Title: After the Tavern
Author: Adrienne < davephile@yahoo.com > 
Date: June 27, 2008
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S8
Classification: SRA
Keywords: Mulder/Scully, Scully/Reyes, Mulder/Reyes
Archive: Anywhere, in its entirety
Summary: Apparently, three is in fact a crowd.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just play with their Barbies when I'm 
not writing them into sexual situations.
Author's Notes: This story exists in an alternate reality and has been 
coined by one fan as "a messed up ball of fun." Mulder did get abducted 
and returned. Scully never got pregnant; I couldn't do this to a 
pregnant woman. Mulder never killed Knowle Rohrer, he wasn't court 
marshaled and M&S didn't run away together, not yet anyway. Besides 
that...yeah everything's the same. Be forewarned that this story 
(through all parts) goes to odd, uncomfortable places. Hot sex abounds. 
People will be angry, hurt and confused. Relationships are so fun, 
aren't they? 
Extensive notes available for your perusal at the end of this story.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She hears him calling her name through the darkness and stumbles to 
find him. Her steps lead to nothing. Lost in the dark, she begins to 
panic and squint through the sparse light of a half-moon filtering 
through a maze of trees. The smell of a deep pine forest attacks her 
senses. Wet earth, leaves disintegrating under her feet, she runs 
faster toward his voice. But it's everywhere. In front, behind, all 
around her. She trips and begins to fall. She lands next to his cold 
body, his lifeless gaze pointing her in another direction.

Scully's body twitched and tossed until at long last, she jumped awake. 
Eyes wild, she scanned the room, becoming aware of her surroundings. 
Alone in her bed, sheets tousled, a light drifting in from the 
bathroom. Scully panted as she pulled sweaty hair away from her cheeks. 
She closed her eyes as silence enveloped her. She heard nothing but a 
stray car passing by outside, a light wind through the trees.

The bathroom light flicked off and she pretended to be asleep, her 
fingers twisted into the worn cotton sheets. A hot tear fell and she 
bit the inside of her cheek. Another night, another dream, another 
loss.

She felt a body slip in beside her and exhaled as a warm hand slid 
across her bare stomach. She knew better than to hide her sorrow. She 
tried, but always miserably failed.

"Dana?"

She opened her eyes, turning on her side. Fingers blazed a tiny trail 
along the small of her back. The gaze that was returned is dark, 
sincerely concerned. She took a shaky breath. "It's okay. Just another 
nightmare."

No explanation was necessary. They were always the same. The fingers 
sifted through her hair, calming her instantly. She snuggled deeply 
into the scented, soft skin of Monica's shoulder. Their limbs twined 
together, a habit that had 
quickly formed between them.

Monica combed through her soft hair with her fingers until Scully 
drifted off into slumber, hoping for a rare and peaceful rest.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

ONE MONTH EARLIER
J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
5:06 P.M.

"So what you got planned tonight, Agent Mulder?" Doggett asked, 
smacking his fist into his palm aimlessly. Mulder wondered whether John 
Doggett really needed to know that he'd planned a spectacular night of 
watching UFO sightings on YouTube over a container of beef lo mein. 
Doggett wasn't on the X-Files anymore, but frequented the basement just 
about as often as Agent Reyes, to check on how the cases were going, 
asking about anything new and exciting.

Once you're in it, you're in it for life, Mulder thought. He sauntered 
with his coat to the door.

"Not much. You?"

"Well, the reason I came down here is tonight a few of us are going out 
with Monica to celebrate her first ten years at the Bureau," he 
answered, walking alongside Mulder to the elevator.

"Going out?" Mulder repeated.

"Yeah, you know. A few rounds of drinks. She has about as much of a 
life as we all do around here," Doggett replied. "Well except maybe 
you. But thought I'd have a drink with her to celebrate."

Mulder furrowed his brow, contemplating Doggett's obvious criticism of 
his social life. Or lack thereof.

"Let me talk to Scully and we'll be there if we can," he answered. It 
had been a long time since they'd been out. It was usually too much of 
a hassle. Most nights they spent together began with a rented movie and 
ended with him picking up the scattered pieces of his clothing that 
trailed to her bedroom.

"All right, we'll be at the Billy Goat Tavern around nine or so," 
Doggett said. Mulder nodded and headed for his car.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"They're going to the Billy Goat Tavern?" Scully repeated over the 
phone. He could practically hear her nose wrinkling. "Whose idea was 
that, Mulder? Yours?"

"No," he answered defensively. He'd known what her reaction would be 
before he asked. "It was your friend Agent Doggett's idea, thanks."

"It's so...interesting." He could hear her seethe a bit on the other 
end of the line. "Maybe we can buy her a t-shirt."

"Scully, I'm just the messenger here. You know I'd rather stay home, 
but I'm afraid nobody's going to show up at this impromptu shindig and 
poor Agent Reyes is going to be stuck listening to New York City crime 
stories all night as Agent Doggett nurses his gin."

He knew what it would take to convince her. He'd mastered that tone and 
delivery a long time ago.

A deep sigh proved it to be true. "I suppose we haven't been out in 
awhile."

"Damn straight," Mulder said.

"You're doing the driving," she added.

"Certainly, Miss Daisy. I'll come calling at 8:30."

"Whatever," she groaned, rolling her eyes.

SCULLY'S APARTMENT
8:41 P.M.

Mulder picked her up late as usual and Scully made him wait a little 
longer just to spite him. He was drumming along on the steering wheel 
to Journey when she slid into the seat next to him.

"Hey," she said, turning down the blaring music. 

"Who doesn't like Steve Perry?" he asked. She felt his eyes slowly pass 
over her body, bringing color to her cheeks. He immediately noticed her 
blush and his lips curled up in a smug smile. "You look beautiful."

She laughed softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Thank you."

Scully had always been intrigued by the effect his words and looks had 
on her state of mind, and as of late, her physical state as well. One 
glance could make her feel like an ice cream cone dripping in midday 
August heat, anticipating the first touch of his tongue.

She remembered their first time together in the most vivid details 
imaginable. She'd arrived at his apartment door, a typical day, a 
typical mission to discuss the details of a case they were working on. 
Her typical excuse for visiting 
with a bagful of takeout food, just because. That night it was Greek, 
and she'd gone out of her way to swing by his favorite place. He liked 
the stuffed grape leaves, which amused her, because she'd never seen 
him exhibit such a diversified palate until she started bringing him 
meals.

He'd opened the door, the breezy smell of his cologne hitting her and 
wobbling her knees. Wet hair, a t-shirt and jeans, no socks. She'd 
stepped into the apartment and closed the door, and upon facing him 
again, he had her up against the hard wood so quickly it took her mind 
a few seconds to catch up. His mouth had hungrily searched hers, 
sending a hot current down her body from head to toe. 

Clothes were torn, a lamp crashed to the floor, magazines were flung to 
the ground to make room on the closest available surface to explore 
each other. They'd crash landed on the couch; frantically groping 
hands, fingernails digging into heated skin, teeth gnashing together. 
Fingers twining into hair, sliding down slick flesh, memorizing every 
spot they could find. They couldn't get there quickly enough.

Mulder's mouth had moved down her stomach, leaving fiery hot kisses in 
its wake.  She'd pulled at his hair with a moan as he moved down her 
inner thighs with slow strokes of his tongue, like he was taking a long 
forbidden road before 
arriving at his final destination. Her hips arched to him; she was 
desperate for him to come up and kiss her again, not knowing how long 
she could hold out if he put his mouth on her.

He'd whispered a plea for just a little taste of her, which caused a 
surge of wetness where he pressed his tongue. He'd taken advantage of 
the precious time she'd allowed him, burying his mouth against her 
folds and finding her swollen clit immediately.

Scully had ground against him as he devoted his tongue to her most 
sensitive spot. She felt the telltale sparks of climax and pushed her 
hands over his damp head, dragging him up at last. She throbbed against 
the hardness rubbing between her legs as he shared a kiss with her, 
letting her explore her taste in his mouth. She'd sucked it from his 
tongue and begged for him to fuck her. He'd moaned when the words left 
her lips, a deep and primal sound that sent her head spinning. There 
had been years of foreplay and this next step was far past due. He 
pushed her down against the couch, growling as he entered her.

He'd pushed her legs up over his shoulders and she cried out as he 
filled her fully and deeply. The little coherent thought she had left 
was focused on how his eyes staring intently into hers was another kind 
of lovemaking she'd never encountered. She was barely able to utter his 
name as he fucked her, smoothing his hands down her slender, soft legs, 
grabbing her thighs roughly to steady her. He'd waited for her to come, 
sending her there by finding her wet and swollen with his fingers. Her 
muscles ached around him, pulling him with her into the deep.

Scully's tears surprised her. Mulder had laid on top of her gently, 
settling between her legs, sticky, cool and tingling. She'd clung on to 
him and buried her face in his shoulder so he couldn't see her cry. The 
tears had come out of nowhere; though she knew they were an expected 
reaction to intense joy, it felt unusual and unsettling to her. He'd 
snuggled close, feeling her body shake slightly with a sob. She'd 
lifted her head to meet his eyes and he'd told her it was okay to cry. 
They were lost in a gentle kiss for what felt like ages.

BILLY GOAT TAVERN
10:01 P.M.

"...And that's how we found out that there really are alligators in the 
New York City sewer system," Doggett proudly stated, raising his mug of 
Guinness. "How's that for an X-File?"

Scully shot a sideways glance at Mulder, who eyed her as well. Each 
lifted their beer bottles simultaneously and took a long, desperately 
needed swig.

Monica Reyes humored Doggett, seemingly endeared by the heroic telling 
of his exploits. She tinkled ice cubes around her amaretto sour with a 
little blue plastic sword while she smiled generically in his 
direction.

The four of them sat in a dark corner booth of the pub. Apparently, 
when Doggett said a "few of us" were taking Monica out, the few were 
the three of them. Mulder was increasingly, mostly, glad they'd showed. 
Much more of this and Monica would be tendering her resignation 
tomorrow morning.

Mulder sat back and slid an arm around Scully's shoulders. She settled 
into him; it was an unusual gesture in public, but she was seeking some 
sort of comfort from Doggett's unabashed stories of epic proportions.

"Thanks for coming out, guys," Monica said, sipping her drink. "It 
means a lot."

"Oh, it was no problem," Mulder assured her.

Doggett finished off his beer and checked his watch. "Well, I hate to 
step out early, but I got a full day tomorrow."

"John!" Monica protested with an impish smile. "You're ditching me so 
early."

"Well...yeah," he admitted. "But I had to take you out to party."

Scully let out a little hmmm and Mulder squeezed her shoulder, 
silencing her.

Monica sucked down her drink and rolled the ice around in the tumbler. 
"Are you guys game for another round?" she asked, arching her eyebrows. 
She never went out. She wasn't going home until she felt some sort of a 
buzz.

"Sure," Scully said, smiling at Doggett. "Take care and be safe."

BILLY GOAT TAVERN
11:21 P.M.

"Scully, I didn't know you even *knew* what a purple hooter was." 
Mulder grinned at her, lounging back on the worn polyester booth. He 
always found it intriguing how Scully's cheeks reddened when she had 
too much to drink. He'd been nursing his own vodka tonic a little more 
slowly than his two female drinking partners.

An hour had passed since the straight-laced Agent Doggett had departed 
and the drinks had kept coming. He'd watched Scully relax and enjoy 
herself more as the time passed. It was a rare and beautiful sight when 
she giggled at one of his stupid jokes, like really giggled, not just 
one of those tolerant, fake giggles she let out when she pitied him. 
And she wasn't normally one to kick back and suck down odd drinks with 
inappropriate names. It was nice to see her having such a good time 
out.

"Shut up, Mulder," she managed with one of those real giggles. She 
gulped the remainder of the sweet cocktail, gagging a bit at the end. 
Monica laughed and traced her finger around the edge of her glass. He'd 
spent some time trying to read Monica tonight, and she was proving to 
be difficult to figure out. She was outwardly energetic and friendly, 
but he couldn't help but sense there was something mysterious behind 
her dark eyes, like she was always observing those around her and 
taking mental notes.

"You guys are nuts," Monica said with a smile, tipping her glass so the 
last drop of amaretto trickled into her mouth. "It's like you're 
married or something."

Mulder cringed and Scully gave him that look. "I'm too good for him. 
And I'm not going to commit to anything until he learns how to squeeze 
a tube of toothpaste," she said. Her admission shocked him a bit; she 
normally didn't insinuate to anyone that the two of them may, or may 
not, have been involved in more than a professional sense. Though the 
first toothpaste incident had occurred "on the job," there had 
admittedly been other incidents. More than a few.

He watched Scully. She was apparently feeling a pretty heavy buzz. She 
smiled mischievously at Monica while she revealed his more personal 
details. He decided to play along, feeling a tiny thrill at bantering 
with two intelligent, attractive women. Okay, hot women.

"That doesn't matter," he said. "It's only toothpaste. I'm not going to 
commit to anything until you..." He pointed at Scully, who looked at 
him expectantly. "Until you pick up your underwear off the bathroom 
floor after you shower."

"Okay, this is a little more than I need to know," Monica said with a 
laugh, her eyes dancing.

"Mulder, that is none of anybody's business! And anyway, I hardly think 
that the way one squeezes toothpaste and leaving underwear on the floor 
are the same caliber of offense," Scully said, giggling again at her 
logic.

"You're right...I don't mind picking up your underwear. Sometimes it 
ends up in my bag at work. I don't know how," he said, twirling his 
bottle on the hardwood table and smirking at them.

"That's sick!" Monica said, smiling. She twirled her little blue 
plastic sword between her fingers, watching the two of them trade 
insults. More of her incessant observation. She was a lot like him in 
that respect.
 
"He's a very sick man," Scully agreed. Mulder smiled at her for a 
second, then quickly grabbed the back of her head and bestowed upon her 
a sloppy, wet kiss. She resisted at first, but he felt her start to 
smile against his mouth as she gave in.

"Ugh!" She giggled as she wiped the drool from her lip. "Mulder! You're 
such a sloppy kisser." He dropped his hand and shrugged.

In a split second, Monica slid her hand to the back of Scully's head 
and pulled her into a kiss. Their lips were still against each other 
for a moment before Scully nudged against her mouth, grabbing the back 
of Monica's hair.

Mulder stared at them, shook his head violently, and stared again. He 
felt his stomach twist, but not a disgusted kind of twist. It was 
rather the kind of twist he got when he watched late night pay-per-view 
in his crappy hotel room while Scully was innocently sleeping in the 
next room over, probably naked, or at least in her underwear.

The two women parted lips after seconds that felt like hours to him. 
Scully smiled sheepishly and Monica raised her eyebrows to her empty 
glass with a slow sigh.

Mulder wasn't sure what to say; he knew what he wanted to say, 
something in the manner of "Hell fucking yeah," but he didn't say a 
word. Instead, the three of them sat silently for a few minutes, the 
sound of other parties' drunken stupors invading their secluded booth.

"So...I guess this party came to a halt," Mulder said with a forced 
laugh. Monica smiled and glanced at Scully, who was absentmindedly 
sucking her lower lip. "So...my place?"

He surprised himself a bit at his offer, not sure what he expected, and 
not really wanting to think too hard about it for fear of losing his 
cool. Scully looked at him and shrugged. "Sure. You've got a great 
assortment of porn to peruse."

Monica laughed and shook her head. "I don't know. It's getting late."

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Who are you, John Doggett? We'll catch a cab 
and I'll tell him to come back and get you in a few hours. Live a 
little."

Monica looked at Scully, who gave her an encouraging smile. She sighed, 
throwing her tip money on the table. "Let's go."

MULDER'S APARTMENT
9:24 A.M.

Monica's cell phone rang a robotic bird chirp, jerking her awake. She 
cringed at the obnoxious intrusion that stirred her from a deep sleep. 
And then the headache hit.

She groaned and lifted herself up, squinting. It was way too bright in 
the room...some room. She realized she was in a strange place. A well-
worn brown couch, a secondhand coffee table.

Chirp...chirp...chirp...

"Where the hell..." she muttered, frantically feeling the pockets of 
her skirt. The chirping stopped. Silence filled the room and she rubbed 
her eyes, head pounding. She'd fallen asleep on Mulder's couch, she 
remembered now. Fallen asleep...blacked out...whatever.

Chirp. Her cell phone greeted her again and she spied her coat at the 
end of the couch. She grabbed the phone from the side pocket. She knew 
who was calling and why. And she knew how she got to Mulder's place, a 
fuzzy cab ride with the three of them squished in the back, her legs 
stuck to the dirty polyester seats. She let out a deep breath and 
flicked her phone open.

"Reyes."

"Monica! Where the hell are you?"

"Good morning, John...It's late. I know. I slept late."

"Your car's still at the bar! What'd you do, pass out in the bathroom 
or something?"

She sucked in a sharp breath. "I took a cab home."

"And missed the 8:30 meeting."

"Yes." Dad. "And missed the meeting." She glanced at Mulder's clock. 
"I'll be in...soon. I just have to shower."

Catch a cab to the bar, drive home, freak out, shower.

"See you then," he replied, hanging up.

Thank God, she thought drowsily, running her hands through her hair and 
shaking her head. Memories of the night before began flowing through 
her mind like rushing water. Excitement...curiosity...and then there 
was that incident between the three of them.

She'd never imagined Mulder had a mirror over his bed.

"Huh," she said to the coffee table in front of her. A chill ran down 
her spine as she visualized a few of the more pertinent details of what 
had transpired. She was completely confused, abhorrently hung over, and 
something else she couldn't quite put her finger on.

She groaned, at her headache, at the imagery. Enough reminiscing for 
now.

She rose from the couch and threw on her coat. The blood pounded 
through her forehead, berating her for her irresponsibility. What were 
you thinking? You weren't. What were you doing? Well, that's pretty 
damn obvious.

Now what?

Go home, Monica.

She searched for her shoes but they were nowhere to be found. Oh God, 
she thought. They're in the bedroom.

She began to think maybe nobody was in the apartment. It was so quiet. 
Maybe they went to get coffee or the paper. Or they went to work 
without her.

Monica peered into Mulder's bedroom. Her shoes had haphazardly landed 
against his closet door. Dana and Mulder were in his bed. She realized 
they were still naked, curled up into each other. Her breath caught in 
her throat as her eyes passed over them. She shook it off, collected 
her shoes and quickly left, easing the apartment door closed on her way 
out.

Mulder heard Monica's phone ring and stirred in bed. At first alarmed, 
then annoyed, he realized what the chirping was. He tightened his arm 
around Scully's waist and she muttered something indecipherable. He 
could feel his pulse in his temples, evidence of one or two too many 
beers at Monica's party.

Monica's party.

Afterparty sponsored by Fox Mulder.

Scenes flashed through his mind like a filmstrip of unimaginable 
scenarios. Kisses, bare skin, new scents, excitement, wonder, jealousy. 
The way Scully had looked at him, her eyes a shade darker.

"Fuck," he uttered into her soft tousled hair. He sighed and thought of 
his ibuprofen, so far away in the medicine cabinet.

Monica had left without saying a word. He was a little relieved and 
perplexed.

Stop thinking.

He hoped that when the gravity of the situation hit...well, hopefully 
there'd be no gravity at all. He was pretty damn sure this was one 
incident he'd be happy to sweep under his rug, if there was enough room 
left. But a small part of him wavered, not willing to let it go so 
easily.

MULDER'S APARTMENT
12:15 P.M.

Scully woke up to a feeling not unlike hitting her forehead against a 
brick wall. Not that she'd actually done it, but it had to hurt just as 
badly.

She felt Mulder's long body lining her back, his skin damp with sweat 
against her own. She forced her eyes open to see it was already past 
noon.

"Jesus," she groaned, pushing her bottom back into Mulder's hips. 
"Mulder. Mulder. Mulder. It's late." She wiggled around in his tight 
embrace, realizing it was lunchtime on Tuesday and they were stark 
naked in bed. "Mul-der."

"Personal day," he muttered. "Don't make me open my eyes, Scully. I'm 
not sure that I can."

She relaxed a bit, defeated. Too much hard liquor last night. Those 
damned mixed drinks with the funny names. A dull pang of anxiety hit 
her deep in the stomach. It wasn't just the overindulgence. She 
suddenly remembered everything from last night. What she thought was 
everything. Enough to make her wonder if it was all a really messed up 
dream.

"Mulder, where's Monica?"

"She left," Mulder groaned, stretching out his legs with a sigh. 
"Doggett was probably on her ass."

"She didn't say anything?"

"No," Mulder said. "What exactly did you think she would say? Thanks 
for the memories?"

Scully wasn't amused by his juvenile quip. In fact, she felt unusually 
irritable. "Mulder...I'm going to get up and shower."

He pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck. "We could stay in bed all 
day. We've never done that."

"Not today," she murmured. She slid out of his embrace and headed for 
the bathroom.

Scully looked at herself in the mirror, a bit mystified by the 
reflection that glared back. She looked like she'd been drinking the 
night before. A lot. She felt like she'd been drinking a lot. When she 
couldn't bear to look any longer, she stepped into Mulder's shower, the 
water as hot as she could stand it.

Steam rolled around her body, a welcome embrace to comfort the telltale 
muscular ache of dehydration. She let the water pour over her forehead, 
temporary alleviating the pain deep in her temples.

The night before, well, about eight hours before, felt like a dream. 
Something that she'd never expected to happen and couldn't possibly 
have prepared for, despite her tendency for preplanning. Something came 
alive inside of her last night at the bar and then afterward. She'd 
been bipolar, both sides overcoming her at different times. Excitement 
and dread. Arousal and jealousy. Comfort and anger.

Scully let the hot current flow over her a little longer before she 
couldn't take it anymore. 

When she came out in the towel he expressly reserved for her, he was 
sitting up on the side of his bed in a fresh pair of boxers. She paused 
in the bathroom doorway, feeling uncomfortably exposed.

"We need to talk," she said.

MULDER'S APARTMENT
EIGHT HOURS EARLIER

Mulder had an extremely hard time fumbling with his keys at the door to 
his apartment. Scully watched him, her head fuzzy, overly amused at his 
state. "You got it?" she asked as he finally fit the key in the lock.

"Yeah, thanks for the help," he said, pushing it open and flicking on 
the light. He tossed the keys to the kitchen counter.

Scully noticed Monica lagging back a bit and grabbed her wrist. "Come 
on. I'll give you the grand tour." She pulled Monica along a bit. She 
wasn't resisting, but seemed to be a little tentative about being 
there. Scully caught her eyes and smiled, wanting Monica to trust her 
and relax. Monica smiled back, scanning the apartment and its fairly 
organized contents.

"There's nothing really grand about it," Mulder said, walking over to 
his fridge and pulling it open. "But go ahead. I'm starving."

"That's great," Scully answered. "Fix us something to eat, and I'll 
show her around." 
 
"Why are you giving tours of my apartment? Are you at least charging 
admission?" Mulder responded, bending over and pushing aside various 
bottles, cans and takeout food containers. Scully rolled her eyes and 
didn't answer, hoping that he could at least find some chips, with 
bonus points for salsa that wasn't moldy.

"I didn't know you were a pet enthusiast," Monica said, eyeing the fish 
tank in the living room. "How many fish do you have, Agent Mulder?"

"I lost track. They just keep propagating and dying and propagating 
again," he said. "But a couple of them are pretty damn resilient and 
stick around for some reason."

"The big one's Sparky," Scully told Monica as they approached the tank. 

"Sparky?" Monica repeated.

"Don't ask," Mulder called from the kitchen.

"He's kind of a lazy fish," Scully said, realizing Monica probably 
didn't give a damn about the fish. But it was her way of getting around 
the odd nervousness she felt.

Scully had spent the cab ride to Mulder's apartment thinking, okay, 
obsessing, about the unusual kiss she'd shared with Monica at the 
tavern. She'd been a little shocked at first when she felt soft lips 
pressed against her own, a little nervous about their surroundings and 
the fact that Mulder was right there, probably floored. In fact, he'd 
probably nearly injured himself by the speed of his erection under the 
table.

But then she forgot about everything outside of the bit of flesh that 
connected her to Monica. The alcohol had left her warm, but she felt 
her body get warmer in places usually reserved for her thoughts of 
Mulder. She'd felt the tiny flick of Monica's tongue against her lips 
and nearly jumped out of her seat. And then it was over and they were 
riding along in the cab like nothing happened. They were just going to 
go watch Nosferatu or some atrocious movie at Mulder's place.

She was curious as to why he'd offered to have both of them over. She 
knew him well enough to know that he'd watch them kiss again at the 
drop of a hat. But there was something inherently odd about it. Would 
he get jealous? She knew the idea of Mulder kissing someone else pissed 
her off. But maybe women were different to him.

Her mind was flooded with all of the things she wished she could 
discuss with him before anything else happened. She could facilitate a 
two-hour lecture on the importance of communication in relationships 
and the unintended complications of treading new, potentially dangerous 
waters.

But for now, she was drunk, hungry as hell, turned on, and extremely 
curious about the woman standing next to her, staring absentmindedly at 
Mulder's dumb fish.

Scully had a seat on the couch and Monica set next to her, perusing the 
random assortment of books scattered across his coffee table.

"Don't you ever read anything for fun?" Monica asked, picking up a 
book. "What's with 'The New Steinerbrooks Dictionary of the 
Paranormal?'"

"That's a classic," Mulder said, entering the living room with a glass 
in each hand. They looked like orange juice, but Scully knew him 
better.

"Mulder! I said food. Not screwdrivers," Scully said. "Seriously. No 
more alcohol."

He set the glasses down on the coffee table and she quickly grabbed a 
coaster and slipped it under her drink. "Scully, you've been around 
long enough to know that I don't keep food here. I suppose I could call 
Wang's," he answered.

She laughed; she couldn't help it. He was such a lost cause. No amount 
of grooming she attempted on him would change it. "Could I just get 
some water?" she asked.

"I'm all about the water," Monica agreed, leaning back on the couch. 
Mulder picked up the glasses with a sigh and retreated to the kitchen.

"I've got an 8:30 meeting with Agent Doggett," Monica said, paging 
through the book she'd picked up. "Think I'll make it?"

Scully smiled. "You can leave, you know. It's no big deal."

Monica glanced at her and returned the smile. Scully felt an unexpected 
twinge ripple through her body as they both looked away.

"Two waters, coming right up," Mulder said, placing them on the table. 
"Rehydrate. I don't want any loss of productivity 
tomorrow."

"Today." Scully took a gulp of the cool water. She was damn thirsty.

"Right," he answered, plopping down on the other side of Scully. She 
felt him slide the palm of his hand along her lower back, slipping a 
finger under the waist of her jeans. She looked at him and he tried to 
pass off the most innocent look he could manage. "So...I've got movies, 
incredibly stimulating coffee table books, as you've discovered, Agent 
Reyes..."

"Just Monica," Monica said, tossing the book back on the table. Scully 
felt Monica shift on the couch beside her; she seemed unusually 
nervous. She wondered if the kiss had bothered her that much.

"Okay, just Monica," Mulder said, flicking on the TV. "Have you ever 
seen Nosferatu?"

Scully rolled her eyes. "Mulder, she's your guest. You don't make your 
guests watch Nosferatu."

"Scully. It's cinematic genius," Mulder said, "and it just so happens 
to be in my DVD player."

"I don't care what we watch," Monica said, stretching her arms out in 
front of her. Her movement was slow, like a lazy cat getting the kinks 
out. Scully caught herself watching a little too long. Mulder turned 
the movie on and queued up some random scene he must save for extra 
special occasions like these.

His fingers traced Scully's waistband, tickling her. She resisted the 
urge to squirm as he traced letters on her back. They'd gotten good at 
that little game, guessing words and phrases spelled out against their 
sensitive skin. She laughed softly as it tickled.

"What?" he asked quietly, his fingers running up her spine. She 
shivered as they continued through the back of her hair. She wanted to 
tell him to knock it off, but then, she really didn't want him to stop 
at all. His touch was electric. Mulder could wind her up with the 
simplest brush of his fingertips.

His careful fingers traced her ear and brushed away her hair. Scully 
glanced sideways at Monica, who was staring at the movie with the most 
perplexed look Scully had ever seen on her face.

Mulder's lips caressed her neck. "You behave," she whispered. Each spot 
he kissed ached for more. He hummed softly against her neck with a 
nibble.

Scully closed her eyes and sighed, arousal slowly spreading as he 
continued exploring. She felt the hair on the other side of her face 
being pushed aside. Hot breath met her skin. Scully gasped, feeling 
Monica's lips on the side of her neck.

Mulder and Monica treated the sides of her neck very differently; he 
was a nibbler, she was a kisser, using her tongue to lightly flick 
against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. And Scully was suddenly 
throbbing between her legs, letting her head fall back a bit to the 
dueling sides.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monica didn't know quite how she ended up with her mouth on Dana's 
neck. She'd been sitting next to her on the couch, their thighs 
brushing together slightly. The past ten minutes in Mulder's apartment 
had been a little tense for her; not tense in a bad way, but she was 
curious as to his motives for inviting her back to his place. She 
didn't really see Dana and Mulder as swinger types, but three adults 
heading back to somebody's bachelor pad for some after-drinking drinks 
implied something a little more than watching some ghastly vampire 
movie.

At the tavern, granted she'd had a few drinks under her belt, she'd 
been watching Dana all night. She was someone Monica deeply admired, 
for her professionalism, her strength, her willingness to fight, even 
while Mulder went unexplainably missing and showed up dead. And alive 
again. The woman never gave up. And Monica had unable to resist being 
drawn to that energy, sometimes feeding off of it for her own gain. 

But at the tavern she couldn't help but notice how Dana seemed to exude 
something irresistible. The way she pushed her hair back, pretending 
nobody was watching her. The way she wrinkled her nose at the pungent 
vodka in her drink. The looks she gave Mulder were of a specific kind 
of intensity, whether she was making fun of him or watching his eyes 
wander to another woman in the room. There was no way the two of them 
weren't fucking. 

When Mulder had kissed Dana in front of her, something inside of Monica 
pulled taut. She felt jealous for no good reason. Monica wanted it too, 
to know what Scully tasted like and felt like in a more intimate way. 
So after he was done, she'd taken her turn at the kissing. Her audacity 
was surprising, but she had little time to think before arousal kicked 
into full gear. Dana's hair drifting through her fingers was as silken 
as her lips as they responded to Monica's mouth. When it ended, and 
Dana glanced at Mulder with that innocent-yet-playful look in her eyes, 
Monica wanted more.

And then when they settled into the couch for the movie, Mulder started 
prompting Dana into action on the couch with his mouth and hands. There 
was no way Monica couldn't have noticed. It was almost like he was 
challenging her to act again. And act she would.

Monica's tongue tracing the tender line of Dana's slender neck elicited 
a gasp from deep inside of her. The scent of an understated perfume, 
citrus and air, became stronger as she moved her mouth to Dana's ear. 
She probably dabbed it there every morning after her shower.

Monica's eyes were drawn to Mulder's fingers stroking Dana's lower 
back, under the waistband of her jeans. Monica slid her fingers over 
Dana's sharp jaw line, turning her face so that she could kiss her 
again. He could have her back; there was a hot and needy mouth to claim 
in front.

Dana responded immediately to Monica's lips, parting her own and 
pulling Monica's head closer. Their tongues slid together and Dana 
moaned into her mouth. This caught Mulder's attention as he lifted his 
head from the other side of Scully's neck.

"Hey," he said as they kissed. Monica wanted to ignore him, but as 
always, Dana listened to her partner, pulling away and turning her head 
to look at him.

"I don't know what we're doing," Dana said, settling back on the couch 
with a sigh. Monica caught Mulder's eyes grazing over her, a little too 
curious. Mulder was amazingly attractive, but could be overbearing and 
downright obnoxious at times. She tended to avoid that type of guy, 
having had one too many experiences with them in the past. She could 
tell that the second kiss had sparked a little more jealousy in him. 
Jealousy, curiosity perhaps. 

"Well, I could tell you what it seems like we're doing," Mulder said, 
leaning back with Scully, an arm along the top of the couch. Dana 
looked at him quizzically.

"Maybe I should get going," Monica said, offering Dana an out. It was 
only fair.

The three of them sat uncomfortably on the couch, silence broken by a 
piercing Hollywood scream from the vampire movie still playing across 
from them.

"I didn't give you the full tour," Dana said finally. Their eyes met.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mulder had stopped kissing Scully's neck when he realized Scully was 
kissing someone else. Was it odd to him that Monica Reyes was making 
out with his partner? Absolutely.

Did it bother him? Not in the typical definition of bother.

Did it excite him? That was pretty damn obvious from the pulsing, full 
feeling in his jeans.

This was the second time Scully and Monica had kissed, and both times 
Scully had seemed pretty into it, which surprised him. She'd had quite 
a few drinks, but he also knew it took a lot more than that to get the 
lovely Dr. Scully to shed her inhibitions. He'd tried it a number of 
ways, some successful, some not. He took mental note of the apparent 
fact that mixed drinks plus another attractive female FBI agent equaled 
some sort of deeply seated interest in exploring the equalities one's 
same gender.

He felt a little jealous, but mostly intrigued at how far Scully was 
interested in taking this. Monica seemed willing to go down that road 
as far as it allowed.

So when Scully mentioned giving Monica the "full tour," it sent little 
sparks off in his head. Both heads, actually.

"Sure, finish the tour," Monica responded, rising from the couch. She 
walked over to the kitchen counter with her empty glass, filling it at 
the sink. Scully got up and nudged Mulder's leg with hers.

"Are you coming?" Scully asked, arching an eyebrow at him. Mulder's 
metaphorical jaw hit the floor. He was speechless for a moment, 
motionless, until he forced himself up off of the sinking cushions.

"Do you...want me to come?" he said. She tilted her head up and gave 
him a deep kiss.

"Come and be with me," Scully answered against his lips. "It's going to 
be fine."

Mulder watched her as she walked over to Monica. "He's got more closet 
space than I do," Scully said to her, taking her hand and leading her 
into the bedroom. Mulder trailed her like a puppy dog lost.

He followed Scully and Monica into the bedroom, for Scully's express 
purpose of showing Monica around, of course. No other reason. At all. 
He was sure Monica was adequately impressed by the mountain of dirty 
clothes in the corner, the pile of files on his dresser. At least he'd 
made his bed yesterday morning.

There was nothing unusual or important about his modestly appointed 
one-bedroom, except for the fact that Scully seemed to have some sort 
of dead-set agenda involving Monica. And he was going to find out what 
it was.

The Scully he knew wasn't known for her spontaneity, especially when it 
came to sex. He'd learned that over a dry spell that lasted him about 
five years longer than he cared to admit. When he finally decided he 
couldn't take it any more and practically attacked her in his apartment 
a few months ago, it was only then that she'd let herself go 
completely. There was a wild little Scully animal inside of her just 
waiting to be let out.

Each time got easier as they grew more comfortable with each other in 
new ways. So to see her so uninhibited tonight was puzzling and erotic, 
and he watched it like a David Lynch film, wondering when the next 
twist would be.

As if on cue, Mulder was plagued by the incessant, unavoidable urge to 
pee. It seemed like good timing, to maybe leave the two women alone 
to...talk. So he left Scully pointlessly showing Monica his ample 
closet space. He closed the door and immediately wondered what else 
Scully was showing her. Mulder took his time, washing his hands for 
once and arranging some randomly placed toiletries. He hoped that if he 
waited long enough, he'd interrupt something interesting.

Minutes ticked by. Mulder started feeling nervous about what he'd find 
and knew he should return to the bedroom. Part of him wanted them to be 
sitting in the living room again, idly chatting over their glasses of 
cool tap water. The other, more prominent part of him would give 
anything to find Scully and Monica playing naked twister on top of his 
blue down comforter.

He finally opened the door. The two women weren't idly chitchatting, 
that was for damn sure. Not quite playing naked twister, but well on 
their way. He felt a bit dizzy as his blood flow rapidly and 
desperately switched direction to a more appropriate area for the 
occasion.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully was tightly pressed against Monica's naked body, fingers tangled 
in her hair, the warmth between them mysteriously comforting. Their 
kisses were slow and deliberate, their scents mixed together. The 
aftertaste of liquor was deeply 
present in their mouths. But Scully felt unusually lucid for her 
drunken state, every nerve in her body aware of the smooth skin of the 
body next to hers.

It didn't take long once Mulder left the room for she and Monica to 
start kissing again, tentatively pulling at each others' clothes, 
watching each others' eyes for approval or denial. Tongues explored 
while fingers worked at buttons, zippers, sleeves. Hands everywhere, 
hard breaths, a little more urgency as more clothes were shed. Monica 
had pulled her down onto Mulder's bed when they were completely naked, 
their mouths hotly joined again. 

When they'd slid onto the bed together, Mulder had been in the 
bathroom, but now he was in the room, she could sense it. He was just 
out of her peripheral view. She knew him, and that he was most likely 
watching the events unfold. Part of that excited her, another made her 
feel uneasy, a little invaded.

Monica let her long fingers slowly slide down Scully's back, sending a 
chill down her spine. Monica reacted with hot breath against her neck. 
Their eyes met as they kissed again, checking for assurance. She cupped 
Scully's bottom and squeezed it, sending a jolt through her body. 
Scully let her hand dwindle down tentatively to one of Monica's breasts 
and was surprised at the moan that escaped both of their throats when 
she pushed her palm against the sensitive flesh of her nipple.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a slow and curious dance, with calculated motions that sent tiny 
sparks shuddering between them. Monica rubbed Dana's hip in circles, 
not sure where to go from there. Dana tasted, smelled, and felt 
beautiful, intriguing, but dangerously off-limits at the same time.

It'd caught Monica by surprise when she felt Mulder's warm, muscular 
body push up against her back, his naked hardness readily pressed 
against her ass. She'd paused in her kiss with Dana, long enough for 
her to notice. Mulder's mouth slid across against her bare shoulder, 
tickling with moist breath. She watched Dana's eyes, detected a slight 
shift in the balance of her energy. It was questioning, challenging, 
unsteady. Monica wished she could see his eyes in return.

Mulder's lips arrived against Monica's ear, his voice barely audible. 
"Is this okay?" he asked, fingers tickling down her side to her hip. 
She gasped slightly, feeling herself grow liquidly hot at the tone of 
his voice and the touch of his hand. His hips pushed gently against 
hers. "Tell me when, Monica. It's up to you."

Realization of what he meant hit her dull in the pit of her stomach. 
She felt butterflies, anxious excitement, and cloudy arousal at his 
proposal. They were toeing a very incendiary line. She searched Dana's 
eyes deeply, wondering as she watched her watch Mulder.

Dana exhaled deeply against Monica's lips before pressing their mouths 
together again, wide open and exploring. Dana's kissed were addicting. 
Mulder's hands roamed the slender length of Monica's body while he 
nibbled on her neck and ears.

It felt like a slow-motion tumble down the face of a mountain. Scully 
grabbed the back of Monica's head, kissing her more deeply. Monica felt 
her hips responding to both sides, parting slightly to Mulder. She slid 
her hand between Dana's legs with sudden urgency.

Dana whimpered against Monica's mouth as she slid her fingers through 
the heated wetness she found there. They broke their kiss to moan 
together when Monica slipped a finger into her, then two. Mulder found 
Monica wet for him as well and pushed his hardness through her slick 
folds. 

Monica's mouth dropped open, panting as he found her ready. He filled 
her tightly, almost too tightly, as she tensed against the slight tug 
of latex she felt as he entered her. Heady with arousal, she gave in 
completely, her fingers and thumb teasing Scully and inciting a roll of 
her hips.

Mulder bit Monica's shoulder as he began his slow thrusts, pushing her 
against Dana's body. Monica matched his rhythm with her fingers, 
sliding in and out of Dana, while giving her more sweetly slow kisses.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully felt Monica's body push against hers, her skin tingling under 
her skillful fingers. She opened her eyes and realized Mulder was 
having sex with the woman pressed against her. Scully felt something 
sick rise in her throat and she choked it back down. Monica pulled away 
from her lips to moan loudly at Mulder's intensifying movements.

Scully's body went dead and refused to respond to the gentle prompting 
of agile fingers. She watched Mulder's face instead, intense, focused 
on his mission. She knew that face well. The dedication in his eyes, 
his gentle moaning. It was usually reserved for her. 

She didn't expect him to come. He growled deeply when he did, buried 
deep inside of Monica. Scully closed her eyes to a silent, violent 
shattering like she'd squeezed a glass in her hand until it broke.

MULDER'S APARTMENT
1:30 P.M.

Scully was pacing and Mulder was watching from his couch. Her steps 
slow, deliberate, and wandering. From the bedroom to the kitchen to his 
desk. Picking up a paperweight and examining it. From her desk to the 
doorway to the bathroom. Straightening the towels on the bar. Thoughts 
were working their way through her troubled mind as her movement kept 
them flowing smoothly.

"I'm not going to sit here and watch you wear a path into my carpet," 
he finally said, tossing the remote to the coffee table. It glinted off 
of the wood and thudded to the floor. She stopped immediately, her 
stare dead set, eyes burning through him.

"You do realize what happened last night," Scully said.

"I have a pretty good idea," Mulder answered. Apparently the gravity 
he'd hoped to avoid was about to hit full force. He watched her, 
concerned. He never wanted her to do anything she didn't want to, but 
she had seemed okay with everything that happened at the time. "What's 
wrong, Scully?"

"What's wrong, Mulder, is that I think you pushed things a little too 
far, literally and figuratively," she said, clearing her throat. He 
could tell she was already struggling to keep her composure. "And I'm 
not sure what to think of it."

Mulder sighed, fiddling with his watch. "Well, it happened. We can't 
change that. Chalk it up to intoxication, I suppose." When the words 
came out, he knew it would take only a few seconds for tropical storm 
Dana to evolve into a Category Five hurricane.

Scully's mouth dropped open slightly. "So that's it, then. You were 
drunk. Let's move on."

Mulder knew the tone of her voice. He was caught in a riptide with no 
way back to shore.

"I thought we were all okay with everything," he said at long last. He 
watched Scully implode.

"You're lucky I have the self-control that I do. Or else I would have 
hit you already."

Her soft and furious words stung like her fist had already connected. 
Mulder rose off the couch, heading for the bedroom. "I won't give you 
the opportunity to try. I'm going to shower." 

Scully followed him closely on his way through the bedroom. "Mulder?"

He turned around and her hand slapped against his cheek. He nearly lost 
his balance but regained his composure to grab her wrist, and the other 
as it came up to threaten the left side of his face. He pushed them 
down to her sides as his face pulsed heat. Scully struggled against his 
strength and he held his ground, trying to ride it out before he had 
any more slips of the tongue.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" she yelled, eyes welling up with 
tears. Her pain filled him as well; he felt a pang of regret but also 
anger at her reaction. All he'd done was join in, and there'd been no 
rules set against that.

"What the...what the fuck was I thinking? What are you talking about?" 
he asked, his hands tightly gripping her wrists.

She sniffled, anger rippling through her voice. "You can't be serious," 
she retorted. "Honestly, Mulder. You know what you did."

He rolled his eyes and scoffed angrily at her. "Of course I know what I 
did. I know what you did too, Scully. You can't pin this one all on 
me," he said, his voice low and threatening. Their faces were inches 
apart and they exchanged glares. "I happen to remember you being quite 
reciprocal with Monica when this all started. Quite reciprocal," he 
repeated, emphasizing each syllable like the hot prick of a needle.

Scully's chest heaved, eyes wild with passionate contempt and 
confusion. "You certainly didn't seem to mind at the time," she said, 
embarrassed and defensive. She breathed hard as Mulder chewed on the 
side of his cheek, studying her tear-threatened eyes. She yanked her 
wrists and he let them free so she could rub them, taking her distance 
from him.

"Scully, I'm not going to defend my actions from last night, but I'm 
not going to let you crucify me for them, either." He leaned his back 
against the bedroom wall.

Scully crossed her arms in front of her, her gaze shifting to the 
carpet. "You know what bothers me about it? We waited so long, Mulder. 
I waited for you. I waited for you to notice me, to act on that 
something we had, for the longest time. I could barely take it 
sometimes."

He felt the prickle of tears, threatening to tumble despite his best 
efforts at holding them back. 

"And then, when we finally..." She paused, meeting his eyes, the anger 
swelling in her voice. "It was everything to me. No one had ever made 
me feel the way you do. And I thought nobody ever could again. It felt 
perfect, like we wouldn't, or couldn't, want anyone else. Ever. At 
least I felt that way. And now it's like none of that matters."

"What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" he asked. Anxiety rippled his 
body, shaking him to his core. He'd felt the same way she did every 
time they were together. She completed him in unimaginable ways. Scully 
rubbed her hands over her folded arms, goose bumps rising.

"Because then you fucked Monica, Mulder. How long did it take you to 
make that decision last night? A couple of hours? A few minutes?"

She'd barely whispered the words, words that sucked the last of his 
breath from his chest. They hung between the two of them for too long 
of an instant.

"I don't know what to say, Scully."

"I do. I hope it was special for you."

"Scully..."

"Mulder, I'm leaving."

"Don't do this."

Scully turned her back to him and walked away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully had slammed Mulder's apartment door shut and then furiously 
punched the down button at the elevator. She realized her car was 
cozily parked at home. She closed her eyes and the few tears that had 
welled up slid down her face. She angrily wiped them away and exhaled, 
letting out all of the air she'd stored inside. She'd been afraid to 
let it out because the sheer force of it might cause her entire world 
to collapse around her.

It didn't.

The elevator doors opened and closed with a squeak. She hit the button 
again, entering the elevator and looking up the number for Yellow Cab 
on her phone. There was no way in hell she'd go back in there and ask 
him for a ride.

Scully was angry at how indignantly Mulder had defended having sex with 
Monica. She knew part of him was defensive, not wanting to get on her 
bad side. It was easier to blame it on the both of them than to take 
responsibility for his decision. She wasn't sure he regretted as much 
as he implied. Maybe this was just his way of getting away with being 
with someone else.

After all of those years where he could have, and did at times, go fuck 
around with another person, she'd thought he'd had enough time. That 
when they finally gave in to each other, it would be the end of 
everybody else. It had been for her.

It took a good fifteen minutes for a taxi to show up. She waited 
impatiently at the curb, kicking leaves, checking her old text 
messages, doing anything to keep herself from looking up at his window. 
When she finally gave in and glanced up, she saw him watching her. She 
pretended not to notice.

J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
4:00 P.M.

The lump in Monica's throat grew as she rode the elevator down to the 
basement. She wasn't sure who she'd find or if she wanted to find 
anyone at all. She felt herself drawn there, restless for conclusions 
and answers to burning questions that had shaken her so deeply during 
the hours since she'd left Mulder's apartment. The night had left her 
mind clouded with an energy desperate to be spent.

She peered into the open door and saw Mulder sitting on his chair, feet 
up on the desk and hands behind his head. He was lost in thought, 
staring blankly into a far corner, probably farther than the room 
allowed.

"Agent Mulder?"

Nothing moved but his eyes. They met hers with slow recognition. She 
couldn't read anything but lost. It took him a second to snap him out 
of it.

"Agent Reyes?"

Monica stood at the door, not sure why she was expecting an invitation 
to come in and make herself at home. Not normally one to be self-
conscious, she felt a nervous tension between them that was most likely 
explained by the fact that they had seen each other naked several hours 
earlier. Mulder's sigh was deep as his feet fell to the floor. He 
gestured and she followed his lead, approaching the desk.

"I just...I wasn't sure who would be down here," she said, occupying 
her hands by sliding silver rings over her slender fingers.

"Nobody's ever down here but me, Monica."

"Well, you and Dana."

Mulder's eyebrows rose. "Were you looking for her?"

Monica's breath left her in a hurry. "That's not what I meant. Either 
of you was fine."

His eyes wandered over her body before he gave her a quizzical look. 
She shifted on her feet.

"You want to know why I?m here," she finally said. He smiled, picking 
up a pen and twirling it in his fingers.

"I want to know why it's so awkward," he replied with a shrug.

"I?m sorry. This is so..." She faltered, at a strange loss for words. 
Mulder's nonchalant fiddling intrigued her and pissed her off at the 
same time. She tapped his desk once with her fingers. "The last thing I 
want is for this to be awkward. I just wanted to come down and let you 
know that...I don't want last night to disrupt anything. To change 
anything, send anything off-balance."

"I agree," Mulder answered. She had never seen him quite so 
uncomfortable in his own skin. "It happened, and we can leave it at 
that. Not trying to be rude, but I've found that dwelling too much on 
things like this never benefits anyone."

Monica nodded but studied him, knowing that he'd already built a wall 
between them. He wasn't going to talk about what happened between them 
besides acknowledging what had happened in the most generic sense 
possible. She didn't know what she'd expected. She knew there was a 
side of him that cared, but he wasn't going to show it.

"Have a good evening," she said faintly, watching him twirl the pen 
over and over.

She left the office feeling unsettled and unfinished. He resumed his 
reclining position, examining the corner like something was going to 
give way.

MONICA'S APARTMENT
12:00 A.M.

Monica tossed under her sheets, unable to sleep. The traffic outside 
her bedroom window was more invasive than usual. She sighed as the 
ticking of her kitchen clock counted away the spent seconds of her 
life.

There were so many things to be disturbed about that she couldn't focus 
on just one. They flitted through her mind like angry mosquitoes, 
buzzing around, occasionally landing and sucking the life's blood out 
of her.

She was pissed about Mulder's couldn't-care-less attitude when she 
walked into his office earlier. It had been extremely contrived and 
disgustingly fake. She detested people who pulled that shit. She'd had 
enough of it in her life. She didn't know what to expect from him, but 
since they'd fucked the night before, a simple, "How ya doin'?" would 
have sufficed. When she entered the office she'd cemented her thoughts 
on the mistake she'd made the night before. But she wasn't getting 
anywhere with him. His mind was somewhere else, most likely on the red-
headed party to their complicated situation.

If he was going to be a bitch about it, he could do so on his own time. 
But she was more deeply worried about Dana's reaction to everything 
that had happened. Their kiss at the bar had been unusually electric. 
Monica had let her take the lead when they'd arrived at Mulder's 
apartment, and Dana hadn't had a problem pushing it a little further 
than Monica had expected or even gone before. But the entire time it 
had felt comfortable, blissful, nearly peaceful.

Things probably would have been all right if Mulder hadn't been there. 
Monica, though completely inebriated at the time, had seen the flash of 
jealousy that had passed over Dana's face like a thunderstorm 
threatening rain. It made Monica extremely uneasy when she realized 
what Mulder's intentions were. But Monica didn't stop him, didn't want 
to stop him. Over the day she'd realized it wasn't her interaction with 
Mulder that she didn't want to end. She'd clung to Dana, lost deep 
inside of her, amazed at the simple pleasure and connection she felt 
between them. He was peripheral, unnecessary, but overbearingly 
present.

She glanced at her clock, her toes twiddling. She was never one to hold 
back anything. It often got her into trouble, mouthing off, saying how 
she really felt. Not giving a rat's ass about the reactions she'd face. 
But now there was an inkling of uncertainty in her heart, sparse with 
fear. But the root of it was positive. She just had to get there.

She slid out of bed and reached for her phone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The phone rang Scully out of a troubled sleep. She'd skipped the entire 
day of work, instead passing the time watching daytime television and 
ordering out for Chinese. She didn't want to think about him, about 
anyone, didn't want to see anyone. Today, she was choosing talk shows 
instead of reality because all reality did was piss her off. 

She'd passed out on top of her comforter with her cell phone in her 
hand. She glanced at the clock and groaned at the extremely 
inappropriate hour for phone conversation. Only one person she knew 
would call at this hour and at this point, she wasn't sure she wanted 
to speak to him.

She answered the phone with silence, like hello wasn't enough and too 
much at the same time.

"Dana?"

"Hi," she answered softly, surprised and relieved at who it was.

"Hi," Monica said. "Listen...I'm coming over."

"Monica..." Scully shifted nervously onto her side. "I'm not sure 
that's a good idea."

"Well, good idea or not, we need to talk. Things aren't right. You know 
what I mean."

Scully tried to remember the last time things felt right.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully stood in her kitchen doing absolutely nothing. She'd wandered 
there after the call had ended, after Monica said she was heading over. 
Her fingernails tapped against the tile countertop as she leaned over 
it, wondering what her next move would be. No matter what she tried, 
this whole situation wasn't going to go away quickly or easily.

Throughout the eight years she and Mulder had been together, she'd 
grown intensely aware of the fact that in some undefined way, they 
belonged together. Some days it was as friends, sometimes like 
siblings. Other times as headstrong counterweights to each other's 
crazy ideas. Well, mostly his crazy ideas.

Lately, the turn they'd taken as lovers had seemed not just inevitable 
but necessary. Knowing what they knew, seeing what they'd seen, they'd 
resorted to clinging to each other, inside of each other, all over each 
other. A natural progression of male and female, animalistic, 
passionate, and intuitive. The word love was rarely mentioned, but was 
understood with a glance, a brush of fingertips, a fixed stare as they 
moved together silently on his unmade bed amidst crumpled sheets.

It was there and it was everything she needed. Textbook, the perfect 
relationship. Mulder would do anything for her. He would die for her, 
at times he'd implied that he'd die without her. She'd thought he was 
the missing part to her puzzle, to compliment the perfect parts she'd 
been carefully arranging into a portrait of the ideal life of Dana 
Scully.

That's why what had transpired the night before had shocked her to the 
core. Every thought about how special she was to him, every time he'd 
told her she was beautiful, the most beautiful, came into question. 
Instead of filling her with warmth, the recollection of his admonitions 
now stung like tiny needles of doubt.

Scully knew she was partially responsible for things falling into place 
as they'd done with Monica. She'd kissed her, enjoyed it, kept kissing 
her, kept enjoying it. It had surprised her and shaken her. Monica had 
let up, let her decide where to go and how to get there. Scully wanted 
to feel her all over, how different she was, to absorb the glow of her 
presence that sucked her in immediately. But then there was Mulder, 
sidelined at first, but apparently anxious to become part of the 
experience.

Scully wasn't sure what angered her the most. Seeing him all over 
Monica hurt deeply, like it cut out a piece of her heart that she'd 
saved implicitly for him. It made her nauseous. If he felt the need to 
have sex with somebody else, did it really have to be in front of her? 
Every place they went Scully had become accustomed to the women who 
stared at him like they'd suck him off at a moment's notice. So why not 
hook up when she wasn't around? Out of sight, out of mind.

The other part of her anger was self-directed, at losing control and 
enjoying being with someone else. After all the years of waiting for 
him, loving him, hoping...why would she feel like this now?

The knock on the door nearly made her jump out of her skin. She 
composed herself and walked to the door, opening it to find Monica 
casually dressed in yoga pants and a navy jacket. Her long, dark hair 
was tousled, like she'd dragged herself out of the house without a 
glance at the mirror. Monica came in and Scully shut the door.

"So...what brings you by at this late hour?" Scully asked, walking over 
to her couch and sitting down. She looked to Monica. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," Monica said, joining her. Monica sighed and leaned back into 
the cushions. "Well, I went to visit Mulder this afternoon and he was 
aloof to say the least," she said. "It troubled me." 

"Was he at the office?" Scully asked, leaning forward and weaving her 
fingers together.

"Yes. But he wasn't really doing anything."

"That's not uncommon."

They shared a smile, setting her more at ease.

"Listen, Dana...I think last night was a huge mistake." Monica paused, 
running a hand through her hair. "I mean, I know people do stupid 
things, but I?m not usually one of those people. And...I know how you 
guys are, and it was never my intention to get into the middle of 
that." Her choice of phrase made Scully blush slightly. Scully took a 
deep breath and nodded, pressing her hands against her knees.

"Monica...we're all adults. Don't hang yourself out to dry on this one. 
Everyone played their part."

"I know. I just don't want to screw anything up," Monica said. "It's 
just not what I do."

Scully's eyes aimlessly followed the sharp edges of her entertainment 
center. She pulled her hair behind her ears.

"Mulder and I have an odd relationship," she finally said, leaning back 
on the couch.

"It doesn't seem that odd to me," Monica said, cracking her knuckles. 
"I mean...a lot of people work together, develop feelings for each 
other and act on them. Hey, it's happened to me before."

Scully looked at Monica as she shrugged with a smile. She was so 
unassuming, so nonchalant about all of it. It puzzled her.

"I?m not sure what Mulder and I are anymore," Scully murmured, their 
eyes meeting briefly. "I used to be sure."

"It'll come to you," Monica said, putting her hand on Scully's leg. 
"You just have to be open to accepting it."

Scully's eyes gravitated to the warm hand on her leg which was doing a 
fantastic job of sending little waves of something too closely 
resembling arousal through her body. Scully's lips parted slightly, 
like if she waited long enough, the right answer would drop from them.

"It just made me so angry," Scully whispered, digging her fingernails 
into her palms. "When he did that to you."

Monica took a sharp breath. Scully glanced at her and saw a trace of 
sadness cross her face. "I know. I'm so sorry I didn't stop it."

Scully clenched her jaw tightly as she closed her eyes. She wondered 
why it seemed like everyone had wanted to stop it and nobody did. In an 
instant Monica pulled Scully's head against her chest, hugging her. 
"It's okay, Dana. I don't want you hurting about it. Ugh. I'm sorry."

"I don't know what I want anymore. I don't know what he wants anymore." 
Scully choked back a tiny sob, failing miserably. Monica's shirt became 
damp with shed tears. Scully fought to regain her composure, equally 
irritated at herself and devastated.

Monica wordlessly tightened her hug. Scully took a shaky breath, 
catching a soft scent of a complex, earthy perfume. The same as the 
night before.

Scully lifted her head and looked into Monica's eyes. Monica smiled 
with a little shrug and Scully leaned in and pressed their mouths 
together, motionless through fleeting moments. Scully felt her body 
melt a little as she moved her lips needily against Monica's mouth, 
finding it unresponsive.

Monica pulled away gently. "Dana...this isn't a good idea for you right 
now."

Scully swallowed hard, furiously blushing. Sick confusion fluttered in 
her gut. Monica cupped Scully's face with a hand and gave her a 
reassuring smile.

"Let me reword that," Monica said. "I?m amazed...in wonderment...and 
you, and that, feel incredible. Last night felt...I can't really 
describe it in words right now. But if we decide to go along this path, 
I want to make sure it's for the right reasons. And that there won't be 
any regrets for either of us."

Scully nodded, her face pressing into Monica's palm. "I'm sorry."

Monica looked into her eyes, searching. "If you're anything, don't be 
sorry."

Scully closed her eyes, absorbing the coolness of Monica's hand against 
her flushed cheek.

The apartment door swiftly opened and Mulder stood, key in hand, facing 
them on the couch. 

Scully rose quickly, horrifically surprised at the disheveled sight 
before her. Monica sat shocked on the couch, her expression alarmed.

"Oh, this is just great, Scully," Mulder said, closing the door behind 
him. "Is that what you want?"

"What are you doing here?" Scully's voice was hollow and damaged. Of 
all the times for him to walk in. He was always walking in like he 
owned the place. Humiliation sent color through her cheeks once again. 
Mulder was unfazed, anger hardening his expression.

"I'd ask you the same question," he said. "But it's apparent to me that 
I?m not invited this time around."

"You need to get out," Scully said flatly, barely controlling the fury 
swelling up inside of her. "And get of here now, Mulder."

"So you wake up today and start railing against me about how horrible I 
am, that I did this to you. You sent me on an all-day fucking guilt 
trip, and now this?" Mulder's whole body quivered, his voice shaking.

Scully was out of words. She glanced at Monica, who was watching 
Mulder, seemingly ready to make a move in case things got out of 
control.

"Do you really want it to end like this, Scully?" Mulder asked, rubbing 
the back of his neck like he was trying to rid himself of an intense 
pain that ached for release. He glanced at her through a glimmer of 
tears and she looked away. Mulder crying was a rarity and the only 
thing she felt she couldn't handle, especially not right now.

"I don?t know what I want," she whispered, a tear dripping to her 
cheek.

Mulder closed his eyes with a ragged breath. Then he walked over to 
her, brushing past Monica, and pushed the key into her palm. Scully bit 
back a whimper and stared into his dark eyes.

"I don't want it," he whispered harshly. "Not anymore."

Scully closed her fist around the key as the tears spilled over. She 
saw the split second of compassionate pain cross his face before she 
looked away. He turned his back on her and walked out the door, leaving 
it wide open.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mulder had gone to Scully's apartment to try and convince her that the 
night before had been one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He had 
spent the afternoon working through the embarrassment, anger and 
defensiveness that came along with the entire scenario. 

He knew what she'd said was right; he and Scully had waited a terribly 
long time to act on anything. Their relationship consisted of carefully 
calculated faux platonic interactions until very recently. Their turn 
as lovers was new, exciting and damn hot.

And then last night happened. His vehement denial of responsibility was 
to hide his true feelings from her, his embarrassment at the trite and 
reckless stunt he pulled by having sex with someone, right in front of 
her, no less.

Monica was by all standards sexy, smart and funny. A girl that he'd 
have banged a hundred times over ten years earlier. With Scully in the 
picture, his desire had changed, had focused like a pinpoint on the one 
person he knew he could spend the rest of his life with. Not some 
harebrained one-night stand after a few too many beers.

He was ashamed of what he did. But when he'd walked in on Monica and 
Scully on her couch tonight, he was ashamed at what a fool he'd become. 
It should have been obvious to him what path Scully was going to take 
after he saw how much she was enjoying Monica in his own bed. He should 
have known to prepare, to numb himself against the hurtful rejection 
that had stunned him as he stood in her doorway.

It was too late. He'd angrily returned her key, a move he knew 
propelled them ten thousand paces backward on their relationship's 
evolutionary scale. But he was so angry at how she'd played the victim 
and then shoved it right back in his face.

Mulder entered his apartment and couldn't remember how he'd gotten 
there. It felt emptier than ever. He glanced into the bedroom and chose 
his couch instead. Dependable and sturdy. His goddamn couch was the 
only constant in his life. How very fucking sad, he thought as he lay 
down. He tried not to remember his first time making love to her on 
those very cushions, how she clutched at him and pulled at him and 
moaned his name, branding his soul. It would always carry her 
impression.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That night the dream began, sickly vivid, the biting scent of pine 
assaulting her senses. His screams for help pierced the eternal quiet 
of the forest. He was calling her name, again and again. She was 
searching, lost in an Oregon wilderness. What she found was not who she 
knew. His face pale and mottled and mutilated. She held it in her 
hands. She was lost.

Scully woke up in her own bed. Her face was wet with tears or sweat, 
she wasn't sure which. She willed herself to calm down, a hiccup of a 
sob escaping. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Mulder's not gone. Mulder's not dead. Mulder's alive. Alive, alive.

She wished that the most horrible details of the dream had been 
fantasy. No one she knew had held the dead body of their best friend in 
their arms, then been able to hold him again, warm again, a struggling 
ray of sunshine amidst lost hopes and dreams.

After Mulder returned, she had realized she was suffering from mild 
post-traumatic stress disorder. Most of the time, touching him and 
talking to him warded off those demons. It was like it never happened 
as she placed the entire unbelievable idea of Mulder's rebirth in the 
dark corner of her mind.

She knew he still felt pain sometimes, but kept it inside. It wandered 
behind his hazel eyes, a lion pacing in its cage. She had kept hers 
inside too, with every other cataclysmic event that punctuated their 
lives.

She wasn't sure if there was any more room in that dark chamber. 
Something had to give.

As Scully drifted in and out of hazy slumber, she wondered if she 
should go to the guest bedroom and crawl into the bed just for the 
comforting feeling of a warm body next to hers. It wouldn't be Mulder; 
she didn't want him right now. He had hurt her too badly. It would be 
Monica, who she'd told to stay the night. But she was afraid of where 
her own need for intimacy might take them.

She decided against it. It wasn't the time for foolish acts. She had 
enough tough decisions to make in the morning.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The morning began normally. Almost. Monica had left early to get ready 
for work at her apartment, but left Scully a note on her kitchen table.

"Hope you slept well. Give me a call later. M."

M. Now there were two, this one with feminine handwriting.

Scully felt the drag of two days' worth of emotional wreckage as she 
got ready for work, perfecting her hair and makeup as always, pulling 
on her firmly pressed suit, slipping into the heels that had become 
essential tools in making up the vertical and psychological distance 
between herself and her partner.

She was intimidated by the day as it spread its early morning wings.

SKINNER'S OFFICE
9:05 A.M.

Scully exited the Assistant Director's office, closing his door with a 
gentle pull. She flashed a quick, nondescript smile to his secretary 
and escaped into the garish fluorescent lights of the hallway.

Done. It was done. She left the building and sat on a bench outside, 
letting the sounds of the city salvage what was left of her heart. 
Noisy and overbearing, life kept moving.

She flipped open her phone and called Monica.

SKINNER'S OFFICE
10:15 A.M.

"Agent Scully has requested and been granted a two-week leave of 
absence. She has also requested an interdepartmental transfer, 
effective immediately."

Mulder glared at the phone on Skinner's desk, his jaw tightly set. He 
felt the anger that had been slowly simmering for days well up inside 
of him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them again 
to Skinner's intolerant stare.

"What?" Mulder asked pointedly.

"What?" Skinner asked. "You're asking me what? Agent Mulder, I'm asking 
you what. What the hell's going on here?"

"It's not a Bureau matter," Mulder said.

"The hell it isn't," Skinner spat. "It's my deal now. One of my best 
agents has requested leave and an immediate transfer. Now, I'm assuming 
it's because of you. She was all torn up in here Agent Mulder, and 
there's only one person who can do that to her."

"I really don't feel comfortable discussing my personal life or that of 
Agent Scully in a professional environment, as it's not appropriate. I 
don't know why she requested leave and transfer," he said, his 
heartbeat quickening.

"The fuck you don't," Skinner said, slamming his palm against his desk. 
The sound echoed through his office. "I'm putting you on immediate 
leave without pay until we can investigate the matter further to make 
sure protocol hasn't been breached, including," he added, "the explicit 
rules barring fraternization between Bureau employees."

Mulder's infuriated glare was interrupted by a flinch of fear, from 
which he quickly recovered. "Fine."

"I will be taking independent statements from you and Agent Scully 
tomorrow. I need you here to answer my questions at 10 a.m. Do not be 
late," he threatened.

Mulder closed his eyes, felt them stick dryly to his eyelids. He pulled 
them open. "Fine."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Mulder left Skinner's office he went straight to his basement 
retreat to call Scully. He needed to call her, talk some sense into 
her, try to convince her that this time, like all the other times she'd 
tried to leave him, wasn't a good idea.

The few minutes it took him to ride the elevator seemed painfully long. 
In the privacy of his office he went straight for his phone and dialed 
her cell number.

His stomach sunk, deep and sick, at the disconnection notice that made 
its announcement in his ear. Things were worse than he'd imagined. He 
stood, receiver in hand, as the message repeated. His mind traveled 
wildly along paths of desperation; what to do next, what not to do. 
Scully apparently wanted to be left alone. Whether he could obey her 
wishes was another story.

In the parking garage he sat in his car, keys in the ignition, engine 
idling, going nowhere. This had never happened. Of all the things 
they'd been through, been exposed to, been wounded by, they'd never 
severed the line of communication between them. It was umbilical, 
connecting him to her vitality to keep him going every day. He knew she 
felt the same way. Had felt the same way.

He didn't understand why he'd had sex with Monica. The biological drive 
to do it, of course, explained a lot, but he'd never wanted her that 
way. That night he'd been so captivated by watching the two of them 
together, almost a nurturing act, that he'd felt a twinge of jealousy 
that he couldn't brush off. Scully was his nurturer, always had been, 
and the way she was kissing Monica was the way she kissed him, too.

He'd wanted to be a part of it, but for some reason, he chose the wrong 
side of the equation. It didn't sum up, it never would, and even though 
Monica had felt hot and gorgeous and incredible in her own ways, it had 
left him empty. There was no value to it.

He had to make Scully understand it, no matter how much it hurt her to 
listen. He knew what she was doing?she was closing back up, like a 
flower to the setting sun. It was how she dealt with anything 
disturbing she faced. Deep inside of her there was a dark place where 
her pain was secretly stored away from the world.

Maybe if she understood that it meant nothing she would realize what 
they might lose if they didn't try to save it.

He drove to Georgetown.

SCULLY'S APARTMENT
10:30 P.M.

Scully sat awake with an unopened book in her lap. The house had been 
eerily quiet all evening; she wasn't accustomed to spending the time 
alone anymore. She knew Mulder was probably brooding somewhere, making 
a plan to assault her with all of the reasons she was wrong, that she 
was making a mistake, being irrational, if only she would listen, she 
might understand this time.

She was so tired of Mulder trying to explain everything away in an 
attempt to keep her on his short leash. She was surprised he hadn't 
come to the apartment as soon as he found out she'd disconnected her 
cell phone. She guessed he knew she wouldn't answer the door. That 
would only aggravate him more, and the last thing they needed was a 
scene.

Skinner had called her a few hours ago at her new cell number to tell 
her she needed to appear at a hearing in the morning regarding her 
request for transfer. She didn't want the morning to come. She was 
dreading questions she may not want to answer. She might not even have 
the answers he demanded.

Scully had holed up in her apartment tonight with the explicit purpose 
of avoiding him as long as possible. The only place she needed to be 
was that hearing tomorrow morning, as ready as she possibly could be.

SCULLY'S APARTMENT COMPLEX
7:30 A.M.

Scully quickly walked to her car. The early morning had left a humid 
mist in the air that clung to her skin.

She caught a glimpse of movement to her right and instinctually knew 
who it was. Mulder was waiting for her to emerge. He'd seen her leave 
and now he was going to confront her in front of the world. She always 
knew he was a man of passion, but he was also despicably tenacious at 
times. Her stomach turned as she walked faster. He was catching up to 
her quickly, her pace no match for his long strides.

"Hey," he called, breaking into a jog. Her car was within view. If she 
ran, she might make it. He also might jam a body part into the door, 
jump on the hood of her car, or cause some other sort of erratic scene 
she desperately wanted to avoid.

Scully stopped, waiting for him with her back turned. He came up beside 
her, panting a bit.

"Why did you disconnect your phone?" Mulder got right to the point.

"Because things changed last night," she said. She watched him flinch, 
the sting of her bluntness most likely hitting him a little harder than 
he'd expected.

"Scully, I know you're mad. Obviously...extremely mad. I know I 
completely screwed up. Not just by hurting you, but by being afraid to 
acknowledge the damage that I did to us," he said. She closed her eyes, 
tapping her toes anxiously against the cement sidewalk.

"I'm not buying it, Mulder," she said with a shrug.

"What exactly do you think I'm selling here?" Anger tinged his words.

"I know you're hurt. Because I know you, Mulder, and I know how you 
make a mistake and then berate yourself for it a thousand times over. 
But there are some things..." She paused, studying a discarded coffee 
cup in the wilted grass. Focusing kept her tears inside. "There are 
some things that happen that are beyond the realm of penance and 
forgiveness."

Mulder's mouth screwed up into a tense frown, his contemplative stare 
taking her in. She could feel him trying to peel off the layers she'd 
built overnight to protect herself from his words. "So what about you 
and Monica, then? Apparently, I'm to forgive and forget how you were 
all over her. How she had her fingers in you, Scully, remember that? 
And you kissing her like you were supposed to be kissing me."

"Mulder, don't get obscene," she whispered, her mind wrapping around 
his words. "It's not the same."

"How is it not the same?" 

"I can't explain myself to you any better than you've explained 
yourself to me." Irritation flooded her voice. "The whole thing was one 
big sorry mistake, but I can't get it out of my head. If you ever were 
with me again, Mulder..." She swallowed, her throat straining as she 
denied her tears once again. "I would always think of you with her. I 
can't do that to myself. I can't live like that."

He breathed out heavily. She watched the anger flash through his eyes 
and knew he was trying to control himself. And then that anger burst. 
"You think you're so high on your pedestal. You make the judgments; you 
bring down the verdict and carry out the punishment, Scully. I don't 
need you pushing your guilt and confusion down on me. You know what 
happened. You know I'm sorry."

"You've never once said you were sorry," she snapped. "You never do. 
And that's because you never are."

He shook his head. "Jesus Christ..."

"I've got a hearing to get to," she said. "And if you're ever going to 
pray, then yes. This is the time to start."

Mulder stood still, the wind pushing at his back as he watched her 
leave.

HOOVER BUILDING
9:30 A.M.

"Agent Scully, thank you for your understanding in joining us today. 
Assistant Director Johnson is here to witness the hearing to assure 
that our questioning proceeds in accordance with appropriate rules of 
conduct, as we respect your privacy in the matter as much as possible."

Scully's mouth was dry as she gave the other party a slight nod, 
averting her eyes to her icy cold fingers, fiddling with a loose button 
in her lap. It took a solemn breath to establish firm eye contact with 
Skinner. She wanted to remain strong. She had to. She wasn't sure where 
she would pull her strength from, but it had to happen.

"Normally in matters related to LOAs and transfers, if there is no 
reason for suspicion of a breach of protocol, we don't conduct a 
hearing," Skinner continued. She examined his eyes, a hardness where 
she normally found a soft spot. She wondered why he'd decided to pursue 
the matter; he'd always been an ally to the two of them in the past.

"What exactly is the breach of protocol that you're investigating?" she 
asked.

There it was. Skinner's eyes flashed empathy for a brief moment. It 
wasn't him instigating this intrusion. He was just a pawn to someone's 
crusade to pin them on the one thing she never expected to encounter.

"We just need to be briefed on the reasons behind your request for 
transfer," Johnson replied, jumping in ahead of Skinner. 

Scully focused on Johnson, her eyes calm. "I have personal reasons for 
requesting a transfer of duties."

"Which are?" Johnson asked.

"Assistant Director, I've been working with Agent Mulder on the X-Files 
for eight years. Though I'm grateful for the professional experience 
I've gained through my work, I felt it was time to move into an area 
more suited for my medical background and life's ambitions."

It came out exactly as she'd practiced it in front of her mirror dozens 
of times the night before. The first several times she'd broken down 
into tears, unable to continue. With more work, she was able to push 
aside the ache in her chest. When the words flowed out, this time they 
were assured and conclusive.

"So your request for transfer had nothing to do with a personal 
conflict between you and Agent Mulder?" Johnson had completely taken 
over and wasn't letting her go easily. Skinner shifted in his seat. She 
ignored it, too busy trying to steady a lower lip that threatened to 
tremble and with it, take down the tower.

"No," she said, immediately knowing the pause had been too long. She'd 
practiced. She was angered that her body was betraying all the work 
she'd done to build herself up for this moment.

"Then why did you request an immediate LOA?" Johnson expectantly looked 
at her.

Her pulse raced as she returned the stare. "I haven't had a lot of time 
off lately."

"Honestly, Agent Scully, this is all a bit too sudden to use the excuse 
of needing a little R&R," Johnson said. He flexed his fingers together. 
"I'm going to put some formalities aside here and let you know that we 
take these matters very seriously. The Bureau places great priority on 
the safety of our agents and our primary concern is for your welfare."

Her stomach twisted into a knot. She gulped down her tears with all of 
her effort. "What exactly are you implying?"

Skinner took his turn. "If Agent Mulder conducted himself 
inappropriately toward you, it needs to be addressed. Confidentially, 
professionally?"

"What are you saying?" Scully interrupted, the shock rolling over her 
in a wave of nausea. Her breath left her body like the room sucked it 
away. She blinked repeatedly, a tear escaping the corner of her eye. 
"Are you implying that Agent Mulder?abused me in some way?"

"There are no implications," Skinner said as she quickly brushed the 
tear off her cheek. "We just need to know why you needed to leave his 
department immediately. Often, in these cases, it's in response to a 
trauma and our primary concern is for your safety and well-being."

She regained what feeble composure she had left. "Agent Mulder and I 
are?friends. He wouldn't ever, never. It's an appalling accusation and 
it sickens me."

"Agent Scully, we never made any accusations. You need to be clear on 
that," Johnson said. "You were the one who used the word 'abuse.'"

"He didn't?he wouldn't?" Her abdomen twitched as repulsion reared its 
ugly head. "No. He has never harmed me. Ever. I want that on the 
record. Never," she said. "In fact, if my LOA and transfer are going to 
create a situation with people tossing unfounded and incredible 
accusations around, I might as well tender my resignation today." Her 
voice wavered and she bit her tongue.

"There's no need for that," Skinner responded, taking a deep breath. 
"We just need a verbal and written statement indicating that there was 
no inappropriate contact toward you instigated by Agent Mulder, or any 
other Bureau employee for that matter."

"Here's your verbal statement," Scully said. "No."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully exited Skinner's office and found Mulder sitting on the waiting 
area couch. He was wearing the same clothes as the morning and looked 
like hell.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, wiping away the few tears that 
had fallen as she'd walked out the door.

"I'm here for my hearing," he answered, drumming his fingers against 
the arm of the couch. Her eyes widened, mouth agape.

"Mulder, don't say anyth--"

"Agent Mulder," Skinner said from his doorway. Scully spun around and 
glared at him.

"Why are you interrogating him?" she growled.

"It's protocol," Skinner responded, his eyes concerned. "Agent Scully, 
you're no longer needed today."

"Fuck protocol," she said, her voice rising. "I told you everything you 
needed to know. Don't put him through this. He doesn't know anything."

"Agent Scully, you are excused." Skinner's voice echoed in the small 
room. A deadening silence followed.

Mulder got up and walked toward Skinner's office, brushing against 
Scully as he passed. She stood, frozen, as the door clicked shut behind 
her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Agent Mulder, thank you for your understanding in joining us today. 
Assistant Director Johnson is here to witness the hearing to assure 
that our questioning proceeds in accordance with appropriate rules of 
conduct, as we respect your privacy in the matter as much as possible."

Mulder stretched his legs out, sitting slightly askew in the 
uncomfortable chair. "Nice line, sir." He shot a glance at Johnson, who 
he'd never seen in his life. He was less than thrilled at meeting him 
given the occasion.

"As you know, we're looking into the possible reasons behind Agent 
Scully's LOA and request for transfer. We brought you in because, as 
her partner, we were hoping you could offer some insight into her 
decision," Johnson said.

"Actually, I'm probably in the dark as much as you two on this one," 
Mulder said.

"Did Agent Scully discuss her desire to request an LOA or transfer with 
you prior to taking action?" Johnson jotted something down on the paper 
in front of him. Mulder pictured the colorful verbiage most likely 
being used to describe his appearance and demeanor. Arrogant and 
underdressed came to mind.

"No," Mulder said.

"Not at all?" 

Mulder paused, tilting his head. "Hold on. Let me think for a 
second?no. Still no."

"Do you have any idea why your partner of eight years would suddenly 
make these decisions, especially without discussing them with you?" 
Johnson continued his diatribe, his face set in stone. Apparently 
Skinner brought him in as the muscle of this operation.

"No," Mulder repeated.

"Don't you think that's a little odd?" Johnson's eyes flicked to meet 
Mulder's casual glare.

"Yes. But I'm not Agent Scully's keeper. I've made many decisions about 
my life without running them by her first. I assume it's the same for 
her," he said, his eyes challenging. Take that, pencil jockey.

There was a momentary pause. Mulder attributed it to the build-up to 
the earth-shattering question he expected next and had prepared himself 
for already.

"Agent Mulder, at any point in your partnership with Agent Scully, did 
you ever cause physical or emotional harm to her?"

And there it was, as casually presented as an entr‚e at a run-down 
diner in some lonely old town he and Scully had visited a thousand 
times before. Done it all for the Bureau, which was currently asking 
him to bend over and grab his ankles.

"Never," he said. He looked at Skinner, who was examining every twitch 
of Mulder's face for any sign of deceit.

"Did you ever forcibly coerce Agent Scully into having inappropriate 
contact with you?" Johnson's expression remained unchanged.

"What the?are you kidding me?" Mulder shifted his seat, straining to 
hold himself back from reaching across the desk and throttling this 
motherfucker in front of him. He looked at Skinner, his eyes pleading. 
"You can't be serious."

"Agent Mulder, we just need an answer to the question," Skinner said.

"This is a typical line of questioning for these types of scenarios," 
Johnson said, watching Mulder squirm. Probably enjoying the hell out of 
it.

"This makes me sick," Mulder said, his throat constricted at the 
thought of anyone doing that to her, of anyone asking her if he'd done 
that. "Never. For fuck's sake." He closed his eyes and tried to compose 
himself. "I would never harm a hair on her head. She's everything to 
me."

"What do you mean by that?" Johnson immediately asked. He scribbled 
more notes.

Mulder sat frozen for a moment. He couldn't believe himself, that he'd 
let that one fly. Maybe they'd assume he was some crazy stalker that 
she felt she couldn't escape. Fuck, maybe he was. Maybe they would 
figure out what it really meant, that he loved her, so deep it was 
ingrained in him. The pain over the past few days scratched as deeply.

"I care about her like you'd care about anyone you'd spent the better 
part of eight years with," he said. 

Love, Mulder. The word is love. Dig the hole, jump in, send in the 
bulldozer.

"Did this ever make Agent Scully feel uncomfortable or intimidated?" 
Johnson asked.

"I never told her," Mulder said, biting the chafed skin inside his 
cheek. He drew blood and tasted metallic defeat. He shifted in his seat 
and Skinner leaned back.

"I think we're done here," he said. "Thank you, Agent Mulder, for 
coming up."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully was waiting for him in the basement office, sitting in his 
chair, when Mulder walked in after his hearing.

"What did they ask you?" she said, her arms folded across her lap. He 
sat on the chair in front of his desk, her chair. It was uncomfortable. 
He decided to get a new one as soon as possible.

"They were fairly intrusive," he answered, his elbows on his knees. She 
stared at him, expecting an elaboration, which he didn't offer.

"And?"

"And what, Scully? You need a play-by-play? They probably asked us the 
same stupid questions." He shuffled his feet against the grimy tile 
floor.

"What did you say to them?"

Mulder let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm tired of being interrogated."

"Mulder." She got up and walked over to stand in front of him, her 
hands on her hips. He didn't meet her eyes. Her demanding tone angered 
him; he'd just saved their asses and expected a little more respect for 
it. "Mulder. Look at me."

"Oh, please," he said, his eyes meeting her intent gaze. "I told them 
what they needed to know."

Her look turned incredulous. "What does that mean?"

"Whatever you think it means."

Her hands dropped from her hips as she groaned, her frustration 
escaping at last. "Mulder, don't you think it's important for us to 
compare what was said? In case this comes up again, as it most likely 
will?"

"It shouldn't," he answered. "I cleared things up for them."

Scully silently scrutinized him. He knew she was wondering if he was 
calling her bluff. His eyes were calm as pushed up from the chair, 
standing in front of her.

"You staying? I'm leaving," he said.

"Mulder, don't fuck with me."

He leaned down so his face was inches from hers. "Yeah, Scully, I think 
that's what got us into this in the first place," he whispered.

Mulder watched her barely keep her composure, like she'd just swallowed 
a bitter shot of anger and sadness. She gulped, hard, and gave him a 
barely noticeable nod as she digested his words.

He broke their icy stare to grab his coat and leave.

SCULLY'S APARTMENT
7:31 P.M.

"I can't believe he said that to you," Monica said, her mouth full of 
penne pasta. She intently speared another forkful of noodles and looked 
up at Dana, who was sitting a little too closely beside her on the 
couch. Monica had come over on Dana's request because she needed to 
talk about the hearing and what Mulder had said to her in the basement 
afterward.

Monica had picked up some Italian food, not really in the mood to cook, 
but knowing they both probably could use a decent meal.

Dana had told her about her request for transfer when she'd arrived. It 
surprised Monica that things had taken such a dramatic turn, while she 
secretly hoped the transfer would be to her division. She knew Dana was 
a runner; she seemed the type to plan an escape from her conflicts and 
problems without dealing with them head-on. Monica had felt guilty on 
and off all day for wanting to feel closer to Dana when she knew she 
needed some time to work these things out in her head. But she also saw 
the hurt in Dana's eyes and felt a desperate pull to her, to fix her, 
to make things as right as she could.

Dana stirred her pasta, casting a sideways glance to Monica. "It 
shocked me when he said it. But then again, nothing he says or does 
should shock me anymore." She took a large bite of the pasta. Monica 
watched her chew, the movement of her lips captivating in a nonsensical 
way. Dana wasn't just eating. She was analyzing its contents for 
quality.

"This is really good," Dana said. 

"Oh, I know," Monica replied, sliding her fork through the sauce and 
licking it off. Yeah...that probably looked a little funny. Dana 
noticed it and focused back on her bowl. "So Dana...where are you guys 
going from here?"

"You mean relationship-wise?" Dana took a little more liberty filling 
her fork, contemplatively consuming her next bite. "I think he's right. 
It wasn't a good idea."

"Really?" Monica found that hard to believe. A relationship of eight 
years usually didn't end up dying in a matter of days, no matter what 
the intrusion.

Dana sighed and put her bowl on the coffee table, leaning back on the 
couch. "I don't want to talk about him, Monica. He's just so 
irritating."

"Well, I could have told you that." Monica woefully left her remaining 
pasta on the table as well before settling in. "What do you want to 
talk about, then?"

Dana sighed and raised her eyebrows.

What a deliciously long sigh, Monica thought. Stop it. She just had a 
huge fight with the most important person in her life, her romantic and 
professional partner and potential soulmate, and here you are, 
picturing that sweet sigh in less formal circumstances that involve a 
little more heat and a lot less clothing.

"I was thinking about what you said the other night, when I kissed you 
and you stopped me," Dana said.

Oh, that little thing? "That we needed to wait?"

"Yeah," Dana answered, running her hand over her hair. "I was wondering 
how long we should wait."

Monica tried desperately not to melt into a puddle on the couch. She 
couldn't keep her breath from quickening a little. "Um, well. How long 
do you think we should wait?"

Dana's lips parted and Monica resisted the urge to kiss them. Hold on, 
damn it. It's like you haven't been laid in ten years.

"I don't think we should wait," Dana said, glancing to her with 
questioning eyes. "I don't want to wait."

Monica's breath caught in her throat. She licked the last taste of 
marinara sauce from her lip. "Dana, I don't know what to say."

Dana turned her head and leaned in until their mouths were inches 
apart. "Say yes, Monica."

Monica's heart leapt into her throat. She felt Dana's hot breath on her 
mouth. "I tell you what. I'm going to let you do whatever you want."

Dana looked a bit shocked at the suggestion. She pulled away and Monica 
suddenly wondered if she'd gone a little too far.

Monica looked into Dana's eyes, observing her curious anxiety. A tense 
heat grew in her abdomen in the long seconds before Dana reached over 
and pulled at the top button of her shirt, plucking it free. Monica bit 
back a gasp and she watched Dana's skillful hands pull at each tiny 
button. She closed her eyes and felt an energy humming, just a few 
inches of warm space between them.

Monica steadied her breath as Dana's fingers lightly teased the tender 
skin of her stomach. The last button fell free.

Dana pushed a sleeve down Monica's shoulder with little warning, then 
the other side. The shirt dangled on Monica's wrists. Dana grabbed 
them, holding them to her sides as she pressed her lips against 
Monica's neck. The gentle arousal Monica had felt between her legs 
began to throb slowly with the beating of her heart.

She tried to control the urge to take charge of what was happening. 
Dana's lips moved down her shoulder and to the top of her breast, full 
and nestled inside of black lace. Monica couldn't take any more 
teasing. She wiggled her wrists free from Dana's grip and pulled her 
shirt completely off.

Monica grabbed the back of Dana's hair gently, pulling her mouth away 
from her chest and kissing her.

The gentle prompting of Dana's tongue, tentative turned needy, made 
Monica desperate for more. More heat, more taste, more touch.

"Do you want to take my shirt off?" Dana moaned against her mouth.

"Hell yes," Monica said, separating from the kiss. Dana's lips curled 
into a sheepish smile as Monica pulled her sweater over her head and 
dropped it to the floor. They looked each other over. Monica noticed 
the obvious difference in height, how her breasts were a little larger 
than Dana's, but Dana's waist was a little smaller. The curve of her 
bare hip meeting the soft black pants made Monica wanted to pull them 
off of her.

Dana sighed, planting a kiss on Monica's collarbone.

"Do you want to go to your room or something?" Monica asked, kissing 
her forehead lightly.

Dana nodded, her eyes widening. Monica stood up, offering her a hand.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully's head was spinning as they entered her bedroom together. She 
flicked on the lamp and soft light flooded the room with warmth. There 
was only one other person who had shared anything in this room with 
her. She tried to ignore the visuals of she and Mulder pushing each 
other around her bed, naked and sweaty and wanting. It only turned her 
on more, which she didn't think was possible.

She and Monica self-consciously eyed each other. Scully took her 
remaining clothes off, determined to keep moving forward. They'd done 
this once before, taking their clothes off. It was much different in 
the light. Scully knew of every imperfection she wished she could hide. 
There weren't many, but they were probably obvious to another woman.

"You're so pretty," Monica said, her eyes wandering over Scully's body.

"Let's see you," Scully said, shifting under her gaze.

Monica obeyed, shedding her clothes and meeting Scully's eyes with a 
hopeful expression. Scully's breath caught in her throat as she glanced 
over Monica. Her skin was paler than she'd expected; her body curved 
and delicate, something she hadn't noticed before.

Scully pulled down the comforter and they settled atop soft white 
sheets, the pillowy mattress giving in to their bodies as they lay next 
to each other on their sides.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," Scully said, running a finger 
lightly down Monica's bare arm. As if it wasn't obvious to Monica 
already, she thought. She was nervous and unsure of herself.

"I don't, either," Monica said, tucking an auburn strand behind 
Scully's ear. "But...I assume it's like being with yourself. You know 
what you like."

Scully had to smile at Monica's serious observation amid the 
strangeness of the whole situation. Monica returned the smile and 
Scully took in the vision before her. Monica had long, slender legs 
that matched her arms. Her strength was shielded just beneath a surface 
of soft skin, harboring defined muscles that firmed her body. Her dark 
hair set in contrast to the white of the cotton sheets, her delicate 
and defined facial structure. The dark chocolate eyes that met her own 
and now made her blush with desire.

"What do you like?" Scully whispered, furrowing her brow.

Monica's lips parted slightly, her look thoughtful. "Why don't I show 
you?"

It was a soft question that hit Scully with the impact of a gale force 
squall. "Oh," she murmured, her breath quickening. "Okay."

"Are you sure?" Monica asked. Scully nodded and lay down on her back. 
Her head settled into the soft pillow. There was no question that she 
was sure. She was extremely sure, as sure as the blood pulsing through 
her warmly, as sure as the full feeling between her thighs. She tried 
not to think of how awkward she might seem.

Monica slid closer to her, giving her a light kiss. "Dana...if you want 
me to stop you can say it. Just tell me. I won't be offended. I won't 
be angry."

"Same for you," Scully said earnestly.

And then it began. Slowly, like the first glimmers of morning light 
spilling across the lawn at her parents' house, golden and pink, gentle 
and welcoming. Monica's soft lips started on her own, feather light 
kisses until Scully pushed her own mouth up to greet her. They kissed 
more, tongues mingling cautiously.

Scully slid her hand down the back of Monica's glossy hair to her 
shoulder, pulling her closer. Their bodies pressed together as Monica's 
mouth moved over her collarbone and ear. Scully felt fingers travel up 
her side and play delicately over the tightened flesh of her nipple as 
Monica nuzzled into her neck.

"That's nice," Scully breathed. It was. Monica traced her fingers 
around her breast.

"Yeah, it is," Monica murmured against her ear. "I want my mouth 
there...is that okay?"

The asking for permission thing turned Scully on even more. She felt 
the butterflies in her abdomen, caged, desperate for release. "You 
don't have to ask," she whispered.

Monica kissed down her neck and chest to arrive at her breast. Scully 
felt the tickle of soft hair against her skin as Monica took a nipple 
in her mouth and sucked it gently. Scully felt herself panting, eyes 
widened, mouth open to let the air she so desperately needed into her 
lungs. She was afraid she might faint.

Monica moved to the other side while she smoothed her hand up Scully's 
body. She was paying attention to every available inch of heated skin. 
Scully tangled her fingers in Monica's hair and closed her eyes.

Mulder and Monica. Monica and Mulder. Soft and hard. Sweet and salty. 
For a moment Scully pictured Mulder with his mouth covering her nipple, 
his eyes like lightning, ravaging the expanse of her body. She felt 
Monica move her mouth to the hollow of her belly button and moaned. 
That spot under her navel that Mulder cherished, lavished attention 
upon, because the gesture itself nearly made her come. It was like 
Monica implicitly knew the same, kissing it open mouthed, flicking her 
tongue against it. Scully writhed and pulled Monica's hair a little 
harder.

Both lovers felt so good. Why did they both have to feel so good in 
such different ways? 

Scully opened her eyes to watch in wonderment as Monica kissed the flat 
of her abdomen. Two dark eyes glanced up at her, on fire. A familiar 
look. "Are you okay?"

"I'm very okay," Scully said with a shaky breath. Monica was getting 
incredibly, undeniably close to the gentle throbbing between her legs. 
The thought made her ache.

Monica ran her hands up both of Scully's hips and sides, not looking 
away just yet. "I want to taste you," she whispered.

"Oh, God." Scully's fist tightened in Monica's hair.

"Ow," Monica said.

"Sorry," Scully said quickly, letting her hand fall slack. Monica 
nudged her head against her hand.

"Put it back. Just not so hard," Monica chuckled.

Scully smiled relief. "Okay." She replaced her hand gently, threading 
strands through her fingers. Relief lasted a fleeting moment as Monica 
slid down the bed. Scully let her legs fall open and bit her tongue at 
the hot breath on her thigh. When she felt Monica's mouth cover her she 
moaned and clamped her mouth shut to keep it all inside.

A soft swipe of Monica's tongue, seeking entrance, tentative at first. 
Scully's toes curled into the sheets at the slick sensation of how wet 
she'd become. Monica pushed in further, her tongue sliding through 
flesh. Scully pulled her head closer and whimpered, anxious for Monica 
to reach the one spot yearning to be licked.

"You taste like me," Monica said, a twitch of a smile on her lips.

Scully's eyes rolled back a bit as Monica went right for her clit. 
Precise and perfect, her tongue wandered around it in rough circles. 
Monica slid her hands under Scully's bottom to pull her closer as she 
sucked on it, hardened and swollen. Scully's hips arched and she 
groaned, unable to stop herself this time. 

"That's it," Monica whispered. "You like that."

Scully had to breathe several times to get her "Yes" out. A flood of 
warmth over her body ignited the telltale spark inside of her. She was 
close to coming, and coming hard.
 
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monica was really, unexpectedly, enjoying herself. Not that she thought 
she wouldn't. But she didn't expect to enjoy herself quite this much. 
Touching Dana, and kissing and licking her was an amazing kind of 
pleasure that she'd never quite gotten out of her male lovers. She knew 
it had something to do with the deep admiration she had for Dana, and 
that she was damn fine. But there was also something comforting about 
not having to worry about some guy shoving his cock into your throat or 
banging the fuck out of you.

Nah, this was a little bit different.

And now she was between Dana's legs, working her over the exact way she 
liked to be worked over. And it was pretty good, apparent from the tiny 
redhead writhing and whimpering and moaning above her on the bed. 
Monica wondered if it was possible to get wetter with every sound that 
escaped Dana's lips.

Monica felt Dana's feet shuffle off of the mattress and onto her back, 
her heels pressing down as she arched her back with a groan. It was the 
perfect time to slip two fingers into her and hear her cry out. A roll 
of her tongue on Dana's clit and a curl of her fingers is all it took 
to make her come, rocking her hips against Monica's mouth. Monica held 
fast, ignoring the slight pain of Dana pulling fistfuls of hair again. 
Monica licked more slowly, enjoying the tremors each sweep of her 
tongue caused throughout her partner's body.

"Oh my," came the soft voice from the head of the bed. The hands fell 
out of Monica's hair, the feet off of her back. She crawled up beside 
Dana, who had her eyes closed.

"Was that okay?" Monica asked, knowing it was okay. Figuring it was 
more than okay. She watched Dana's chest move up and down with her 
slowing breaths.

"Was it..." Dana smiled, opening her eyes. She pulled Monica's head in 
for a kiss. It was long and sweet and musky.

"Nice," Monica said at last. Her body had reached a fever pitch, all 
this making love to Dana, and she was needy but not wanting to appear 
so. This woman was so beautiful in her afterglow. It was a sight for 
sore eyes. She cuddled in closer to Dana, their bodies pressed 
together. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste left in her mouth.

She felt Dana shift, a hand pushing her back onto the bed. Monica 
didn't open her eyes, not yet. She felt Dana's breath on her lips, 
along her jaw and neck. Soft kisses followed. A slow breath escaped 
Monica as she felt Dana's fingers tracing light paths up and down the 
expanse of her body, from hip to shoulder. Meandering, delicate 
fingers.

"I want to thank you," Dana said into her ear. She nibbled on it. 
Monica smiled and opened her eyes.

"You're welcome."

Dana's mouth moved down her shoulder, tiny kisses to her chest. "No, I 
really want to thank you," she whispered.

It was Monica's turn to be floored. She laughed as Dana pulled a nipple 
into her mouth, grating her teeth gently against it. She couldn't help 
it. Laughing was close to pleasure for her. The two went hand in hand.

"You think I'm funny?" Dana said, raising her head to look at her.

"Absolutely." Monica grinned, expecting a reprimand. Dana let out a 
soft, smooth chuckle as she took in the second nipple, biting a little 
harder. Monica gasped and tapped Dana's head. "Not...nice."

"I might be funny, but I don't have to be nice," Dana answered with a 
decisive suckle on Monica's peaked flesh. Monica pressed her thighs 
together, feeling a little shockwave from her wet center all the way to 
her forehead.

"Prove it." Monica's gaze met blue eyes that turned steely with desire.

Keep...breathing.

She closed her eyes to feel every movement of Dana's mouth and hands 
over her body. Dana teased her nipples with both hands as she kissed 
and nipped Monica's sides and belly. Everywhere, there was a spark, a 
movement, a flick of the tongue. She was immersed in it and immensely 
enjoying the ride. 

Dana ran her fingernails down Monica's legs until they tickled her 
feet. Ran them back up again to her inner thighs. Monica shuddered with 
a sigh.

"We'll see if you like it how I like it," Dana said. Holy cow. Dana had 
finally come out of her shell. Monica had known the real redhead was in 
there somewhere.

"Go for it," Monica breathed. Please, please go for it already.

Dana was definitely more direct; she pushed her tongue into Monica 
first thing, surprising the hell out of her. Tracing around artfully, 
Dana pushed Monica's thighs up so they settled on her shoulders as she 
continued slipping her tongue in and out. Slowly, carefully, 
purposefully. Dana's thumb pressed down on her clit, sending her into 
an incredible writhe. She grabbed a fistful of Dana's hair--payback's a 
bitch. Monica moaned in delight as that thumb slid wetly over her 
sensitive bundle of nerves.

Then Dana switched it up, slipping her tongue up and her fingers down. 
Dana used her teeth dangerously and it drove Monica a little nuts in 
anticipation. Dana was nibbling, sucking, fingering her harder, and 
through the clouded haze of near-climax Monica felt a twinge of fear 
that Dana might lose control and injure her in some obscene way.

Monica rolled her hips against Dana's mouth and felt her body become 
rigid, her orgasm hitting her hard. She whimpered and quietly struggled 
against Dana's merciless teasing, even as her orgasm subsided. She had 
to pull Dana away as hard as she could to get her to stop.

"Stop, stop. Whoa. Please. I can't take any more," Monica pleaded.

"Mmmmmm," was the reply from between her thighs.

Dana emerged and dragged herself up Monica's body, their breasts 
pressed together. Dana's weight was just right on top of her body. They 
kissed, slow and lingering. They did taste the same.

Dana rolled off a bit, pressing her head into the crook of Monica's 
arm. "Is this weird to you?"

"Weird? Well...in some ways, yes. But not in any bad ways." Monica was 
still feeling the minute spasms deep inside of her, a gentle reminder 
of the good ways. "Is it weird to you?"

Dana closed her eyes. "Not as weird as I thought it would be."

The two were silent, save for soft breaths that fought to catch up with 
their bodies.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Scully woke in the morning, she hazily recollected genie hunting in 
Missouri. Something straight out of folklore, complete with the 
invisible man that had left her dumbfounded and inexplicitly 
embarrassed when it disappeared. After the trailer had exploded she'd 
been pretty much done with that day. Taking a "genie" into custody had 
brought it to a whole new level of greatness.

Mulder had taken her back to the motel and stayed a little too long, 
his playful shyness still new to her as he'd laid down with her and 
pulled off her pants, kissing her slowly as his fingers traced on her 
inner thighs.

"I've got three wishes," he'd murmured against her ear. She'd smiled at 
the excited tingle it sent down to her toes.

"I'm no genie," she'd chuckled, then gasped as his fingers slipped 
under her panties.

"Hmmm, I know that. But you've got special powers," he teased her, 
feather-light fingertips making her shiver.

"Oh really. What powers?" Mulder had slid two fingers into her and 
she'd moaned, bucking her hips. He'd pressed his lips against her neck 
and moaned with her.

His hot breath tickled her skin. "You make me crazy."

Back in her bed Scully felt fingers sliding inside of her and whispered 
his name, pushing up against the body lining her back. Her hips rolled 
with the steady circling of a thumb over her most sensitive spot. Her 
daydreaming had left her at the edge of orgasm, thinking of his hot 
mouth drinking her in, seeking more.

Her body stiffened as she came. She gasped for air, opening her eyes at 
last and finding herself in her own room. She realized the fingers 
inside her didn't belong to Mulder at all.

"Good morning," Monica murmured against the damp skin of Scully's 
shoulder. Scully settled into her embrace as Monica slid an arm around 
her waist.

"Good morning," she said, her head still woozy. "Hmmm. Nice way to wake 
up."

"Orgasms and pancakes," Monica said, kissing her ear. "Are you game for 
part two?"

Scully closed her eyes and smiled. "Sure."

Monica rolled off the bed. Scully let her eyes linger over Monica's 
nude body, in the daylight a different animal. More real, still 
beautiful.

"You stay in bed and I'll get them ready," she said, slipping on her 
underwear and dress shirt from the night before. 

"If you insist," Scully answered. It felt too comfortable. She'd never 
imagined it could feel so comfortable, like they'd done this a hundred 
times before and could just go about their day with no worries.

"And Dana?" 

"Hmmm?"

"I'm not Mulder." An impish smile crossed over Monica's face.

Blood rushed to Scully's cheeks. "Oh, God. I'm sorry."

"Nah, I'm just teasing you," Monica replied with a soft laugh as she 
left the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A month ago, Mulder had placed his typical last-minute Friday afternoon 
call to Scully, telling her to pack a weekend bag and be ready in 
thirty minutes outside her door. He told her to bring anything except 
for work.

She'd given up protesting his spontaneous plans a long time ago when 
she realized she couldn't say no to him anymore. When he'd arrived, 
she'd asked him what the next big thing was to disrupt her weekend 
plans.

"You never have any plans," he'd replied. He knew her too well.

They'd hopped a small plane at the airport; he'd purchased her a 
ticket. He always did that. She'd seen the destination on the departure 
board and her excitement had grown, though she tried to hide it. When 
they arrived and rented a car, Mulder had driven and watched her eyes 
dancing as they sped over roads draped over in sinewy green trees, the 
thick salty smell of the ocean greeting them at last.

At his mother's house, he'd hopped out of the car and opened the door 
for her. He'd never felt it necessary to sell the house or to dispose 
of its relics. He held it too closely, second only to the woman beside 
him. He tried to visit as often as he could to tend to its upkeep, pay 
the gardener, and take full advantage of the spacious peace it offered.

Mulder had given her the formal tour of the house, watching her quietly 
delight in its charm. It made him want to offer it all to her, to take 
her away from everything scary or unsure in their lives. He wanted so 
desperately to live a life with her there. He often dreamed of a 
spunky, red-haired child giggling where the surf meets the shore, 
squishing cool wet sand between tiny, perfect toes.

Upstairs in the house, she'd pulled him down on his childhood twin bed, 
kissing him atop the squeaky springs. He'd made love to Scully on the 
thick patchwork quilt. She'd giggled uncontrollably at the ancient 
bed's shrill protests to the thrusts of his hips.

Mulder had buried his face in her soft neck, feeling her tremor with 
laughter and pleasure at the same time. She'd pulled him so close he 
could barely move.

They'd slept naked in his parents' bed that night, the first night 
they'd ever stayed the entire night together. Scully curled up into him 
like a needy kitten, purring her wants and needs into his ear. He gave 
everything to her again and they'd passed out exhausted, fingers 
twined.

They were inseparable that weekend. They showered together, ate 
together, took walks down the shore together. They built a sand castle 
and watched as the waves took it down piece by piece.

Their last night he stretched out on the living room couch, his head in 
her lap. She stroked the short lengths of hair framing his face as they 
both watched out the picture window at the hazy twilight.

"Mulder?it means a lot to me that you brought me here," she said, 
stroking the side of his face.

"I wouldn't bring anyone else," he murmured.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was three days since the disconnect. Mulder drove to the Vineyard 
even though he usually flew. The drive, an arduous task, gave his mind 
a distraction from all of his rampant emotions.

"Hello?"

Mulder's breath caught in his throat as he gripped the phone. He was 
sitting on the front porch swing of his parents' house and had been for 
an hour. He'd called Scully's home phone and she'd actually answered. 
He had to gather his wits about him.

"Hello?" Scully repeated.

"Hi," he said. His teeth dug into the side of his cheek.

She didn't say anything for seconds that lasted for hours. "Hi?" she 
finally echoed.

"I'm at the Vineyard," he said. He wasn't sure what he wanted her to 
say about it.

She breathed into the phone like she'd been holding it three seconds 
too long. "Why are you telling me this?"

He tried to ignore the little twinge of heartache he felt after hearing 
her words. "I was just remembering, Scully?"

"Mulder, don't. Not now."

"What do you mean, not now?"

Another sigh. "That weekend was sacred to me in every way imaginable. 
And I don't want this?to taint that."

He was speechless. She'd grown impatient with him more quickly than 
usual.

"I hope you enjoy it up there," she offered.

"I don't want to be here without you, Scully," he said, hunching over 
in the swing. He studied the gnarled wood of the porch. He felt like 
he'd just scraped a barely healing scab over his pride and there it 
went, beading blood again.

"Mulder, don't."

His hand clenched around the phone. "Mulder, don't what? Jesus, 
Scully?I?m so lost. I know I fucked up but I?m lost. I don't know where 
to go, I don?t know what to do with myself." His voice wavered.

"Well, you should have thought of that before--"

"If you throw that in my face one more time, I'll never speak to you 
again," he growled. You always hit me while I'm down, he thought. It's 
my turn to defend myself.

Scully was silent. He wasn't sure when she hung up. He held the phone 
against his ear, watching twilight become night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mulder spent the entire week in the Vineyard, going through boxes 
crammed full of photos and dusty memories. He was amazed at the 
accumulation of a life. He realized his life, thus far, had created 
little of this of personal collection. He had clippings covering wild 
and fantastic stories, alien abductions, photos of crime scenes. But 
when it came to life, his real life, outside of bizarre mutants and 
twisted killers, his gathering of mementos was small. There wasn't much 
to show for his existence. He had hoped that would change, but it 
hadn't.

With every passing day it became easier for Mulder to ignore the 
nagging emptiness he felt. Removed from her, removed from himself, 
removed from his work, from anything but the mundane existential 
rituals of daily life. Wake, eat sleep. Cry, throw something, clean it 
up. He found simple joys in visiting the tiny local grocer, in walking 
on the beach at sunset, when the sky lit a fire that glowed his 
favorite shade of red.

After his conversation with Scully, he turned off his phone until he 
traveled back home. It felt pointless to have it on. Nobody important 
ever called but her. When he did, there was a voicemail from Skinner 
from two days before, telling him that the investigation into Scully's 
leave had been completed with no evidence of misconduct on either of 
the agents' parts. Skinner told him he could come back to work, to drop 
in when he got back. The thought didn't delight him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monica worked late, as usual, and showed up at Dana's apartment a 
little past eight. She wondered how someone so young could feel so damn 
old. A new pair of shoes she'd picked up had looked amazing at the 
store but had killed her feet after the twelve-hour day. Working with 
John Doggett, at times, drove her completely mad. He'd endeared himself 
to her during their stint in New York, and she held a deep affection 
for him that developed after they'd worked on his son's case together. 
But he was also a completely damaged man, scrutinizing everything that 
came his way, never trusting, never outwardly emotional. And of course 
Monica wanted to help, but she'd figured out a long time ago that it 
wouldn't work with him. He was too far gone down a lost little path.  


"Hey," Monica called, kicking her shoes off inside the door. "Okay, I'm 
never wearing these shoes again."

"I know the feeling," Dana answered from the kitchen. Monica followed 
the spicy scent of dinner and walked into the tiny kitchen. It had 
amazed her, the little miracles that could come out of such a compact 
space. Dana could cook dinner in a closet and it would come out 
perfect, precisely organized on a spotless plate, and it would taste 
like sin.

Monica stood beside Dana as she tossed a very colorful vegetable stir-
fry on the stove. "What is that, tofu?"

"It's tempeh," Dana said, nudging Monica with her shoulder.

"Same thing," Monica wrinkled her nose. It smelled better than it 
looked.

"Not really," Dana said, turning and standing up on her tiptoes to drop 
a quick kiss on Monica's lips. Dana arched her eyebrow. "In fact, it's 
quite different. Tempeh is made from whole...."

"I'll take your word for it." Monica kissed her again, pressing her 
along a little. Dana smiled into the kiss as Monica pushed her back 
against the counter. 

"I just thought?I'd cook?it's my last night off work," Dana explained 
between long, warm kisses. Monica tasted teriyaki on Dana's tongue.

"Have you been sneaking bites?" Monica asked. She kissed behind Dana's 
ear and felt her shudder. Of all the places on Dana's body, that was 
her second favorite. Well, third favorite. Yes, definitely the third 
favorite.

"A nibble here and there," Dana breathed.

"Oh really," Monica said. She was almost giddy to have permission to 
touch Dana's body however she wanted, whenever she wanted. She untucked 
Dana's shirt and moved her fingers over the soft skin of her stomach.

"Mmmm, Monica, I'm cooking." Scully held the spoon up in one hand as 
she sagged against the counter.

"I'm hungry." Monica slid her hands over Dana's breasts.

"Okay?okay." Dana caught her breath. "Me too, you. Let me finish."

"All right." Monica smiled and removed her hands. "But I know what I?m 
having for dessert."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully had moved back to the forensics classroom at Quantico. She 
always went back to that place. No need for a partner, no travel, no 
strange or crazy assignments. No chance of an alien abduction. Just 
flat-out mundane autopsies, a freezer full of cadavers, lectures to 
give, tests to grade. Enough to distract anyone from being broken 
inside.

Mulder was broken. He hoped, in a twisted way, she was broken too. 

Sometimes, when he'd venture out on a beautiful day, the air would 
envelop him, crisp and fresh as her clean cotton sheets. The sun 
glinted off the buildings surrounding him, hard and cookie-cutter 
governmental. He'd meander past her favorite deli, just far enough to 
look for her without being noticed. She had a habitual table where 
she'd sit under a tattered yellow umbrella, eating a sandwich 
delicately, oblivious to prying hazel eyes.

Scully was alone in her thoughts. He wanted inside of her head but was 
afraid of what he'd find. He'd watched her repeat the little habits 
that had endeared her to him so much over the years. She always wiped 
her fingers after every bite.

Her hair fell over her face as she studiously distracted herself with 
the daily paper. His fingers had yearned to push it back. But he'd 
stayed away. She needed distance. That was why she'd left him in the 
first place.

The one day he'd gone out to catch a glimpse of her and she wasn't 
alone, the sky was overcast and threatened rain. At the same table, 
under her umbrella, she sat with her sandwich, wiping her fingers after 
each bite. She smiled at Monica across the table. He caught them 
smiling in some forbidden conversation and watched Monica's fingers 
brush Scully's arm lightly. He nearly threw up on his shoes.

It pulled at the recesses of his heart and he walked away, aware of his 
body's threat to fall apart across the street from her happiness.

He wanted to know why she'd chosen Monica over him. After all, they had 
the history together. He'd tried to treat her well. In fact, he had 
treated her well, incredibly well considering he'd traveled to 
Antarctica to save her, just because he loved her. And he wasn?t 
convinced she was in love with Monica; in fact, he was completely 
convinced that she didn't. It was some weird fantasy thing with her, it 
had to be.

Mulder was angry at himself for abandoning his pride and clinging so 
desperately to his hope that Scully would come back to him. He wanted 
to be angry at her, to despise the glaring double standard she was 
living. He thought it was ludicrous for her to get pissed at him for 
having sex with Monica and then leave him to have sex with Monica 
herself. It was all shades of hypocritical. This woman, his insanely 
rational partner, couldn't see the flaw in her own logic.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully had gotten back into a fairly normal routine teaching at the 
Academy. It was something she'd grown accustomed to drifting in and out 
of over the years. She still enjoyed quite a bit about teaching. A 
lecture gave her the chance to have a captive audience as she rambled 
on about this or that, and unlike her previous position, there was 
nobody who stood up and challenged her, told her she was wrong and that 
they had the evidence to prove it.

She kind of missed that.

She tried to gain excitement from eager minds, the future FBI agents, 
young minds as green as she once was ages ago. Most of them were 
oblivious to the reality of their chosen paths, how they'd spend three 
quarters of their days on paperwork, how bureaucracy repressed truth. 
The valiant eagerness of her students was alternately inspiring and 
depressing.

But it was comforting work, not crazy "Scully-I've-got-a-ticket-to-
Nevada-for-tonight" type work. It was work that kept her easily 
distracted from her emotional reality.

Monica had stayed every night since they'd first made love. They'd 
spent weeks tending to this young and exciting relationship. Every 
moment she wasn't at work she was with this incredibly passionate 
woman. Monica was attentive, at times to the point of overkill, but 
Scully couldn't get enough. It was addictive in some weird way. Scully 
was always the one taking care of everyone else's needs, emotional and 
physical. Here was a beautiful, smart, funny woman who doted on her. It 
took her awhile to accept it, but the stability and attraction between 
them was hard to resist.

So much time with Monica made it easier to forget Mulder, but he still 
wasn't forgotten. That was impossible. Sometimes there were days when a 
dozen things would remind her, in some gentle and prompting way, of her 
time with him. There had been several times where she'd questioned her 
actions after the incident. Maybe she was too harsh. She knew he loved 
her and people make mistakes. A tiny part of her ached to forgive him; 
a big part of her missed everything about him, from the disgusting way 
he spat sunflower seed shells out into his hand to how he moaned her 
name and told her over and over again that he loved her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You're working late."

Scully jumped, the tools she'd been arranging at the countertop 
clanging noisily. "Jesus. Mulder." It took her a moment to turn and 
face him. He saw the hesitation in her eyes, the uncharacteristic slump 
of her shoulders. "You don't scare someone like that when she's got a 
scalpel in her hand."

He took in her loose blue scrubs and bright white sneakers. Gorgeous, 
even then. "Sorry," he said, slowly walking into the exam room.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, leaning back against the 
counter.

"Well, your car was here. And you teach class until 9:50 on Thursday 
nights." He blushed at his intimate knowledge of her daily schedule. 
Way to go. Smooth. Stalker.

"Hmmm," she murmured, her fingers tapping. He stood in front of her and 
she looked away, fingers keeping the beat. His heart was in his throat. 
He'd just ended up there. He'd told himself not to go, but his desire 
to see her and talk to her again had finally gotten the best of him. 
He'd held out for so long. Seeing her with Monica at that little deli 
that afternoon had sent him over the top.

Her voice soothed his ears. It quelled the chaos inside of him. "So, 
how are you, Mulder? We haven't spoken in?"

"A long time," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm 
surviving. You?"

"I'm all right," she said. Her blue eyes met his intent gaze. He knew 
she was questioning his motives for coming tonight. Scully picked up a 
few of the tools and walked them over to the stainless steel autopsy 
slab. She placed them down with such care. An artist's tools, essential 
to her craft. Funny the things we attach to, he thought.

"Scully, I just?I wanted to say how sorry I am about what I said in the 
office," he blurted out. He couldn't find the right words. He gave up. 
Blurting was sufficient at this point.

"I know you are." She ran her fingers over the gray matte surface of 
the table. "It's all right. I've moved on."

He shifted his feet. "I haven't."

Scully closed her eyes, taking an audibly deep breath, letting it go. 
Her jaw tightened. He stepped closer, cautious, his body tingling just 
being in her vicinity again. "Mulder, we can't dwell on the past. It's 
not healthy."

He couldn't resist getting even closer to her. She sensed him near and 
opened her eyes, meeting his with one of her trademark looks of 
confused curiosity.

"The past is all I have," Mulder murmured, pressing his hand against 
her cheek. Scully's lip quivered once. Her head rested against his palm 
and she shook her head, blinking away tears. Sometimes they could talk 
with their eyes. He tried to hear what she was saying in his mind. He 
hoped it was the same message he conveyed to her.

He was surprised as she slid her hands over the sides of his collar and 
pulled him into a hungry kiss, her tongue pushing past his lips, sweet 
and soft. He whimpered against her, sliding his hands over her back and 
bottom. He wanted to devour her and kissed her back, willing it to 
happen.

He hoisted her on top of the steel table, their mouths roughly 
exploring the mysterious familiarity of it all.

"What are we doing?" she panted against his mouth. His response was a 
groan as her fingernails dug into the back of his neck, sending painful 
pleasure down his body. Their eyes locked as he dragged her mouth into 
his kiss, deep and wanting. He wanted to take her into him, all of her. 
The gentle perfume on the hollow of her neck, the pungent odor of the 
medical soap she'd scrubbed up with moments before. Her firm body, her 
demanding eyes, her relentless, untamed spirit. Every word she 
whispered. He wanted it all, to capture it and keep it for himself. 

Mulder yanked at her loose scrub pants, caught under her bottom. She 
pulled on his neck and lifted her hips up so he could tear them off her 
body. The bare skin of her thighs hit the cold stainless steel table. 
He caught her gasp with his mouth again. Sporadic thoughts spliced 
through his mind while he ran his hands up her legs, tucking them under 
her bottom. Need. Want. Scully. More. Don't stop...don't make me 
stop...

Scully slid a hand down between them, roughly assessing the hardness 
under the smooth fabric of his pants. Mulder broke their kiss, biting 
his lip to keep from moaning too loudly. He'd missed her touch; he'd 
not forgotten how blissful it was, how she innately knew the exact way 
to make him crazy with a few strokes of her fingertips. He'd stored 
every detail in a little, locked box labeled "Scully" in the back of 
his mind, one he'd hid away because it was too painful to acknowledge 
its existence when he couldn't touch her every day.

They took a break from kissing to allow their breath to catch up, their 
lips inches apart. Her fingers wandered up and down his length. Scully 
found his zipper and pulled it down. Her eyes turned serious, clouded 
with uncertainty. He didn't know how to answer her with words. She 
didn't look away an instant as her hand slid into his boxers and pulled 
him out, her cool hand wrapped around his searing skin. The sensation 
rushed to his forehead; he pressed his face against her neck and 
sighed, running his fingers along the waistband of her panties. Her 
moist breath teased his ear while her hand squeezed him, pulling 
intently. Her hips wiggled in his hands.

"What do you want from me?" Mulder said, his lips on her neck. Suddenly 
he felt lost in it, what it meant, what it didn't mean. He heard and 
felt her breath catch in her throat. She pulled on his hair, bringing 
his face to hers.

"I don't know," she whispered. She bit her cheek. Her feet, still clad 
in little white sneakers, swung back and forth gently. Her grip on his 
cock loosened and he tried to hide his disappointment, looking away 
from her intense gaze. His chest tightened as he held back his 
confusion with a gulp.

"I need you. I need you so much it hurts," he managed, meeting her eyes 
quickly. Another lump in his throat. Her brow furrowed for a split 
second. He'd seen that look before; he'd said something she didn't know 
how to take. A mix of confusion, wanting to believe but as always, the 
skeptic. For all of its simplicity, saying those words was like 
dropping an heirloom vase on tile. Would it or wouldn't it break?

Her fingernails pressed against the back of his head. "We can't do this 
here." He ran his hands back down her cool legs. She dropped her hand 
from his hair and let go of his penis, looking away. Too far away. He 
wanted to know what she was thinking.

"Scully?" Mulder said, tucking himself back inside his trousers. He 
picked up her scrub pants and slid her shoes through them, sliding the 
pants back up her legs. She held onto his shoulder and hopped down from 
the table.

"We can't go to my place," she said. She met his eyes and he understood 
that they might not be alone if they went there. It made him uneasy 
that Monica was probably waiting for her at home. Maybe she had made 
her dinner, rented a movie, drawn her a bath. He pushed it out of his 
mind.

"Mine's fine," he answered. "If you don't mind the mess."

"When have I ever minded the mess?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mulder walked Scully to her car. The chill of the night air tingled 
against her face. Nights turned quiet in this part of town after dark. 
The silence brought an eerie calm about it. She turned to face him at 
the passenger door, leaning against it and examining him carefully.

This is the man I left behind, she thought, her eyes drifting down his 
body. I'd never, ever left him behind before all of this.

He shifted uncomfortably as if he'd read her thoughts. "So, I'll meet 
you there?"

His eyes were already undressing her. She felt his imagination peeling 
each article of her clothing off to expose every inch of quivering skin 
beneath. She reminded herself to breathe. What he did to her...

"I can't wait," she said, sliding her arms around Mulder's neck and 
kissing him hard. His warm tongue reciprocated eagerly. Scully clung to 
him, her nipples hardening against his chest. He pressed her back up 
against the car door. They were in plain view of the world, under the 
parking lot floodlight, and she didn't give a damn.

"Me either," he whispered during a quick parting of lips before he 
captured her again. She felt drunk on his scent and the spice of his 
tongue as her breath quickened. More of him.

"No...I can't wait," she repeated, sliding her hands down his chest and 
dropping them to her sides. "Get in the backseat."

He stared at her and took precious seconds before he inhaled deeply. 
"Here? Scully..." 

"Get in the car now." She gave him the look that warned him it was 
better not to argue. He should know that look by now. She didn't want 
to wait; she didn't want to spend the entire drive arguing with her 
common sense that this may not be the best idea. She needed him now 
before she changed her mind. She wanted to forget everything and feel 
him.

Mulder opened the back door and climbed in, sliding across the seat. 
Scully followed him.

She slammed the door shut and kicked off her sneakers, shimmying out of 
her scrub pants. She looked at him as she kicked her pants off her 
feet. Mulder's eyes were wide and a shade of confused she hadn't seen 
in some time and it turned her on even more.

Scully quickly moved over him, straddling his lap in her panties. She 
ground down against him, seeking the sensation of his hardness and 
finding it increasingly more evident. She ignored the tiny voice in her 
head that was reprimanding her, demanding her to stop. Mulder groaned, 
pushing up against her as much as he could. His long legs struggled for 
comfort as his knees rubbed against the front seat.

"Scully, what are you doing to me?" he whispered.

She dipped her head to claim his lower lip in her mouth. Her hair fell 
across his cheeks as they shared bated breath. 

Her mind raced. He felt too much like home. God, he felt so good, and 
it felt so?

Mulder's hands moved under the sides of her scrub top, sliding over her 
ribs to grab her breasts and pinch the hardened nipples trapped in her 
bra. She moaned, reaching a hand down between them to fumble at freeing 
his cock once again.

Scully's head was dizzy, her body coursing electric that emanated from 
his unrelenting fingers. He was so familiar to her. He knew her inside 
and out. A little more would send her over the edge already. She had to 
make him stop--as soon as she got his cock out of his boxers.

As if she willed it to happen he was free, straining and erect between 
her thighs. Mulder moved his hands to tug at the waist of her panties 
and she grabbed his wrists, pulling them up to place them across the 
top of the seat.

"Don't move," Scully whispered. She meant business. His cock bobbed in 
agreement. He left his hands there even when she let go.

Scully reached between them and pulled the crotch of her panties aside, 
pushing down onto him with a soft moan. His hardness pressed against 
her soft, slick flesh, waiting. She nipped at his lips with her teeth.

"Jesus, Scully," he groaned, digging his fingers into the leather of 
the backseat. Scully kissed him hard. She shifted her body, settling 
down on his cock with a forceful drop of her hips. She cried out 
against his mouth at the immediate fullness inside of her, hot and 
pulsing.

She returned her hands to his wrists and held him there as she began to 
ride him slowly, milking his cock and making him whimper as she pushed 
her tongue into his mouth, desperate to get closer, to get inside him 
as deeply as he was inside of her. Mulder's body began to shudder with 
each pull of her muscles against his flesh.

"Don't you come yet," she whispered. "Don't you dare come before me."

"I wanna make you come," he begged breathlessly.

"If I let you," she corrected him. "How would you do it?"

She rode him with deep thrusts and he growled deep in his throat. 
"Given the confines of space...Jesus...I'd love to be...oh 
fuck...fucking you with my tongue... but... mmmmm... with my fingers 
right now."

She felt her muscles around him twitch approvingly at the thought of 
his mouth on her. That would have to wait for another day. "Do it," she 
said, letting go of one wrist. She pushed her hand against his cheek, 
holding him in place as she stared into his eyes.

Mulder's hand slipped between them and immediately found the hardened 
nub of flesh above where they were joined. His fingers wet, he rubbed 
her hard and she moaned his name, her hips responding to the sweet 
arousal that flooded over her body. She slid her thumb across his mouth 
and he sucked it in just the way he'd always sucked her clit. She 
gritted her teeth and came against his hand, around him, and she 
brought him with her.

His hips rose up in a powerful thrust. His other hand broke free of the 
tiny grip around his wrist and grabbed her by the back of her hair. 
Scully gasped and he kissed her roughly as the tiny spasms of spent 
arousal ricocheted through her body.

"Unhh," he managed to say.

She dropped her forehead to his, catching her breath. He looked lost. 
She tried to ignore it, but she was a little lost too. How quickly it 
had all happened, something she'd told herself she'd never do again. 
She'd given in, because she wanted it. She needed it. She didn't want 
to need it.

"What do you want from me?" Mulder repeated the question he'd murmured 
against her neck half an hour ago.

"That's pretty obvious, isn't it?" Scully searched his eyes with a half 
smile. He was still inside of her as their bodies relaxed. Keenly aware 
of the fact that they should pull apart, given the round of security 
that was due, she slid off of his lap.

Mulder remained still. "It's a serious question."

She pulled up her scrub pants and leaned back onto the seat. "I know. 
I'm sorry."

Mulder turned his head to look at her. It was painful, the dispirited 
look in his eyes. "I can't only be this to you, Scully. I won't be."

Scully felt her heart break a little. She'd never expected or wanted 
him to be her circumstantial lover but that was exactly what had 
happened. He didn't deserve it, even if dragging him back into her made 
her feel complete again.

"I need some time," she said softly, staring at the headrest in front 
of her.

"Honestly, Scully, I don't have much more time to give you. If this is 
over, I need to know. I have the right to know. You have to decide if 
you want me."

An unsettling queasiness fell over her as she heard him zipping up his 
pants. 

"I'll see you later," he said, shutting the car door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monica was lounging on the couch when Dana walked into the apartment an 
hour later than usual. She'd had a hard day at work herself; she'd 
taken a hot bath and let dinner get cold while she waited for Dana to 
arrive. She knew Dana taught a late class on Thursdays, but it was a 
little too late for Monica's comfort. She watched Dana kick off her 
shoes at the door, instantly detecting a nervous energy in her 
demeanor.

"It's late," Monica said. "Was everything okay tonight?"

Dana walked past the couch into the kitchen to grab a glass from the 
cabinet. "Yeah. I'm thirsty."

"Are you hungry? I can microwave dinner. Have you eaten?" Monica chided 
herself for being annoyingly attentive. She stood up from the couch and 
wandered over to Dana, who was filling her glass with cool water from 
the fridge.

Monica slid her arms around Dana's waist and felt her tense up. 
Something was definitely wrong. This was not the warm reception she was 
accustomed to after so many hours apart.

"I'm not hungry," Dana said, taking a gulp of water.

"You're not hungry. Dana, what's wrong?" She pressed her lips against 
the back of Dana's head, wanting to read her thoughts.

"Mmm, just a hard day at work."

Monica debated pressing her more, but decided against it. She wondered 
if it had something to do with Mulder. He'd been uncharacteristically 
absent for weeks. Monica assumed that he knew there was something going 
on between the two of them, and that was probably the reason why he'd 
backed off.

Monica slid one hand over Dana's abdomen, rubbing her stomach and 
letting her fingers slip a little lower. She tried to tuck her hand 
between Dana's legs. Dana pulled away and Monica looked at her. 
Definitely not normal. Definitely something wrong. 

"Have you heard from Mulder?"

"Why does it matter?" Dana set her glass down on the counter.

"Well I just thought maybe that was the reason why you were so upset."

"Do I really seem that upset to you?"

So it was him.

"Yes," Monica answered, feeling a little frustrated at the unusual 
brick wall she was hitting. She felt a twinge of nausea in her stomach, 
a little voice in her mind fabricating reasons and situations she 
didn't want to believe might be true. "Did you see him tonight?"

Dana turned to face her. She looked angry and exhausted, but couldn't 
hide the flush that spread across her cheeks when Monica asked about 
Mulder. Shit, Monica thought. That's it. "What did you do?"

"Monica. Lay off the interrogation, okay?"

Monica shrugged and stepped away from her. "If you don't want to talk 
about it, that's fine."

"I really don't," was Dana's reply as she walked off to the bathroom.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scully couldn't get to the bathroom quick enough. She slammed the door 
shut and locked it before she crumbled at the guilt and confusion that 
forced themselves through her numbed senses.

She stripped off her scrubs and underclothes. She balled up her panties 
and threw them in the corner. She smelled like him--his amazing, 
addictive scent.

For a moment she could still feel him inside of her, still hear the 
surrender in his whispered words. It was so frustrating to try and 
forget about Mulder, to let go of all of her pent-up feelings for him. 
She'd tried so many times, like every time she'd thought he was dead, 
when he was abducted and left her alone to bury him. And now she'd 
tried to convince herself that she'd given up after the night after the 
tavern, but she couldn't. She kept coming back. He was like an 
addiction.

She climbed into the tub to find solace in the liquid burn of the 
shower. Her thoughts went instantly to the last shower she'd had with 
him, slippery with soap and sex. What the hell are you doing, Dana?

The levee broke. Her tears flooded over her carefully constructed 
denial for the first time in weeks. You make me sick, she thought over 
and over, fists balled together, fingernails digging into her palms.

She had never been like this. Never this needy, never this deceitful. 
Never cheated on anyone, never had two lovers at once, never felt her 
heart torn in two.

What have I become? This is not me. This is what love does to people, 
she thought.

Monica. It should be easier to let her go. She'd only known her for 
months, compared to the years she'd spent with Mulder. Scully had tried 
a few times to convince herself that Monica was a mistake, but there 
was no way to pass it off that easily. As soon as they'd kissed her 
world as she knew it imploded.

She embarrassed and shocked herself to admit that some parts of being 
with Monica and Mulder felt the same. She didn't know why every kiss, 
every brush of the hair, every stare tugged her heart in nearly the 
same ways. And not knowing why was something she couldn't accept.

She wondered if Mulder could really leave her for good. He'd made it 
sound so easy in the car tonight when he'd told her to make a decision. 
He was too proud to let her know how much he'd hurt. She knew he did, 
like she had hurt, muted and alone. Sometimes in the middle of the 
night when the darkness was the only thing she could see, she would lie 
awake and wonder if he too was sleepless.

In years past they'd call each other, in months past she'd go to his 
place and nestle into his strong arms until they found peace.

Now she would normally turn to Monica and pull her close, nuzzling into 
her soft hair to leave those thoughts behind.

Tonight she didn't want either of them. Tonight she wanted to leave 
everything and everyone, to live in a void safe from confusion and 
passion. Her feelings were nothing she could rationalize and it was 
driving her crazy. Either path she chose, a heart would be broken, and 
she'd leave a piece of herself behind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monica got ready for bed in Dana's guest room. She'd been tempted to 
take off and go back to her apartment but a nagging conscience wouldn't 
let her leave. She was a little humiliated that she was afraid of 
hurting Dana's feelings by going home. She wanted to be angry at Dana 
for seeing Mulder tonight. She'd done more than see him, of that she 
was sure. Dana exuded sex, and she couldn't hide it well.

Monica innately knew that she was attracted to broken people, like a 
doctor was attracted to the sick. She wanted to help them, to cure 
them, to make them better. She was convinced she was the person for the 
job every time she was pulled into another relationship. If I love you 
a little more, if I give you everything I have, maybe I can fix you. 
The heartbreak that had always followed just made her more determined 
to do a better job the next time.

She was irritated at this part of her personality, but it was there, 
like some sort of sick condition she couldn't shake. When she'd met 
Dana, she'd instantly seen the heartbreak set in her eyes. Dana tried 
to hide it with radiant strength, but Monica saw a deeply wounded 
woman. She felt empathy; she felt a connection she couldn't describe.

I'm sick, Monica thought as she slipped under the cool sheets. She had 
warned herself after each broken relationship that it would be the 
last, told herself she was better off alone. And now she'd tripped 
right into another. As much as she hoped things would last, she was 
afraid it would end up like the rest of them if she failed again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day dragged on like no other. All Mulder could think about was 
Scully, that generic autopsy table, her tiny white sneakers, her 
goddamned car, and her breathy little moans. He arrived at work late 
and decided to leave early, seeing as he couldn?t concentrate enough to 
read or even form a coherent sentence. Not that he talked to anyone at 
work anyway. Besides Skinner. And he was avoiding the boss man like the 
plague: he could read him too well and would be on his ass to find out 
what was the issue behind his brooding du jour.

Mulder made his way to his car in the parking structure, wondering if 
he should do the morning-after, afternoon-after, calling, or if he 
should let Scully make the call. And then he cursed himself for being 
such a pussy about all of it. She had his balls in her hands and it 
drove him absolutely nuts sometimes.

He wondered if she'd told Monica about it when she got home. His 
instincts said no, that she'd hidden it all, so good at pretending 
nothing happened. Nothing at all. Just forgetting that she'd come 
around him, riding him within inches of his life, just an hour or so 
earlier. It was all shades of fucked up.

Mulder opened the door to his car and a voice from behind him made him 
freeze.

"I know she was with you last night."

Mulder closed his eyes, instantly recognizing who it was. Oh, the 
irony, as if his thoughts had called her to his exact location like 
some sort of Angst GPS. He'd thought about this moment over the past 
few hours and was actually anticipating it with a mix of dread and 
satisfaction.

Mulder turned to face Monica. Now there was a portrait of jealousy.

"Nice to see you too," he said.

"Cut the shit, Mulder," Monica said. "This has been a long time coming 
for us."

"Go on." He tried to appear completely disinterested, just to mess with 
her. Like a cat pinning a mouse by the tail, he carefully batted at her 
raw emotions. "Did she tell you all about it?"

Monica was a few feet in front of him now, standing her ground. She 
could command attention and respect, he gave her that. "Dana didn't 
tell me, but I could smell it on her, Mulder, and maybe you could let 
me know exactly what the fuck you're doing."

"Why don't you ask your girlfriend?"

Her eyes were dark as smoldering coals. "You know, I used to respect 
you, your reputation, your passion. Your surface-level chivalry toward 
her. I envied it, desired it. Worked my ass off to be like that. But 
now I know the truth. Deep down, you're just another fucked-up man. And 
that's all you are to her, too."

That hurt. Mulder tried to hide what he imagined was a gaping, bleeding 
puncture to his heart. Right through the chest, her precise, sniper 
accuracy sending him reeling. His knuckles turned white on the edge of 
the open car door as he collected his response.

"You have no idea what I am to her. What she is to me. You'll never 
know what that's like, Monica, to live your life for another person. 
It's something that can't be easily destroyed."

"You don't know the first thing about me," Monica said.

"I know how you feel inside."

For a moment, Mulder thought she was going to jump him and beat his 
ass. Her entire body twitched in anger and he watched, nervously 
awaiting her next move, verbal or physical.

"You're such a dick," she whispered, fury punctuating her every word.

"Apparently."

"You know what, Mulder? I can't ask you to stay away from her. This 
whole thing is up to Dana. I want her to be happy. There must have been 
some inane reason why she fucked you last night. I'll find out why, and 
I'll be there the next time you break her, picking up the pieces you 
shattered through your own hedonistic pursuits."

All he had left was a nod of his head. He slid into the car and left 
her standing angry.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They were lying on opposite ends of Monica's couch, legs meeting in the 
middle. Even more specifically, sharing a soft microfleece blanket and 
watching Being John Malkovich. The sin of the night was chocolate-
covered Oreos, which Monica had turned Dana on to quite easily despite 
her protests that "they were vessels of partially hydrogenated oils" 
and they would go straight to her thighs. Monica would put money on the 
fact that they wouldn't.

She'd popped one right into Dana's mouth as she droned on about the 
evils of covering fat in chocolate. Dana pretended not to like it, but 
Monica knew a liar when she saw one. And Dana was admirably bad at 
lying while she savored something so sweet and forbidden.

She watched Dana munch on her cookie and slid her foot over the inside 
of Dana's thigh, underneath her knee-length skirt. Monica flicked her 
toes against Dana's panties and Dana glanced at her, trying to hide her 
smile.

"Your legs are too long," Dana said. Monica felt Dana wiggle her hips 
to get a little bit closer to Monica's prying foot. She felt the moist 
heat against her toes and sucked on her Oreo, watching Dana lick a few 
crumbs off of her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. 

She drew a deep breath, trying to remind herself that she was supposed 
to be angry, that she wanted answers as to what had happened between 
Dana and Mulder the night before. She already knew--it was obvious in a 
number of ways--but she wanted to know why it happened. She needed to 
know.

But this woman is just too goddamned cute, Monica thought. Herein lies 
the problem.

"Your legs are too short," Monica answered. She dropped her empty bowl 
to the floor and pulled the blanket over her head to find Dana's 
wiggling toes. She kissed the tops of Dana's feet in the stuffy 
darkness under the blanket. She heard a giggle from outside and moved 
her mouth up one silky calf, kissing to her knee.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dana smacked her head through the 
blanket as Monica nipped at the inside of her knee. "I'm not going to 
let you out."

"I don't want out." Monica nuzzled against her lap. She kissed her 
abdomen and pushed her head out from under Dana's side of the blanket, 
hands on either side of her. Dana offered her an Oreo and she bit it, 
staring intently into blue eyes that teased her and confused her all at 
once. Dana ate the rest of her Oreo without looking away.

"I could watch you for hours," Monica said, resting her head against 
Dana's stomach. Dana sifted fingers through Monica's hair and looked 
back at the television screen.

"Why did they pick John Malkovich?" Dana asked.

Monica closed her eyes, enjoying the soft tugs on her hair, the gentle 
scent of Dana's skin. She kissed Dana's belly button through her cotton 
dress shirt. "Hmmm. Bald is sexy. Like A.D. Skinner."

Dana laughed softly and Monica slid her body up a little more, resting 
her head on Dana's shoulder. She kissed the side of her neck, wondering 
if Mulder had kissed her there last night, wondering if it felt the 
same, or better, when he did it.

"Dana?" Monica kissed her neck again, inciting a little moan from 
Dana's throat. "How do you feel about me?"

She felt Dana stop breathing for a few seconds, then sigh, her body 
tensing. Monica looked at the screen, at the mixed up people all 
fighting over who really loved who and why. Dana was silent, 
uncomfortably so.

"Dana?"

"Monica, you know I care about you."

Monica knew what that line meant. She'd heard it, oh, a dozen times 
before. It was what people said when they were afraid of saying 
anything else. People care about their cars, they care about their 
cats, they care about how the Red Sox did in the playoffs. Care could 
mean so much and so little at the same time. She didn't care for the 
word care at all.

"Dana, I'm serious. I don't think you know how serious I am." She 
listened to Dana's heartbeat as she pressed her ear against her chest.

Dana turned off the movie and they sat quietly in the pale white light 
of the living room lamp.

"Why are you asking me this now?" Dana's words were close to a whisper, 
like she knew she'd been found out, like there was a serious reprimand 
coming, some sort of consequence to her actions.

Monica wished she was strong enough to go through with what her mind 
had screamed at her earlier, on the way home from the parking garage 
encounter with Mulder. To tell Dana she knew what she did, to tell her 
how much it seared her heart, how it chipped away at the beautiful, 
naive bliss Monica had fabricated over the past weeks of their 
relationship. A bliss based on feelings she thought had been true.

"Because I need to know how you feel," Monica said. "Last night when 
you came home, I knew something had happened. Something you were afraid 
to tell me about because you might hurt me if you told me."

Dana shifted on the couch, sitting up. Monica pulled away from her 
comfortable place on Dana's chest, sitting cross-legged next to her. 
This was the part where Dana Scully pulled away, physically, 
emotionally. The part where she went into crisis mode, into her shell 
of protection. It was textbook. Monica had seen Dana do it a few times 
before, but never thought it would be because of them.

"How did you know?" Dana murmured, closing her eyes.

"Dana?I just knew. You know how that works. And it didn't help that you 
freaked out on me and avoided me the rest of the night."

Dana folded her arms across her chest. "Monica, I don't know what I?m 
doing. I'm so messed up. You have no idea how screwed up I've been 
since this all happened."

"You've seemed fairly happy to me," Monica said, reaching over to tuck 
Dana's hair behind her ear. "I want to think that you were really 
happy, not just pretending. I don't think you were."

Dana chewed on her cheek, keeping her eyes closed. "I was happy. But 
life isn't that simple, Monica. You've made me happy, but so has he, so 
often I lose count sometimes."

"Well, you have to decide who you want." Monica hated saying the words, 
hated the uncertainty they yielded. She wanted to make the decision for 
her. It would be so easy.

"That's what I heard," Dana said, finally opening her eyes and casting 
a glance in Monica's direction. "I don't know why the culmination of 
this whole mess lies on me."

"Because you?" Monica paused with a deep sigh. She wrung her hands 
together and met Dana's gaze. "Because we both want you."

Monica watched the frustration tick across Dana's face. She looked like 
she was in physical pain over the thought that two people could want 
her. In fact, she was impressively ignorant of the fact that she 
couldn?t be more desirable.

"Why do you both want me?"

"I can't speak for him. I can only speak for myself." Monica smoothed 
her fingers over the blanket, trying to find comfort in its softness.

"Well, are you going to do that?" Dana's stare intensified, like she 
was challenging for an answer, yet afraid of what she would hear. 
Monica swallowed, her throat tightening for a split second before she 
composed herself again.

"Because you're beautiful. Your mind, your body. There's something 
infinite about you, something bright and strong. People are drawn to 
it. I'm drawn to it. It's powerful, it heals."

Dana took several deep breaths, staring off into the dark corner of the 
room. "I don't like being put in this position."

"Dana, you put yourself in this position. And now you have to face it. 
You don't like hurting people, and someone is bound to get hurt. We've 
all hurt already." Monica turned to face her, pulling Dana's hand into 
her lap. She traced light circles on her palm. "I don't want you to 
hurt any more, Dana. I'm worried that you will if you make the wrong 
decision here."

Their eyes met and Monica felt a burning threat of tears.

"I want you to let me take care of you," Monica whispered. "I want to 
be that for you. I really think we can make this work, together, that I 
can make you happy. I think I have made you happy."

Dana nodded once, her chin quivering. Monica kissed Dana's knuckles, 
pressing them against her mouth.

"I need time to think," Dana whispered. She pulled her hand away and 
stood up.

"You're leaving?" Monica sat back, quickly wiping the tear that had 
accidently escaped.

"I need to think."

Monica watched Dana grab her purse and hoped she would turn around for 
a quick goodbye, a kiss, anything. She didn't. She slipped out the 
front door, softly closing it behind her and leaving the room hollow 
and cold in her wake.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The unexpected knock on his apartment door came as Mulder was tossing a 
used carton of orange juice into the kitchen trash. Used because he'd 
poured the last few shots of Absolut he found in his cabinet into a 
tumbler, sucked it down and chased it with OJ straight from the 
container. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his wrist and glanced 
at the clock. 6 p.m. His pizza wasn't due for another thirty minutes, 
either that or Tom the delivery guy deserved an astronomical tip. 

He opened the door. Scully was standing with one hand on her hip, her 
head tilted, eyes cast downward. Her hair covered half her face, but 
not enough to cover the confusion in her eyes as she glanced up toward 
him. He stood aside to allow her in.

He wondered why she'd come over?he liked to think there was only one 
reason why she'd come over, and it was dangerous and unhealthy, but he 
tried to discard that thinking as she wordlessly wandered inside. Of 
course she was wearing one of those knee-length pencil skirts that 
drove him absolutely up a wall.

Mulder tried to make sense of the situation. Scully probably wanted to 
talk about the night before. Maybe Monica had told her about the 
parking garage, how he'd been such a dick because he was intimidated. 
Maybe she was going to give him another trademark Scully lecture, tell 
him off again, tell him how inconsiderate and male he was.

All day he'd tried to forget his toxic thoughts of her in the back of 
her car, slick and hot, her sweet smell invading his senses. It was 
pointless, and he'd eventually given up, letting them roll through his 
head like thunder that never brought a storm.

"So what brings you here tonight?" Mulder shifted his feet, running a 
hand through his hair. She turned to him in the middle of his living 
room. He could read her face like a book, and tonight's subject was 
Love Triangles: What a Really Fucking Bad Idea.

Scully's stare could peel the paint off walls. "I'm all screwed up, 
Mulder. I don't know what I'm doing. I needed to see you. I needed to 
see how I'd feel."

Oh Jesus, he thought. He walked up to her, his heartbeat pounding in 
his ears. She came here for me. She came here for me, and that's what 
she'll get.

Her eyes flicked down his chest and slowly back up to his face. It gave 
him chills. Mulder noticed her breath quicken, soft wisps of air 
escaping her pursed lips as she studied him. He grabbed the back of her 
head and kissed her, pushing his tongue roughly into her mouth. He felt 
her fingers drag across the tendons of his neck as she pulled him 
deeper.

He tugged at the zipper on the side of her hip and Scully grabbed his 
hand, pulling it away. "Mulder?" she breathed, lips inches from his.

"I'm going to show you how you feel," he whispered. He snaked his other 
hand around her back and circled her wrist with his fingers. Her breath 
caught in her throat as he pulled her hand behind her back, kissing her 
again. His free fingers found the zipper and yanked it down, letting 
her skirt fall to her feet. She kissed him harder, lipstick sliding 
against his mouth. Mulder slid his hand across the front of her silky 
panties and officially gave up on rationality. It was a nice thought 
while it lasted.

Instead, he slid his arm under her legs and swept her up in his arms. 
Scully gasped and clasped her hands at the nape of his neck. He watched 
her brow furrow as her tongue traced the outline of her lips. Mulder 
walked toward his room, carrying her, easing her past the doorframe and 
tossing her onto the bed. She bounced with a little "oof."

And there she lay on her back, panting, blinking doe eyes at him, and 
all he wanted to do was make her pant more. No, not just pant. Moan, 
groan, scream his name. Make her remember what she was missing out on.

"What do you want from me now?" Mulder asked, standing over her. Her 
stare was equal parts desire and uncertainty. "Do you want me to tell 
you what I want from you?"

Scully's mouth fell open slightly and she nodded. He felt his cock 
twinge and willed himself to be patient. He sat on the side of the bed 
and turned to her, running a finger up the inside of her bare calf. He 
reached her inner thigh and kept going to the damp fabric between her 
legs.

"I want to put my mouth here," Mulder said, pressing two fingers into 
the damp silk. "I want to open you up with my tongue and taste you."

That made her moan and shift her hips against his hand, just like he 
knew it would. Scully didn't look away, not for a second. He ground his 
palm against her, cupping her bottom with his fingers. He could feel 
her swollen and hot.

"Then I want to push my tongue inside of you?"

Scully tried to bite back another moan but miserably failed. He closed 
his eyes, his erection painfully hard, throbbing under his jeans. 

"?and then I'm going to eat you until you come."

"Mulder," she whispered, pressing down against his hand. Her head 
rolled on his pillow. "Jesus, Mulder."

"?and then I'm going to fuck you until you can't take it any more."

Scully's mouth opened wide with a tiny whimper. He watched her struggle 
to gain her composure, as much as she could muster.

"What are you waiting for?" she breathed. Mulder smiled and pulled his 
jeans down with his boxers, holding back the gasp at cool air meeting 
his hot skin. Then he crawled over her and kissed her open mouth. She 
kissed back, as hungry for him as he was for her. Her fingernails slid 
up his black t-shirt, scraping his skin.

He left her dress shirt on, moving down her body to slide her panties 
down her legs. "I want you to watch me," he said, his lips moving 
against her stomach.

Mulder looked up to see her peeking down at him. "Okay," she said.

It was so tiny and desperate, her perfect little agreement. He kept his 
eyes on her as he ran his tongue between her legs, pushing deeper into 
her flesh. He'd thought that he'd forgotten what she tasted like, but 
having her on his tongue again sparked that memory. 

He knew what it took to make her start moving her hips along with the 
stroke of his tongue and quickly went for it. A rough, flat lick of her 
clit, over and over again, and she was moaning and trying with all her 
might to keep her eyes open, to keep that promised connection between 
them.

Mulder grazed his teeth over her and she clawed at his head, gripping 
his hair. He didn't care if she pulled out his hair; he wasn't going to 
stop. He didn't ever want to stop. In fact, he contemplated staying 
there forever, for a split second wondering if he could make some sort 
of living out of eating Scully out. Probably not without a video 
camera. Special Agents Gone Bad. Terribly, terribly bad. He decided 
against it. He didn't want to share.

He heard Scully's whimpers get louder, knew she was close to coming. 
His mind flashed to Monica, wondering if she whimpered the same way 
under Monica's mouth. If they did the same things, which one of them 
felt better to her.

"You gonna come, Scully?" Mulder quickly passed off his thoughts, 
instead focusing on the twirl of his tongue around her clit, then 
sliding it down and inside of her as deep as it could go.

"Fuck yeah," she whispered, closing her eyes and grinding her hips 
against him.

"Look at me, Scully." He watched her force her eyes open as he lapped 
at her again. Her body quivered and she cried out sharply, her hips 
rising off the bed. He caught her bottom in his hands and kept at it, 
moaning against her wetness. He felt like he was going to come right 
then and there, all over the fucking sheets, a complete and pointless 
mess, just because of the delicious sounds she made.

A few more drags of his tongue and he lifted himself up on his arms. 
"Turn over."

"What?" Scully, still recovering, bit her upper lip. 

"You heard me." 

And she had heard him, and this time obediently flipped over onto her 
stomach. She pushed up on her hands and knees, her bottom grazing 
against his cock. He groaned. It had been way too long since he'd seen 
this beautiful view.

"You want this, Mulder?" Scully rubbed against him more and he swore he 
could hear her purr. He slid over her body, their shirts catching as he 
pushed his face into the back of her hair. He grabbed his cock and 
pushed into her, all the way in with one hard thrust. Scully moaned 
very, very naughty words, all strung out in a row, as he felt silky hot 
muscle clench against him.

"Tell me how you really feel," he groaned, pulling out and thrusting 
deep again.

"You tell me?how I feel." She twisted her hips, teasing him. He growled 
low in his throat, trying to come up with enough coherent words to 
describe it.

"Hot?" He thrust harder into her and she whimpered. "And like you 
really?really? need this."

"I do," she breathed, squeezing him again in heated bliss. Mulder 
closed his eyes, desperate to hold off. A few deep breaths and he 
regained his composure to start fucking her slowly, deeply, with hard 
thrusts that nearly pushed her down against the bed. Scully held her 
own--he was always amazed at how she could do that?meeting his hips 
with her bottom over and over again.

"Can she fuck you like this, Scully?" He thrust into her harder, 
pressing his chest against her back and nipping at her neck. He didn't 
know where that question came from, popping in out of the blue from his 
subconscious curiosity. Scully arched her back against him with a moan, 
her hips keeping his rhythm. "Hard, like this? Does she know how you 
like to be fucked?"

In an instant she fell down against the bed, rolling away from him onto 
her back. She was panting, sweaty and beautiful. And also angry as 
hell. He sat back on his calves, watching her. Long seconds passed as 
she caught her breath to speak.

"Mulder, stop it already. Jesus."

"What?"

"Stop comparing yourself to her."

He felt a slight flush in his cheeks when she called him out. It was 
true, he was comparing himself to Monica, which was admittedly the most 
fucking stupid thing for him to do. They were separate people, probably 
completely different lovers, but he needed to know who was better, who 
made her feel more complete. He needed to know if the reason why she 
came over tonight was because she chose him, but he didn't want to put 
his tail between his legs, again, and ask her, again, what her decision 
was going to be.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"You know?I don't know what I expected you to do." Scully drew her legs 
up to her chest and hugged them. She was so tiny, shadows dancing 
across her face as she put her chin on her knee. She looked at him, 
guilt in her eyes. Good, maybe she should feel guilty for everything he 
put her through.

"Well, I think you had a pretty good idea of what I'd do when you came 
over here."

"What, that you were going to fuck me?"

Her words sent him reeling a bit. It took a lot to make him feel 
exposed, but he felt it now, naked from the waist down. Mulder lay down 
on his stomach and rested his head on his folded arms. She turned to 
face him.

"That's not all I?m going to be to you," he said.

"Is that all I am to you?" she asked, her voice soft.

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Here we are again. Circling around, semantic 
warfare. How long do you want to do this, Scully? I've got all night. 
I've got the rest of my life."

"What do you want from me, Mulder?" She reached out with tentative 
fingers, stroking his cheek, and he turned his face to kiss them. He 
couldn't resist it.

"We've covered this before. I want you. I want all of you. In fact, I 
want exclusive rights to you."

Scully dropped her hand to the bed with a sigh. An easy distraction, he 
thought as they both watched her fingers aimlessly tracing invisible 
shapes on the sheets.

"You know?sometimes?I long for the simpler days. Before all of this. 
Before your abduction, before my cancer, before we?became lovers, 
Mulder."

"Why?"

"Because it was easier." Her fingers curled on the sheets.

"Maybe it was easier for you," Mulder murmured, watching her refuse to 
look at him. "My life was a complete hell. A lonely, fantastical 
existence. And then you came along. Like the eclipse finally moved past 
the sun. And some days I can't figure out if you pulled me out of that 
dark, or if I dragged you into it with me."

Scully's eyes met his. "Mulder, some days I don't know that either." 

"But you know what the difference is, Scully? Between Monica and me? 
You and I have that past. There are no other two people in this world 
who have been through what we have together. I think that should count 
for something. I think it should count for a lot."

Mulder watched her fight back the tears that threatened to topple her 
well-built defenses. He hadn't seen her that way for a really long 
time--vulnerable, letting herself feel what he knew was the truth.

A hard knock on the door startled them both. Mulder snapped his eyes 
shut. Fucking half sausage, half mushroom, extra cheese. "You hungry, 
Scully?"

She was nothing but bewildered. "You ordered pizza? When?"

He pulled on his boxers and walked out of the bedroom. "While I was 
making you come. I have a psychic connection to Antonio's."

"In that case, it should be interesting to see what's on it," she said, 
her first small smile since she'd arrived.

Mulder wondered what he looked like, more so what he smelled like, when 
he opened the door to Tom the delivery driver. Tom gave him the once-
over and exchanged the cardboard box and a knowing smile for cash.

"Enjoy," he said. Mulder sneered at him and shut the door in his face. 
He tossed the box onto the kitchen counter and opened his fridge, 
pulling out an unopened bottle of San Pellegrino he had left over from 
the last time she came over. She'd been on her mineral water kick. He 
wondered if she was still on it.

Another knock on the door and Mulder slammed the fridge. If Tom asked 
to join in he'd get a rapid punch to that dazzling smile of his.

"You got my red pepper packets?" Mulder said, pulling open the door.

"Did you order enough for three?" Monica pushed her way past him into 
his apartment.

"What the hell are you doing?" He shut the door, knowing if he tried to 
kick her out he'd probably lose.

Monica folded her arms and faced him. "I thought we could all have a 
nice conversation. You supply the food, I'll supply the fucking 
reality."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx end part 5

Four words she'd never say in front of her mother ran through Scully's 
mind as she heard Monica enter the apartment. And then the wave of 
nausea hit her stomach. She should have known better. She'd been 
tailed, staked out, and caught in the act.

And of course, her skirt was lying on the floor of his living room, 
incriminating evidence of what had transpired.

She rolled out of bed and walked to the dresser. She should at least be 
fully clothed if Monica walked in. She yanked open Mulder's top left 
drawer, her drawer, and underneath layers of lacy lingerie she found 
one pair of pajama pants with happy monkey faces on them, a gag gift 
from Mulder on her birthday. Great, she thought. Fantastic.

She pulled on the pants, her stomach twisting again. Monica wanted to 
have a conversation, the three of them. She'd heard that through the 
open doorway. And she wasn't sure she could handle it. In fact, she'd 
been avoiding it for way too long. It was much easier to ignore the 
pain of reality one more day at a time. She felt queasy again, 
overwhelmed by it. She made it to Mulder's bathroom just in time for 
her vomit to land in the toilet bowl.

"Scully?" Mulder's voice echoed in the bedroom. He walked into the 
bathroom as she pulled down a hand towel and wiped her mouth. 

"Oh, Jesus. Scully."

She picked up Mulder's toothpaste and took a fingerful to swish out her 
mouth with minty water. Not great tasting, but better than vomit. She 
looked in the mirror. Her hair was tousled and sweaty, her cheeks still 
mildly flushed. She wanted to crawl back into his bed, no, her bed, and 
sleep for a hundred years. Sleep to forget it all, to wake up alone, 
with nobody to hurt but herself.

"Monica's--" He faltered when Scully shot him an icy glare, tossing the 
hand towel into the hamper as she brushed past him.

Scully walked into the living room and stopped. Monica was standing 
with the skirt in her hand. She looked down at Scully's pajama pants, 
then into her eyes. "Nice. Oh, by the way, you dropped this on your way 
in."

Monica tossed the skirt at her and it fell to the floor. Scully closed 
her eyes, taking a shaky breath. You can do this, she thought. You 
won't lose it, not now. You can't lose it, not now. She looked at 
Monica as calmly as she could. "What are you doing here?"

The anger that flashed in Monica's eyes was expected yet alarming. 
"Excuse me? What are you doing here?"
 
"You shouldn't have followed me."
 
"Well, I'm glad I did. Because last time I checked, 'I need to think' 
didn't mean 'I need to go to Mulder's and fuck over a pizza,'" Monica 
said, her voice low.
 
"Oh Jesus," Dana whispered, walking to the couch and sinking into it. 
"Monica, I'm sorry."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

The decision to follow Dana when she left had been a quick one, a 
desperate idea that came into fruition. Monica knew where she was 
headed. It wasn't Starbucks time. Dana was returning to her safety, her 
man of steel, running like she always did, running like she'd run from 
him a month earlier. Right into Monica's arms then straight back to 
him. Things had come full circle.

It was no surprise when they ended up outside Mulder's apartment 
building. Monica had parked down the street and watched Dana go inside. 
She was angry at herself for following and angrier at Dana for going 
there. 

Monica had closed her eyes, remembering a chapel nestled in the rocky 
red cliffs of Sedona, surrounded by a bright blue sky with cotton ball 
clouds. She'd gone there when she was twelve years old, and at that 
chapel was the first time she'd truly felt spiritual energy, a 
connection to the earth and the sky at the same time.

At the chapel she'd watched a dove handler carefully remove the bird 
from its wooden cage and hand it to her. The dove's heart beat quickly 
and its body twitched in her hands. She'd cradled it to her chest, 
closing her eyes, trying to calm it down. She'd released it with the 
others when the sun was at its highest above the desert. It swooped in 
beauty, stretching its wings in release for a glorious moment, only to 
fly straight back to its handler after its brief taste of freedom. 

And that was the way of the dove. To find that comfort, to sample the 
feeling of weightless joy before returning to the peace of the known.

Just a week ago, in a warm light afterglow, she and Dana were on their 
stomachs in a silent moment, a sheen of sweat on their backs. They 
watched each other catch up with breath.

"I was thinking." Monica had traced her fingers up Dana's smooth spine, 
leaving a trail of goosebumps.

"What a surprise." Dana had closed her eyes with a tiny smirk. "Dare I 
ask?"

Monica had moved her fingers across Dana's shoulder and down the bumpy 
ribs of her side, nervous butterflies taking over her tranquility. "I 
was thinking we should transfer to the Phoenix field office."

Dana had laughed softly. "Monica, sometimes I think you dream out 
loud."

Monica had nestled her head a little deeper into the pillow, resting 
her hand on Dana's bare bottom. "No, hear me out. We could move down 
there, get out of D.C. Leave its facades and false security. Just you 
and me. We could get a place in Sedona. Sleep in the desert under the 
stars, hike Oak Creek Canyon. Reconnect with nature and God, find 
ourselves. And work occasionally."

"Sedona, huh?" Dana's eyebrows had lifted as she said it. Monica had 
known it was a stretch for her to imagine leaving for such a completely 
different way of life, but underneath the uncertainty she could hear a 
hint of longing in Dana's voice.

"I love Sedona. You'd love it."

"Up and move, just like that?"

"Just like that," Monica had repeated. She'd closed her eyes and felt 
her body drifting, hazy thoughts of rugged terrain, scrub brush and 
magic in the wind. "What are you thinking?" she'd murmured.

Monica had felt Dana sling a smooth leg over her bottom. Straddling the 
small of her back, Dana had pressed their bodies together, snapping 
Monica out of the sweet bliss of dreams and into an even sweeter bliss 
of heated, soft flesh grinding against her own.

"I'm thinking I'm not done with you yet," Dana had whispered into the 
back of her hair.

Monica had slipped out of reminiscing and found herself back in the 
smoggy dusk of D.C., in the car, outside of Mulder's apartment building 
once again. She'd been surprised when she checked the time that barely 
a half hour had passed. She had decided to go in, to knock on that 
door, interrupt whatever thinking they were doing and let her voice be 
heard.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monica looked at Dana sitting on the couch and heard the sincerity in 
her apology, but felt surprisingly unmoved by it.

"I know you're sorry," Monica said. "The sad part is that you think 
'sorry' will make it all better. Nothing's better, Dana. Nothing could 
be worse."

Mulder appeared in the bedroom doorway and Monica glared at him. He 
leaned against the doorframe, watching her. She saw past his simulated 
confidence and knew he was shaken, just like she was. She could see it 
in his eyes, his white-knuckled grip on the wooden frame. "So what 
now?" Monica asked, looking back at Dana.
 
"I don't know what," Dana said, looking at her hands hanging in her 
lap.
 
"All right, there's another wrong answer. All I've heard from you, all 
we've heard from you I assume, is 'I don't know.' I'm working in the 
here and now, Dana." Monica put her hands on her hips and came a few 
steps closer, trying to hold back her anger. "You've got to make a 
decision. Here and now."
 
"What are you doing?" Dana didn't look up at her.
 
"Stopping the pain," Monica said. "It's like...you're stringing us 
along, until what? Until one of us gives up, so you don't have to take 
the blame for cutting either of us off?"
 
"All right, that's enough." Mulder's delayed conversational debut made 
Monica even more disturbed. She resisted the urge to take it out on his 
face.
 
"Don't you tell me what's enough." Monica watched him shift on his 
feet, giving her a heated glare. She returned it. Yes, I'm in your 
house, marking my territory, she thought. Bring it on.
 
"You really think berating her to make a quick decision is the way to 
go, Monica?"
 
Monica rolled her eyes. "This decision hasn't been quick, goddamn it. 
We've been hanging in the balance the entire time. You know, Mulder, I 
don't like you. I think you're a conceited, self-serving prick, but I'm 
not sure you deserve this amount of torture. Not even you." She heard 
her heartbeat in her ears, felt a nervous twitch in her limbs. She 
could take this up a notch and he'd not forget it for years.
 
"Oh Monica, get off your high horse," Mulder snapped. "I'm so tired of 
your self-righteous bullshit, straight off of some fantasy conquest. 
You rescued her from the big, bad dragon, worked your way inside her 
heart and now you think you're something else. Somebody should give you 
a fucking medal."
 
"Don't even get me started," Monica said, her voice calmly even despite 
the hurricane she felt churning inside. "Don't even fucking start with 
me, Mulder. You'll regret it more than you know."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You don't get it, Monica." Mulder walked to the kitchen, wishing he 
had a lot more vodka in the house. He took a swig of the mineral water 
instead, straight from the bottle. Good enough. The bubbles sizzled 
down his throat. "I told you this earlier. Scully and I go way back, 
farther than you know, I think farther than she and I know. And we've 
gone this distance together, faced insurmountable odds, and made it 
through. I watched her on her deathbed twice, wishing I could be there 
in her place. And then they took me, and whatever the fuck happened 
there, I died and came back to life and we're still together."
 
Monica approached him and he could nearly feel her mind picking him 
apart. This woman was tenacious, to put it mildly. It was a challenge 
to throw something out there that would stump her.

Normally it would amuse him, but Mulder felt a restless uneasiness, 
like he was on the verge of losing more than he wanted to acknowledge. 
He could sound as confident as he wanted to, but the idea of Scully 
leaving him for good scared him more than death. 

 
"And why was she on her deathbed, Mulder? Wait...because of you. Always 
because of you and the darkness you drag her through. You going to tell 
me she deserves that? When's it going to end, Mulder? When are you 
going to give her peace?"
 
Oh, she's good, he thought, taking another long drink from the bottle. 
He glanced at Scully, who'd been completely still on the couch with her 
eyes closed, brow furrowed. A tear trickled down Scully's cheek and she 
quickly wiped it away, opening her eyes to meet his gaze.
 
"You're not her savior, Monica. Your Christ complex astounds me." He 
didn't break his visual connection with Scully as he said it. Her chin 
quivered.

"Look who's talking, Mr. Resurrection." Monica managed to move between 
them so he couldn't see Scully's face. It was intentional blocking on 
her part.
 
"I think we've been talking a lot and we haven't been listening," he 
said, moving past Monica to sit on the couch. He gave Scully her 
distance and she turned her head to question him with her eyes. "I 
think it's time for us to listen to you."
 
Monica walked slowly over to his desk chair and sat down, visibly 
displeased at his proximity to what she wanted most. She glanced at 
Scully and then settled her eyes on the glowing fish tank in the 
corner. Moments passed as they listened to the bubbling of the aerator 
and the quiet ticking of minutes spent waiting on resolution.
 
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
 
Scully had listened to their acrid banter while trying to calm her 
nerves, her stomach threatening to bring up all of the emotions inside 
of her until there was nothing left. She needed to listen and hear 
their true intentions. They could sweet talk her all they wanted, but 
the fact was that Monica and Mulder both had selfish reasons for 
clinging to her. It was easily discernable as their attempts at 
discrediting each others' emotions became more frenzied.

It was hard to take, hard to understand, but easier than speaking up. 
When she opened her mouth, there would be expectations to be met, and 
the idea overwhelmed her. And now they waited on her, a pregnant pause 
hanging in the air.
 
"This isn't anything anyone should ever have to do." Scully's voice was 
calm and she stared into Mulder's eyes. "This is surreal. And I hate 
it."
 
Monica and Mulder were silent. Scully shifted on the couch, 
uncomfortable about the importance of each word she spoke. It felt like 
she was dropping beads of water onto a hot frying pan.
 
"I don't know what you expect from me," Scully said. She settled with 
her elbows on her knees. It was the only thing she could do to help her 
feel as guarded as possible. "If I'm supposed to provide a signed 
declaration stating some sort of final choice between the both of you, 
that's nonsense. And it ignores the true depth of this situation."
 
She sensed Mulder's discomfort at her statement. He breathed out slowly 
and put his feet on the coffee table, crossing his legs. She knew full 
well that was what he'd expected, and in his favor no less.
 
"Did you just use me, Dana?" Monica finally looked at her, anger 
settled deep into her features. "Was I just an easy way to punish him? 
An excuse to get away for awhile?"
 
"If it was just that, then this would be a lot easier." Scully hurt 
from the pain in Monica's eyes--the pain of rejection, of giving 
everything she had and now wondering if she'd made a huge mistake.
 
"Scully, if you're not going to make a final choice now...I mean, what 
are we supposed to do with that? I don't think either of us is up for 
sharing. I'm not all about the free love here. Four nights here, three 
nights there. We're not in Utah." Mulder rubbed his hands over his bare 
knees, still only clad in his boxers. Scully glanced at the happy 
monkey faces on her pants and couldn't imagine a more fucked up 
situation. And he still had to make a sarcastic jab.

"No, we're not." Scully let herself fall back against the couch. "And 
now is no time for jokes, Mulder."

She saw the hurt in his eyes, an acknowledgement that she was right. 
She knew how he was, how he had been so many times before. Humor came 
hand-in-hand with emotional denial.

"You know how sorry I am," Mulder said. Scully watched his leg shake, 
his heel hitting the floor like a fast heartbeat, unrelenting 
nervousness radiating outward. "But if that one night is the only 
reason why you're willing to throw us away, there's nothing I can do 
about it. It's never made sense to me, but I've let you go as much as I 
can, let you find your way. You came to me tonight, I think for a 
reason. All I've asked is that you think about it, Scully." He searched 
her face for a reaction.

"I have," she said softly. "I'm always thinking."

"She came to me for a reason, too," Monica said, tilting back in the 
desk chair. "What was that reason, Dana?"

Scully had been impressed with her own ability to keep calm so far, but 
the air of vulnerability in Monica's question sent her quickly to an 
edge she'd been trying to avoid. 

"I was running from the mess we'd created." Her words were slow and 
calculated. "I was so upset at him..." She glanced at Mulder. "At you, 
Mulder, and so mixed up and angry that I turned my back on it all."

"And came to me. Because you knew I'd be there to try and take it all 
away." Monica exhaled slowly. "And I couldn't, no matter what I said or 
did. No matter how you felt with me, he was still there."

Scully nodded, her throat dry.

"Well, that's bullshit, Dana." Monica left the chair and stood in front 
of the coffee table, her hand on the back of her neck. "You dragged me 
into this. You invited me into his bed, you invited me into your bed. 
Now you're telling me it was all about running from him? That you felt 
nothing for me besides escape from reality?"

"Of course not, Monica. I feel...I felt a connection with you. You're 
amazing and I don't deserve you. At all." Scully saw the spark of an 
inevitable meltdown behind Monica's dark eyes and knew she couldn't 
stop it now. She never could. "Monica, I think it's possible to have 
feelings for more than one person at once. I did, I do. But we can't 
live like this."

"So you're choosing him," Monica said, nudging her head in Mulder's 
direction. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes impatient. Monica had such a 
passion for what she believed in and what she wanted--it was the same 
flame that burned so brightly in Mulder, their desperate clinging to 
the deepest truth of all. Scully ached to give them both what they 
wanted so badly.

"Monica..." Scully stood up, faltering a bit. She noticed Mulder 
shifting beside her and wondered what he felt as he watched this 
relationship begin to implode. Was he relieved? Confused? Saddened? She 
was all three. She saw him watching her movements, serious and 
contemplative, and she wished she could read his thoughts. Does it make 
you feel good, she thought, to know that I'm breaking her heart?

Her stomach twisted again. She wasn't one to cause pain, not one to 
cause problems, yet she was guilty of it all. She met Monica's eyes and 
sent a silent, unknown plea to whoever was listening to send her peace.

"Don't even try to appease me," Monica said as her tears began to fall. 
"Don't make excuses, Dana. I can't handle it."

"I've got to stop running," Dana whispered. She felt her body tremor 
and her chest tighten when she saw Monica cry, knowing her tears were 
full of pain and shattered security.

"Dana, you leave me behind and you're running again."

"If I stayed I'd still be running. Running to what's easier, running 
away from complicated. Even if complicated is the path I'm fated to 
take. And I'm not sure when that would stop, or where." Scully felt her 
cheeks cold and wet to the air in the room and tried to ignore the fact 
that her tears had spilled over.

She felt Mulder's hand touch hers at her hip and looked down at him 
again. She wasn't sure what she saw in him. She played her fingers 
against his listlessly.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Monica's voice betrayed her. Scully knew she had 
little fight left, despite her best attempts at keeping her anger in 
the game. Scully pulled her hand away from Mulder's fingers and made 
her way around the coffee table. Monica moved away quickly, heading for 
the door.

"Wait," Scully said, following her.

"I'm done waiting." Monica opened the door.

"Monica. Stop."

Monica kept her hand on the door and looked back at Scully, fresh tears 
sliding down her cheeks. "I should have stopped the first time we 
started."

"Jesus." Scully exhaled the word, feeling her abdomen tighten like 
she'd been punched in the stomach.

"Whatever, Dana," Monica whispered, shutting the door behind her.

Scully felt her breathing become ragged, each one taking more effort 
than the last.

"Scully?" Mulder's voice was soft. She ignored him. She opened the door 
and walked into the hallway.

"Monica."

Monica was stopped at the elevator doors and Scully gulped back the 
strain in her throat. She'd given up on wiping away the tears trailing 
down her cheeks. More evidence of the fissure in her heart, how 
incredibly guilty she felt for implicating Monica so deeply, dragging 
her underwater in the struggle to reclaim her own breath.

Turn around, she thought. Turn around, just turn around.

Monica turned, her cheeks stained with tears. She put a hand on her 
hip, staring at the honeycomb-patterned floor of the hallway.

"What, Dana." Not a question--a demand of attempted strength.

Scully walked up to her and stood inches away, trying to look into 
Monica's eyes. Monica refused, pulling hair behind her ear and chewing 
on her lower lip.

"I don?t know." Scully could barely whisper. She had no good reason for 
making Monica wait. No matter how long she waited, the result would be 
the same, and there was no reason to prolong the pain. She wanted to 
wrap Monica in her arms and hug her and heal her at the same time. To 
make her forget the memory of touch and taste, to wash away every 
sacred moment that made this hurt both of them even worse.

"He is going to hurt you, Dana," Monica whispered, her voice heavy with 
sadness and painful resolve. Another tear fell. "He'll do it again, and 
you'll keep going back, thinking you can fix him. But there are some 
things you can't fix. There are some things people can never change."
 
Scully reached out and wiped Monica's cheek with her thumb, the skin 
hot and soft. Monica pressed her cheek into her palm. "I know. But I 
can't change how I feel about him."
 
Monica's dark gaze seared her heart. "But when did you change how you 
felt about me?"

Scully squeezed her eyes shut. It hurts, she thought. It hurts too 
badly. I need to let go. Just let it go.

She felt Monica's lips brush hers softly, a split second of pause amid 
the fortress walls crumbling. "You'll find your way," Monica whispered 
fiercely. "And if that way passes by me again, stop to say hello."

And then Monica turned and took the long descending stairway to the 
street. Scully stood still, fingernails cutting into her palms. Ten 
breaths, twenty breaths, until her quiet sobs slowly faded away.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Mulder standing in his doorway, 
watching and waiting.

Scully turned her back on him, not quite ready to be touched.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
day one, day one, start over again
step one, step one
i'm barely making sense
for now i'm faking it
till i'm pseudo making it
from scratch begin again
but this time i as i
and not as we

- alanis morissette, not as we
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Author's Notes: Angry angsty people arguing and having sex. What's not 
to love? Since this may read a little like an Oscar speech I thought 
I'd save it for the end. Thanks in the form of one free iced coffee per 
day for a year go to Marigold for hanging in there as a fabulous beta 
and general cheerleader through the writing of this entire story. 
Thanks to everyone who kept pushing me and encouraging me, and to those 
who opened up their minds and went on this crazy MSR ride with me 
(Mulder/Scully/Reyes, of course)...it meant so much to have your 
support. Every note of feedback and every frustrated groan kept me 
going. Special thanks to scullyseviltwin, who provided me with the 
alanis necessary to finish this up; to scrubschick, wolfmusic218, and 
cata_clysmiic; to innisfree for the M&M pissing match idea; and lastly 
to mister cellodog for taking me to the Chapel of the Holy Cross in 
Sedona. Don't miss it. Monica was right.