't stop. Please don't stop.  Please please please please.... 
Scully...Scully...Scully...Scully...please.... 

SCULLLLLEEEEEE........!!!!!! 

#     #     # 

He shoots into my mouth at an amazing rate, and I suck in as much as 
I can before pulling back slightly and allowing what I can't swallow 
to spill out.  My tongue gently soothes him as he gradually comes down 
from the stratosphere, his hands falling limp against the mattress. I 
carefully let him slip from my mouth and slowly lap up the rest of his 
semen from his still oversensitive skin. 

When I finish, I place one final, soft kiss on the tip of his cock 
before moving gingerly up his body and settling myself against his 
right side. As if by instinct, he brings that arm up to pull me 
tighter against him, though he's still gasping for air and can't 
manage a word. 

I spread my hand out flat across his chest and place a warm, 
open-mouthed kiss over his heart, then another at the base of his 
neck. A low rumble emits from his throat at this, and his other arm 
moves shakily from the bed to cup my shoulder. He gives one long, 
shuddering breath, then murmurs my name, and I feel his lips brush 
the top of my head. 

#          #          # 

Very, very gradually, the universe starts to come back into focus. 
I become distantly aware of something soft, warm and alive cuddled 
up against my right side, and I turn my head and yes, this is real, 
it's really happening.  Dana Scully is curled up in my arms, her 
head resting on my shoulder, her eyes closed, a soft little smile 
that is not at all enigmatic tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

And then I suddenly feel very awkward, lying here in Scully's bed 
holding her against my side.  I know she wants me to be here; she's 
made that abundantly clear in the course of the last hour or two. 
Christ, I don't even know what time it is, and I'll be damned if 
I'm going to stop looking at her face long enough to glance at the 
bedside clock. 

But I also think maybe it's time for me to be going.  This is her 
space, after all, this is her life, and I need to respect that and 
allow her to have it for herself. A slight shudder runs through my 
body, a shudder that is not at all like the wonderfully pleasant 
aftershocks that I've been feeling, as I remember what's happened -- 
and what's ALMOST happened -- when I've failed to respect her personal 
space in the past. Philadelphia comes to mind ... 

The problem is that I really don't want to go.  I don't want to climb 
out of her bed, put on my clothes, and drive home alone to my cold, 
empty apartment. I want to stay here with her where it's warm and 
safe -- and on top of that, if I get out of her bed and leave now 
it will make all of this seem just a little bit too much like a one 
night stand, and that is NOT what I want this to be. I want this to 
be the first night of the rest of our lives, and I pray to whatever 
god may be willing to hear me that she feels the same way. 

And I think just maybe there's something to this prayer business 
after all, because before I've even finished thinking those words 
Scully cuddles a little closer to me, and in a low, sleepy voice 
she whispers, "Don't go.  Stay." 

A wave of relief floods through me as I hear these words, and I 
capture them and take them into my memory and cherish them. 
Scully doesn't want me to go.  She wants me to stay.  She wants 
ME to stay.  Me. 

Maybe I really am going to get my heart's desire. 

This is simply too amazing for words. 

I know I should let her go to sleep now.  I mean, Scully has just 
given me more than I could ever reasonably have hoped for when I 
decided to drive over here tonight, and the least I can do now is 
allow her to get some sleep. 

But there's still one more thing I want to know.  There's still 
one more question left unanswered, and try as I might I can't get 
it out of my mind. What's just happened is totally and completely 
incredible, but still I want more. She's promised we'll have more, 
but I want it for us, and I want it soon.  I know it's some 
pathetic mix of selfishness and insecurity that's driving this 
feeling, but I just can't help myself.  I want to know. 

I wonder if she's asleep yet.  I draw her a little bit closer, and 
I bend down and once again brush my lips against the top of her 
head.  Very softly and tentatively I whisper, "Scully?" 

And her voice drifts back to me, thick with sleep but still aware, 
and the unmistakable warmth and affection in her voice belies her 
choice of words.  "Next Friday. Now shut up and go to sleep." 

Next Friday.  Cool.  I can wait that long.  Next Friday. 

Next Friday. 
  

#  Fini  # 
  
  

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