Recovery
by Bugmouthga

E-MAIL: bugmouthga@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION: Archive freely- please let me know
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORIES: Story
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance, post-series
SPOILERS: The X-Files: I Want to Believe

SUMMARY: After a heartbreaking day working at the hospital, 
Scully finds recovery at home with Mulder.

Disclaimer: X-Files characters belong to FOX Corporation and 
1013.

Author's Notes: In the time line of my stories, this one takes 
place AFTER "Renewal". It doesn't have to be read to 
understand this one, but should you ever come across the other 
one, just know that it happened first. I hope everyone enjoys 
this one. I really loved writing it. Please email any comments. 


*   *   *

Scully sighed sadly. After her controversial, but 
successful stem-cell transplants on a young patient by the name 
of Christian Fearon, after all the accolades and congratulations, 
the caring and talented doctor had almost begun to think she 
was infallible... almost... until this...

"Time of death," she announced quietly, "23:08." She 
removed her mask and bloody gloves and walked out of the 
surgery room, leaving the attending physicians and nurses to 
clean up the aftermath.

She could have gone straight to her office- the 
paperwork was beginning to pile up again. She could have gone 
to the locker room. She had been on duty for nearly twenty 
hours and she was tired, dirty and feeling scroungy and in need 
of a shower. She could have just slipped out and gone home. 
Her shift had officially ended hours ago, but she had stayed on 
when she had heard about a horrible accident involving several 
cars on the highway near by, just as she had been about to leave. 
She could have done any of those things.

But she didn't.

She stayed.

Walking out to the waiting room of the old but upkept 
hospital, Scully's eyes searched for someone in particular. It did 
not take long to find him.

A young man in his mid-twenties, paced back and forth 
in front of the coffee machine, an infant- maybe eight months 
old- slumbered against his shoulder, drooling in that adorable 
way that only babies have. On a row of uncomfortable chairs a 
few feet away, a four-year-old girl slept placidly. Neither child 
looked the slightest bit injured, although the young man- their 
father- had several abrasions on his face, but was otherwise 
unscathed. 

Upon seeing Scully, the man ceased in his pacing, 
looking up at her with an expectant expression. "Dr. Scully?" he 
asked tentatively, his nerves such a jumble, his mind and body 
already so tired from a life-changing event, he was not sure he 
was even speaking to the right person.

"Mr. Dutton," Scully replied, holding back a sob of 
despair. She approached the harried man, wearing a look of 
sympathy on her lovely, but tired face.

"My wife, Jenny," he said anxiously. "You- you're her 
doctor, right? Is she... okay now? When can she come home?"

"Mr. Dutton," Scully began carefully, but was 
interrupted before she could go any farther.

"You're the best doctor here, they told me," he 
murmured hopefully.

"Sir, your wife, she-"

"Wasn't too bad of an accident," he rambled on, "I 
mean, the kids didn't even get a scratch!"

"Mr. Dutton-"

"Of course, Jenny and me, we got the worst of it, being 
in the front," he continued to babble. "I got banged up pretty 
good, but Jenny, she... she wasn't wearing her seatbelt, but she 
didn't look too bad, after..." His voice trailed off thoughtfully.

"Mr. Dutton, we lost her," Scully said gently, but 
quickly, trying to get a word in before he started up again. "I'm 
so sorry, but your wife has died."

"But..." the young man began, his already glassy eyes 
spilling over in tears of anger and denial, "it wasn't that bad of 
an accident! She didn't look as bad as I did..."

"She had severe internal injuries," Scully explained, 
trying to soothe his shock and grief, while still processing her 
own failure to save the woman.

"Yeah, but- but you're supposed to be the best!" he shot 
accusingly. "They said she was in good hands! Your hands! 
They said if anyone could save her it would be you!"

"I..." and Scully's voice faltered, having no answer for 
that. She had only wished no one had sung her praises to a 
dying woman's husband.

"What did you do wrong?" he demanded to know, his 
voice rising. Both of his children woke up. The baby cried.

"Where's Mommy?" the four-year-old asked sleepily, 
rubbing her eyes.

"She's dead," the young man sobbed to his daughter. 
"Ask this lady," he spat, jerking his thumb in Scully's direction. 
"She knows why." He hugged his crying baby to his chest.

"Mr. Dutton, I'm sorry," Scully apologized again, trying 
to keep her emotions in check. "I did everything I could."

"Whatever, lady," he hissed at her through hot, angry 
tears. "You killed my wife!" He turned his back on her and 
scooped up his older child, holding them both, all of them 
sobbing together.

"Sir, I-" Scully paused. There was no need for any more 
explanation. She doubted he would have listened to her anyway. 
"I'm sorry," she whispered, "Excuse me, please."

Turning on her heel, Scully fled from the vicinity as fast 
as she could. She could still hear the inconsolable widower 
crying and yelling in sadness and frustration. She knew that she 
didn't have to be the one to talk to the patients' families after a 
surgery, especially during these tragic circumstances. A lot of 
the other senior surgeons and physicians sent their attendings 
out to do the "dirty work". Dr. Dana Katherine Scully was not 
one of those doctors. In fact, it had been at least a couple of 
years since anyone had even offered to do this unpleasant task 
for her. They all already knew her answer.

Fighting back tears, Scully rushed down to her office to 
grab her briefcase and jacket, before rushing out to her car. She 
had lost patients before, of course, and had even been yelled at 
by grieving, angry family members before, too, and while it had 
always affected her to a certain degree, she was just feeling 
extra sensitive lately. Losing this patient had pushed her near 
the breaking point.

***

The chill in the outside air caused her to involuntarily 
shiver as she slid behind the wheel of her brand new white 
Chrysler Le Baron. After having been on vacation for a month 
on a tropical island with her beloved, she was still- two weeks 
later- trying to get used to the cold again. She revved the 
engine, waiting impatiently for the heater to kick in.

While she sat there, trembling from the cold and her 
own failure, hot, wet tears cascaded down her peaches and 
cream complexion, nearly freezing to her cheeks. She wiped 
absently at her face and nose, then pulled her cell phone out of 
her pocket, still waiting for the car to heat up. She noticed that 
she had a couple messages.

The first one said: "Hey Scully, its me. Hadn't heard 
from you in a few hours, and since you're late getting home, 
I'm assuming they talked you into staying for a longer shift. Ah, 
I guess I should be used to this by now, being a doctor's wife, 
and all..."

The joke was lame and some might consider even 
slightly sexist- at least, it would have been if it had been uttered 
by anyone else than Mulder. In his case, she knew that was not 
his intention. He just had a very weird- actually, warped was a 
more appropriate description- sense of humor. He had only been 
trying to make her laugh. Feeling as she did right now, laughing 
seemed out of the question. She did, however, indulge in a 
smile at her partner's silliness. It was a small smile, but truly 
genuine.

The second message, also from Mulder, went like this: 
"Scully, honey, you're still not home and I can't seem to reach 
you anywhere... Whenever I call the hospital, they keep telling 
me that you're in surgery. Damn, but that's gotta be one long-
ass surgery."

"Tell me about it," she muttered quietly.

"Anyway," his message continued, and she could hear a 
tinge of panic in his voice; a slight tremble only she would be 
able to detect, "it's eight o'clock now and I've got dinner 
waiting... hope you're okay... oh, your mom sent you a 
birthday package and I didn't even open it! Aren't you proud of 
me? And, you'll never guess who called to talk to you today! 
Can you? Do you give up yet?" Now this did elicit a slight 
chuckle from her. "I'll give you a hint. Her initials are M.R." 
Then he paused to laugh at what the initials implied, which 
made her laugh again, too, even as she thought, Wow, haven't 
heard from Monica Reyes in quite awhile...

"It was Monica Reyes," his recording went on, 
confirming her suspicions, "but I'll bet you already guessed 
that, huh? So, uh, please try and get your sweet ass home, Dr. 
Scully. I miss it... along with the rest of your hot bod."

"Oh, Mulder," she groaned aloud. The man's verbal 
cues of affection were always just a little bit on the weird side- 
unless he was simply saying he loved her. Still, it warmed her 
heart.

"Love you," the recording replied, "Come home to me 
safe." The message finished without a formal goodbye. But they 
very rarely said goodbye on the phone anyway, so she hadn't 
expected one.

Glancing at the time, she noticed it was well after 
midnight. "Damn," she muttered, having missed his last call by 
over four hours.

Suddenly, getting home safe to him seemed like the 
most important thing to do, but she drove a little faster than she 
probably should have, despite the snow on the roads, and 
despite her exhaustion.

***

Scully pulled her car up the driveway to the old, country 
home. In the past month since they had returned from their 
vacation, it was slowly but surely losing its dilapidated look, 
now sporting a fresh coat of paint and new shingles on the roof. 
Mulder had taken to the project without much enthusiasm, but 
once he had seen how it had pleased his beloved, his zeal for 
home improvement grew and grew. His next project would be 
to tackle the rickety steps up to the front porch.

The lights in the house were all off, except for the porch 
and a light still glowing from the kitchen window. Scully 
smiled at Mulder's thoughtfulness as she trudged tiredly up the 
creaky porch steps to the front door. She had a little more 
urgency, once she got inside and felt the warmth of her haven, 
and quickly shut the door against the bitter, night air.

It was now around one o'clock in the morning. Scully 
tossed off her coat onto the lazy boy chair, dropped her 
briefcase next to it, and set her keys on the coffee table in front 
of it. It was too late, she noticed, that her keys had landed in a 

big pile of spent sunflower seed shells. 

"Ugh, Mulder," she groaned, then spotted a Post-It note 
next to the mess. She picked it up and strained to read it in the 
dark.

It read: Please don't be mad. I'll clean it up tomorrow!

With a roll of her eyes, she ventured into the kitchen, 
and she found even more of a mess scattered over the counter. 
Dirty dishes from the dinner she had missed were piled up. 
There was another Post-It note next to these as well.

It read: Sorry, again. I'll clean it up tomorrow, I swear! 
P.S. Don't be mad. He had drawn a smiley face underneath it.

Scully sighed wearily. If Mulder would clean it up 
tomorrow- er, later today, technically- then she wouldn't "be 
mad" as he so feared. Besides, at this point, she was just too 
damn tired to be mad. Tired and... hungry!

Suddenly, she was insatiably hungry. Hunger that could 
only be tempered by her fatigue and her need to crawl into bed 
beside the man she loved and hibernate like a bear. Still, her 
stomach started growling like a bear, so she gingerly opened the 
fridge.

Already prepared to do a little hunting through 
Tupperware containers for something edible, the exhausted 
woman was tickled pink to find a foil covered plate inside, 
awaiting her, with yet, another Post-It note stuck on it.

This one read: Just heat it up in the microwave for about 
two minutes. P.S. Remove the aluminum foil first, Doc! Beneath 
this message was another smiley face, this time sticking his 
tongue out at her. For some reason, it made Scully want to cry, 
but in a good way.

Removing the aluminum foil from the plate- Yeah, like 
I'd forget something like that, Mulder!- Scully spied a piece of 
slightly dried up meat loaf, thick and chunky looking mashed 

potatoes and some rather stringy green beans. It did not look 
exactly appetizing and the food itself was a lot of calories for 
her to be eating before bed, but she was simply too hungry and 
too tired to care about either factor at this point, so she popped 
it in the microwave and nuked it for two minutes. When it was 
adequately warmed, she took it out, grabbed a bottle of spring 
water from the fridge then headed for the bedroom.

Though she was sure Mulder would be slumbering 
peacefully, Scully just wanted to be near him, even while she 
ate. She tiptoed into the darkened room, illuminated mostly by 
the moonlight coming through the sheer curtains covering the 
window. Carefully, she set the food on her nightstand, not 
making a sound. Next, she grabbed her silk pajamas and fled 
into the connecting bathroom, changing, relieving herself, and 
washing the make-up and the dirt and grime of the day off her 
face. Then, she ever so quietly tiptoed back into the bedroom. 
She had just about made it back to her bedside, when she 
tripped over one of Mulder's sneakers, which had been lying, 
inconspicuously on the darkened floor. She tried to catch herself 
on the nightstand and managed to flip her dinner plate into the 
air and all over the bed- including all over the man who slept in 
it.

"Oh, shit!" she exclaimed in alarm and anger.

Mulder sat up, blinking in confusion for a brief moment 
as he pondered the mashed potatoes stuck to the side of his face 
and the green beans in his chest hair.

"Gee, Scully," he commented wryly, "it's nice of you to 
share, but I've already had dinner, thanks."

"Dammit! I'm sorry, Mulder," Scully started to cry, 
sitting down on the bed to rub at the sore knee she had managed 
to bang against the nightstand a moment ago. "Oh, shit!" she 
yelped again, leaping off the bed.

"Scully?" Mulder asked in concern, sitting up and trying 
to see what the problem was. "What happened?"

"I just sat on my meat loaf," she replied dully.

Mulder glanced over at the butt of her pajamas and saw 
a big, brown stain. He couldn't help but to laugh. "And I 
thought I'd had you potty trained by now."

Scully, however, was not amused. "It isn't funny, 
Mulder," she growled at him, but forced herself to calm down. 
Though she was a little perturbed that it had been his big-ass 
sneaker that tripped her in the first place, she certainly couldn't 
blame him for sitting in her meat loaf. She wanted to, but she 
couldn't.

"Sorry," he said, quieting, and he got out of bed. "Here, 
I'll strip the bed, while you get changed." He walked by her and 
kissed the top of her head, before picking out a green bean from 
her red tresses and popping it into his mouth. "Mmm, Scully 
flavored!"

"Mulder, that's disgusting," she groaned, sounding 
much like a little girl who'd been grossed-out by the weird kid 
at school.

"And welcome home, I love you, too, Grumpy," he 
teased, refusing to sink into her foul mood. He paused. "What 
the hell? How'd I get potatoes in there?"

"Mulder?" Scully murmured.

"Yeah?" he asked absently, right outside in the hallway, 
retrieving clean sheets from the linen closet.

"I need to take a shower..."

"Sure thing, Doc. I'll clean up while you-"

"And I want you in there with me... please..."

Though she had said please, Mulder knew an order 
when he heard it. This made him smile mischievously and he 
had his pajama bottoms off before she could blink.

All of a sudden, Scully didn't seem so certain. "Are you 

sure?" she asked shyly. "I mean, if you're tired..."

"Scully," he said, standing before her, wearing nothing 
but a smile, "let me just state for the record that I will never be 
too tired to take a shower with you."

Not being able to help herself, Scully beamed and she 
fell gratefully into his arms, potato encrusted pajamas and all.

He hugged her tightly for a moment, trying to ignore the 
sensation of mushy food smearing against his bare skin, then 
leaned down to kiss her properly- with tongue and all the bells 
and whistles that came with it.

"You okay?" he asked, peering into her tear streaked 
face.

"Getting there," she whispered, grinning. She started 
removing her clothing.

"No, here, let me," Mulder insisted, slowly stripping off 
her soiled pajamas and leading her into the bathroom. He started 
up the shower and waited impatiently for the water to heat up, 
holding her small form against him, whispering soothingly to 
her.

Scully remained mostly silent, using a few grunts of 
acknowledgment or non-verbal cues as a means of 
communication. Mulder took note of that, but made no mention 
of it. He merely continued his stream of conversation, in a soft, 
soothing yet oddly seductive tone. 

Finally, the water was hot and they climbed into the tub 
together. Mulder graciously let her get most of the spray, 
watched her close her eyes as the liquid warmth caressed her 
small, shivering form.

"Bad day?" he asked knowingly, not really expecting an 
answer from her.

"The worst," she replied, much to his surprise.

He grabbed the shampoo bottle and squirt a fair amount 
into his palm, then turned her around and washed her hair. His 
long fingers gently massaged her scalp. "Wanna talk about it?" 
he asked, trying not to sound too much like a hairdresser.

"I... lost a patient," she whispered, trying not to burst 
into tears again.

"I'm sorry," Mulder replied, and he truly meant it. He 
urged her to lean back into the spray of the shower, and he 
rinsed the shampoo from her shining, red locks.

Afterwards, he picked up one of those weird, fluffy, 
spongy things that women- including Scully- liked to wash 
themselves with and he squeezed some sweet-smelling bath gel 
onto it, lathering it up as he squished it between his fingers.

"It was a young woman," Scully blurted, becoming 
more and more relaxed with each stroke of the soapy sponge 
across her body. "Married... two children, both under the age of 
five, and a devastated young husband... left behind.

"She was in a terrible car accident. We were the closest 
hospital. I agreed to stay, as it was a pile up, and there were 
many injured motorists and passengers coming to us. 

"I spent hours in surgery with her, trying to stop the 
internal bleeding, but it was just so extensive, Mulder. Every 
time I cauterized something, I'd find another injury. She... died 
just before midnight..."

"That's very sad," he commented, continuing to spread 
the warm, sudsy goodness over the expanse of her naked skin. 
"Especially because I know you worked yourself to the bone to 
try and save her."

"How do you know?" she challenged automatically, and 
he grinned, knowing that was just her way.

"I know, my love, because I know you. I know your 
tenacity and your compassion, your need to be the doctor, the 
healer. It's your kind of bull-headed determination that has 
saved me countless times."

"But I couldn't save her..."

"No, and we both know that in this life, sometimes, 
we're going to lose. We can't save them all. Scully, you can't 
save them all. Unfortunately, this is one of those times."

She found it slightly ironic that a man who was currently 
working on trying to save the whole world from invasion and 
extinction could sound so sensible in her time of need, but she 
made no mention of it. She merely appreciated his effort. Still, 
she replied with a melancholy tone, "Those times come far too 
frequently for us."

"Yeah, they do," he agreed sympathetically, giving her 
another quick kiss. "Good thing for us we're so damn tough!"

Scully slid her arms around his waist, as he dropped the 
sponge back into its holder, and she pulled him close. She 
closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of their bodies pressed 
together. "Good thing," she repeated, resting her head upon his 
chest, listening to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against her 
ear.

"And soft," he added, nuzzling his chin against her 
freshly washed hair. "Tough but soft." He knelt before her, his 
face in direct contact with her belly. He kissed it with an open 
mouth.

"That tickles!" she chuckled.

"Oh, you want tickling?" he asked her playfully, then, 
before she could answer, jutted out his tongue, forcing it into 
her belly button. This action elicited gales of laughter and an 
incessant tugging on the back of his head.

"Mulder! Mulder! Stop! Honey, stop it! Please!"

Finally, he did so, but he had a wicked gleam in his eyes 
that made her realize he was planning something. "You're 
right," he said, gazing so lovingly up at her. "There's something 
even better around here to stick my tongue into."

"Oh, you don't have to, Mul-" she began, but her protest 
quickly turned into a purr of satisfaction. "Oh, God, Mulder... 
yes..."

Mulder's velvet tongue stroked her small bundle of 
nerves and it wasn't very long before she was sobbing his name, 
and collapsing across his shoulder. He held her there, content to 
kneel in front of her, and helping to keep her balance.

When the water went cold, Mulder carried the nearly 
boneless Scully out of the shower, whereupon he insisted on 
drying and dressing her himself. Then he sat her down at her 
vanity and combed the tangles out of her long, red locks with 
his fingers.

By the time he was finished, Scully looked shiny and 

refreshed and absolutely breathtaking. The sight of her hitched 
Mulder's breath and he wanted to do nothing more than take her 
right there on the floor in their bathroom, but he realized that 
she was also exhausted and starving.

"So beautiful," Mulder murmured at the ethereal visage 
reflected at him in the mirror.

Scully blushed- always a good sign- and then she 
smiled. "I know this is terrible to say so, Mulder, but I'm kind 
of glad that I tripped over your shoe, banged my knee and sent 
food flying everywhere. I wasn't intending on waking you up at 
all, but I'm actually glad that I did."

He chuckled, still standing behind her. Rubbing her 

shoulders, he admitted, "Scully, I was awake the whole time. I 
was going to wait until you'd settled in and then feed you 
dinner."

"And instead, I threw my dinner on you," she yawned. 
"Oh, we've got to clean up still... and God, I'm so hungry!"

"Don't you worry about a thing," he told her. "Just... sit 
there for a minute and relax. I'll take care of everything." And 
in a flash, he was out the door.

Scully hadn't had a chance to say a word to him before 
he'd bolted from the room, still naked as the day he was born. 
She sat there for a few bewildered moments, then slowly, 
wearily, stood up and ventured back into their bedroom.

The bed had been stripped, the dirty sheets and blankets 
tossed absently at the hamper, rather than in it. But the bed had 
not been remade. "Mulder?" she called in confusion, but got no 
answer.

She padded in her cold, bare feet down the hallway into 
the living room. Mulder wasn't there, but she could see that he 
just had been. A fire had been lit in their seldom used fire place 
and set up in front of it were a bunch of pillows, an unzipped 
sleeping bag and a couple of clean blankets. "Hmm," was her 
only comment.

"Hey, I wanted to surprise you," a voice from behind her 
exclaimed, and Scully started slightly, then turned around to see 
Mulder, clad in only his green, cotton boxer shorts, carrying a 
tray with a bowl of vegetable soup and some crackers, along 
with a hot, steaming cup of herbal tea.

She gazed upon the atmosphere he had created just for 
her, and she smiled. A flicker of a conversation between the two 
of them from long, long ago, about "getting lucky" in a sleeping 
bag briefly wafted through her tired mind, but as sweet as the 
memory was, she tossed it aside in favor of her equally 
wonderful present moment. "Oh, you did surprise me," she 
assured him. "Are we having a slumber party, Mulder?"

"Definitely," he leered at her, motioning her toward his 
mountain of pillows and blankets set out on the floor.

She sat down and he handed her the tray of food. The 
hot soup and tea warmed her most satisfactorily. "Good," she 
mumbled through a mouthful of soup at her beloved, causing 
him to grin and wipe her chin off with a napkin.

"Thanks," she said sweetly, after finishing her meal and 
receiving one more wipe of the napkin, before Mulder took the 
tray from her and set it on the coffee table beside them.

"And uh... don't worry about the mess, Scully," he 
promised her. "I'll clean it all up tomorrow, I promise!"

"What? No Post-It note?" she teased and they both 
laughed. Then she excused herself to the bathroom to brush and 
floss her teeth and take a quick pit stop. When she returned, the 
lights were off and the only illumination in the room came from 
the glow of the fireplace, giving her a romantic, Christmasy 
feel.

Mulder sat in the middle of his pillow pile on the floor, 
waiting for her with a come-hither smile. She shuffled over, 
then sat down beside him. The two of them lay down together.

"Aren't you going to be cold?" Scully asked, running 
her fingertips over his bare chest, enjoying the rippling of his 
muscles and the slight chuckle he could not hold back.

"Don't worry," he replied in a seductive tone. "I've got 
my love to keep me warm."

She rolled her eyes at his pun, but before she had the 
chance to make a smart-ass comment, he pulled her close and 
she could feel his zeal for the moment pressing against her 
belly.

"Oh, I see," she replied with a knowing smile.

"I mean, we don't have to if you don't want to," he was 
murmuring, even as he began to spread baby-soft kisses over 
her face and neck, and even as he reached up under her pajama 
top, cupping her left breast tenderly in his palm.

"I always want to," she whispered, nuzzling her face 
into his still-damp hair.

"...but you're too tired right now," he decided for her 
and his firm touch of her breast turned into a feather light 
caress.

"Who says?" Scully challenged, encouraging him to 
resume his more vigorous ministrations by simply pushing her 
chest against his hand.

"You are exhausted," he said as diplomatically as 
possible. "I can see it in your eyes."

"Yeah, well, I'm also inordinately... stimulated right 
now," she informed him, gently thumping his chest, "and that 
takes precedence. Got it?" 

He laughed happily and heartily, then kissed her, and 
laughed again. "Inordinately stimulated?" he repeated, his eyes 
twinkling in the firelight. "God, but I love your doctor-speak for 
horny."

"Be that as it may," she went on in a haughty tone, "I 
want you."

"You're so hot when you're bossy," he growled in 
arousal.

"I thought you said that I'm always bossy," she 
reminded him.

"Always hot, too," he told her. "And you're sure you 
can stay awake long enough to com-"

She rolled her eyes at him, becoming more impatient by 
the second. "Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Just take me- now!"

Another lusty growl! "Yes ma'am!"

He undressed her slowly, teasingly. "This is the best suit 
for you, Doc. Your birthday suit."

Scully smiled at him as she yanked down his boxers 
with a lot less finesse. "Funny, I was just going to say the same 
about you."

Mulder continued to take his time, ever aware that his 
partner had been up for at least the past twenty-four hours, but 
wanting to lavish her with soft caresses and kisses. In the 
meantime, she did a lot of caressing on her own, which sped 
Mulder's pace up considerably.

Once they were joined, Mulder stared down into the face 
of the woman he loved, and just held her, stroking her cheek. "I 
know you had a terrible day, Scully, it sounded really rough, but 
otherwise... normally, you're happy here with me... right?"

"So happy," she purred, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 
Running her fingertips up and down his sides and making him 
shiver, Scully added, "Mulder, I fall in love with you more and 
more every day."

"Just as I do with you," he replied sincerely, wearing a 
goofy smile.

"Then let's demonstrate," she suggested, her small 
hands coming to rest upon his backside. She gave him a gentle 
squeeze.

This action urged him forward, and the couple made 
love on the floor in their living room, on top of a pile of pillows 
and a sleeping bag, in front of a warm, roaring fire.

***

Scully awoke to the sounds and scents that typically 
were relevant with the kitchen. The sleep still in her eyes, she 
took in her surroundings. The fireplace was long burned out. 
She was wrapped up in both blankets, tucked protectively in by 
Mulder while she had continued to slumber away.

She could hear what sounded like a major clean up 
operation in progress. She could also detect fresh coffee 
brewing, as well as bacon and eggs sizzling in a pan. The 
stimulation to her nasal passages triggered a growling response 
from her belly, and rendered her more fully awake. She sat up 
with a groan- unused to sleeping on the floor- and put her 
pajamas back on. As she did so, she noticed that all the little 
messes from the night before (Mulder's sunflower seeds, her 
dishes from her late night dinner) had all been cleared away. 
The rest of the living room looked like it had been tidied up as 
well. Magazines on the coffee table were straightened, her coat 
had been hung nicely over a chair, mail was placed neatly on 
two spots next to the magazines in two piles- junk and bills.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Scully entered the 
kitchen to find last night's dinner mess completely cleaned up 
as well, only to be replaced by today's mess. She smiled. 

Somehow, it just wouldn't be home to her if there weren't at 
least one Mulder mess for her to find. 

Speaking of Mulder, there he stood before the stove, 
keeping a close eye on the food he was trying not to burn to a 
crisp. While cooking was never his strong suit, he still put in an 
effort, realizing Scully, on days she worked, was often busy and 
tired. It was the least he could do, botching up a meal now and 
then, for all that she supported him in every way- including 
financially. He chuckled inwardly, admitting to himself that he 
secretly kind of enjoyed being her "house husband". At least 
until he felt safe enough to venture out of their secluded haven 
on a more frequent basis.

Scully watched him cook for a minute, noticing that he 
was freshly showered and dressed, but still barefoot, and with 
damp, wispy locks of hair, all struggling to stretch to the 
ceiling. His casual, ruffled appearance appealed to her in a 
primal sense, and she had to remind herself that her body might 
need a little recovery time after last night's adventures. Besides, 
she was hungry again, an even more basic call of survival.

Walking towards him, Scully did not sneak up on her 
partner. After years of being in constant danger while working 
for the FBI, it had become an unspoken rule between them- no 
scary surprises.

"Something smells good," she made sure to say, before 
wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

He jumped slightly from the unexpected announcement, 
but warmed instantly to her touch. "Well, I did just shower," he 
joked, leaning back into her embrace long enough to steal a 
kiss.

"Mmm," Scully sighed in satisfaction, "Morning." She 
rubbed her fingers affectionately through his damp locks, 
absently trying to smooth them down, before he playfully 
swatted her hand away.

"Good afternoon," he replied, gesturing for her to sit 
down at the table. "Sleepy head."

"What time is it?" she asked, then glanced at the clock 
on the wall and answered her own question. "1:30?! Why'd I 
sleep so late? Mulder, why did you let me sleep so late?"

"Recovery," he explained, without missing a beat. "You 
had a really horrible and incredibly long shift at work 
yesterday... not to mention two earth-shattering orgasms last 
night. If that doesn't warrant sleeping in, I don't know what 
would." He offered her a leering grin.

She snickered, then spied the breakfast- er, lunch, still 
on the stove. "Fair enough. Food almost ready?" he asked 
hopefully.

"Of course," he told her. "As usual, your timing is 
impeccable."

He soon brought two heaping platefuls of greasy 
goodness to the table, placing one before her, and one on the 
other side, where he sat down. Condiments and filled glasses of 
juice were already in place.

Scully glanced down at the artery-clogging culinary 
delight her beloved had prepared for them and shook her head. 
Her plate was nearly as piled high as his was. He had sprinkled 
a little salt and pepper on his eggs and was already chowing 
down. He smiled at her, bacon hanging out of his mouth. 

"Mulder," she sighed at him. "This is too much," and 
she gestured at her plate.

He shrugged, trying to talk with his mouth full. "Gven 
jes eaf wuf ooo whuff, 'Ulwy."

"Huh?"

Swallowing with effort, he reiterated. "Then just eat 
what you want, Scully."

"I see," she said with a knowing smirk. This had become 
a little game between them lately. When Mulder made the 
meals- which was becoming a more frequent event- he would 
always give Scully way too much food. Then, when she 
couldn't finish it, he would offer to "take care of that" for her, 
and finish it himself, making a nice extra snack for the man 
living with the woman he sometimes called, "The Little Food 
Nazi". He rarely called such a thing to her face, since when he 
did once, she twisted his nipple so hard, he squealed like a pig, 
but he was always trying to find ways to sneak in a few extra 
calories here and there into his diet, when she wasn't paying 
attention. Until he started living with Scully, Mulder ate what 
he wanted. And though she never begrudged him his sunflower 
seeds, she was a little more adamant about eating healthy any 
other time. But, Scully caught on to his ploy, and she'd started 
taking her plate up to the sink to empty it into the disposal, 
before he could gulp down half her meal on top of his own. She 
was sure he would catch on eventually. He was a very smart 
man. But until then, it was her little secret.

This afternoon, however, Scully surprised them both by 
eating every last bite on her plate. She appeared to be a little 
ashamed by it, and she glanced sheepishly at Mulder.

He displayed no irritation, but rather admiration over her 
hearty appetite. "Hungry girl," he cooed, with a goofy grin on 
his face that made her roll her eyes.

Unbeknownst to Scully, Mulder was well aware of her 
secret about dumping any leftover food into the disposal before 
he could get at it. He honestly didn't try to eat her food all the 
time, only if it was something really good, and possibly 
expensive, so it didn't go to waste. What she didn't know was 
that he piled up the food on her plate, to ensure she actually ate. 
She was a busy woman who sometimes put everything else 
ahead of her own needs, including sustenance. He put a lot of 
food on her plate, so that even if she left some there, at least she 
would have had enough to eat to begin with. Her own portions 
often looked like something that wouldn't fill up a 
hummingbird. Plus, over the past few years, she'd gotten a bit 
on the thin side. Though she was still beautiful to him, and 
always would be, no matter her weight, it reminded him a little 
too much of a time where she had been very ill. He'd almost 
lost her, too. That was something that he did not wish to be 
reminded of. He knew mentioning it to Scully would probably 
upset her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do, nor did he 
want to drudge up bad memories that, frankly, neither one of 
them wanted dredged up. So, he made up for it on the sly, trying 
to put a little more meat on her bones in the subtlest way he 
could.

Today, it would seem, his tactic had worked! She had 

eaten all of her meal! Apparently, giving his significant other 
multiple orgasms the night before would ensure a hearty 
appetite the following day. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. 
Good to know... Sounded like a win-win situation for them 
both. 

Scully didn't have to be back to the hospital until seven 
that evening. After the nearly twenty-four hour shift and the 
emotional torment she'd been subjected to the night before, she 
was really in no hurry to get there anyway. She took her time 
about getting ready for the day, content, for the most part, to 
laze about or putter around in Mulder's office, while he sat at 
his desk, clipping articles from the newspaper, and a few 
coupons to boot.

Mulder, for his part, tried to be as attentive as possible 
to her every need, without being too conspicuous about it. Deep 
down, he knew she secretly liked it when he spoiled her. Hell, 
she needed it once in awhile, although she'd be the last person 
to admit such a thing. Mulder actually did try to spoil her, make 
her life easier whenever he could. Part of it was because he was 
trying to make up for all the shit he put her through while they 
were working together on the X-Files so many years ago. And 
another part of him liked spoiling her solely because she was 
the woman he loved.

He truly believed that it was the little things, life's 
simplest pleasures that counted the most. And Mulder took that 
philosophy to heart whenever he could, especially when it 
concerned his beloved.

Scully spent two hours trying to get Mulder to tell her 
where he had hidden the birthday box her mom had sent her. 
She never did get it out of him, and was truly stumped, after 
doing only a cursory search through the house. (Mulder had 
hidden it in the one place she'd never dare venture- his laundry 
hamper. At least he had the foresight to remove his dirty socks 
and underwear first.) 

Then she spent an hour on the telephone, having 
returned Monica Reyes' call. At first, it was all business, 
Monica being one of their contacts who kept them aware of 
goings-on in the FBI regarding anything to do with a certain 
impending doomsday. That didn't last long. Monica had 
nothing concrete to report this time. The next 59 minutes were 
spent doing what both of the women actually wanted to do 
instead- shoot the breeze, catch up on each other's lives. 
Monica wished her an early happy birthday and the two hung 
up, content at having spent a little one-on-one girl friend time, 
even if only over the telephone.

After all that productivity, Scully further went into 
worker bee mode by making her and Mulder a nutritious- but 
still delicious- dinner, consisting of roasted chicken, broccoli 
and a green salad. Mulder sung her praises as a gourmet chef 
(which made her snicker) and had no qualms about going for a 
huge helping of seconds. Since it was mostly healthy, Scully 
didn't even nag him about it. It was a truly nice evening for all.

And like the true gentleman he was- which would have 
made Mulder snicker, had he known Scully thought of him that 
way- Mulder cleaned up all the dishes, while Scully got her hair 
pulled back in a nice, neat pony tail and applied the faintest 
trace of make-up. She left the bathroom looking like the 
consummate professional. Of course, Mulder informed her she 
was still hot stuff, and offered to muss up that hair and make-up 
a little with a quick, evening tryst on the couch. As much as she 
wanted to, she had to decline. Not enough time, she reasoned. 

Plus, she was still a little "saddle sore" from last night's 
escapades. She made a mental note to self: Sex in front of the 
fireplace was lovely. Sleeping on the floor all night was not!

When it was finally time to walk out the door and leave 
for the hospital, Scully felt a little bit blue. She was still licking 
the wounds from her battles of the night before. But like the 
good soldier she was- what happened last night was nothing 
compared to the horrors she'd been through while working at 
the FBI- she tamped down the feeling with a determined sigh. 
Her job was her job, and she had to take the good with the bad. 
She knew logically that she couldn't save everyone, even 
though the less logical side of her- the human side- of her cried 
inwardly over that fact every time she was faced with loss, pain 
and death. 

The good news was, after tonight's shift, she would 
have a three-day furlough. She and Mulder had been planning 
on doing some more renovations to their house, as well as do 
some editing on Mulder's memoirs. He had finally taken 
Scully's advice and decided to write it down and put it in a 
book. Mulder considered Scully to be an excellent editor. He 
told her, with a heartfelt smile, and a soft caress to her cheek 
when he'd first started this process, that she would keep him 
honest.

He would later almost come to regret those words of 
praise the time Scully pointed out to him that it was she- and 
not him- who had found the demonic doll that had possessed a 
New England girl and caused torture and death wherever she 
went. She also reminded him that she never called him a wild 
stallion after he had shot Robert Patrick Modell, jumping into 
his arms and making mad, passionate love to him right there on 
the floor in the hospital. "Poetic license?" he begged. She 
replied by threatening to make lentils and lima beans for the 
next six years for dinner. Knowing that she would hold up her 
end of the bargain, he begrudgingly re-re-wrote their history.

To smooth things over, Mulder also told her that she 
was his true inspiration... and a damn fine spell-checker, too.

Scully broke out of her happy reverie, and tied up the 
belt of her coat firmly about her thin waist and grabbed her brief 
case, purse and car keys. Mulder stood at the door, waiting to 
see her off.

"Got everything?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You sure? Keys? Lunch money? Your cell?" He started 
down the checklist they went through nearly every time she left.

"Yes, Mommy," she chided him the same way he had 
teased her a million times before.

"Insolent child," he retorted, sticking his tongue out at 
her. "Perhaps I should take you over my knee right now..."

She held up a hand. "No, Mulder. Your spankings are a 
little too kinky when it's this close to work time."

He smiled with that, well, I had to try look about him. 
"How's about a kiss, then?" he compromised.

"That I can do," she agreed wholeheartedly, throwing 
her one free arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. 
They kissed tenderly for several seconds before she reluctantly 
let go. "Better stop now, or I'll really be late for work," she said 
with a flirtatious twinkle in her eye.

"And you see a downside to that?" he asked. 

"Goodbye, Mulder," she chuckled, starting for the door.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked in genuine concern. 
He knew how much of a toll her last shift had taken on her.

"I am... thanks to you," she assured him with a loving 
smile. "Love you," she called as she stepped out into the cold, 
night air.

"Love you back!" she heard him reply before she shut 
the door. His response warmed her against the cold much better 
than her coat ever could.

***

Once back at Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital, Scully 
sighed, but squared her shoulders as she marched up the steps to 
the door. She wondered if she would battle against death again 
tonight. She further wondered if death would win again. But she 
forced the downbeat thought out of her head, instead 
concentrating on the here and now.

In the corridors, on the way down to her office, Scully 
came across numerous colleagues, acquaintances and a few of 
her on-going patients. All of them greeted her in a friendly 
manner, which put her more at ease. She wasn't sure if they had 
heard about what had happened the night before and felt 
sympathy for her, or if she was just that well-liked, but in the 
end, it didn't really matter. She just accepted it, smiled back, 
and let the warm welcome further enhance her mood.

Upon arriving at her office, Scully was surprised to find 
not one, but two bouquets of flowers waiting for her on her 
desk. "What's this?" she wondered aloud, though no one was 
around to answer her.

She picked up the card from the smaller bouquet, which 
consisted of a tasteful display of white carnations with baby's 
breath in a plastic, throwaway vase. The card read:

Dr. Scully,

I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last 
night, concerning my wife's accident. I know you did all you 
could to save her. I talked about it with my family, what you did 
and how you even came out to comfort me afterwards. I guess I 
was just upset and took it out on you. I'm really sorry. You did 
the best you could and that's all anyone of us can do. Please 
accept my apologies.

Sincerely,
Christopher Dutton and kids

A tear escaped Scully's eye. This small gesture 
reaffirmed her faith in so many things- primarily in her abilities 
and in humanity. After wiping at her eyes, Scully made a note 
to make sure she sent a bereavement wreath to the Dutton 
family. 

The second bouquet was large and filled with colorful, 
exotic flowers in a beautiful glass vase. It just screamed of 
Mulder. It made her smile even before she read the card.

In Mulder's nearly illegible scrawl, she deciphered:

What's up, Doc?

Just want to say that I can't wait for this 
weekend- for a number of reasons, but mostly because you'll be 
there with me.

Love,
M.
XOXO

Another full-wattage Scully smile lit up the room and 
the surrounding corridors. These smiles were becoming more 
and more common lately. Her partner just had the knack of 
putting them on her face.

Knowing she was going to breeze through this shift- she 
was already walking on air, floating on Cloud 9- Scully set out 
to make her rounds, anxious to help others in any way she 
could, and anticipating, with glee, going home to Mulder in the 
morning.

The End
08/11/08