Sweet Surrender 
by Polly

Email:  polly122456@yahoo.com
Classification:  MSR, Mulder POV, Humor
Rating:  R
Spoilers: Takes place between "Milagro" and "The 
Unnatural." Lots of references to many episodes 
through the entire series up to and including most of 
Season 6

Disclaimer:  Not mine; all XF characters belong to 
1013 Productions

Notes: This is a companion to my story "Sweet 
Dreams," which can be found here: 
http://cleigh6.tripod.com/polly/sweetdreams.txt. 
You don't have to read that one for this one to make 
sense, but it would probably help. Thanks to Peg's Girl 
and Phantagrae for being wonderful betas
Archive:  If you want it, it's yours
Feedback:  Always welcome and appreciated
Summary:  Mulder gives a gift and gets one in return


*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

"Easy now. Not so fast. Let's do this nice and slow. 
Just a little more. Almost there. That's it!  Let it 
go!"

Scully's knees buckled and she let out an exhausted 
breath that puffed aside a few strands of hair that 
weren't plastered to her forehead.  Sweat was pouring 
down my back and I straightened up gingerly, 
stretching the kinks out of my spine.

"Man, that is just beautiful!"

Frohike stood at the end of the bed, hands on hips, 
grinning from ear to ear.  Scully shook her head and 
fell into the desk chair with a grunt, while I simply 
slid down the wall and collapsed in a heap on the 
floor.

Frohike pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket 
and cleaned the streaks of sweat from his glasses.  
"Come on, guys.  We're almost done. Let's get it 
filled up."

"Just hold your horses," I said, motioning for Scully 
to toss me the bottled water I'd left sitting on the 
desk.  She complied, and I took a long swig.  "Let us 
catch our breath for a second, okay?  You've had us 
going nonstop all day."

He replaced his glasses and tucked the handkerchief 
back in his pocket.  "Wuss."

"Slave driver."

Scully chuckled at our bickering and handed Frohike 
one of the water bottles before taking a sip from her 
own.  "I know you're anxious," she said, "but you've 
been working as hard as we have.  You need to stay 
hydrated."

Anything for Scully, of course.  He took a drink and 
gazed at the new addition to his bedroom.  "Just 
beautiful."

It certainly was.  I glanced up into the mirrored 
canopy and sighed. I loved this bed, and I was going 
to miss it. I never did find out who was responsible 
for leaving it in my apartment or why -- one more X-
File I'd never solve -- but I'd learned to enjoy it 
immensely.  In the three months I had it, I'd never 
slept better, the gentle rocking apparently just the 
cure for the insomnia that had plagued me my entire 
adult life.

But then a few weeks ago the waterbed sprang a leak, 
damaging my apartment and the one below mine; and 
that indiscretion proved to be the straw that broke 
the proverbial camel's back.  The landlord was 
intensely serious when he delivered his ultimatum:  
"The bed goes, or you do."

In the 12 years I'd lived at Hegal Place, the 
residents of my building were treated to a wide 
variety of mischief and mayhem: shootings, stabbings, 
break-ins, wiretaps, fistfights, one killer bee 
attack, and a couple of killer keg parties (in my 
younger days). My neighbors drank poisoned water and 
were tossed out on the street for four days thanks to 
Diana's bogus HazMat scare -- for no reason other 
than their great misfortune to reside under the same 
roof as Fox W. Mulder.  But never was I threatened 
with eviction -- until my unlawful waterbed sprang a 
leak.  How ironic.

I contemplated the irony in silence as I paid the 
damages and sat through my landlord's lecture, 
nodding every so often and saying "yes sir" when it 
was over.  It reminded me of the "sex talk" my father 
gave me when I was fifteen.  Come to think of it, I 
found that pretty ironic too.

Two weeks ago, my landlord and I stood side by side 
and watched the coroner remove the body -- and heart 
-- of Phillip Padgett from the building's incinerator 
room floor and the only thing he said to me was "Did 
you get rid of that bed yet?" I promised him I was 
going to take care of it very soon, but I wanted to 
tell him that he needed to get his priorities 
straight.

I took another drink and tried to ignore whatever it 
was that was tapping me impatiently on the shoulder. 
Frohike tossed the end of the hose into my lap, and I 
knew I was only postponing the inevitable.  Scully 
smirked as I rolled my eyes, retrieved the waterbed 
hose connector from the plastic bag on the night 
table, and reluctantly pushed myself up to kneel next 
to the bed. "You sure the hose is clean?" I asked 
Frohike as I screwed the connector onto the end of 
the garden hose.

"As a whistle," he replied.  "Flushed it out this 
morning."

"Okay, then," I said, preparing to attach the hose 
connector to the mattress valve.  "Go hook it up and 
I'll tell you when. Oh, and toss me a towel."

Frohike disappeared into the bathroom and a moment 
later a towel came sailing out the door, narrowly 
missing the back of my head.  I wrapped the towel 
around the connector to soak up any leakage and 
poured in the waterbed conditioner.  Confident that 
everything was in order, I called out, "Okay, let 'er 
rip!" and a few seconds later, the water began to 
flow.

When I finally accepted the fact that I had to get 
rid of the waterbed, it seemed only right that 
Frohike should have it.  He was the one who persuaded 
me not to toss it out into the street the night I 
came home from Area 51 and discovered it in my 
apartment; and he was the one who turned me on to the 
pleasures of slumber on the high seas.  So I told him 
the bed was his if he wanted it.  All he had to 
supply was the new mattress and the manpower to get 
it moved out of my apartment.  He assured me he and 
the boys could handle the moving if they had just a 
little extra muscle, and in a weak moment, I agreed 
to help.

This morning Frohike showed up on my doorstep with a 
rented truck but no Byers and Langley, explaining 
they had to leave town unexpectedly late last night 
to pursue a lead from a highly trusted source. I 
suggested we put off the move till next Saturday, but 
Frohike started ranting that it was too late to get 
his deposit back on the truck and that money didn't 
grow on trees. I shut up and went to work.

I glanced over at Scully who was busy removing 
parcels from shopping bags.  Frohike told me he'd 
asked her for help in decorating his new boudoir, and 
I was floored when he said she'd agreed.  He took her 
to lunch one day last week and the two of them went 
shopping all afternoon.

While they were gone, I tried to figure out whatever 
would possess Scully to look happy about the prospect 
of picking out bedspread patterns with Frohike, and 
through my brilliant deductive reasoning I surmised 
that maybe she missed doing "girly" stuff.  I know 
she used to have female friends, but I couldn't 
remember the last time she'd mentioned one.  She used 
to do things with her mother too, but their 
relationship seemed more distant of late.

The more I thought about it, the clearer it became. 
My unyielding pursuit of the truth had not only 
consumed my own personal life, but Scully's as well. 
I didn't mean for it to happen; somewhere along the 
way it just did. She gave up bridal showers, kids' 
birthday parties, and family dinners to chase lights 
in the sky with me, and now all she had to look 
forward to was the occasional shopping trip with 
Melvin Frohike.

"How we doing out there?" Scully's new best 
girlfriend called from the bathroom.

I eyeballed the water level and laid my palm against 
the mattress to test its rigidity.  "Keep going," I 
said.  "It needs to be firmer."

"Dude, I bet you say that to all the girls."

Scully's giggle floated across the room before she 
could stifle it.  As soon as I looked up she turned 
away, returning her attention to the important task 
of matching prints and solids and deciding which of 
the many purchases should go on the bed first.

It was nice to see her smiling and laughing after two 
difficult weeks of dealing with the aftereffects of 
Phillip Padgett and his very vivid imagination.  She 
clung to me for hours, sobbing, after the "psychic 
surgeon" tried to pull her heart out of her chest, 
but in the days that followed she'd become distant 
and withdrawn. I was sure she considered her 
breakdown "conduct unbecoming of a Scully" and her 
isolation was self-imposed penance for that 
indecorous action. Today she seemed relaxed and 
happy, finally able to put the ordeal with Padgett 
behind her -- behind us.

While surprised that she agreed to be Frohike's 
interior decorator, I was more shocked to find her on 
my doorstep this morning bearing bagels and 
Starbucks. I asked Frohike how he talked her into 
giving up a precious Saturday to help us; he said 
she'd insisted, figuring the odds were better than 
even that if left to our own devices, one of us would 
require medical attention before the day was through.  
I would have been insulted except she was probably 
right.

As it turned out, her presence was a godsend, not for 
her medical expertise, but for her knowledge of 
physics, aerodynamics, and construction. If Frohike 
and I had disassembled that bed, we would have had a 
lot of shattered glass to clean up and about 14 years 
of bad luck between us -- on top of the trip to the 
emergency room.  Scully took the bed apart in no time 
flat and made sure each fragile piece was well 
protected for transport.  After our safe arrival at 
the Gunmen's, she put everything back together again 
with the speed and precision of a pit crew at the 
Indy 500.

I tried to insist that Scully was the brains of the 
outfit and thus should let Frohike and me do all the 
manual labor, but she'd have none of it.  She toted 
just as many heavy pieces to and from the truck as we 
did.  I always knew Scully had a tremendous inner 
strength, but I never realized how physically strong 
she was.

And she could work wonders with power tools.  What a 
turn-on.

I looked over at the object of my "tool time" desire 
who was waiting for us to finish filling the mattress 
so she could go into decorator mode.  She was leaning 
against the kitchenette counter, taking small sips 
from her water bottle, when she noticed I was 
staring. I flashed a quick smile and got a brilliant 
one in return, the kind of smile that I imagined she 
saved only for me; the kind that made life worth 
living.

She closed her eyes and held the water bottle against 
her cheek, the condensation sending droplets of 
liquid rolling down her neck and across her 
collarbone, disappearing into the hint of cleavage 
visible just above the v-neck of her forest green tee 
shirt. I followed the water's likely path, imagining 
the twists and turns it would take as it trickled 
down her body, unobstructed by silk and cotton. What 
an unexpected treat to see her like this. It was a 
day filled with unanticipated pleasures, and my eyes 
continued their journey downward to come to rest on 
the biggest surprise of them all: my partner in blue 
jeans.

In the more than six years we'd been together, I 
could count on one hand the number of times I'd seen 
Scully's delightful derriere decked out in denim. It 
was most definitely something worth waiting for.  
Blue jeans hugged her curves in all the right places, 
they made her look softer and younger somehow, and 
whenever she wore them, I thought up new and improved 
ways to take them off.  How many times had I dreamed 
of popping that button, taking that zipper in my 
teeth? I could almost feel Scully's breath on the 
back of my neck ...

"You're going to have another leak if you're not 
careful, Mulder."

My eyes snapped open and it took me a moment to 
remember where I was.  Scully was barely three feet 
away, leaning against the bedpost, her arms folded 
across her chest.  She had a huge grin on her face 
and her eyes were warm and playful. "Turn the water 
off, Frohike," she called out.  "I think things are 
quite firm enough in here now."

I tried to re-create the disapproving look Scully 
usually gives me when she's on the receiving end of 
the innuendo, but I couldn't duplicate it so I 
waggled my eyebrows seductively instead.  She patted 
my shoulder knowingly and started to turn away, but I 
grabbed her wrist.  "Stay here a second," I said as I 
disconnected the hose.  "I need your help with 
something."

I pulled the end of the hose into the bathroom so 
Frohike could drain it properly and returned a moment 
later with a broom.  I waved Scully around to the 
opposite side of the bed.  "Go around there and take 
this."  I extended the broom across the mattress so 
that we were each holding one end.  "Now put it 
against the mattress like this ... and now push 
slowly." She mirrored my actions and we inched our 
way toward the mattress valve.

"Um, what are we doing exactly?" she asked.

"Removing the air bubbles," I explained. "Frohike 
will have to do it again in a few days." We reached 
the end of the mattress and satisfied with our work, 
I propped the broom up against the wall. "Now all we 
have to do is insert the plug ..." I paused my play-
by-play as I completed each action. "Screw on the cap 
... and plug in the temperature control system. Set 
it at 85 degrees ... and voila! We're done."

"You've certainly learned a lot about the care and 
maintenance of a waterbed."

I looked at the bed forlornly.  "Well, I did a lot of 
research. I wanted to keep it."

"I still don't understand why you bought it," she 
said. "Especially when you knew it wasn't allowed. 
You knew someone would find out eventually."

"I told you, Scully, I didn't buy it. It just 
appeared."

She raised an eyebrow. "Out of thin air. Yes, I 
remember, you told me. I just thought you'd have a 
better story by now. Buying a waterbed is nothing to 
be ashamed of, Mulder.  Lots of people have them.  
The mirror -- that's another story."

I opened my mouth to assure her I wasn't going 
through an early mid-life crisis when Frohike emerged 
from the bathroom, the hose neatly rolled up and 
resting on his shoulder.  "All done in there," he 
said. "Oh, man, it looks fantastic!"

The phone in the Gunmen office started to ring and he 
looked at us apologetically. "Sorry, I'd better get 
that.  Might be the guys."

We watched him go and Scully drafted me to put cases 
on the new pillows they'd bought while she unfolded 
the sheets and blanket. We worked in silence until 
Frohike returned. He was pulling on his jacket as he 
came through the bedroom door.

"That wasn't the guys," he said breathlessly, "but it 
was our informant.  He's got some more data we need 
to follow up on, but he won't give it to me over the 
phone. I told him I'd meet him just down the block. I 
shouldn't be more than a half-hour or so. You two 
okay with that?"

"Sure," Scully answered, glancing at me before she 
continued. "We'll finish up in here and when you get 
back we can go for that nice dinner you promised us."

"It's a date." Frohike took Scully's hand and kissed 
it lightly, then reached for mine but I pulled it 
back quickly. "You two are the best," he said. "I'll 
be back in a flash. Make yourselves comfortable." And 
with that he was gone, pushing the bedroom door 
closed behind him.

Scully and I glanced at our watches in unison. She 
shrugged, and we picked up the linens and went to 
work.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

"Anyway, they have one main kitchen but each bedroom 
has a kitchenette -- sort of like an efficiency 
apartment."

We tucked in our hospital corners and Scully smoothed 
the blanket with the palm of her hand. "I'm just glad 
to learn they don't all sleep in the same bed."

"They're not the seven dwarfs, Scully."

She unfolded the comforter and tossed one side toward 
me. "For your information, Mulder, the seven dwarfs 
don't sleep in the same bed either." We unfurled the 
comforter over the length of the mattress.  "It's 
just not what I expected, that's all. For example, 
there's no TV in here. I expected Frohike to have 
state-of-the-art video capability."

I laughed as she tossed me a pillow.  "He does.  
Behind that wall." I pointed across the room.  
"There's a remote here somewhere that controls it.  
The wall retracts into the ceiling and there's a big 
screen system behind it.  Very James Bond."

Scully finished fluffing the pillows and I stood at 
the end of the bed and admired our job well done. "It 
really looks nice, Scully. Very classy."  I sat down 
on the end of the bed and was overcome by nostalgia -
- the gentle waves were just as nice as I remembered.

"Everything we bought goes together so he can mix and 
match." Scully sat down tentatively next to me and 
adjusted to the ripples our combined weight created. 
"I can understand why you liked this, Mulder. It's 
nice." She reclined back and folded her hands over 
her stomach.  "And that is quite a view."

I fell back beside her and entwined my fingers behind 
my head.  "The rocking motion is relaxing, isn't it?"

I was busy creating all new fantasies as I watched 
our bodies move back and forth, when I noticed a 
funny look on Scully's face.  For a moment, I thought 
the seafarer's daughter was going to be sick.  
"What's wrong?" I asked.

"That is so weird," she said.  "I just had the 
strangest feeling of deja vu. It's like I distinctly 
remember laying in this bed with you, just like this, 
staring up into the mirror."

I smirked. "Trust me, I would remember that."

She slapped me lightly on the arm.  "Like I said. 
Weird."

"Maybe it's the bed," I offered. "Remember the day it 
sprang a leak? I was having lots of deja vu moments."

"Well, I'm sure if anyone would have a possessed bed, 
Mulder, it would be you."

"Frohike," I corrected. The phone in the outer office 
started to ring and we both sat up. I reluctantly 
left my comfortable spot and turned toward the 
bedroom door. "Speak of the devil," I said. "He 
probably wants us to meet him."

Scully stood up and turned her back to me, smoothing 
over the indentations our bodies had left on the 
bedcovers. When I reached the door, I couldn't help 
looking back over my shoulder to sneak a peek. How I 
wish she would wear those jeans more often. I blindly 
grabbed the doorknob, turned, and took a step all in 
one motion.

"Ouch!" I rubbed the end of my nose where it 
connected sharply with the heavy metal. I tried 
turning the knob again, first with one hand, then 
both. I pushed against the door with my full weight, 
but it didn't budge.

Scully came up behind me.  "What's the matter?"

"The door's locked," I said, rubbing my nose again.

"It's probably just stuck." Scully jiggled the knob 
several times and we both pushed against it as hard 
as we could. After a few minutes of frustration, 
Scully pounded it angrily with her fist.  "What's 
this door made out of? Steel?"

"Reinforced steel." In response to her odd 
expression, I added, "It's a survive-the-apocalypse 
thing. The deadbolt is controlled electronically. You 
have to punch in the combination on the keypad to 
lock or unlock it. Frohike must have hit it 
accidentally when he left."

"I saw the keypad outside when we came in. But 
there's no keypad in here."

"It's on the remote," I said. "Same one you use to 
control the wall in front of the TV. But it doesn't 
seem to be around."

"Maybe we could shoot the lock.  Open it that way."

"We could try, but I doubt it. Especially since I 
left my gun at my apartment." I nodded at her. "You?"

She shook her head. "I didn't think moving a bed 
would require firepower. I should have known better." 
Scully scanned the room quickly. "No phone. My cell 
is in my jacket which is in your car."

"Ah, cell phone." I reached into my pocket and 
flipped the phone open. "Crap. No signal." I tucked 
the phone away again, walked back to the bed, and 
leaned against the post.  "I guess we wait. Don't 
worry. If that was Frohike on the phone, he'll wonder 
why we didn't answer and be back in no time."

"What if it wasn't Frohike?"

"Well, he said he'd only be gone a little while." I 
looked at my watch. "It's only been 45 minutes. I'm 
sure he'll be back soon."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

A half-hour later it was almost 6 p.m. and still no 
Frohike. While we waited, Scully and I made small 
talk, covering important issues like the weather, 
Monica Lewinsky, and where I might have left the 
receipt for the minivan we rented in Arcadia.  I was 
sprawled out on the bed, enjoying it while I still 
could, and Scully opted for Frohike's swivel desk 
chair, fingering through the books and papers on his 
desk before leaning back to study the framed works of 
art displayed tastefully on the walls.

I flipped over onto my stomach and pulled a pillow 
under my chest. "Bet you didn't know Frohike was a 
connoisseur of fine art, huh?"

She smiled. "Well, I'm not surprised to see paintings 
of nudes on Frohike's walls, but I *am* surprised 
that they're not on black velvet." She stood up and 
started walking slowly around the room, pausing to 
look at each painting carefully.  "Byers and Langly 
... are their rooms like this?"

"Similar," I said. "Langly has a big TV, but mostly 
to play video games. Byers doesn't have a TV; he has 
books -- floor to ceiling along one wall. Mostly 
reference, some collectible."

Scully stopped beside the bed and folded her arms 
across her chest. "How do they afford all this?" she 
asked. "I mean, they usually look like they don't 
have two nickels to rub together. How do they afford 
fine art and fancy books, not to mention all the 
equipment they have? Not through subscriptions and 
advertising, I'll bet."

"Don't ask, don't tell, that's my motto." She rolled 
her eyes and I smiled. "They have a wealthy 
benefactor, I know that much. The rest I think I'm 
better off not knowing."

Scully nodded and looked at another painting. She was 
getting fidgety, shifting her weight from foot to 
foot and checking her watch every few seconds.  I sat 
up on the bed and swung my legs over the side. "You 
okay, Scully?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I, um, need to use the 
bathroom."

I pointed at the door just left of the bed. "Right 
through there."

"I know. I'm just not sure I'm that brave."

I chuckled. "Well, Scully, sometimes when nature 
calls you have to answer -- no matter what the risk."

She looked as if she was about to face the hounds at 
the gates of Hell, but she took a deep breath and 
pulled open the bathroom door. She stepped quickly 
inside and snapped on the light, and a few moments 
later her voice echoed off the tiled walls.

"Oh my God."

She reappeared in the doorway and I did my best to 
look seriously concerned. "Something wrong?"

"I don't believe it," she sputtered. "It's cleaner 
than mine. And he has a Jacuzzi. Why didn't you tell 
me?"

I laughed out loud. "And miss the expression on your 
face? Not a chance."

Her stomach rumbled loud enough for both of us to 
hear, reminding me that my own had been sending me 
signals for the last hour or so.  It had been a long 
time since our bagel breakfast and we skipped lunch 
in anticipation of an early dinner.

"Excuse me!" She laid her hand across her belly as if 
that would command quiet. "I sure hope Frohike gets 
back soon. I'm starved, and you must be too.  Do you 
think he has anything in here that's edible?"

I jumped off the bed. "You use the facilities, I'll 
see if I can rustle us up some grub, ma'am," I said 
with a phony Texas twang, tipping my imaginary 
Stetson.

"My hero."  She smiled and disappeared into the 
bathroom, this time closing the door behind her.

There were a few boxes of unopened crackers sitting 
on the countertop, so I checked the "sell by" date 
and figured they were safe for human consumption. 
There were also two small loaves of bread -- one rye, 
one pumpernickel -- the kind you get to make fancy 
party sandwiches.  Maybe Frohike bought small loaves 
of bread to make himself seem bigger.  I laughed at 
my own joke and made a mental note to tell that one 
to Scully.

The items on the counter would keep us from starving 
to death, but I was after something that would do a 
little more for the palate. I pulled open the 
refrigerator door and struck the mother lode.

It was packed to capacity -- large plates teeming 
with fresh fruit and vegetables, assorted cold cuts 
and cheeses, and plastic containers filled with dips 
and sauces. Raw oysters on the half-shell. Spiced 
shrimp.  Caviar.  Strawberries, some dipped in 
chocolate, others ready to be dipped in the bowl of 
whipped cream nestled beside them.  All the way in 
the back was a plate piled with slices of cake, fancy 
truffles, and other chocolates.

No wonder Frohike hurried us along all day.  That 
little weasel had a date! I had that bed for over 
three months and the only thing I ever did in it was 
sleep. Frohike planned to get lucky in less than one 
day.

I was still doing my erotic food inventory to 
determine if there was any potential aphrodisiac 
Frohike had missed, when Scully sidled up beside me.

"Mulder, look."  She was clutching two bundles, each 
tied with a green ribbon. Through their cellophane 
packaging I could see the pristine white robes were 
thick and luxurious -- the kind you get as part of 
the accoutrements at fancy hotels and spas.  "I think 
Frohike is expecting someone later this evening."

"I think you're right, Scully," I replied. "Look what 
I found." I opened the door a little further so she 
could see my discovery. I lifted the plastic wrap 
covering the fruit and snagged a few grapes, popping 
one into my mouth and handing her the rest. "Come on, 
let's eat." 

The cellophane around the robes crackled as she 
shifted both packages under one arm and juggled the 
grapes in her hand. "Oh, Mulder, we can't eat any of 
this," she said, licking her lips at the same time.  
"It wouldn't be right."

"It serves *him* right for locking us in here," I 
said.  "Besides, he's got enough food here for an 
army. Unless Frohike is entertaining the entire 
University of Maryland women's lacrosse team, he'll 
never miss it. We're starved. I say we eat."  She 
still looked a bit skeptical, but another rumble from 
her stomach provided all the convincing she needed.

"Okay." She popped the grapes in her mouth and held 
up the robes. "Give me a minute to put these back and 
to finish freshening up."

"And I'll prepare the feast."  I was taking plates 
out of the fridge before she closed the bathroom 
door.  When I pulled out the one laden with plump 
strawberries, a piece of paper fluttered off the tray 
and landed on the floor at my feet.  I sat the tray 
on the counter, picked up the note, and was surprised 
to see my name scribbled on one side.  I unfolded the 
paper and began to read:

<><><><><><><><>

Mulder -- In appreciation of your generous gift of 
this magnificent waterbed, I give you this gift in 
return: one night.  One night completely devoid of 
the pressures and horrors of the outside world.  No 
aliens to fight, no conspiracy theories to chase.  No 
smoking men, leggy ex-girlfriends, or Africanized 
honeybees to stand in the way of progress.  Your cell 
phones won't work in this room, so don't even think 
about it.

Tonight it's just you, your pretty partner, and this 
big, beautiful bed.  I know you're not very good at 
math, but I'm sure the lovely Agent Scully can help 
you with the arithmetic.

So eat, drink, and be merry. Talk, rest, enjoy each 
other's company. If there are things you need to work 
out, do it. If you need to fight, yell, scream, cry, 
do it. This is your opportunity for uninterrupted 
conversation and whatever else might come naturally.

Just don't think. The night you got this bed I told 
you that you think too much. So don't. That's an 
order.  Let whatever happens happen.  And if it's not 
meant to be, at least tomorrow you'll both know.

I'll be back at eight in the morning.  Make sure 
you're both decent and don't leave a ring in the 
bathtub.

And don't bother looking for the remote.  It's safely 
in my pocket. There's no way to escape, kiddo, so you 
might as well surrender. -- Fro

<><><><><><><><>

I've had the misfortune of experiencing sheer terror 
a time or two -- but it didn't hold a candle to what 
I was feeling when I finished reading. My mouth felt 
like it was filled with cotton and sweat was starting 
to trickle down the back of my neck. I read the note 
again, stared at Frohike's seduction smorgasbord, and 
for the first time noticed five bottles of wine 
neatly lined up on the bottom shelf of the 
refrigerator.  *Five* bottles?  I scowled at 
Frohike's insinuation that Scully would have to be 
plastered to go to bed with me, then realized he 
probably thought I'd need that much liquid 
encouragement to try and get her there.

"Mulder?"

Jesus!  Good thing the refrigerator door was still 
open or Scully would have seen my *real* panic face.  
I hastily shoved Frohike's note into the back pocket 
of my jeans and peeked over the door.

"Yeah?"  My voice traveled about six octaves in one 
word.

She was refluffing the pillow I'd scrunched and 
straightening the comforter. "Looks like Frohike has 
big plans for this bed tonight."

<That was the understatement of the year.>

I nodded and willed myself to calm down before my 
heart pounded right through my chest. I tried to 
concentrate on moving the plates of food from the 
fridge to the counter, but my fingers didn't want to 
cooperate.  I was staring at the cold cuts when a 
pair of hands gently touched mine.

"Let me help you." Scully sat the plate on the 
counter and held out her hands for the next item. I 
somehow managed to pick up the caviar and pass it to 
her. "Wow, we have a veritable feast," she said.

I nodded again. It was so much easier than trying to 
form words. We continued to unload the contents of 
the fridge onto the counter; and when we were done, 
she looked over the entire spread with her hands on 
her hips.

"It all looks wonderful, but Frohike's going to be 
mad when he comes back and finds that we've dipped 
into his very sinful buffet."

<Not as mad as you're going to be when you find out 
who this buffet is really for.>

I motioned toward the paper plates, napkins, and 
silverware conveniently left on the counter. "Dinner 
is served."

I opened the crackers and bread -- plotting ways to 
kill Frohike if there was enough of him left to kill 
when Scully got through with him -- while Scully 
sized up the selections, cheerfully sharing some 
scientific data about oysters.  Her voice was like 
music, and the more she talked, the more I relaxed. 
By the time she filled her plate, I'd convinced 
myself that we might as well enjoy our meal before I 
delivered the bad news.  I'd tell her about Frohike's 
ill-conceived plan after our bellies were full.

I pulled out one of the wine bottles and held it up 
for Scully to see. "How about some vino?"

"We shouldn't."

"There's plenty," I said as I grabbed two wineglasses 
that were pulled to the front of the cabinet where no 
one could miss them. "I promise we'll drink a toast 
to our absent host."

Scully laughed at my rhyme. "Well, then how can I 
refuse?" She popped a cracker loaded with caviar into 
her mouth. "Mmm, delicious. I guess now we know why 
Frohike got rid of Byers and Langly today."

"Too bad he didn't wait until we got the bed moved 
first."

Scully sighed and set her plate on the counter, 
waiting patiently for me to join her. "It just seems 
strange, Frohike making plans without the other two. 
I guess I tend to think of them as a group.  I forget 
they're individuals. It's hard to imagine one without 
the other two."

"Actually, they've only been a trio since '89," I 
said. "In fact, I'm the one who brought them 
together."

"You're kidding."

I shook my head. "Inadvertently. It was back when I 
was with Violent Crimes, just getting my feet wet. I 
was after a woman suspected of murder, sabotage, and 
treason. This woman somehow convinced Byers to help 
her and ... are you sure I never told you this?" 
Scully shook her head.

I opened the drawer beside the refrigerator and 
reached for the corkscrew. "Then take a seat, little 
girl, and I'll tell you the story of how Fox Mulder 
met the three Gunmen."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

"The next thing I remember was waking up in the 
hospital. I went back to the convention center and 
the three of them filled me in on what happened at 
the warehouse." I speared a shrimp with my fork and 
waved it in midair. "After what they saw, they 
decided to try and uncover the truths Susanne told 
them about. So they started 'The Lone Gunman' and 
they've been together ever since."

"And you never found out what happened to Susanne?"

"Nope." I popped the shrimp in my mouth and chewed 
carefully. "But I don't think Byers has ever stopped 
looking for her.  He fell in love with her the moment 
he laid eyes on her."

Scully rose from her chair and sat her empty plate on 
the counter. "Sometimes a moment is all it takes."  I 
nearly choked on my shrimp but she didn't seem to 
notice. She shook her head as she refilled both our 
glasses and tossed the empty wine bottle in a 
recycling bin under the sink. "Byers once a Federal 
employee.  Hard to believe."

I used a cracker to gather up the last dollop of 
caviar still on my plate as Scully leaned against the 
counter and sipped her wine. I was sitting on the 
floor with my back against the foot of the bed and I 
dropped my empty plate beside me with a satisfied 
groan. I decided to let everything settle before I 
went back for seconds.

Scully was swishing the wine back and forth in her 
glass, watching it with a furrowed brow. "So, do you 
think the toxin you got sprayed with had any effect 
on you?"

"Well, it made me rip off all my clothes and, as the 
detective on the case said, start jabbering like a 
monkey. And it got me held in five-point restraints 
for 24 hours. How much more effect do you want?"

I thought she was going back to the chair, but 
instead she sat down on the floor next to me. "I was 
thinking more long-term," she said.

"How so?"

"Mulder, if what Susanne Modeski told the Gunmen was 
true, you were sprayed with massive amounts of an 
experimental gas, a small dose of which was designed 
to cause paranoia and anxiety in its victims. Don't 
you think it's remotely possible that the exposure to 
that drug had at least some effect in shaping your 
beliefs about government conspiracies and the 
existence of extraterrestrials?"

I smiled. "I see where you're going with this, 
Scully, but I was a pretty paranoid guy *before* I 
got doused by the spray."

She took another sip of wine. "You said this happened 
in May 1989?" I nodded and she raised a skeptical 
eyebrow. "And your regression hypnosis with Dr. 
Werber was in June 1989, after which you became 
convinced that your sister was abducted by aliens."

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, unable to admit 
to her that I'd had the same doubts about my 
regression therapy dozens of times.  "Maybe it did 
fuel my subconscious," I said, staring into my 
wineglass. "I guess until I find out what really 
happened to Samantha, I'll never know for sure."

Scully placed a reassuring hand over mine. "I'm sorry 
to dredge up old memories," she said. "It just seems 
like too much of a coincidence."

I smiled and leaned close to her. "Ah, and I've 
taught you well about the likelihood of coincidences, 
haven't I, grasshopper?"

She laughed and stretched her legs out in front of 
her. "I hope Frohike's okay," she said. "He's been 
gone a long time."

"Don't worry about Frohike. He can take care of 
himself." I glanced at my watch and was surprised 
that we'd been talking for over an hour. It was 
almost 8 p.m., but still another 12 hours before 
Frohike would return. I was having such a nice time 
with Scully that I'd almost forgotten why we were 
here in the first place.

Suddenly the note was burning a hole in my pocket and 
I still hadn't found the right moment to tell Scully 
the truth.  A little while longer wouldn't make any 
difference, I decided, so I got up to sample some of 
the delicacies I'd skipped the first time. "Can I get 
you something while I'm up?" I asked.

"Not right now," she replied. "I'm letting all that 
decadence digest. Then I'm going to hit the buffet 
again." Scully's concerns about raiding Frohike's 
refrigerator seemed to have dissipated, so I adopted 
her new philosophy and refilled my plate.

Scully scratched her nose and cocked her head from 
side to side, rolling the kinks out of her neck 
muscles. "Have they lived here a long time? The 
Gunmen?"

"They moved into this place soon after we met." I 
returned to my seat next to her on the floor. "They 
decided they wanted to keep tabs on my behavior after 
I was exposed to the gas and this was the closest 
place they could afford."

"I'm glad they were looking out for you," Scully 
said, taking another drink of wine. "And I'm glad you 
look out for them. I guess you've spent a lot of time 
here?"

"Quite a bit." I wolfed down another shrimp and 
licked my fingers. "They were my only friends."

"I'm sure you had lots of other friends, Mulder."

"Name one."

"Reggie Purdue. He was your friend. And what about 
Jerry?"

"Reggie was a friend, but he was also my boss. We 
didn't exactly 'hang out' together. And Jerry ... 
well, he was my partner at VCU but we were never 
really that close. For some reason, nobody wanted to 
have much to do with Old Spooky Mulder."

"What about Diana?"

There it was, finally out on the table, the subject 
that had driven an invisible wedge between us since 
Cassandra Spender fell from the sky and back into our 
laps. I suddenly lost my appetite and dropped my 
plate on the floor beside me. I pulled my knees up 
and rested my elbows on them, my chin perched on my 
clasped fingers. If there was ever a time to choose 
my words carefully, this was it.

"I owe you an explanation about Diana, Scully, but 
first I owe you an apology. I know you had your 
reasons for not trusting her and I should have 
listened, but I let my ego get in the way. I didn't 
want to believe you, but that doesn't excuse the way 
I treated you."

"Mulder, you don't have to..."

"No, let me finish. When you called me here that 
night, to confront me about Diana, I knew deep down 
that what you were saying was probably true, but my 
stubborn male pride wouldn't let me admit it, 
especially in front of the guys. So instead I acted 
like a stupid jerk. I had no right to say the things 
I said to you. I know our work has become as 
intensely personal to you as it is to me, and I had 
no right to diminish that. I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry you felt I was asking you to choose 
between me and Diana. It was never about that."

"I know that. Now." I picked up my glass and 
swallowed the rest of the wine with one gulp, giving 
me the shot of courage I needed to continue. "You 
know that when I left here that night, I went to 
Diana's apartment looking for evidence. I kept 
telling myself it was to prove you wrong, but that 
was a lie. I went there because I was afraid you were 
right."

I paused for a moment, waiting for her to comment. 
When she didn't, I rubbed my hand over my chin. "When 
I found Old Smokey there, I still didn't want to 
believe Diana had betrayed me. I tried making excuses 
-- that he was forcing her or blackmailing her, hell, 
even that he'd brainwashed her. But they didn't find 
her body at El Rico, and then Skinner told us about 
her sudden reassignment to that big undercover 
operation, and I couldn't deny it any more.  You were 
right about her.  Thanks for not saying 'I told you 
so,' by the way."

She squeezed my hand and gave me a rueful smile. "If 
it's any consolation, I don't take any pleasure in 
being right." She looked down, fumbling for words. "I 
know that Diana was more than just your friend and 
partner. I know you were ... that you cared for her 
and you trusted her. And if I've learned anything 
about you in six years, Mulder, it's that trust is 
something you don't give or take lightly. I don't 
blame you for not wanting to accept that she 
changed."

I laced my fingers with hers and her gaze once again 
met mine. "That's just the trouble. She hadn't 
changed. I realize now that Diana was a part of it 
from the very beginning. I thought she believed in 
the work we were doing and in me. I thought she loved 
me, but I know now she was playing me for a fool."

"You can't know that for certain. You can't be sure 
that back then her feelings weren't just as genuine 
as yours."

I shook my head. "No, it all makes sense now. I was 
so happy to have someone who took me seriously, 
someone who shared my enthusiasm for the X-Files, 
that I just couldn't see what was really happening. 
It was like I had blinders on where she was 
concerned. But it's clear to me now that Diana was 
the one engineering the roadblocks. And when I'd 
start to ask questions, insist we dig a little 
deeper, she'd take me to bed and make me forget about 
everything else. She was leading me around by my dick 
and I was just too stupid to see it."

"Sorry," I muttered, as a blush spread over my 
cheeks. I've heard Scully swear like a sailor on 
occasion, but I've still always tried to watch my 
language around her.

I pushed myself up from the floor and covered the 
short distance to the sink in two strides. I leaned 
over it, my palms perched on the edge and the 
stainless steel cool under my fingertips. I stared 
down into it, hoping the words that came spilling out 
would swirl right down the drain so I'd never have to 
think about them again. "Diana kept me distracted, 
but that wasn't enough. They wanted me out of the 
game entirely. So they took her away and they sent 
you -- they just gave you a different game plan. They 
figured you'd create a whole new set of roadblocks, 
that the constant scrutiny and the pressure to have 
the work validated by scientific analysis would put 
an end to the X-Files. They were counting on you to 
succeed where Diana failed."

I glanced over at her and she smiled up at me. "I 
guess they didn't know who they were dealing with, 
did they?"

I shook my head and smiled. "No, they didn't." I 
stood up straight and turned to face her, my hip 
brushing the counter. "They expected you to destroy 
me, Scully, but you saved me. And I still haven't 
sent them a thank you note."

Scully gracefully stood up and stretched the 
stiffness out of her back. "I'd have to consult Miss 
Manners to be sure, but I think your grace period for 
writing a thank you note has expired," she said as 
she handed me our plates and wineglasses before 
joining me at the counter. "And you told me that 
before," she said. "That I saved you."

"And I meant it," I replied. "But then I let Diana 
screw me over again. For old times sake, I guess." 
Scully chuckled and I reached out tentatively, gently 
resting my hands on her shoulders. "I'm not asking 
you to forgive me," I continued. "I just wanted to 
tell you that I'm sorry, for everything I said and 
did. And to say that even though I don't deserve it, 
I'm grateful you're still here to save me."

A single tear trickled down her cheek but she brushed 
it away and pulled me into a quick embrace. "I guess 
neither one of us is very good at taking advice about 
old flames." I raised a questioning eyebrow and she 
explained. "Jack Willis. Remember? You tried to warn 
me about Jack but I wouldn't listen."

"I don't think that's really the same thing."

"It's exactly the same thing," she said. "It doesn't 
matter why Jack changed. You tried to tell me he 
wasn't the same man I once knew, but I didn't want to 
listen. I'm just saying that I can understand your 
feelings about Diana.  Now Phoebe Green? That's a 
different story. Did you say there was more wine?"

I nodded toward the fridge. "Bottom shelf. Phoebe 
Green." Speaking her name still sent shivers up my 
spine. "I can sure pick 'em, can't I? Hey, how is it 
that you've been lucky enough to meet two of my 
youthful indiscretions and I've only met one of 
yours?"

Scully laughed as she opened the refrigerator door 
and I couldn't help appreciating the view as she bent 
down to retrieve the wine. "First of all, I never 
said Jack was an indiscretion, and second of all..." 
She closed the door and sat the bottle down in front 
of me. "...I didn't realize we were keeping score. 
Make yourself useful." She tossed her soggy paper 
plate into the trashcan and picked up a new one. "But 
the next time one of my former lovers breezes into 
town, I'll be sure to introduce you so you can catch 
up."

*Former lovers.* The way she said it made it sound 
like the line would circle around the block. I 
wondered if Scully would be surprised to learn she'd 
already met one-half of the "Former Lovers of Fox 
Mulder" Club.

"I believe I'm ready for seconds now," she said, 
tapping the clean plate with her forefinger. "And I 
guess we'd better put this stuff back in the fridge 
before it gets too warm. Do you want anything else 
right now?"

I nodded at the plate I hadn't touched since 
discussion of Diana began. "No, I'll finish that 
first." She shrugged and surveyed the selections on 
the counter again as I fumbled in the drawer for the 
corkscrew. "Um...is that likely?" I asked, fishing 
for details. "One of your former lovers showing up 
sometime?"

"Doubtful," she answered, raking a pile of 
strawberries onto her plate. "Maybe Marcus. I don't 
really know what happened to him."

I concentrated on opening the bottle of wine. "Who's 
Marcus?" I asked, trying to be nonchalant while my 
stomach was doing somersaults.

She sighed dreamily. "Only the love of my life."

Before I could process that tidbit of information, 
she sat her plate down on the counter beside me. It 
was piled to overflowing -- same as her first trip 
through the buffet -- and I couldn't help wondering 
how a little woman like that could pack away so much 
food. At this rate, if Frohike failed to return when 
promised, we might have to start rationing.

Frohike. This was probably a good time to tell her 
the truth and for a moment I considered it, but the 
more I thought, the less it seemed like a good idea. 
When I told her, she'd be pissed at Frohike all 
right, but she'd be angry with me for not telling her 
as soon as I found the note, and the rest of the time 
we spent in here together would be unpleasant to say 
the least. No, it would be better to wait a little 
while longer.

And besides, I wanted to know about Marcus.

The cork came loose with a satisfying 'pop' and I 
refilled our glasses as Scully placed the last tray 
in the refrigerator. She picked up her plate and a 
clean fork and eyed me with a playful smile. "Now, 
what were we talking about?"

"Marcus," I said dryly.

"Oh, that's right." She giggled and slurped an oyster 
from its shell, wiping away the liquid dribbling down 
her chin. "Take a seat, Agent Mulder," she said, "and 
I'll tell you all about Marcus O'Malley, the love of 
my life."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Anyway, the campfire that Sylvia and that idiot 
Kevin Berwood built went totally out of control, 
somebody called the fire department, and we all had 
to ride back to town on the pumper truck. Marcus was 
extremely disappointed."

Scully's eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed 
slightly, more from the wine than from embarrassment, 
but her giggle was infectious and we both laughed so 
hard the rippling waves beneath us threatened to 
pitch us off the bed.  For the past hour she had 
regaled me with stories of her misspent youth, most 
notably adventures she shared with her best friend 
and frequent partner-in-crime, Sylvia Ann Sullivan, 
during their senior year in high school. I was so 
captivated by Scully's version of "When Good Catholic 
Girls Go Bad" that I really had no recollection of 
finishing dinner, kicking off my shoes, and crawling 
onto the bed that used to be mine. And the biggest 
surprise was that Scully was right next to me.

We were both stretched out on our sides, facing each 
other, sipping our wine, and enjoying the PG rated 
pillow talk. I pretended to listen as Scully finished 
her tale of the Senior Prom Scandal, but I was 
actually busy sending a silent thank you out to 
Sylvia and Berwood for creating the unintentional 
diversion that kept Marcus-of-the-Kelly-Green-
Cummerbund from unlocking the mysteries hidden under 
Dana's moire taffeta dress.

Scully sat her half-empty wineglass on the bottom 
shelf of the headboard's built-in cabinet and turned 
over onto her back. She laced her fingers behind her 
head and stared up at her reflection. "The fire truck 
took us back to the school," she said. "Of course, by 
the time we got there, the prom was over but half the 
senior class was out in the parking lot -- along with 
the local cops *and* our parents."

"Dana Katherine Scully: Public Enemy Number One."

"My father certainly thought so," she said. "The cops 
let us off with a warning, but I was grounded for a 
month."

I downed the rest of the wine in my glass quickly and 
coughed. "So you and Marcus. Did you ever, um..."

She sighed. "No, never. In fact, after graduation, I 
never saw him again. My father got his orders and we 
moved to Maryland that summer. But I guess that's why 
I always think of Marcus so fondly. To me, he'll 
always be young, he'll always be handsome, and what 
we shared will always be pure and unadulterated. Men 
may come and men may go, but I'll always have Marcus 
-- the twelfth grade love of my life."

She sat up and retrieved her wineglass from the 
shelf, tilting her head back as she drained the 
remaining liquid. I reached over for the nearly empty 
bottle of wine I'd left sitting on the nightstand and 
split its contents between our two goblets. She 
lifted her glass to her lips, but held it there, 
suspended between thumb and forefinger.

"Stupid!" She slapped her forehead with the palm of 
her empty hand. "You've been listening to me so 
politely and I forgot I've already told you this 
story."

"No you haven't," I replied, sitting my glass on the 
headboard shelf.

Both eyebrows shot straight up. "Oooh, right," she 
said, dragging the words out slowly. "I must be 
thinking of something else."

"Must be," I agreed. "Probably that deja vu thing 
again, huh?" 

"Right, deja vu." She nodded, though I got the 
feeling there was something she wasn't telling me. 
She took another sip of wine and placed her glass 
next to mine. "Maybe this bed really is possessed." 
She stretched out on her back again and I did the 
same, our shoulders nearly touching. "I'll have to 
mention it to Sylvia next time I talk to her. It's 
her area of expertise."

"Beds?" I asked.

"No, possession," she replied. "Sylvia's a nun now."

Our laughter erupted in unison, and we giggled 
ourselves silly, Scully wiping fat tears from both 
cheeks and me holding my stomach to keep it from 
fluttering. Just when we'd almost gotten ourselves 
under control, we made eye contact in the mirror and 
the snickering started again, building and building 
until the bed started rolling faster and faster as 
our bodies twisted in fits of hysteria.

"Okay, stop, stop," I said, trying to catch my 
breath. "If we keep this up, I'm gonna be seasick."

After a few more minutes of frivolity we settled 
down. Scully folded her hands over her stomach and I 
laced my fingers behind my head, and we lay there 
silently watching each other in the mirror. "Okay, 
Mulder," she finally said. "Let's hear about your 
senior prom."

"I didn't go to my senior prom, actually."

She rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow. 
"Why not?"

I let out a deep breath and kept my eyes trained on 
our reflections. "Well, I know it's hard to believe 
given my sparkling personality now, but I wasn't 
exactly that popular in high school. Girls weren't 
really too eager to be seen with the creepy guy whose 
sister mysteriously disappeared." I swallowed hard, 
still unable to look her in the eye. "And of course I 
was at that awkward stage, waiting for the rest of my 
face to catch up with my nose." I sighed. "And here I 
am, twenty years later, still waiting."

She laughed softly and rolled onto her back again. "I 
think you're very handsome," she said. "In an 
unconventional sort of way. I've always thought so."

I studied my features in the mirror. "Well, thanks, I 
think. That *was* a compliment, right?"

I expected another laugh but she was quiet, and that 
little furrow in her forehead was beginning to form, 
the crease that materialized every time she was 
preparing to say something serious. "Can I tell you 
something, Mulder?"

Our eyes met in the mirror and I nodded. "Sure."

"Other than Marcus, every relationship I've ever had 
has been with an older man, and usually someone I 
worked with. I walked away from just such a 
relationship when I joined the FBI, only to take up 
with Jack almost immediately. And after Jack there 
was someone else.  But then I was transferred to the 
X-Files and I thought it was a sign, a chance for me 
to make a fresh start." Her lips curled into a hint 
of a smile. "So despite your reputation as a 
'crackpot,' I was determined for this assignment to 
work and I promised myself I would not make the same 
mistake again."

I closed my eyes, no longer sure I wanted to hear 
what she wanted to tell me.

"But you made keeping that promise very difficult. Do 
you remember our first case?" she asked. "That night 
I came to your room because I felt those bumps on my 
back?"

Do I remember? Every detail. I remember how beautiful 
she looked in the candlelight, the softness of her 
skin against my fingertips, how her hair smelled of 
vanilla and how it caressed my cheek as I held her 
trembling body against mine. I remember how we talked 
for hours and how I somehow trusted her enough to 
tell her things I'd never told anyone else. I opened 
my eyes and for a moment I considered telling her 
exactly what I remembered about that night -- but 
only for a moment.

"Yes, I remember," I said. "You may find this hard to 
believe, but beautiful, scantily clad women very 
rarely burst into my hotel room."

She chuckled. "I was scared out of my wits when I 
came to your room that night. You could have used my 
fears or my inexperience against me, taken advantage 
of me, but you didn't. You were comforting and kind, 
and when you put your arm around me for that split 
second, all the promises I made to myself about not 
getting involved with the next man I worked with went 
right out the window."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. A quick scan of my 
photographic memory assured me that Scully hadn't 
given any indication that night that she was even 
remotely interested in me. If she had, I might not 
have been the gentleman she remembered.

"I'd heard all the rumors about you," Scully 
continued. "But as we talked that night I realized 
you weren't the raving lunatic that everyone made you 
out to be. Driven -- yes. Passionate -- most 
assuredly. Dedicated -- absolutely. But a lunatic? 
Definitely not. I thought you were the most 
interesting, fascinating, complicated man I'd ever 
met. And if you had asked me to go to bed with you 
that night, I would have. In a heartbeat."

"Now you tell me."

She elbowed me in the ribs. "In retrospect, I'm glad 
we didn't jump into something that neither of us was 
ready for. If we'd slept together that night, we 
wouldn't still be together now."

I had to admit she was right.

"But what we *did* do that night," she said, "was lay 
the foundation that our whole partnership, our whole 
friendship, is based on -- trust and respect."

"Well," I pouted, "I'm glad something got laid."

Her glorious giggle returned and she reached over and 
patted my hand before sitting up to take a sip of 
wine. "It was the right beginning for us," she said. 
"We've had our ups and downs, but it all turned out 
okay in the end, don't you think?"

I thought "ups and downs" was putting it mildly, but 
I nodded in agreement. I waited while she settled 
beside me again, holding my question until I could 
see her face in the mirror. "So," I said, "is that 
*really* what you thought of me when we first met? 
That I was 'passionate' and 'fascinating'?"

Her lips curled into that <I know something you don't 
know> smile that had the power to drive me out of my 
mind. "Yeeesss," she flirted, turning it into a four-
syllable word. "I believe 'exasperating' and 
'infuriating' came later."

"Well, at least I had you fooled for a little while."

She played with the hem of her shirt, avoiding my 
eyes staring down at her from the mirror. "I thought 
you were extremely smart," she said. "Intriguing. 
Very charming when you wanted to be. Occasionally 
funny."

"Occasionally?" I slapped one hand over my heart. 
"Scully, you wound me."

She looked up into the mirror and laughed. "And you 
talked a good game, but I could tell you were very 
sensitive, a little insecure, and just a bit shy."

"Just what every guy wants to hear," I muttered.

She shook her head and sighed. "And as I said before, 
I thought you were very easy on the eyes. And that 
night in your hotel room in Oregon, I learned that 
you were very caring, gracious, and noble. In fact, 
if I hadn't already been in love with you, I would 
have fallen for you that night."

"You make me sound like a ... whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold 
the phone." I sat bolt upright causing the waves to 
slosh underneath us. "WHAT did you just say?"

Scully laughed and sat up too, turning toward me 
slightly before tucking her legs underneath her and 
picking up her wineglass. "I said I could have fallen 
in love with you that night. Except that I was 
already. In love. With you."


~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

For a few moments we just sat there looking at each 
other, me bug-eyed, sputtering, and stuttering, 
Scully casually sipping her wine waiting for me to 
get a grip. Finally the ability to form words 
returned and I threw my hands up to assist in 
illustrating my confusion. "You're telling me t-that 
on our first case ... in Oregon ... you w-were in 
love with me?"

She raised one eyebrow and nodded slightly, her lips 
perched on the rim of her glass. "Uh-huh," was all 
she said.

My mouth dropped open and I curled my fingers into 
tight fists. "And in six years, you never once 
thought to mention that?"

She sat her wineglass in the headboard alcove and 
pulled my hands out of the air, trapping them both 
between hers. "Mulder, that night in Oregon I 
listened to you talk about the importance of your 
work, your suspicions about government conspiracies, 
and your need to find your sister. You made your 
priorities very clear. In fact, I think your exact 
words were 'nothing else matters to me'."

Just my luck; Scully had a photographic memory too.

"It was for the best, really. Romantic entanglements 
were the last thing either of us needed." She relaxed 
her grip on my hands. "But you *did* need a partner 
whether you wanted one or not, and I knew working 
with you would be challenging and rewarding. So I put 
aside my feelings and concentrated on being your 
partner and your friend."

"So you *stopped* loving me, just like that?"

"I didn't say that." She let go of my hands and 
folded hers in her lap. "I continued to have very 
strong feelings for you, but eventually I convinced 
myself it was my usual pattern and I was determined 
not to let it go any further than that. We were 
working well together, and I didn't want anything to 
interfere with that." She picked up her wineglass but 
didn't take a drink, just held it at the ready.

"Then so much happened," she continued. "I was gone, 
and your father was killed. And Missy. My cancer. I 
tried to shut you out then, but you wouldn't let me. 
You did everything in your power to save me. I hope 
you realize you are the best friend I've ever had."

I smiled at her as warmly as I knew how. "Likewise."

Her eyes sparkled and she tilted her head to the 
side. "Then I was well again, and you were so sweet 
and supportive when everything happened with Emily, 
and for the first time I started to wonder if it was 
possible that you had feelings for me that were 
stronger than just friendship."

"Why didn't you say anything then?"

"Because then Diana showed up." She kept her eyes 
trained on her wineglass as she traced a finger along 
its edge. "And you hurt me very deeply -- not because 
you'd never told me about her.  You didn't owe me any 
explanations about old partners or past 
relationships. It hurt because you didn't acknowledge 
that you knew her right up front. I was extremely 
embarrassed that I had to find out from *her* that 
you two once worked together. I didn't understand how 
you could be so cruel."

"I didn't do it on purpose, Scully," I said. "When I 
walked into that briefing room and saw Diana, it 
threw me for a loop. I know I should have said 
something, but I didn't know what to say."

"I know," she replied. "But I still felt betrayed. I 
felt you were deliberately hiding something from me. 
So I came here and asked the guys about Diana. They 
told me she was there when you found the X-Files, and 
they implied you had a physical relationship with 
her. Diana obviously still had feelings for you, and 
because you were being so secretive, I thought you 
must still have feelings for her."

"Scully, I ..."

"Everything happened so fast after that. Diana was 
shot, they closed the X-Files, and eventually I 
decided to quit. But you asked me to stay." She 
reached over and trailed one fingertip along my 
forearm. "That afternoon outside your apartment you 
said all the right words I'd been waiting five years 
to hear, but I couldn't trust that you truly meant 
them. Were you telling me how you really felt, or 
were you reciting the lines that would get me to 
stay? Then I realized you were going to kiss me, and 
I knew from that kiss that I would know if you were 
telling me the truth or not. And then ..."

"And then we were so rudely interrupted."

She smiled and set her wineglass aside again. "When 
you ran to call the ambulance, I remember laying 
there thinking I was going to die never knowing for 
sure how you really felt."

I lowered my eyes and I whispered, "I'm sorry I never 
got the chance to show you."

"But you did show me, Mulder," she said, waiting for 
me to look up again. "How many girls can say that 
their man literally went to the ends of the earth for 
them?"

<Did she just call me her 'man'?>

"But after we got back from Antarctica, things got in 
the way again," she continued. "The X-Files were 
reopened without us and we were both having a hard 
time adjusting. You didn't seem interested in picking 
up where we left off in that hallway, so I thought it 
was best to forget it and only concentrate on 
maintaining our partnership and our friendship."

"But I told you I loved you. In Bermuda."

"Ha!" It was part gasp, part laugh. "It's a little 
hard to wrap your brain around that sentiment when 
you've already heard it uttered to one doctor, two 
nurses, three Gunmen, and Assistant Director 
Skinner."

"That's what Frohike said."

She nodded. "You were drugged to the gills, Mulder. I 
wasn't about to take you seriously or hold you to 
anything you said at that point."

"But I meant it, Scully." I took her hand and pushed 
the words out before I had time to swallow them back. 
"I love you. I've loved you for so long, but I never 
thought you could feel the same way about me."

She smiled and her thumb played over mine. "Amazing, 
isn't it? Sometimes when we're on a case, you and I 
are so in tune that I feel like I can read your 
thoughts and you can read mine, yet somehow we've 
never been able to apply that professional ability to 
our personal feelings."

"I know," I agreed. "I guess you were right. I could 
have used a few of those communication seminars after 
all." I paused for a moment, wishing I hadn't been so 
anxious to chase mothmen the last time Scully wanted 
to share a glass of wine with me. "Why tonight?" I 
asked. "What made you finally tell me how you felt?"

She pulled her hand away and reached for her 
wineglass, tipping it toward me in a mock toast. 
"Well, *this* didn't hurt." She tossed back the 
remaining liquid, licked her lips, and set the empty 
glass back on the headboard. She stretched out on the 
mattress again and motioned for me to do the same. I 
think Scully had discovered what I realized earlier -
- it was easier for us to share our true feelings 
looking into the mirror instead of at each other. It 
was intimate, yet kept things at a safe distance. I 
guess for both of us old habits died hard.

"But more than the wine, I think it was fate," she 
said as I lay down beside her.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I recalled a 
debate Scully and I once had about fate versus free 
will, but the details were hazy, just out of reach, 
almost like I'd dreamed it. Deja vu again. But right 
at the moment, I wasn't interested in calling Sylvia 
about a possessed bed. "Why do you think it was 
fate?" I asked.

"Well," she said, "over the past few months I've 
experienced a seemingly unrelated series of events 
that have made me think more about the future ... our 
future."

"Such as?"

"Our field trip to Nevada for starters, contemplating 
a normal life. The 'insightful' Christmas Eve we 
spent together. Too many close calls -- you being 
held hostage by poor Mr. Crump, Bermuda, Florida, 
Padgett.  The over-eager Peyton Ritter."

I shuddered as I remembered the phone call from the 
hospital, hearing little after the words "critical 
condition." The short flight from D.C. to New York 
never seemed longer.

"And we survived two women trying to come between 
us," she said. "First Diana -- again -- and Karin 
Berquist."

Karin. I still felt responsible for what happened to 
her. And in some oddly twisted way, I felt a little 
responsible for what happened to Diana too. Whatever 
her reasons, she was involved with some ruthless 
people because of me.

"There were a lot of things," Scully continued. "But 
mostly, it was that case in Kansas. You remember, you 
had the bright idea that Holman Hart's bottled up 
emotions were somehow controlling the weather, and 
that in order to stop it we had to get him together 
with the woman he was secretly carrying a torch for?"

"A theory which turned out to be correct," I 
interjected.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, I admit given the end 
result it's conceivable that you were correct. But 
that night at the reunion when I was talking to 
Sheila, she said she only thought of Holman as a 
platonic friend, that she never considered him in a 
romantic way. And I told her that I felt the best 
relationships were often rooted in friendship. That 
one day you look at the person who you consider just 
a friend and you see something more than you did the 
night before. And suddenly that person is the *only* 
person you can ever imagine yourself with."

She took her eyes away from the mirror for a moment 
and looked over at me. "And at some point during the 
conversation, I realized I wasn't talking about 
Holman and Sheila anymore. I was talking about us."

She returned her gaze to the mirror before going any 
further. "After that I wanted to tell you how I 
really felt so many times, but I could never seem to 
find the right words or the right time. But now here 
we are, accidentally locked in this room. Add a 
little wine to loosen the tongue and there you have 
it. Fate."

I couldn't let her say any more. It was time to tell 
her the truth and face the consequences. I let out a 
long, cleansing breath, reached toward my back 
pocket, fingered the edge of Frohike's note and ... 
"Hey, wait a minute," I said, pulling my hand away 
from my pocket. "You said you would have fallen for 
me that night in Oregon except that you were 
*already* in love with me. But we'd only known each 
other a couple of days. Are you telling me it was 
love at first sight?"

She laughed softly. "Not exactly. I knew I was in 
love with you *before* I saw you. You had me at 
'Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted'."

"And I always thought it was my spine-tingling slide 
shows that got the girls."

"Okay, turnabout is fair play," she said. "I want to 
know the exact moment when you knew you were in love 
with me. Was it love at first for you?"

"Are you kidding? Do you remember that jacket you 
wore?"

She swatted my thigh. "Come on, be serious. I told 
the truth."

"Okay, okay," I said. "But I don't think there was 
one defining moment. It was more gradual." I ran my 
fingers through my hair and cradled the back of my 
neck with my hand. "I liked you a lot from the very 
beginning, even though I didn't always show it. But I 
think the first time I knew there was something more 
was after Deep Throat ... when they closed the X-
Files and separated us."

I paused for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts, 
unsure why I felt so nervous. I pressed my arms 
tightly against my body, my palms flat on the 
mattress trying to steady myself and the waves 
rippling beneath me. "I didn't realize until then how 
much I'd come to care for you and depend on you," I 
finally said. "You gave me direction, made order out 
of chaos. I missed that. I'd never met anyone who 
challenged me the way you did. I'd never met anyone 
as intellectually stimulating. I missed your company. 
I missed you."

She said nothing, just reached over and lightly 
placed her left hand over my right, reminding me she 
was still there. "And then you were taken and I never 
felt so alone. Realizing I couldn't pick up the phone 
and talk to you, having no one to laugh at my crazy 
theories. I even missed that skeptical eyebrow. Those 
months you were gone ... I guess that's when I 
realized that I loved you. And I thought I'd never 
get the chance to tell you."

"Why didn't you tell me when I was returned?" she 
asked.

"You were going through a lot," I replied. "Besides, 
I really never thought you could feel the same about 
me. I mean, I knew that you cared about me, about my 
well being and my sanity. But to be honest, most of 
the time I thought you were just humoring me, or 
tolerating me. I never thought you could love me. 
When Padgett said you were already in love, I thought 
there was somebody else."

"I don't have time for anybody else, Mulder," she 
laughed. "You are a full-time occupation. The pay is 
lousy, but the fringe benefits are excellent."

We both grinned at the exact same moment and I hoped 
I didn't look as goofy in reality as I did in the 
mirror. I'm not sure how long we lay there, silent, 
letting the truths we'd been hiding for six years 
sink in. But I couldn't help wondering; now that this 
information was out in the open, what were we going 
to do with it?

As if in answer to my question, Scully turned on her 
side and began to trail one finger along my arm. It 
made the hair stand on end and sent a jolt of 
electricity to my fingers and toes ... and other 
areas. "Did you really find me intellectually 
stimulating, Mulder?"

"Mmmm," I hummed. "Still do."

"Do you find me ... stimulating in any other way?" 
She leaned closer, maintaining the stroking on my arm 
with one hand while she tickled the hair behind my 
ear with the other.

As wonderful as it felt, common sense kicked in. 
"Stop, Scully," I said, stilling the fingers brushing 
my wrist. "We can't. I think you've had a little too 
much to drink."

"What makes you say that?" Her voice was low and 
beguiling.

"Well, for one thing, you're touching me," I said. 
"You hardly ever touch me unless I'm sick, or 
injured, or unconscious."

"That's not true, is it?" she asked. "And anyway, if 
you're unconscious, how do you know I'm touching 
you?"

Tipsy or not, I should have known I'd never get that 
one past her. "Well, sometimes when I wake up, I 
pretend that I'm unconscious -- just for a second or 
two -- in order to prolong the touching. In fact, a 
trained psychologist might suggest that my propensity 
for injuring myself is borne from my deep-seated need 
for comfort."

"Or maybe you're just a klutz."

"Well, there is that theory too."

Now she was nibbling on my earlobe.

"Scully, we *can't*." I sat up quickly to underscore 
my point, propping the pillows against the headboard 
and leaning back. Scully fell back on the mattress 
with a dejected sigh. She lay there for a moment, 
staring up into the mirror, before she sat up and 
arranged her pillows next to mine.

She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her 
head, the same way she prepared to argue with me when 
she was hell bent on making her case. "Mulder, I 
thought we just spent the last two hours establishing 
that we love each other."

"We did," I agreed.

"Well, usually when people have declared their love 
for one another, they want to take those feelings to 
the next level."

"I know," I nodded.

She pulled her legs crisscross underneath her and 
rested her palms on her knees. "Mulder, don't you 
*want* to make love to me?"

I looked over at her and knew I couldn't disguise the 
desire in my eyes. "Is this a trick question?"

She slapped her thighs and raised her arms into a 
frozen shrug. "Then what's the problem? Mulder, what 
are we waiting for? It's been six years."

"That's just it, Scully. It's been six years." It's 
hard to mount a debate when you only half-heartedly 
believe what you're saying, but I had to try. "It's 
taken us six years to get this far. I don't want to 
mess up the progress we've made tonight by doing 
something we might regret in the morning."

"I wasn't planning on regretting it," she said. "Were 
you?"

I shook my head. "Scully, we've both been drinking. 
You yourself admitted saying things you might not 
otherwise have said without the courage the alcohol 
provided. I was telling you the truth in Bermuda, but 
you didn't believe me because I was drugged.  When we 
take this next step, and I do believe we will, I just 
want it to be right. I don't want there to be any 
second-guessing or any regrets for either of us."

"Mulder, I am not drunk and neither are you. A nice 
little buzz, yes. Relaxed, yes. But I am perfectly 
capable of making rational decisions. And I want us 
to make love, right here, in this bed. It's destiny, 
Mulder. I know it in my heart. Fate brought us here 
tonight."

I took a deep breath and prepared to face the music. 
"Scully, it wasn't fate that brought us here. It was 
Frohike."

One corner of her mouth turned up. "What?"

I shoved my hand in my back pocket, pulled out the 
note, and waved it in front of her nose. "Read this."

She shook her head questioningly as she took the note 
from my hand, unfolded it and started to read. While 
I waited, I crossed my arms and let my chin drop to 
my chest, preparing myself to take whatever was 
hurled my way.  A few moments later, she refolded the 
note and held it gently by the corner as if she 
planned to lift fingerprints from it later.

"Does this mean ... are you saying that all this was 
meant for us? That Frohike deliberately locked us in 
here?"

I nodded quickly, not looking up or relaxing my body 
from its defensive position.

"When did you find this?" I didn't need to see her 
face; I could hear the accusation in her voice.

"I found it when we got the food out of the 
refrigerator."

"So you've known about this for hours and didn't say 
anything?"

"I tried a couple of times," I said. "But I couldn't. 
I was enjoying being with you, and I didn't want to 
spoil it. I'm sorry, I should have told you when I 
found it."

I turned away, swinging my legs over the side of the 
bed and dropping my feet to the floor with a thud. I 
sat with my head in my hands as the silence got 
louder, the scrape of her fingernail along the crease 
of the notepaper the only sound breaking the 
stillness. The bed shifted as she left it, probably 
before she realized there was really nowhere she 
could go. She was stuck with this sorry son of a 
bitch for another eight hours or so.

I was wallowing in so much self-pity that I barely 
felt her hand on my shoulder, her touch feather-light 
as she sat down beside me. Her hand slid across my 
back, her fingers stroking the back of my neck as her 
other hand rested gently on my thigh.

She leaned toward me, her voice at a whisper. 
"Frohike went to a lot of trouble. It doesn't seem 
fair to disappoint him."

I looked at her in shock. "You're kidding, right?" I 
knew she wasn't when her tongue swirled over and into 
my ear. "Now I know you're drunk."

"I am not drunk, Mulder," she said, trailing a path 
of light kisses down my jaw. "I know exactly what I'm 
saying. And doing."

<She'd get no argument from me on that point.>

She placed one wet kiss on the corner of my mouth and 
put her arms around my neck. "Actually, I think this 
was kind of sweet, Frohike playing matchmaker. It's 
funny that other people were aware of our attraction 
to one another when we weren't aware of it 
ourselves."

I shook my head. "I can't believe you're not mad, 
Scully. What happened to the woman who believed in 
fate?"

"Sometimes fate needs a little push."

She placed her palm against my cheek and turned my 
head to face her, bringing her lips up to meet mine. 
The kiss was soft but meaningful, an introduction as 
well as a preview of things to come. Her eyes were 
dancing when she pulled back to gauge my reaction.

"Dr. Scully," I whispered, "you're trying to seduce 
me."

"I thought you'd never notice." She pressed her lips 
against the stubble on my chin. "Are we going to talk 
in movie cliches all night?" she asked. "I have 
something better in mind."

She reached up to caress my cheek again, but I caught 
her wrist and shook my head. "Scully, I think ..."

She jumped off the bed so quickly I was left bobbing 
back and forth like a buoy. "Frohike was right," she 
said. "You *do* think too much." She grabbed one of 
my hands with both of hers and pulled me off the bed 
with more force than I ever imagined she could 
muster. "Come on, Mulder. Let's go."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"We're going to get sober."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

I'd been in "hot water" with Scully more times than I 
could remember, but this was certainly the best time. 
It was so wonderful, so relaxing, that I almost 
didn't want to leave. Almost.

Scully and I luxuriated in the Jacuzzi for nearly an 
hour, enjoying our standard brand of foreplay -- 
conversation -- while we experimented with reasonably 
chaste and playful caresses and kisses. So far 
everything we'd done could be dismissed or forgotten 
-- though not easily; we were both naked, after all, 
although our bodies were somewhat obscured by the 
whirling waters. But consciously or subconsciously, 
with our restraint we'd left each other an escape 
clause. We both knew that once we crossed that final 
hurdle of intimacy, things would be forever changed.  
And I was terrified.

Not of the intimacy. In my deepest moments of self-
reflection I realized that I'd been more intimate 
with Scully with my clothes on than I'd been with any 
other woman with my clothes off. Sometimes I felt 
Scully and I were so close that we were already 
lovers in every way but one. What if we took that 
last step, then realized it was the biggest mistake 
of our lives? What if we were throwing away our 
friendship and partnership for one night of sex? Was 
it worth the risk?

I stood next to the bed, hands shoved in the pockets 
of the fluffy white robe, waiting for Scully to 
finish up in the bathroom. How many times had I 
wondered what it would be like to make love to Scully 
in this bed? And now that it was so close to 
happening, I was in danger of losing my nerve.

A pair of arms snaked around my waist and a shock of 
auburn hair rested against my shoulder blade. "You're 
not thinking again, are you?"

"A little," I said, turning to face her. "Are you 
sure this is what you want, Scully? Really sure?"

She took a step backward and raised her right hand. 
"I, Dana Katherine Scully, do solemnly swear that I 
am, at this very moment, as sober as a judge. I am in 
complete control of all my faculties, my judgment is 
sound, and my reflexes are not impaired in the least. 
And I do further declare and affirm that I wish for 
us to make love to one another as soon as is humanly 
possible, so if you don't believe me, feel free to 
conduct any test you like. Want me to walk a straight 
line?"

She took six graceful steps forward, pirouetted like 
a gymnast on the balance beam, and took six steps 
back. "Done. Want me to touch my nose with my 
fingertips?" She closed her eyes, held her arms 
straight out from her body, and brought her index 
finger to her nose, first left, then right, two times 
from each side. "Done!" she cried. "Want me to 
balance on one foot while reciting the Gettysburg 
Address? Four score and seven years ago ..."

I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her mouth to mine, 
softly at first, then with purpose. Her lips parted 
and our tongues and teeth jockeyed for position, 
touching and exploring until the need for oxygen 
became too great. I reluctantly pulled away, trapping 
her head between my hands, my fingers tangling in her 
damp hair. Her eyes were smoky blue, filled with 
desire only for me.

"I prefer the Breathalyzer test," I said.

"So tell me, officer," she purred. "What did I blow?"

"Nothing yet," I murmured. "But the night is still 
young."

Her face broke into a wicked grin. "Aren't you going 
to read me my rights?"

"You have the right *not* to remain silent."

She giggled, "Ooh, why do I think that's *not* the 
first time you've used that line?"

"Resisting an officer of the law, huh?" I flirted. 
"Am I gonna have to use the handcuffs?"

"Hmmm, kinky," she said. "But not this time, officer. 
I'll go peacefully."

"Good, because I left them in my other pants."

"I hope that's the *only* thing you left in your 
other pants." She stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek 
and casually rubbed her body against mine before 
leaning over to turn down the bed -- the same sheets 
and comforter that only a few hours ago we had 
carefully smoothed across the pulsating mattress.

"I guess now I know why Frohike was so adamant that I 
pick out the sheets," she said, fluffing each pillow 
before tossing it next to the headboard. "He left 
nothing to chance."

She squeezed my hand and walked around the bed to 
prepare the covers on the other side. I nervously 
pulled open the nightstand drawer and found what I 
was looking for. "Yes, Frohike thought of 
everything," I said, shaking the box and rattling its 
contents. "Ribbed for your pleasure."

I started to break the seal and her voice rolled 
across the bed as gently as the waves within the 
mattress. "I don't need those if you don't."

I smiled and tossed the box back in the drawer, 
trying to stop my knees from knocking before I took 
off my robe. Scully was fluffing her last pillow, so 
I tugged on the knot I'd tied in the robe's belt and 
took a deep breath. "Well, here goes nothin'," I 
said, and the robe dropped to the floor.

Scully tried to hold back a chuckle as she took in 
the view. "I'm not asking you to sweet talk me, 
Mulder, but for future reference, those are not 
exactly the words a girl wants to hear right before 
you plan to make love to her."

"Oh, sorry." Scully continued to watch me as I 
climbed into bed, refraining from comment as I 
satisfied the obligatory adolescent compulsion to 
check out how certain body parts looked in the 
mirror. I'm not so sure she didn't sneak a peek 
herself. When I was comfortable, I patted the empty 
spot beside me and held out my hand, completing the 
invitation.

"Just one more thing," she said. She hit the dimmer 
switch on the wall, picked up something from the 
kitchen counter, and made her way around the room, 
pausing to light each candle Frohike had set out. 
Funny, I hadn't even noticed them until now. When she 
finished, she dropped the lighter on the desk and 
returned to her side of the bed, stopping for a 
moment to marvel at the luminescence created by the 
candlelight reflecting off the canopy. She took a 
deep breath, and slowly slid the robe from her 
shoulders.

She stood perfectly still, allowing me the same 
opportunity I'd afforded her a few minutes earlier. 
Her hair was soft and untamed, framing her face 
perfectly. Her pale skin was radiant in the 
candlelight, her breasts round and firm. The curves 
I'd visualized lurking under those blue jeans and 
Donna Karan suits were abundant and magnificent, my 
imagination ill-equipped to do them justice. In a 
word, she was exquisite.

The effect Scully was having on me was more than 
evident, but she couldn't resist a little flirtation. 
"Disappointed?"

I shook my head slowly, my mouth almost too dry to 
form words. "Only that we didn't do this a long time 
ago."

"No more misgivings?"

"Right now I can't think of a single one. Scully, if 
I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it 
against me?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Movie cliches weren't 
enough, now you want to recite lyrics from bad 
country songs?"

"Hey, that's a classic," I said. "And you didn't 
answer the question."

She smiled and crawled into bed slowly, purposefully, 
like a lioness stalking her prey. I was making myself 
dizzy trying to watch her movements from every 
possible angle. I was propped against the pillows, 
and she stretched out beside me, resting her head on 
my chest for a moment as if she was checking my 
heartbeat, reassuring herself that this was indeed 
real.

She draped herself over my chest to kiss my forehead, 
the tip of my nose, my lips, my chin, seemingly 
fixated on heading south without a roadmap, but not 
afraid to pause frequently at rest stops or to spend 
extra time exploring areas of local interest. While 
Scully took the scenic route, I was content with 
enjoying the sights right where I was, the mirror 
affording me an incredible view of the ouroboros 
painted on her back. I traced my index finger over 
the colorful circular serpent and the snake seemed to 
come to life, writhing under my touch just as I was 
under Scully's.

I'd only seen her tattoo a few times, but it always 
fascinated me, and I found it sexy as hell. I always 
thought she considered it a badge of honor, earned 
during an act of rebellion -- an uprising against 
many things not the least of which was me. Regardless 
of why she did it, I still wanted to believe she 
chose that particular tattoo as a symbol of our 
partnership -- creation out of destruction, life out 
of death, an eternal cycle of renewal.

I realized the kisses had stopped and turned my 
attention back to the woman in my arms. "What's 
wrong?" I asked.

"You don't suppose Frohike has any cameras in here, 
do you?"

"No," I said reassuringly. "He has too much respect 
for you."

"That's too bad," she teased. "I think I'd like to 
have this on tape. Something to put in the drawer 
with those other tapes that aren't yours."

I chuckled and looked into her eyes, holding her 
tight as I absently stroked her hair.

She tilted her head and raised the corner of her 
mouth and her eyebrow at the same time. "Are you 
thinking again?"

"I was just wondering what it'll be like on Monday," 
I replied dreamily. "Going to work with a partner who 
is also my lover."

"You may not get to find out if you don't stop 
thinking and pay attention." She raised herself up to 
her knees, placing her hands on my shoulders for 
balance as she straddled my hips, her bottom nestled 
against my thighs. "Tell me, Agent Mulder," she said, 
"while you've been doing all this thinking, have you 
given any thought as to how you'd like to do this?"

<Only about a million times.>

"You're doing just fine," I said. "Keep going, FBI 
woman."

And she did.

It was times like this that I wished I were a man of 
faith so I could pray to a benevolent God, not to 
make time stand still, but just to slow it down a 
little. I wanted to remember every detail of the 
first time we made love -- every sound, every touch, 
every taste, every moment -- and I knew despite my 
best efforts, it would be over much too quickly.

And it was.

But there were things I would remember: Watching in 
the mirror as our bodies moved rhythmically with the 
waterbed's waves, erotic and hypnotic all at the same 
time. The huge grin that spread across Scully's face 
as she discovered the "sensation intensification" 
that a waterbed provides. The neat tuck and roll 
maneuver she orchestrated when she realized the 
partner looking up had the advantage. Most of all I 
would remember the exact moment we joined together, 
and how pleased I was to affirm that despite the 
difference in height, our bodies fit together 
perfectly -- just as I always knew they would.

"You're thinking again."

I thought she had dozed off and her throaty growl 
startled me. 

She was tucked beside me, her hand on my chest, her 
head resting against my shoulder. "I can see the 
wheels turning from here," she said.

"I was just thinking I should check my lease when I 
get home," I replied. "See if there's any rules about 
mirrored ceilings." She laughed and snuggled closer. 
"And I was thinking that was more amazing than I ever 
dreamed possible."

She winked. "Well, *I* was thinking that practice 
makes perfect."

"You didn't think that was perfect?"

"Well, you said that one of the things you love about 
me is that I challenge you." She pressed a kiss 
against my ribcage. "I can't let you rest on your 
laurels, so to speak."

I smiled and kissed her forehead. "Well, I'm not as 
young as I used to be. Can I rest on my laurels for 
just a little while if I promise to *rise* to the 
challenge later on, so to speak?"

We shared a laugh and a kiss and turned onto our 
sides so I could spoon up behind her. "You know what 
else I was thinking, Scully?"

"What?"

"The last time I slept in this bed, the same day 
repeated over and over again." I leaned in close and 
whispered in her ear. "I know you have your doubts 
about whether that really happened, but I just wanted 
you to know, if *this* day repeats over and over 
again -- I won't be disappointed."

She looked back over her shoulder and smiled, pulling 
my arms tighter around her. "Neither will I, Mulder. 
Neither will I."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

"Rise and shine, boys and girls! And how are we 
feeling on this beautiful Sunday morning?"

I'm not sure exactly what Frohike expected to find 
when he unlocked the steel door at 8 a.m. sharp, but 
I was pretty sure it wasn't Scully and me, fully 
dressed, sitting on the end of the bed playing gin 
rummy.

Given the expression on his face, he also didn't 
expect Scully to come bounding off the bed to let him 
have it with both barrels. She might not have been 
quite so tough on the poor little guy, but Frohike 
had failed to take one important factor into 
consideration. His plan was perfect, flawlessly timed 
and executed, but for one crucial error -- no coffee.

Scully didn't have the opportunity to "tower" over 
too many people, but she was making the most of it 
with Frohike. Or maybe he was shrinking. It was 
difficult to tell.

"Just what the hell did you think you were doing?" 
She had her hands on her hips, her face about one 
inch from his, her tirade coming fast and furious. 
And she didn't let Frohike get a word in edgewise. 
"Locking us in here like that ... suppose there had 
been an emergency ... what if Skinner was trying to 
reach us ... you can't meddle in people's lives like 
that ... my love life is my own business ... whatever 
possessed you to do something so inconsiderate and 
mean-spirited? Well, say something!"

"I'm ... I'm sorry," he sputtered. "I really didn't 
think you'd feel this way. I don't know what else to 
say."

She crossed her arms and looked down at him sternly. 
"Well, I only have *one* thing to say to you, 
Frohike." She leaned forward and he tensed up, 
waiting for her to drop the bomb.

"Thank you, Melvin." She kissed his cheek and smiled, 
the smile usually saved only for me. But I let her 
share it with Frohike just this once. "Come on, 
Mulder, let's go."

Frohike looked totally flabbergasted. "What? Wait! 
Hold on a second! Where are you going?"

"First, we're going to get coffee," I said.
 
"And then we're going to buy Mulder a new bed," 
Scully explained cheerfully, the mere promise of 
coffee putting her in a better frame of mind. "He 
can't go back to sleeping on that couch."

"Are mirrors standard or optional equipment?" I asked

"It's not like buying a car, Mulder." Scully picked 
up the shopping bag leaning against the wall and we 
headed for the open door.

"Wait a second!" Frohike shouted. "Where are you 
going with my sheets?"

"Your sheets are over there." She pointed toward the 
bed. "*These* are mine now. Don't worry, I'll get you 
some replacements.  Enjoy the bed, Frohike." She 
turned and was out the bedroom door before he could 
answer, her voice trailing behind her. "Come on, 
Mulder! Get that very fine ass moving!"

I shrugged my shoulders and grinned sheepishly. 
"Thanks, Frohike," I said, extending my hand. "For 
everything. And I do mean everything. I'll see you 
later. Gotta go."

He scratched his head and waved me off. "Yeah, okay, 
go. But you're not gonna get out of telling me 
exactly what happened here last night."

I paused at the bedroom door. "Tutoring," I said. "A 
friend told me my arithmetic skills left something to 
be desired. As it turned out, my friend was correct 
about a lot of things -- including the fact that 
Agent Scully is a terrific teacher. So long, Frohike. 
And thanks again."

Scully was waiting for me by the front door, and I 
opened it and motioned for her to lead the way. Just 
before we made our exit, Frohike appeared outside his 
bedroom.

"Yeah, you call it what you want," he said. "But you 
know what I think?  I think ..."

I looked at him disapprovingly and shook my head, 
offering a piece of advice before I closed the door 
behind me. "You know the trouble with you, Frohike? 
You think too much."

THE END

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