By Christine Leigh

Summary: A conversation in bed. Missing scene from all things.
Rating: PG
Category: MSR, V
Spoilers: None.

"You were so there, Scully. So not what I expected. My brilliant profiler self was nonplused." It was dark in Mulder's bedroom at nearly 2 a.m. on this rainy night, and Scully could barely see his face as he said this. Not that she needed to. She carried it with her always, as she did all the faces of the man she loved. And this particular moment she was intent on remembering the one she'd seen on that day from forever ago, the first face. She hadn't taken that one out to look at in a long while. God, he was gorgeous. That had been her first take on him. And how he was looking at her as she extended him her hand. No man under any set of circumstances had ever looked at her like that. She remembered feeling very confident and very pissed, and then charmed and challenged, then pissed again, but stimulated throughout. All in the space of about a minute.

"So, if I hadn't been so 'there' as you put it, would you have reacted any differently?"

"I don't know." Mulder had been lying on his back, and now turned to face Scully. "It was so long ago, and my perceptions have been so changed by all that came after. I probably wouldn't have been as much of a wise-ass, though." He stroked her cheek. The thrill of what had happened between them on this night didn't lessen the pleasure he took in the more familiar gestures.

"Then I'm glad I made the impression that I did, Mulder." She smiled at the F.B.I.'s most unwanted wise-ass. At her lover.

"One thing would have remained the same, Scully."


"How beautiful you were. Your picture hadn't done you justice. That was what stopped me cold for a few seconds, before I started in on my spiel." She blushed and gave thanks for the dark. But he knew she was blushing, and she knew he knew. And it didn't matter. But her reactions needed to catch up to her emotions. This was so strange, and yet so perfectly wonderful. How more cliched could she be, she thought? And who cared? Maybe the romance novels and the love songs were right, at least for one night.

"Mulder, I wouldn't have told you then, of course, but I enjoyed your spiel. I remember that I actually laughed out loud to myself in the car on the way home."

"I spend a week planning my strategy for scaring the hell out of you, and you laugh all the way home. That's justice."

"I said I laughed once, Mulder. I didn't give over my whole night to ruminating about it." She could hear him stifling a yawn, and guessed that the jet lag must be catching up with him finally. She conversely, was wide awake, her clarity of heart and mind at an all-time high. She didn't want to close her eyes on this night. Morning would come in just a few hours and she would have to leave him, but until then she would watch him sleep. She guided his head to his pillow.

"Scully, don't go."

"Mulder, I promise I won't leave for at least another few hours. You need to sleep." She ran her fingers through his hair. How was it that he had such silky hair? How would she ever leave? Silly questions.

"Scully, when I think back to that first day, and I know now where it's led, I feel like I dodged a huge bullet. Any other woman would have walked right out."

"Mulder, shhh." She laid her arm across his chest and gently stroked his forehead. He closed his eyes.

"I think we both dodged that bullet, Mulder. Actually, I'm certain of it." She could feel his heart beating beneath her hand. What a miracle that this man had given her. What a life.

Morning would come and she wouldn't want to leave, but that was how it was. She'd leave; she'd be back. He'd leave; he'd be back. Wherever they were, they would own the night.

~ End ~

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This story is (c) Copyright 2003 by Christine Leigh. "The X-Files" and its characters are the property of the Fox Network and Ten-Thirteen Productions and are borrowed here without profit or intent for profit.