Title: Don't Touch That Dial
Author: Polly - email@example.com
Feedback: Welcome and appreciated
Classification: MSR, post-episode, alternates between Mulder/Scully POV
Spoilers: Post "Millennium" (Season 7), and small references to lots of episodes
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions
Archive: Be my guest (Already archived at Ephemeral and Gossamer)
Notes: Written for the Haven May Sick Fic Challenge; elements at the end (Originally posted 5/26/2003)
Thanks: To Sybil for her always challenging challenges, to Peg's Girl for her always helpful assistance, and to all those who encourage me to continue to write
Summary: Not an ending, but a beginning
* * *  * * *
JANUARY 1, 2000
"The world didn't end."
"No, it didn't."
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed in her reaction. I was certainly hoping for a little more enthusiasm. Of course, it's been along time since I've kissed a woman with the intention of eliciting a little enthusiasm, so maybe I was out of practice.
I didn't expect the earth to end when I finally kissed her. But I did expect it to move a little.
For her, I mean. It did move for me. Oh, yes. There was definite movement. The kiss was chaste and sweet and perfect for the moment. But apparently it barely registered on the Scully Scale; she hardly raised an eyebrow. Oh yeah, Mulder. You rocked her world.
But she didn't slug me, so I suppose she had decided to humor me. After all, kissing someone - anyone - at the stroke of midnight as theold year passes into the new is a time-honored tradition, and doing so when one millennium passes into another (math geeks notwithstanding)is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I'm sure Scully decided to go with the flow since she is not one to buck tradition or to pass up once-in-a- lifetime opportunities very often.
"Happy new year, Scully," I said, trying to hide my frustration that the moment had been a lot more significant for me than it seemed to be for her.
"Happy new year, Mulder."
We headed for the door as Auld Lang Syne played quietly on the TV, and I slipped my good arm nonchalantly around her shoulders as we walked. I was buoyed by the fact that she didn't shrug it off, but dismayed that she didn't put her arm around my waist. It would have been such a natural thing to do, especially since I was still a bit unsteady on my feet. But she didn't.
I continued to feel sorry for myself all the way across the parking lot, but I didn't remove my arm until we stopped beside her car. I waited while she unlocked the door, tossed the Maryland road map into the back seat, and made the necessary mechanical adjustments for my long legs.
I climbed in and sighed as she pulled the shoulder belt across my chest, adjusting it slightly so it wouldn't put pressure on my arm. She leaned across me and fastened it securely, then placed her hand on my knee and looked into my eyes. "Comfy?" she asked, and I nodded.
Then she kissed me, so hard and so long that I thought I might pass out from lack of oxygen. Her tongue ventured so far into my mouth that I thought she might be doing the exploratory for a tonsillectomy. When she finally let me up for air, I was eternally grateful that the seatbelt was fastened. Otherwise, I would have slid into a boneless puddle right onto the sedan's floor.
"Happy new year, Mulder," she said with a sly smile, and gently nudged my damaged arm a little to the left so the door wouldn't hit my elbow as she pushed it shut. As I waited for her to get situated behind the wheel, I knew that I was looking positively giddy. She fastened her seat belt, took one look at my goofy grin, shook her head, and started the car to head us toward home.
The ride seemed as if it took no time at all, though I'm sure Scully didn't feel that way. She'd had just as little sleep as I'd had over the past two days, and she was trying to keep one eye on me and one eye on the road. New Year's revelers, some still probably under the influence, were hitting the highways in force and traffic was heavier than usual for this time of the early morning.
I mostly dozed, but when I wasn't sleeping I was replaying both kisses in super slow motion, providing play-by-play commentary in my head. I should have known that her reaction when I made my move at the hospital was typical Scully, not wanting to put on any display of affection in a public area like an ER waiting room - even though we were the only two people there. She wanted the moment to be private, so she held back until we were alone, and then she showed me how she really felt.
*Boy* did she show me.
I blinked groggily when the hum of the motor stopped and tried to get my bearings. We were in Georgetown, outside Scully's apartment building, and she was unsnapping my seat belt and easing me out of the car. I knew there was no point in protesting that she should take me home, I could take care of myself, yada, yada, yada, because it would fall on deaf ears. And truth be known, I really didn't want to protest.
She *did* put her arm around my waist this time as she guided me through the building and into her apartment. I tried to sit down on the sofa when we passed it, but her grip was strong and she kept me moving toward her bedroom. Once there, she sat me down on the edge of the bed and clicked on the table lamp.
"First, your pain meds," she said, pulling several prescription bottles out of her jacket pocket and lining them up on the nightstand. She returned with a glass of water before I barely registered that she'd left my side.
"I thought they gave me a shot at the hospital." I winced as she selected the correct bottle from the line-up and shook two pills into my outstretched palm. I hadn't noticed until now, but the arm was beginning to throb a bit.
"That was just to take the edge off," Scully said, taking the glass from my hand after I'd drained it. "Enough to get you home comfortably. This is the good stuff."
"Good stuff," I repeated as she removed my shoes, socks, and watch and unsnapped the sling holding my arm to ease my tee shirt over my head. She helped me stand up for a minute as she turned back the comforter and sheets, and then she held onto me with one arm while she unbuttoned and unzipped my slacks.
"A dream come true," I said as we both watched them drop unceremoniously to the floor. She gave me that sure, fine, whatever look and then pushed me back to lie down on the bed. The clock radio display read 2:04 a.m.
As she pulled the covers up over me, I managed a weak protest. "Scully, I'll sleep on the couch. I don't wanna kick you out of your bed."
"Who says I'm going anywhere?" She winked as she turned off the lamp and I followed her silhouette as she disappeared into the bathroom, returning a few minutes later dressed in a pair of her trademark satin pajamas.
I suppose my mouth was hanging open as she climbed into the bed beside me, because she grabbed my chin and closed it before planting her lips lightly on mine. "Goodnight, Mulder." She snuggled close, laying her head on my left shoulder and resting the palm of her left hand over my heart.
I could feel the pain pills kicking in big time, but that didn't stop me from snaking my hand under her pajama top and working my way up toward the curve of her breast.
"No, no," she scolded. "Not now. We'll have plenty of time for that tomorrow."
"S'already tomorrow," I mumbled.
"Nice try," she whispered in my ear. "Tomorrow."
I couldn't suppress the yawn. "'M holding you to that," I said, and drifted off with that same goofy grin plastered on my face.
Scully was definitely a woman of her word. She woke me a couple of times to make sure I took my medication, and we both slept till noon. But after that, the day was a blur of parades, bowl games, and lazy lovemaking. I'm generally very touch oriented when I make love to a woman, so the one-handed thing was new for me, but I think I improvised pretty well. Let me put it this way: I didn't hear any complaints.
We ordered in Chinese and made love again before we settled in for the night, and I drifted off contentedly, not believing my good fortune at having Dana Scully snuggled beside me for the second time in one day. It was off to such a good start, that I was convinced the year 2000 was going to be a very good year.
* * *  * * *
JANUARY 2, 2000
It's amazing how quickly you can get used to having Fox Mulder in your bed. I murmured his name when I woke up and didn't see his head on the pillow across from mine, but when I reached over to touch the space he had previously occupied and found the sheets wringing wet, I screamed his name at the top of my lungs.
It was then that I heard the retching coming from the bathroom, and I was out of the bed like a shot. When I snapped on the light, I couldn't believe it was the same man with whom I had shared a passionate afternoon and evening. He was slumped on the floor, hanging on to the toilet for dear life, dry heaves wracking his body. He was soaked in sweat, but when I touched his cheek, he was burning up.
I quickly wet a washcloth and knelt on the floor next to him, holding the cloth to his lips while I pushed back the hair that was clinging to his forehead. "Oh, Mulder, why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't want to wake you." He gasped for breath holding his stomach as he heaved. Finally he was able to speak again. "First I thought it was just bad Chinese, but now I don't think so."
"I don't think so either, Mulder," I said as I checked his pulse and his pupils. His heart was racing.
As I started to unfasten the sling, he looked up at me with those sad eyes that get me every time and asked, "Do you think I'm allergic to you, Scully?"
That was my Mulder, joking in the face of adversity. "No, I don't think so, Mulder," I responded. He cried out when I touched the arm and that confirmed my suspicions. "You sit tight. I'm gonna call for an ambulance."
I knew it was bad when he didn't lodge a complaint. When I got back from placing the 9-1-1 call, he was passed out on the bathroom floor.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
By 5 a.m. they had moved him out of the ER and into a regular room. I sat by his bedside, stroking his left hand with my thumb while I watched him sleep. The doctors assured me he would be fine, the infection in his arm caught early enough to be treated with systemic antibiotics and topical antiseptics. He would need lots of bed rest and the wounds and stitches would need to be cleaned and irrigated regularly, but that was something I'd be able to do. The doctors wanted to keep him for a few hours, but said he'd be able to go home as soon as the fever went down.
I had called Skinner to let him know about Mulder's setback and he was genuinely concerned. He assured me that Mulder would have all the time he needed to recuperate, despite the recent drain on his sick leave thanks to that damned artifact and all the trouble it caused all of us.
I touched Mulder's forehead to assure myself that the fever was indeed subsiding and he opened his eyes. I smiled, glad to see that those beautiful hazel orbs were much clearer and brighter than they had been a few hours ago. He licked his lips and I raised the bed slightly and spooned a few ice chips into his mouth.
"No water for a little while, Mulder," I said, wiping away some drops that had dribbled down his chin. "We want to make sure your stomach is settled first."
"What happened?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"It was my fault." I gave him a few more ice chips and set the cup and spoon back on the tray. "I should have been checking your arm regularly for signs of infection. But I was somewhat distracted."
He managed a soft chuckle.
"It's not funny, Mulder. You could have died."
"But what a way to go," he rasped.
It was my turn to laugh and I took his hand in mine again, resuming the soft stroking of my thumb over his knuckles. I knew that would eventually lull him back to sleep.
We sat in silence for a few minutes and then he spoke again, his voice a little stronger this time. "Is that what was wrong? My arm was infected?"
"Infection was definitely beginning to set in," I told him. "The doctors up at Rice County did a good job of patching you up, but unfortunately there's not exactly a conventional course of treatment for someone who's been mauled by decaying corpses. Your arm was pretty badly torn up, and the risk of infection was high given that it's hard to tell what kinds of bacteria those things might have passed along to you."
He let go of my hand and reached up to trace the scratches along my neck. "I'm fine, Mulder. These are just superficial. I had a tetanus booster, just in case." I guided his hand back down to the bed. "Your arm looked a bit like ground hamburger when I found you and Frank in that basement, but it really did look worse than it was. Still, it's going to take you a little while to get full mobility back, especially to get recertified with your weapon. And you're going to have to learn to use your left hand for awhile."
"I always wanted to be a southpaw," he yawned.
"Well, I'm sure you'll be as good as new soon," I said, checking his forehead again. Only slightly warm now. "All in all, you were very lucky. Those things could have killed you."
"Saved by my magic circle of salt." He smiled and yawned again.
"And your necktie," I added. "If you hadn't made that necktie tourniquet, you probably would have bled to death before I got there."
"I always knew there was a reason I wore those things ..." His voice drifted off and soon he was snoring softly. I continued to watch him until I was sure he was sound asleep and then I leaned back in my chair, pulling the blanket the nurse had provided up to my chin.
The new year was barely two days old and we'd already made two trips to the ER. I hoped this wasn't an omen of things to come in the year 2000.
* * *  * * *
JANUARY 3, 2000
They finally released me from the hospital about 11 a.m. yesterday, and Scully hasn't let me "distract" her once since then. And don't think I haven't tried. She is absolutely focused on my recovery, insisting on complete bed rest, arm elevated at all times, no exertion. She makes sure I take my medication exactly when it's due - not one minute before, not one minute after.
We just finished lunch and I was preparing to settle into the sofa for a Star Trek marathon when she clicked off the TV and grabbed my hand. "Come on, Mulder. Time to change the dressing on your arm."
"But Scully," I whined, "it's Star Trek. Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, the whole Enterprise gang."
"It'll be on all day, Mulder," she said, pulling me along to our destination. Once there, she sat me down on the edge of the bed, loosened the sling, released my bandaged arm, and pulled off my tee shirt.
"I think this was just an excuse to get me in the bedroom." I waggled my eyebrows seductively, but she wasn't biting.
"Lay back on the bed," she called to me over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom to gather up the supplies she would need to change the bandage.
I complied and twiddled my thumbs until she returned. The arm was a little tender, but it felt good to have it out of confinement and to be assured that I could flex my fingers without pain.
Scully returned quickly and spread her instruments out on a towel she laid on the bed. When she started to cut off the old bandage, I turned my head, not really wanting to look at the lines of stitches that were hidden beneath it.
"It looks much better today, Mulder," she said as she cleaned around the stitches, applied the antiseptic, and rebandaged the arm from wrist to elbow. I just nodded, almost daring to sneak a peek but deciding against it at the last moment. I didn't want to risk barfing all over Scully's comforter.
"All done," she said, and bent over to kiss me on the forehead before picking up the towel and returning to the bathroom. I just lay there, basking in the afterglow, glad that the physical displays of affection were returning slowly but surely.
How lucky I am, I thought, to have a doctor who's a dedicated professional one minute and a hot lover the next. That only happens on soap operas. Sometimes it seems like Scully and I live soap opera lives; we have things happen to us week after week, month after month, year after year that no one would believe (like having your arm gnawed on by dead FBI agents, for instance). "Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives." Come to think of it, I think Scully and I have gone through more trials and tribulations than Bo and Hope Brady, the royal couple of daytime drama.
Okay, so I got hooked on 'Days' while I was recuperating from my unscheduled brain surgery. Sue me.
* * *  * * *
When I came out of the bathroom, he seemed lost in thought. I don't think he even noticed that I'd returned to the bedroom until I placed the items in my arms onto the night table and turned to face him, hands determinedly on my hips. He eyed me warily and started to sit up.
"Stay right there, Mulder," I said, pushing the sleeves of my sweatshirt up to my elbows. "While you're in here, I'm going to give you a bath."
He laughed. "I'd rather take a shower. With you."
"I'm sure you would." I tried to muster up my most disapproving face to hide the fact that I would like nothing better as well. "But it's too risky. Even with a plastic bag, the area might get too wet. I'm afraid a sponge bath will have to do."
I reached down to slide his sweatpants over his hips and he grabbed my wrist with his left hand. "Scully, what are you doing?"
I pushed his hand away and deftly slid the pants down his legs, dragging his boxers along with them. "Come on, Mulder, I've never known you to be modest. Trust me, neither one of us will die of embarrassment."
"Easy for you to say."
I tried to be as clinical as possible, talking about anything and everything as I soaped, rinsed, and patted dry every part of him, but it was hard to keep my mind (and fingers) focused on the work. A girl didn't get a chance like this every day, after all. His beautiful body, stretched out on my bed, as naked as the day he was born, vulnerable, trusting - and silent.
I'd never known Fox Mulder to keep his mouth shut for such an extended period of time; he was obviously focusing all his concentration on avoiding any unexpected reaction to my ministrations. Who would have guessed the king of innuendo and the double entendre could be so incredibly shy? It was sweet and endearing, and it was thrilling to realize that I could still learn something new about him after seven years together. And of course, it would make great fodder for some good-natured teasing later on. I always relished the opportunity to be the one to "dish it out" for a change.
"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" I asked as I dropped clean sweatpants and boxers on the bed and sat down beside him.
"A Nurse Nancy fantasy come to life."
I laughed and leaned over to kiss him, softly at first but then with purpose. My hand rested on his chest and I trailed my fingers through the coarse hair and gently dragged one fingernail across a nipple. That got a rise out of him, so to speak.
"Are you sure my HMO covers this?" he asked as he tucked my hair behind my ear.
"It covers all services provided by your primary care physician," I replied, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. "With a ten dollar co-pay, of course."
"I'll get my checkbook."
My head told me to stop this right now and get his arm back in the sling, but my heart told me to ignore my head and focus on alternative forms of treatment. A half-hour or so couldn't really hurt, could it? Okay, an hour, tops.
* * *  * * *
JANUARY 4, 2000
Scully stopped in her tracks, like a deer caught in the headlights of a two-ton truck. "What?"
"Daniel," I repeated, and held up the gold pen that I'd found between the sofa cushions. "Who is he?"
She struggled to regain her composure and continued her trek to the living room. She sat the bowls of chips and salsa on the coffee table and took the pen from my hand, rolling it between her fingers.
"I'd forgotten all about this," she said. "I misplaced it a long time ago and then I forgot about it. Where did you find it?"
"Down here," I replied, slipping my hand between the cushions, then reaching for a chip. "So who's Daniel?"
"Nobody. A friend." She went back to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two glasses of iced tea. "So what are we going to watch?"
She obviously forgot she was talking to Fox Mulder, the man who knew why they put the "I" in "FBI." "Must have been a pretty close friend to give you an expensive gold pen for your birthday."
She looked at me in surprise. "The inscription," I explained. "'To Dana, Love Daniel, 2/23/89'. Your birthday."
"He was just somebody that I used to know," she said, handing me the remote control. "I'll tell you about him some other time. Anyway, I thought you wanted to watch television."
I nodded and clicked on the TV. I'd let her win this round, but I would find out about "Daniel" eventually. I don't know why it always affects me like this when I realize that Scully had a life before she met me. Somehow I want to believe that nothing and no one existed for her before that day in 1992 when she knocked on my office door and walked into my life. In my mind, she sprouted there, full grown, like the Goddess Athena, incredibly beautiful and dressed in full body armor.
My melancholy faded and the thought of Daniel was filed away when she snuggled against me and drew my arm around her shoulder. I smiled and began to surf through the channels one by one.
After a few minutes she grabbed the remote from my hand and sat up straight. "Mulder, what the hell are you doing?"
"Watching TV," I replied, trying to take back the remote. When she wouldn't surrender it, I grabbed another chip loaded with salsa.
"But you're not watching anything. You're just flipping through the channels."
"That's how men watch TV, Scully." In her moment of confusion I snatched the remote and pointed it at the TV, happy to be clicking through the channels again. "It's because we're hunters. Our most primal instincts at work right here in the 21st century. You wouldn't understand because you're a woman. A gatherer. Men hunt, women gather."
I stopped channel surfing for a moment while I explained. "Since the beginning of time there has been a basic difference between men and women, other than the obvious I mean. Men are the hunters, women are the gatherers. Men kill the game, women make the nest. The way we watch TV just proves that things are no different today."
The crossed arms and ascending eyebrow didn't even slow me down.
"Men point the remote control at the TV like a weapon, zapping the stations as they pass by. We don't want to stop to examine the kill, we just want to kill something else. Women go through the channels slowly, stopping at each station to pick up information before moving on. Hunters versus gatherers. Get it?"
"That's a pretty sexist observation," she said, grabbing a tortilla chip for herself, sans salsa.
I just shrugged and continued to click. "Hey, I didn't invent it. I just follow the rules."
"I've never known you to follow the rules for anything." She caught me at a weak moment and grabbed the remote out of my hand. "Well, let's just *gather* some information and decide what we want to watch, okay?"
"Okay," I answered, holding my bandaged arm with the other and sticking my bottom lip out as far as it would go. "Whatever you say."
She rolled her eyes and dropped the remote in my lap. "All right, but let's compromise. Zap slowly so I can at least get a look at the *kill* to see if it's worth *gathering*."
I grinned from ear to ear. There wasn't a woman alive who could resist the Mulder Puppy Dog Pout. I raised my trusty remote and took aim.
Jerry Springer - no.
CNN - no.
Friends - no.
Championship billiards - no.
Leave It to Beaver - no.
Martha Stewart - no.
ER - definitely no.
NCAA cheerleader championships - maybe.
"I'm getting dizzy," Scully said from her spot beside me on the sofa. She had her head against my shoulder, her legs were tucked up underneath her, and she was absently stroking my thigh. Since I had no desire to lose that contact, I decided to slow down.
I paused on the next click to allow her time to gather information. It was the movie "Speed," and Keanu was getting his morning coffee just before Dennis Hopper blows up the bus as a message to Keanu's character, Jack.
"Today, we've secretly replaced Keanu's grand latte with Folger's crystals," I said in my best Tom Servo imitation.
"Wow, 'Mystery Science Theater', live and in person."
I turned my head and stared at her. "Be still my heart. Scully, don't tell me you're a Mistie?"
"Oh, I've been known to watch a bad movie or two in the name of mystery science." She winked at me. "And I've seen enough of this one. It brings back too many bad memories of you in a car that could only go in one direction. Zap on."
I hadn't thought of Patrick Crump in ages. I sighed and shook off the memory. I didn't want anything to spoil this evening. Scully had to go back to work tomorrow, at least for part of the day, so this dream world I'd been living in for four days was about to come to an end.
"Your wish is my command," I said, pushing the channel button on the remote again. "Look Scully, I'm getting pretty good with my left hand."
"I don't think that's the kind of therapy the doctor had in mind." She reached for another chip. "Oh, stop. It's 'M*A*S*H*'."
I stopped zapping again to watch Hawkeye and B.J. concoct a prank to play on Frank Burns. "Hey, Scully, did you know that the 'M*A*S*H*' theme song is 'Suicide is Painless'?"
My endless supply of useless information was obviously not impressing her. So I tried another tactic. "Okay, Scully, pop quiz. Trapper John McIntyre or B.J. Hunnicutt?"
"Henry Blake or Sherman Potter?"
"Frank Burns or Charles Winchester?"
I smiled broadly. "'Mystery Science Theater,' a 'M*A*S*H*' purist. You know, Scully, it's still not too late to start picking out those china patterns."
She ignored me as always. "I never really watch much TV when I'm home," she said, "but 'M*A*S*H*' seems to be one of those shows that's always on. Sort of like 'I Love Lucy.' No matter what city we're in, no matter what time of the day or night we get there, you flip on the TV and 'M*A*S*H*' or 'I Love Lucy' is on. We're usually wrapped up in such horrific cases that I always just look for something to make me laugh. That's why I like the early years of 'M*A*S*H*.' Before it got too preachy, too moralizing. I liked it better when it was just funny."
It felt wonderful sitting here listening as she revealed little bits and pieces of herself. It was a new experience and I liked it. I was about to tell her so when she placed her thumb over mine on the remote and clicked to the next channel, reminding me that she was not your average gatherer.
I laughed and clicked a few more times, then stopped when I spotted Tom Hanks and John Candy on the screen. "Hey, it's 'Volunteers'." I dropped the remote on the coffee table (reminding myself that I wasn't your average hunter either) and took a long swig of iced tea. "Have you ever seen this movie, Scully?"
"I don't think so." She yawned and slipped her head into my lap, circling her arms around my knees. "What's it about?"
I ran my fingers through her hair as I spoke. "Tom Hanks is this spoiled playboy who has to flee the country to escape his gambling debts. He sneaks on this plane that's filled with Peace Corps volunteers on their way to Thailand to build a bridge for a village. But being more of a capitalist than an altruist he starts finding ways to turn a profit and begins to improve the conditions around him, much to the chagrin of the idealists who volunteered to make the world a better place in a different way. He eventually learns a lot about himself and changes his ways."
"What makes him do that?" she asked sleepily.
"The love of a good woman," I answered quickly. "You know, Tom Hanks met his wife while he was making this movie. I think there's a huge lesson to be learned there."
She looked up at me. "What's that?"
"That sometimes people who work together are destined to be together, no matter how hard they try to deny it."
She sat up, wiggled into my lap (being careful of my injury, of course), and put her arms around my neck. She kissed me sweetly and chastely, nearly a carbon copy of the kiss we had shared at the stroke of midnight just a few days ago, when one millennium slipped into another.
"I'm really glad you kissed me at New Year's," she said, her fingernails tickling the hair on the back of my neck.
The goofy grin was in danger of returning. "Me too."
"And I'm really glad that the world didn't end." The light from the TV was flickering in her beautiful blue eyes, making them sparkle more than usual.
"Me too," I agreed, with thoughts of giving her a carbon copy of the second kiss we'd shared that night dancing in my head. "So many people were afraid that the year 2000 meant the end of everything," Scully said. "But for us, it's a new beginning, isn't it?"
I just nodded and she hugged me tight (still being careful of my arm). She tugged my earlobe between her teeth and then whispered in my ear. "Happy New Millennium, Mulder."
"I thought you said the Millennium didn't start until 2001?" I whispered back, filling my nostrils with the glorious mixture of soap, shampoo, and just a dab of Chanel No. 5 that was Eau de Scully.
"Nobody likes a math geek, Mulder." She began to blaze a trail of kisses down my jawline, and I knew where those lips would eventually end up. Lucky me.
I *was* a lucky man. For the first time in a long time I had a good feeling about the year that lay ahead. A new year, a new millennium. And Scully was right: A new beginning.
* * *  * * *
Sick Fic - one character caring for another
Finding something you didn't know was lost (or you Forgot about)
Volunteers or volunteering
Mystery Science Theater