Title: Satori Author: Tim Scott Email: tscott@fix.net Rating: NC-17 Category: A, R, S Spoilers: What do you care? You just wanna see 'em do the nasty. Be advised that sex is not always fun. Not in my universe, anyway. Summary: This is Part 4 of The Ragnarok Cycle. You really should read the other parts first or this won't make much sense. R1 -- ANNUAL REVIEW R2 -- CARYATID R3 -- A VIEW FROM MOUNT NEBO R4 -- SATORI R5 -- MUSINGS ON ELIOT R6 -- DEAD MAN SWITCH Disclaimer: Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert! Unauthorized story detected off the port quarter, sir! The Fox Network, Chris Carter and 1013 Command have been notified but the message will take for fucking ever to get there and back. Read at your own risk. Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Audrey Cooper, Beta Reader Extraordinaire, for all her help, to Red Valerian for Brit slang and other helpful hints, and to Paula Graves for her suggestions. Dana Scully's apartment Friday night I spent the time since I called Mulder in cleaning my apartment, God knows why. He certainly won't care. Housekeeping is not high on his priority list. It took me all of ten minutes, after which I reviewed all the reasons why this is a terrible idea and then conjured up all the ways this meeting could go wrong. Good worrying is never wasted, my mother assures me. Finally I hear a car pull up. I peek out the window and see him get out of a cab, which brings me up short. Is his car in the shop? He didn't say anything about it. Not that I gave him many openings today, now that I think about it. I alternated between frigid politeness and barely concealed contempt for his latest nutball theory. And he still came. I shake my head in wonder. I hear his footsteps approach the door but he pauses out there for a moment before knocking. A long moment. He's wavering, I can feel it. I want to fling the door open and throw myself into his arms but I suppress it. We have to settle some things first, get the ground rules straight, so I wait for the knock. It comes, eventually, but the wait doesn't do my nerves any good. I open the door and invite him in. He's back-lit in the hallway so I can't get a good look at him right away but I know something's wrong as he eases past me. He only moves like that when we enter dangerous territory. His fingers twitch slightly, like he wants to be holding his weapon. He puts his suitcase down slowly and I immediately wonder why he brought it. For a moment I think maybe he's suddenly become psychic and almost smile. He finally turns to face me and my first clear sight of his face nearly stops my heart. Mulder is a symphony in black. His boots, jeans, long-sleeved Henley shirt and leather jacket all absorb the light, giving nothing back. His skin is pale, like bones bleached in the desert for decades. His eyes are the worst, though, they take my breath away. They look old, desiccated, dead. This is not the man I left behind me at the office. This is a man whose soul has been burned right down to bedrock, who has nothing left to lose. This man is dangerous. Sweet Jesus. What have I done? Something in the back of my mind wants to wail and rend its garments. it shrieks. I crush it mercilessly. There's no time for that now. My partner is obviously in trouble. I have to prioritize. Get him off the ledge first, give him something simple to focus on. I flash him the best smile I can muster, which isn't too good under the circumstances, and offer him a drink. He thinks it over much more carefully than such a simple question warrants. This is bad, very bad. Eventually he asks for water. I escape to the kitchen and frantically wonder what the hell to do next. She closes the door behind me, follows me into the living room and asks if I'm thirsty. For someone who needed to see me Right Fucking Now she's pretty damn calm. I consider the offer, looking for hidden traps, and ask for water. She gathers the bathrobe more tightly around her and doesn't quite sprint to the kitchen. I want an explanation but it's her meeting, her agenda. I can wait. What the hell else do I have to do? While she's rattling around in there I take the time, again, to appreciate her apartment. My flat is just a place to keep clothes, a computer and other assorted gear. Scully has a home. I don't spend much time at my place. Why would I? It's not home. I can't remember the last time I had a home. Well, I can, but I'd rather not. Instead I close my eyes and open my senses, all five of them, and drink in my surroundings. This memory is going to have to last me a long time. Probably the rest of my life. Sight. I don't have to look, I memorized it long ago. Scully's apartment is comfortably lit but not so bright that it hurts the eyes. It's clean and neat, like she is herself, and decorated in soothing colors. She must love coming back here after being entombed all day in the basement with me, or returning from a road trip. Touch. The fabric of her sofa is comfortably rough to the touch, not slick like the vinyl of my own couch. I could rub my fingers over it again but I haven't been invited to sit yet. It doesn't matter, really. I have the textures stored in long-term memory, where I keep all the important stuff. Everything about Scully is important to me. Hearing. The usual neighborhood night noises from outside. Her radio is set to some classical station. Imagine my surprise. Taste is next, but that's dangerous. Don't even think about what she might taste like. Find something else, fast. What's left? Smell. With eyes still closed, I inhale deeply and sift the aromas. She had chicken for dinner. Scully is one of the few women who can actually cook these days. How she found the time to learn I'll never know, what with being magna cum laude at every damn thing. I shouldn't be surprised that she's good at that, too. Fiercely competent, my Scully. Warning. Danger. Possessive pronouns are a Bad Idea. Okay, fine. Back to the scent search. Let's see, it doesn't smell like dog in here any more. In fact, it smells like lemon pledge. I want to smile but can't find the energy. That's so Scully -- she calls me over and then has to clean up before I get here. If I were looking for an insult I could find one there. You clean up for company, not family. Wouldn't you think that by now I'd be considered, if not family, then at least not company? I almost smile at the thought of her trying to clean an already spotless apartment. Couldn't have been very satisfying. There's something else under the furniture polish, though. I take another deep breath, classifying. Something musky and warm and salty like the sea, like... My eyes snap open in fury. Hot, red rage burns in my lungs. I finally get the nerve to come out of the kitchen, ice water in hand. He hasn't moved. His eyes are closed and for a second he wavers slightly on his feet. No sleep for three days will do that to a man, even Mr. Insomnia over there. He rubs his fingertips together for a moment and pain flashes across his face but is instantly banished. What was that all about? I want to approach him, to touch him and reassure him somehow but I'm afraid it might make things worse so I watch and wait. Then I realize that watching and waiting instead of acting is what brought us to this moment. Before I can move his nostrils flare and he inhales deeply. Oh, shit. I don't need to be Clyde Bruckman to see what's coming. Like a deer in the headlights, I freeze. I sat on that couch earlier tonight, not three feet from where he's standing, and masturbated until my wrist cramped. The physical release was pleasant but it didn't help, not really, it just precipitated my phone call to Mulder. No time to pursue *that* train of thought just now, thank God. I'm busy kicking my own ass. I wonder for a moment if subconsciously I wanted this to happen. Surely I'm not that stupid? Or that cruel. Oh, God, this is going to be embarrassing. Mulder doesn't disappoint me. I can almost *see* the light bulb go off. He goes rigid as he figures it out right on schedule. The hazel eyes pop wide open and find me immediately. I don't believe I've ever seen him get this angry this fast. What the hell is going on? I drop the glass and back up to the wall fast, instinctively wanting my Sig. Then I feel ridiculous. Mulder would never hurt me. Not my Mulder, anyway. I can't be sure of this man in my living room. *************************************************************** The smell of sex is an undertone but it's definitely there. She couldn't possibly think I wouldn't notice it which means it's deliberate, which means she screwed somebody silly before calling me over here to rub my nose in it, which means she hates me, wants to hurt me. Congratulations, Scully, it worked. Bulls-eye, you hit the ten-ring. Okay, first things first. I have to find him and kill him, as slowly and painfully as possible. Today's crime scene will do just fine, it was nicely deserted... Nope, won't work, I'm a federal agent and my boss frowns on that sort of thing. Wait, wait, I'm quitting, so what do I care? This is no time for schizophrenia. Look at her, she's scared shitless. Think fast... She called me here for a reason. What could it be? I can't kill him if she loves him. If she didn't already hate me she would after that. She deserves to be loved. a voice of despair wails in my mind. I stuff it back in its cage and try to focus. She called when she shouldn't have so something is wrong. What could it be? She and Mr. Wonderful had a fight? That would explain why she's been crying... Her boyfriend jilted her and she wants him dead? Oh, bugger off. Nobody in his right mind would leave her, and she could kill him just fine on her own. She's a pathologist for Christ's sake, she doesn't need my help to fillet an importunate lover. She sure did the job on me. No, it's not her love life she wants to discuss. Jeering laughter echoes in my brain. Guess I'm safe from that horrible fate, eh? All right, fine. She's made her choice and it ain't me. I can bleed later. For now, how can I make this work for me? Ah. If I piss her off enough to request a transfer maybe she won't look too hard when I drop out of sight, maybe long enough for me to get good and lost... Mulder holds himself still with a truly frightening control, every muscle in his body clenched. Then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He lets it out slowly before looking at me again and his eyes are different now. Still scary, but in a new way. I can't read him at all. His shoulders shake slightly as he starts to chuckle. It's not a pleasant laugh. I'm still frozen against the wall by the kitchen. He can see the fear so he moves slowly, careful not to frighten me further. He removes the holster from his belt, opens the suitcase and puts the Glock inside. There's an expensive-looking bottle of liquor in his hand when it comes back out of the bag. He walks toward me slowly, stoops to pick up the glass and goes back to the couch. "Mind if I sit down?" I shake my head. I still can't talk but I make a gesture -- be my guest. He sits, pours himself a hefty slug, caps the bottle and finds a magazine to set it on. He picks up the glass and considers it before setting it down untasted. "So, Scully. Who is he?" I blink, then shake my head slightly. I thought he played *right* field. "Who is who, Mulder?" I'm not used to having that nasty smile of his aimed at me. I don't much like it. "Oh, come on, Scully. I may be red/green color blind but my nose works just fine. Whom did you grace with the gift of your carnal lust tonight, O Ice Queen? I can still get a bet down with Kendall in Accounting. The smart money is on Wilson in VCS, with Ames in SciCrime a close second. The pool is up to $800 or so last I heard. I'll split the take with you, what do you say?" That breaks the paralysis. I'm in the middle of the room before I know I've moved. "You *bastard*! How can you say that to me?" I want to climb over the coffee table and beat his silly head in. How could he... And just like that, I know. Shit. I was so close! She was just getting up a good head of steam when she stopped cold in the middle of the room and stared at me. I could see the wheels turning behind those smart eyes, tumblers falling into place. There are times when having someone know me that well is a distinct disadvantage. I'm busted, big time. Okay. We'll do it the hard way. Before I can do anything, though, I feel the telltale tingle of a memory cascade. I'd fight it but that never works. All I can do is swear viciously in my head and wait it out. I usually have Scully to keep me out of trouble when this happens because I totally zone out. There is a definite downside to having a mind that works this way. She always says it will get me killed someday. I just hope she doesn't damage me too badly while I'm distracted... During the second year of my studies at Oxford I had a brief flirtation with Zen. Koans, zazen, dokusan, the whole nine yards. That led to martial arts, for which I had an infuriating lack of talent. I was awful at kendo but the concept of balance-in-readiness taught me to move more gracefully so it wasn't a total loss. The meditation discipline has been helpful from time to time, too. There was a rousing spirit of competition between the Japanese sword stylists and the European fencers, fascinating to watch. The discussions over beer and chips were pretty lively, too. The Brits can be annoyingly patronizing but they do make good beer. Scully is a fencer. It's the way her mind works, you can see it most clearly when she argues. She uses neither Prime nor Octave, naturally -- she doesn't like extreme possibilities. She's expert at all the other attack lines, though. Remise, reprise, parry and riposte, beat the opponent's blade aside and hop-lunge-thrust. Fencers are big on defense, they wear you down while they wait for an opening. When they get it -- bye bye, game over. I prefer Kendo, myself. The whole bushido thing is attractive, in a strange way. The fact that it helped me to understand Modell was just a side benefit. The thing about kendo, from the samurai point of view, is to consider yourself already dead. The important thing is to take your enemy with you. One cut... Which is all well and good, but it's a serious disadvantage right now since I don't want to one-cut Scully. Anyone else, but not her. She, on the other hand, has no compunctions about serving me up like sushi. I snap back to the present, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything, and the first thing I see is that predatory smile of hers, the one she wears when she's at least one step ahead of everybody else. Goddamn irritating woman. She waits until she's sure I'm back before raising her right eyebrow and quirking her lips, which is her version of coming en garde. Here we go. Ah, he's back from the rabbit hole. He's going to get himself killed doing that someday. I know it's not something he has any control over but I'm in no mood to be reasonable right now so I take the anger and feed it to the fire in my belly. It's long past time to resolve things between us, and not just this phony quarrel Mulder is foisting on me. No matter what the outcome is it will be a relief to stop pussyfooting around. For a man with such an expensive education he can sure draw the wrong conclusion. Endless examples of this flash through my mind but I drive them out. Focus on the problem, Dana. He obviously thinks I had a man over here. Literally. Hmm. This situation presents some interesting possibilities. Now, how do I do this? Slow and sexy? Calm and methodical? The prospect of just throwing caution to the winds and jumping him has its appeal but that moment has passed. Too bad, it's always been one of my favorite fantasies. The look on his face would have been priceless. And where are these thoughts coming from, O Ice Queen? Yeah, and he's gonna pay for that one, too, he *knows* I hate that nickname. Mostly because it's true. I've always been a cold-hearted woman. Well, not always, but I can worry about all that later. Briefly I wonder just when I made the decision I seem to have made. Not ten minutes ago I was a mass of conflicting impulses. Never mind. For the first time in far too long I've managed to get out of my head and into my body, my heart. Logic and reason can go whistle for the rest of the night. I'm gonna ride this rascal and see where it takes me. I really don't like the way she's looking at me. Deciding how best to dissect me, no doubt. Well, fuck nobility, I'm getting the hell out of here before it's too late. I step to my left but she immediately moves between me and the suitcase. "Going somewhere, Mulder?" "It's the weekend, Scully. I thought I'd head out for awhile, clear my head." "It would take more than a weekend for that, G-man. Don't you want to hear about my illicit rendezvous with the entire VCS?" Her voice is low and rough and suggestive. It's even sexier than I thought it would be. It's killing me. She doesn't need to know that, though. I flash her my very nastiest smile. "Send me a copy of the tape, okay? Sorry, gotta go." She pouts a little. God, her mouth was made for it. She purrs, "Damn. I was hoping that would be a surprise. How did you know we taped it? You wouldn't believe what Frohike offered me for the first numbered copy." If we were playing for points I'd slap my chest to acknowledge the touch. As it is I want to slap her across the room. The thought brings me to a dead halt. I've never thought that, not ever, no matter how mad she's made me. Visions of my father's hard hands dance through my head. This is way out of control. Screw the suitcase, I'll buy new clothes when I get wherever I'm going. I take another step but now she's between me and the door. "You are such a chickenshit, Mulder. You can dish it out but you can't take it, can you?" There are no tears in those eyes now. They're a glacial blue. Her brows are drawn together in that fierce fighting face and her rosebud mouth is pursed in determination. Fine. I gather long-unused training about me. Balance-in-readiness. I can almost feel the handle of the katana. Sensei let me hold his sword once when I'd finally impressed him with something or other. I cast back in my memory and I can feel the weight again. In my mind I'm in high guard, my favored stance. I seek for mu-shin, the mind that is everywhere and nowhere, that will let me feel when the moment is right and act accordingly. I am ready. I wait. *************************************************************** Damn. I almost had him! He was on the ragged edge of losing it. I could have pushed him into telling me the truth about what's going on. One more step and I'd have had him. I don't like the look of him now. I had my Mulder back for a second there but this new one has returned. He's on the balls of his feet, weight centered, waiting for my next move. His eyes are opaque again. This is an incredibly dangerous game. My nipples are all tight and tender. I'd thought I was over being an adrenaline junkie, that bungee jumping and skydiving were a thing of the past. I haven't needed fake danger since people started trying to kill me on a regular basis. Something's not right. Her face is changing. It takes a moment to identify it because she seldom lets her feelings show. It's not that sour look she wears so much lately. It's not irritation or anger, I know those by heart. Recognition is a hammer blow to my chest. She looks... desolate. She hasn't looked like that since, God, since Emily. My chest starts to hurt. It takes a few seconds to get that pain back into its box. The aftermath of that case nearly destroyed us. If this is another tactic I'm going to be so royally pissed. All's fair in love and war, but this is too much. I can't bear the thought of her like this. I cross the miles between us in one jump and crush her against me. I can be mad later. God, she's trembling so violently and tears are streaming down her face -- shit, this is serious, she *never* lets me see her like this. I have to say something but I can't get the words past the lump in my throat. Lump, hell, it's a fucking boulder but never mind that now, Scully needs me. And just like that the obstruction is gone. I want to wonder if all I had to do to fix what's wrong between us was just to make the first move but there's no time for that now , she needs me for a change. "Shhh, don't cry, Scully, please, it will be okay, you'll see, we'll fix it, shhh..." I'm sure I sound like an idiot but this is Scully, she already thinks I'm nuts so who cares, the important thing is to figure out what's wrong and fix it. My hands wander across her back, stroking and squeezing gently. Her fists are twisted in my shirt and she's sobbing her heart out and I have to *do* something! Her knees give, suddenly, so I guide her back to the couch and pull her into my lap and, God, she's so tiny, how does she manage to be so strong all the time? A ridiculous vision of Yoda swirls through my mind for a second <"Judge me by my size, do you?">. Shit, no. Not Scully. Not my pocket dreadnought. She's trying to say something but I can't make it out through the sobs and her voice is muffled against my chest. I pull back a little to free her mouth and stroke the hair back from her face. She sniffles up at me and looks about six years old. God, she's adorable. She's breaking my heart. I don't have a hanky, not being in my FBI uniform, so I wiggle my right arm out of the jacket and mop her face with my sleeve. She puts up with it, which is completely unlike her. Crazy goddamn night. We seem to have checked our usual personas at the door. This thought rings in my mind with tremendous possibilities. No time for that now, she's speaking. Her face is utterly woebegone and her voice is tiny when she says, "You're leaving me, aren't you?" Somebody must have upgraded my pain threshold again when I wasn't looking. I wouldn't have thought it possible to hurt this much and still live. I sigh and want to look away but if I do she'll close off again. I have to... what? God help me, I have to tell the truth. Not the real truth, not the Capital T truth, but maybe this one will distract her long enough to figure out what the hell to do. My voice is raw. "I just want what's best for you, Scully." Her forehead thuds into my chest. She sounds thoroughly disgusted and honestly curious at the same time. "Mulder, do you have *any* idea how arrogant that statement is?" She squirms around on my lap to face me. I wish she wouldn't do that. It's tough enough to not get an erection as it is. I feel him stirring underneath me. Well! This is promising. I pretend to seek a more comfortable position for a moment before finally straddling his lap with my legs on either side of his, facing him. I feel deliciously wicked but I don't let it stop me. Oh, you're going to *pay*, Mulder. This is decidedly odd. I never believe suspects who say they felt they were watching themselves do something from across the room Damn if it isn't true, though. The cool, observing part of me is sitting up in the Control Booth, like the color commentators at one of Mulder's basketball games, while the rest of me is doing things I never thought possible. Telling Mulder the truth, for one. Actually feeling my emotions, for another. And the night is young, yet. Who knows what other surprises lie in wait? I've really opened a can of snakes this time. God, what a disgusting image. I look into his eyes to emphasize what I want to say and it's almost my undoing. His pupils have expanded so much, his eyes are almost totally black. The tiny line of color around them isn't hazel anymore, I'd almost swear it was gold, for God's sake. I've never seen that before. It actually makes me gasp, and the heat begins deep in my belly. I need to touch him. I smooth the fabric of his shirt against his chest with my hands. He makes no sound but his eyelids droop just a touch, he leans in and his nostrils expand again. Oh, God, he's *smelling* me! He licks his lips and whispers, "What's happening here, Scully?" I lick my own lips and wonder the same thing. I also wonder what he'll taste like. Whatever else happens tonight I'm damn well going to know the answer to that question. I take one hand away from his chest and reach down between us to lightly touch his growing hardness. I have to choose my words carefully. "Why don't you let me decide what's best for me, Mulder?" He seems to have stopped breathing. The pulse in his neck is zipping right along, though. I smile gently and mentally tuck in a napkin. "Unspoken communication is all well and good, Mulder, but some things have to be put into words. You have to be able to state the parameters of a problem before you can begin to solve it." I loosened my grip on her while she was busy eeling around in my lap. There's no way that can be an accident, she's fucking with me. I'm dying by inches, here, but something keeps me sitting still. Seated or not, I'm still in high guard, still waiting. Even now she's reducing things to mathematics. For a moment I'm furious again but then I realize it's just her way, it's who she is. It's one of the reasons I love her. And now she's stroking my dick through my pants! Jesus God! It's all I can do to keep from surging up against her hand. So, Doctor Scully wants to play, does she? Fine. I was only a psych major, not physics, but I made it as far as calculus. Let's see where this takes us. A smile tugs at my lips. "Would you care to define the problem between us, Dr. Scully?" "Very well, Dr. Mulder. I will." The first real smile I've seen on her face in ages is my reward for guessing right. I can die happy now. She scoots back a bit, takes hold of my zipper and sloooowly begins to draw it down. Well, maybe I'll stick around a bit longer. Just to see exactly how much happiness I can take before I die. Ohhh, my. Would you look at that! Mulder's cock, when I finally excavate it, is rising to meet me. It throbs, standing a little straighter and getting a little more impressive with each beat of his magnificent heart. I reach out to stroke it carefully and want to cackle like a madwoman . It's so *soft*! Well, not soft, obviously, it's getting harder by the second, but it's as smooth as silk or satin and a wonder to my fingertips. It's been so long... I can't keep my hands off it. Mulder sucks in his breath with a huge gasp. If he doesn't let it out soon he'll pass out. He may anyway, from lack of blood to the brain. This is way better than I'd hoped. My, my, my... I dart a quick look at his face and almost break out laughing but that would never do. Boy, is he in hog heaven. His eyes have all but rolled back in his head and he's making noises way deep in his throat. Guess it's been awhile for him, too. I'm torn. I want to give his beautiful cock the attention it deserves but his face is even more fascinating. His jaw muscles are flexing like mad and he's shivering. Wow. I keep the slow stroking motion going with my right hand, being careful to stay away from the sensitive underside, and slip my left hand into his pants to cradle his balls. Good thing my hands are so small. His eyes pop open and he snaps upright like he's going for the Quantico sit-up record. He yips, "Scully *don't* --!" and I look up in surprise, which is the only thing that saves me from an eyeful. Mulder comes, hard. The strangled cry never makes it past his clenched teeth. He spasms several times and lofts an incredible fountain all over the front of my robe and the underside of my chin. I jump off his lap and knock the coffee table out of the way as I backpedal into the middle of the room. "MULDER! For God's sake!" He tries to apologize, of course, but I'm too annoyed to listen. And why do I want to stomp my feet and scream at the top of my lungs? I'm a grown woman, for crying out loud! Mulder is still babbling. I take a deep breath, ready to slap him into the next century -- and fall down laughing. He's so wrought up over my reaction he's forgotten that his penis is hanging out the front of his pants. He looks down, puzzled, then his face goes a blazing neon red, which is somehow extremely satisfying. I can't remember the last time anything embarrassed Mulder. Quite an achievement. And suddenly I'm ashamed of myself. I'm bashing the poor man's mind with a baseball bat. I should have known better. I'm a doctor, for crying out loud. He's had fewer opportunities for sex than I have these past few years so of course he was quick on the trigger. Equally of course, being Mulder, he's beating himself up over it. I'm horrified to hear myself repeating, over and over, "Oh, God, Mulder, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." Wonderful. I've become a sniveling idiot. It's probably too late to save my mind. Oh, good going, Mulder. All the control of a fifteen year old. First things first: zip it up. Good. Now, what was the last thing that went right? Oh, yeah, the couch -- lap sitting, before she got cute. And just what the hell was *that* all about? Okay, the robe is a total loss, it has to go. What can I replace it with? Can't leave her alone to go looking for some pj's, she's freaking again. My jacket? Nope, leather would be too cold against her skin... I whip off the jacket and pull the long-sleeved shirt over my head. She looks at me like I'm nuts. Fine, at least she's stopped crying. I ease her out of the robe and use it to wipe her off -- God, how embarrassing! --then bundle it up and pitch it into a corner before slipping my shirt over her head. I pick her up and carry her back to the couch. I settle back down with her on my lap again and rock her for a bit, stroking her hair. For one mad moment I wish for the good old days in VCS, tracking serial killers. At least they were men, I had half a chance to figure them out no matter how crazy they were. I shake my head. Women! Worse -- a psychotic woman, apparently. Worst of all, a smart psychotic woman. Who I happen to be in love with. This situation just keeps degenerating. I'm sure it has a lower limit but I'm afraid to think what that might be. Well, enough woolgathering. Time to get a handle on whatever this is. I clear my throat. "Scully?" She obviously doesn't want to look at me, just hums an inquiring sound into my chest and seems suddenly fascinated with the texture of my t-shirt. No help there. "Um... Do you think maybe you could tell me what's going on here? Why did you do -- uh -- that, when you and..." That's as far as I get before she starts pounding her right fist on my chest. Ow. I try to be philosophical about it. Could be worse, at least it's only one fist, her other hand is still tangled in my shirt. Finally her head comes up and her eyes blaze at me again. Well, it's better than the crying and shaking... "I can't believe you think I'd have sex with that strutting ass Wilson! And *Ames*? Mulder, he's in love with *himself*! Who the hell have you been talking to, anyway?" "Well, I --" "Mulder, do you think I'm the kind of woman that sleeps around?" "No, but I --" "Do you think I'm a tease?" "No, but you --" "But *what*, Mulder? Speak up." "Well, then, who *were* you with tonight, goddammit, Scully?" She drops her head onto my chest again in frustration for a moment before glaring at me again. "Jesus, Mulder! And you call yourself an investigator? If you smell sex in the air and I'm the only one in the room and you believe me when I say there was nobody else here tonight -- well, do the math, G-Man!" My jaw drops at this new thought. Scully -- ? Naaah. She climbs off my lap and starts pacing up and down, waving her arms for emphasis. The sleeves are too long, she looks ridiculous but it would be tactically unwise to say so right now so I bite my tongue and pay attention. She stops long enough to look daggers at me. "That's right, Mulder. I was touching myself, okay? Over and over, and I thought of you when I did it! There, I said it! Happy now?" she snarls. Oh, Scully. You have no idea. She plants herself in front of me, fists on hips. She looks thoroughly angry and terribly frightened at the same time. "Well, do you want me or not? *Say* something!" He stands slowly and approaches me. The pads of his fingertips are ghost touches on my face and his expression is pain incarnate. He looks at me like I'm his last hope of heaven. He tries to speak but no words come out. He grabs my shoulders and begins to shudder but forces it to stop and stands very straight. I can see it in his face -- I'm not going to like what's coming. I straighten my shoulders and wait for the blow to fall. *************************************************************** "Do you know the meaning of the word 'decimate'?" She looks puzzled. "It means to lose ten percent of something, doesn't it?" I shake my head. "That's the definition. What's the *meaning*?" Her face says she's being patient with me but it isn't easy. "Apparently not. Why don't you tell me about it?" My throat wants to close up again but I force the words out. This is my only shot at making her see. I have to get it right. "You were a navy brat so you probably read the Horatio Hornblower novels, right?" "C. S. Forrester? Sure. So what?" "Then you know that navy captains were allowed punitive powers that we would never consider today, in order to keep discipline when isolated from the fleet." "Of course. Again, so what?" "It's originally an army tradition, from imperial Rome. When a general took his legions into enemy territory they were months away from the nearest reinforcements. The men in these units had to depend on each other for their very lives. They might not always like each other, sometimes they hated each other, but they knew that their mates would always back them up against an enemy no matter what. Sound familiar?" She cocks her head to one side a bit and her eyes narrow. She nods her head, waiting for me to continue. "Decimation was a punishment saved for the very worst offenses, like cowardice in the heat of battle. One man in ten was chosen by lot. The other nine, his unit-mates, were forced to beat him to death. Can you imagine what that must have felt like, Scully? To be forced to do that to someone that close to you, to feel the impact from each blow travel up your arm and look into his eyes until the lights went out, and then try to learn to live with yourself after it was done?" Her eyes are very round now and her face is white. She wants to back away but she doesn't. Toughest guy in the room... "I feel like we're being decimated, Scully, and I can't stop it. I have to stop it but I can't." My throat locks up for a moment and she tries to jump in but I plow right over it, it's now or never. "Scully, all the time we've been together you've done everything I asked of you and more. You made my fight your fight and saved my ass and patched me up, and, and... you make me eat my vegetables, for God's sake!" Her eyes are shimmering and she's gripping my shoulders now but I ignore her touch, impossible as that is. I have to finish. "You've done all those things for me but you won't let me help you. You take everything they throw at you. They keep knocking you down and you keep getting up again! How the hell do you do that? Duane Barry, Pfaster, Dr. Zama, Betts, Scanlon, all those fuckers tried to kill you and worse. All I want is to help you, to be the kind of partner you deserve! And you just *stand* there and say you're *fine* and lock me out..." He starts to wobble so I step in close to take his weight and ease him to his knees. He slides down my body, a wonderful sensation at any other time but I don't need the distraction right now. My very own worst nightmare is finally happening. Mulder is coming apart. And I'm partly to blame. There are precautions to take for almost any natural disaster. Along the Mississippi they keep sandbags ready in flood season. People dig storm cellars in Tornado Alley and clear out brush in fire country. There's not much you can do about earthquakes, though. You either move to where they don't have quakes or hope you survive when it finally hits. Once the ground starts moving all you can do is get outside and hope the building doesn't fall on you. I watch the tectonic plates of my partner's heart shift and wait for the walls to come down. It doesn't take long. Mulder's whole body shakes with huge, racking sobs. Like most men, he has little experience with tears so he doesn't know how to deal with them. The shame from this 'weakness' will hit him like an aftershock later but we'll deal with that when it happens. For now I cradle his head to my belly and rock him the way his mother should have, the bitch. It's not easy but eventually I get him on his feet and tug him to the bedroom. Undressing him doesn't take long. I've done it before, after all. I nudge him into my bed and skin out of his shirt, regretfully, before climbing in beside him and dragging the covers up over us. The reality of the situation sinks in slowly. Mulder and I are naked in my bed. I'd given up on even the fantasy of it. Maybe I am dreaming. Probably not, though. Dreams don't usually hurt this badly. This is one twisted dream. Only I could dream my way into Scully's bed, have her naked beside me, and still fuck it up. I blink a couple of times but I'm still here. I roll over and spoon up behind her. My left arm goes under her and wraps around her chest while my right hand rubs big slow circles on her stomach. This is awfully nice for a nightmare. We both sigh at the same time. When she speaks she sounds distracted, disinterested. "So. You want to be my friend, Mulder? I was hoping for more. What's wrong with me, am I so ugly? Or am I just not your type?" I lean my forehead against her hair. "Dana, you are about as far from ugly as it gets. I'm a heterosexual adult male with a pulse. Of course I want you. That has nothing to do with it." She rolls over to face me. She looks so sad. I trail my fingers down her face, from the forehead along the cheekbones and down the jaw line. I circle her mouth with my forefinger. Her lips open slightly. I want so badly to kiss that delectable mouth, so of course I don't. I do the finger thing again, though, she seems to like that. She closes her eyes, drinking in the sensations. At least I can give her this. She sighs softly again before opening her eyes. "Then why, Mulder?" I really don't want to talk about this. It's like being flayed alive. Still, if this is what she wants, this is what she gets. I get out of bed and head for the living room. She sits up fast. "Where...?" I throw a 'be right back' over my shoulder, find the thermostat and turn it way up. At least we can be comfortable. When I come back in she looks puzzled. "If I'm going to tell you this stuff then I need something, too. I want to look at you, not hide under the covers." This cheers her up for some reason. I turn on the bedside lamp and move it so the light isn't in our eyes. Warm air begins to rumble through the ducts in the walls. I throw the covers back and feast my eyes on Dana Scully. God, she's lovely. From the tips of her red-painted toenails to the crown of her red head she's... perfect. Her tits are round and full and just big enough, the swell of her hips is womanly and the muscle tone of her belly promises untold delights. Her nipples are up but that could be the cold. On the other hand, it's warming up fast and she's pretty flushed. I sit down next to her and run my fingers across her chest above her breasts, staying away from the sensitive nipples. She shudders anyway. Her eyes are glued to mine. He begins obliquely but I don't mind because he keeps running his hands over my body as he speaks. It's hard to track it all, so many lovely things happening at once. His velvet voice, the silky touch, and Mulder finally telling me, hopefully, what I want to hear. "Webster's New World College Dictionary has five definitions of the word 'beauty'. I consider this book to be woefully incomplete because none of these definitions mention you." Oh! That was nice. The fingers sliding down my arms feel good, too. Don't stop either one, Mulder. You're on a roll. "I have seen much beauty in my life, Dana." Why does it make me shiver to hear my true name on his lips? "I've seen the highlands of Scotland rise out of the mists on a summer morning. I've walked through the glens and watched children play on the shore at Loch Lomond." His left hand holds mine gently and he kisses my fingertips while the back of his other hand caresses my cheek. The room is warming up nicely but I can't seem to stop shivering. "I've watched from a pier in Key West as a huge, blazing red sun fell down the sky. The locals say if you listen closely enough you can hear the hiss when the sun meets the sea at the horizon." He's still holding my hand, may he never let go, but his right hand is skimming down the inside of my right leg now, slowly, slowly to the knee and now all four fingers on that hand begin little independent movements behind my knee. My breath is coming noticeably faster now and I can't keep the moan behind my lips any longer. It comes out long and low and very heartfelt. "I've snorkeled in water as clear as the air and seen schools of fish like showers of living light dance through the coral, and those colors don't have names yet." A tear trickles down his face as he works to keep his voice from breaking. I arch my hips up to meet the fingernails that scrape lightly in the thatch where my legs join together. I feel like a violin string that's been wound way too tight. My flesh is humming... "And all these things pale beside you. Da Vinci weeps because he never had the chance to paint you. Rodin would give anything if you could pose for him." ... and the first orgasm of the night washes over me as I see showers of rainbow sparkles and I think, Christ, he's barely touched me yet, and thank you, Lord, his husky voice is still licking at my ears... "And I have loved you these many years and said nothing because I can never, ever have you." It must be the blood pounding in my ears. I couldn't have heard that right. But he looks so heartbroken. I want to ask him why he would say such a silly thing, I'm right here, of course he can have me, why else does he think I called him here? It takes me three tries to get my voice under control. "Mu- Mu- Mulder, why do you believe you can't have me?" Tell me, oh please tell me. A scalding tear drops from his chin and lands on my wrist. He looks even sadder, if that's possible, and gently says: "Because that's the way the world works." *************************************************************** I have no idea how to argue with such a ridiculous statement. He lowers his face to my reaching hand and I feel wetness over the face stubble. He could use a shave but not just yet, I'm enjoying the roughness, not to mention the tingling all over my body. He leans down further and our lips finally meet. So soft, his mouth. He rubs his lips on mine the way Eskimos rub noses, then licks his way around the perimeter of my lips with tiny little lapping strokes followed by gentle smooches. He takes his time about it, too. I'm certainly not complaining. I open my mouth, invitingly, and his tongue slides past my teeth and begins to wander. Oh, my. Most men use kisses to distract me from their wandering hands, or they try to shove their tongues out the back of my neck. Mulder appears to be setting up camp for the night. He's in no hurry at all, and when something makes me squirm a bit he goes back and does it some more. He draws away from my lips but before I can complain his tongue traces a hot, wet line from the point of my chin along my jaw and then down to the notch at the base of my throat. I make encouraging noises, wrap my arms loosely around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder. I need to hold him but I don't want to squeeze too hard, it might discourage him from whatever he's going to do next. A wonderful languor seeps into all my muscles. He's nibbling his way back up my neck now and my back rises off the mattress as his teeth scrape the edges of my ear from lobe to top and I can't stop the whimper. I can feel him smile and I want to do something nice for him, not just lay here like a lump but suddenly there's a hot tongue in my ear and God! I'm on fire! Heat is spreading outward from my center in a rolling wave, with a chill close behind and then more waves of -- I'm reacting way too strongly, what's going on? Is it all that wine I drank tonight? Or the long-denied pleasure that's finally here? Or is it the man? He's kissing my eyelids now and his fingers stroke my cheeks and my neck and flow like quicksilver down my arms and our fingers play together as he finally returns to my waiting mouth and we kiss, just kiss, for several days. He finally leans some of his weight on me and his chest touches my breasts and it's happening again oh Muldermuldermulder... This is not happening. I'm going to wake up soon in some pit of a motel with my lust object one room away and several million miles out of my reach. Or on my couch with a video playing, that would explain this dream. This incredibly detailed dream. In the meantime, though, I'm going to indulge myself. I'm going to do all the things I've dreamed of and see how many times I can make her come. I want to melt her brain with pleasure. I wonder what kind of noises she'll make -- little breathy gasps? Long slow moans? Short, sharp cries? What I've heard so far was pretty nice. If I hit the jackpot, maybe a full-throated scream? First I'll spend a week or so mapping her mouth. Those lips have driven me nuts for years. And the mole! I'll have to ask her why she hides that damn thing. Have to stay away from the tits. If I go there I'm lost, I'll never leave, and she hates it when men stare at her chest anyway. The butt, now, there's a place to visit -- 'kiss my ass' will have a whole new meaning for her when I'm done. I wonder if she likes having her toes sucked? Decisions, decisions... He's kissing his way down my torso now. I can guess where this is headed. As much as I want his attention focused on my nipples, he's not getting off that easy. My voice is a bit slower than its usual crisp pace but I put as much firmness into it as I can. "Mulder?" "Hmmm?" Oh! He hummed just as his lips touched my nipples. The buzz goes right to my groin. He did that on purpose, the bastard. My back arches, sending the hardened little nub of my left breast into his waiting mouth. A breathy little 'aahhh' escapes me and the lights in the room are... "Um. Why do you think -- ahhh -- you can't have me? You never -- oh! -- never said." He heaves a frustrated little sigh and the hot breath wafts over my other breast. I can hear the smile in his voice as he replies, each word punctuated with a little 'mwah' as he kisses his way south. "Are. You. Sure? I'm. A. Little. Busy. Right. Now." I can't stop my hips from wiggling. I clear my throat but it doesn't help, the lust is plain to hear. "Mulder. As much as I'm enjoying -- ah! -- your talented tongue, I want some answers, dammit! Oh! Cut that out and talk to me!" His mouth is poised over my groin, his breath hot across my clit. I think my heart is going into fibrillation. He raises his head to look into my eyes and grins slowly, the teasing bastard. "Are you absolutely sure?" I'm really torn now. I bite my lips, then nod my head. He looks down, regretfully, cuts his eyes at me, then reaches down for a quick smooch before rising to face me. Little sunbursts appear behind my eyes. When I can see again he's kneeling between my legs and they're spread as wide as can be. I should be ashamed, but the thought makes me even hotter. This bed is going to catch fire any second now... He screws up his face, searching for the best way to say ... some damn thing. I roll my eyes. "Just spit it out, Mulder." He gets an odd little smile. "Look, first of all, could you stop calling me that? It sounds silly under the circumstances. Call me..." and he trails off into a mumble. I raise up on my elbows. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. What would you like me to call you, if not 'Mulder'?" That earns me a dirty look, then he gives up. "Fox. All right? Fox. You win. Happy now? I hereby grant you a Special Dispensation. I request and require that you use my first name. For as long as we're naked, anyway." He mimes signing a blessing, like the pope. I have to work hard to keep the grin off my face. "I don't know, Mulder. I'll think about it. What's the other thing?" He's not smiling now. He looks away, then forces himself to face me. "Um. The answers to the questions you're asking require me to say things I've never told anyone. I have to say, I'm not comfortable about talking about other women just now." I sit up straight for that one. "What does that have to do with -- oh." We're both embarrassed now. He shrugs, as if to say 'don't ask the questions if you don't want to hear the answers'. I nod. Message received. He opens his mouth, then closes it, obviously not knowing where to start. I ask if he wants a drink. He shakes his head and says he doesn't want to be able to blame any of this on alcohol later. Good point. I pad out to the kitchen and come back with a glass of water. I fluff up my pillows, place them against the headboard, recline against them and offer him the glass. We pass it back and forth while he gathers his thoughts. I try, several times, to say something but my voice refuses to cooperate. Finally I get up to pace a bit, thinking that maybe moving will help. Nope. Every time I look at her the words all disappear. I can almost hear them gurgling down my mind's drain. Finally I give up and just stare at her. She's trying hard to be patient but it's getting to her. "What's wrong, Mulder? What is it?" I try to look away, I do, but I can't. She's just too beautiful sitting there cross-legged, her blue eyes incredibly focused. Damn, she *is* a natural redhead! I look away quickly, don't want to get caught. "Mulder..." "Dammit, this is a difficult subject! And you are not helping!" She looks surprised. "What did I do now?" "For crying out loud, Scully! You're sitting there looking like, like... like *that*! How am I supposed to concentrate?" Puzzled, she looks down at herself and then cracks up. Oh, how I've missed that sound. And her face! I haven't seen an actual grin on her face for several decades, it seems. Suddenly her laughter chops off. Whatever she was going to say is gone, wiped clean. I wonder why, then realize I'm crying again. Dammit. I look away guiltily and wipe my face. Her voice is soft. "Mulder, what's wrong?" I mumble, "I miss your smile, that's all." She pats the bed beside her. I don't need a second invitation. She takes my hand and my dick immediately twitches, which does not escape her attention. Oh, hell. She's gonna tease me about this forever. I risk a glance and, sure enough, the right eyebrow is headed for the sky. Shit. She looks thoroughly amused but says nothing. I shrug. "The sight of you at any time tends to inhibit my higher brain functions. The sight of you naked -- well, let's just say that it's impeding my blood flow." She smirks and shakes her head at me. "Redirecting is more like it. Honestly, Mulder..." "Well, what did you expect?" "Seriously? At this point I couldn't tell you. You haven't shown much interest in me over the years, you know. As a woman, I mean. That did not do wonders for my ego." "What, and risk legal sanctions if you took it wrong? Besides, your ego is just fine. You get propositioned within five minutes every time we hit a new town. It drives me nuts and you know it. Don't go fishing, little girl. You know how you look." She looks interested at this topic. Maybe I'm better at hiding things than I thought? I was so sure she could see through me. Her voice gets husky. "How do I look, Mulder?" Before I can start she holds up a hand. I look inquiringly into a rueful grin. "Nice try, Agent Mulder, but we're getting off the topic. 'Other women', you said. Please amplify your remarks." Shit. I was just inches from a clean getaway. Now I'm right back where I started. Gorgeous naked women slow my thought processes. I may have a Mark IV brain but it's riding in a Mark III chassis. My dick has the same override capacity as any other guy's, dammit. Before I can say anything else she tugs on my arm. I follow her lead until she has me arranged to her satisfaction. She's been sitting up with her back to the headboard. I end up kind of sprawled out in her lap, my arms folded over her legs on either side of me with my head pillowed against that remarkable chest. Her fingers start playing through my hair and rubbing my temples. I can hear the mischief in her voice as she whispers, "Is this better, Mulder? Now you're not looking at me." Oh, absolutely. Nothing like skin-to-skin contact with a gorgeous naked woman to improve my concentration. All I have to do is look in the mirror over her dresser and I can stare into the sapphires bracketing her nose. Those incredible tits are pressed against my ears and my fingers can't help rubbing her legs from ankle to mid-calf, which is all I can reach without being too bloody obvious about it. I don't have to check the mirror to know she's staring at my dick, which is threatening to explode from the overpressure. Take me now, Lord. Mom was right. They really are all alike. Thank God, because I need some kind of edge to deal with whatever land mine I'm about to unearth. This position gives him some illusion of privacy. He doesn't have to look me in the eyes. Not that that's where he was looking before. I feel a bit smug. Nice to know I can still drop a man's IQ 50 points when I want to. I need to keep some kind of low-level arousal going to distract him from his pain so I play with his hair a bit and enjoy the way it feels to have Mulder against my body. Then I give in to the temptation and take a peek. Wow. That's one impressive erection down there. Now that he can't see me I can stare to my heart's content. I have to keep my fingers busy in his hair or I won't be able to keep from grabbing my new toy. Evil Dana whispers over my left shoulder that she wants to take him out for a spin, just around the block a few times is all. I prompt him, gently, about the Other Women he mentioned earlier. His cock immediately goes to half-mast. That can't be a good sign, although it's nice to know about this semaphore system of his. He sighs and begins the story, and the pain in his voice is unbearable even though he tries to keep it from me. That will have to change. Among other things. I listen more carefully than I have to any suspect in years. Lives depend on what will be said here tonight. Mulder's and mine. *************************************************************** "Everyone says I was a precocious child. Spoke my first words when I was a year old, yadda yadda. My mental capacities were way ahead of the curve but emotionally and physically I developed normally. It really used to unsettle people, the way I'd ask grown-up questions at the age of eight or nine." My voice falters for a moment but I press on. "After Sam... disappeared... things got bad at home. I spent as much time elsewhere as I could. Stayed after school, did extra credit, hid out in the library, stuff like that. I graduated from high school when I was fifteen." Scully sucks in an audible breath. "But your records say..." "My records say what I want 'em to say. After Sam -- left -- my dad got pretty rough with me. He was a powerful man and was able to get the records... amended. I watched and learned. Precocious kid, you know. I'd been taking IQ tests for years but after the first few times it seemed prudent to dumb the results down a bit." I meet her eyes in the dresser mirror. They're huge. "I learned about 'trust no one' long before I found the X-Files, Scully." Her voice is hesitant. "Then the IQ scores in your file..." "... are as accurate as my scholastic records, yes." She licks her lips. "How smart are you, really?" I shrug. "I'm as smart as I am, Scully. You've worked with me, you know my mind better than anyone. The scores mean nothing, never did." She shakes her head, starts the finger action going again. I smile and lean back into her chest with a sigh. She kisses the top of my head and says, "Go on." I clear my throat and grimace. "The thing is, I have a kind of Reverse-Midas touch where women are concerned. My relationships all turn to shit. Sarah was my first. She was a junior in high school. And a cheerleader, very pretty." I can almost hear her grin so I check the mirror. Yup. I growl and she smothers it, but with difficulty. "A few months before I graduated she faked a pregnancy." That wipes the grin right off her face. "You don't hear too much about it any more but it still goes on. Sarah's family was from the wrong side of the tracks. She figured she could marry into the good life." "I didn't know they *had* tracks on Martha's Vineyard." Oh, Scully. Thank you for trying to cheer me up. I try to say that with my eyes and she nods. Message received. That kind of courage must be rewarded, but the only thing I have that she wants is the rest of the story. It seems a poor reward to me, but... "There are tracks everywhere, Scully. What good is having tons of money if you don't have anyone to feel superior to? We were never what I'd call rich, at least for the Vineyard, but I suppose it's all relative. We were sure better off than Sarah's folks." I squint against the well-remembered pain. I should be over this by now. Shouldn't I? "Anyway. Dad settled it quietly. After he finished explaining to me at length how displeased he was with my behavior I spent a few days recuperating before I returned to school." Our eyes meet in the mirror again. She looks unsurprised. Well, it's not like there were no clues. I smile halfheartedly and the words come automatically. "There was a nasty flu that year." She smiles sadly, and her eyes shimmer. "I bet." I close my eyes against her sympathy. I love her for it and hate the fact that I need it, want it. "So. I graduated and traveled a bit before going to Oxford. I saw France and Germany and Spain, rode the rails and lived in youth hostels for the summer. Met some nice people. Never quite made it to Greece or Rome, though. I've always regretted that. Cradle of civilization and all. But then summer ended and it was time to go back to school." I reach for the glass, take a sip and hand it up to her. She puts it back on the table and waits patiently, fingers trolling through my scalp. God, that's nice. I take a deep breath of her scent -- I can't get enough of it -- and continue. "Oxford was wonderful, Scully. Here we stick kids in classes and make them listen to boring lectures so they can regurgitate facts at exam time. At Oxford it was more like falconry -- they pointed you at your quarry, whatever the subject was, and released you to hunt it down for yourself. I met regularly with my tutor, he made suggestions for lines of research I hadn't thought of yet and sent me out to hunt for another week." I can almost smell the books, even now. God, those libraries were a foretaste of heaven... I shake my head. She kisses my hair again and her lips linger this time. This is *so* dangerous, like juggling live grenades. I remind myself that the die is cast and press on. "My first week at school I met Ruksannah. She was older than me, of course, maybe 17 or 18. Gorgeous smile, cafe au lait skin, graceful walk and an intriguing accent. I was surrounded by new accents, of course, but hers was different. I bumped into her in a shop. I'll never know where I got the nerve but I asked her to go to a movie and she said yes. I floated back to my rooms." I pause for a moment. Scully makes an encouraging noise. "Next morning, on my way to class, Ruksannah's brothers found me. Not to put too fine a point on it, they beat the living shit out of me. Ruksannah was a Pakistani, the daughter of an Imam, and was not to associate with the likes of me. I'm still not sure which was worse, that I was white or that I was American. Either way, they made their point." Scully's arms go around my chest for a hard hug. I squeeze her legs to hug back. When it's over --- too soon, as they all are -- I continue. "So. I was now zero for two in the 'choosing appropriate female companionship' category. I decided that God was giving me a hint to concentrate on my studies, so I did. Put my head down and worked like a sled dog for four solid years. Tutor was very pleased, if a bit worried, so I made sure to get out from time to time. Always as part of a group, though, never a couple." I tense up, and so does Scully. She must know what comes next. "And then there was Phoebe." You poor bastard. And I thought *my* love life was a disaster. By this chronology Mulder had had only one sexual experience -- well, only one partner, anyway -- before he met the British Bitch. That was like putting my godson up against Tyson. His voice is so over-controlled now it's pathetic. Oh, sure, partner, you're over her. If just the thought of the woman sends him into Robot Mode after -- what, fifteen years now? -- he'll never be over what she did to him. Oh, he'd probably sprint in the other direction if she showed up again but the damage is done. I put thoughts of revenge aside for the moment as Mulder's flat monotone goes on with the story. "Like most boys I was curious about sex but didn't want to show how little I actually knew. Fortunately, by this time I was an accomplished researcher. I set out to learn what I could. The Kama Sutra, books on tantric sex, the erotic writings of Ovid, a 17th century Chinese work called 'The Prayer Mat of Flesh', the love poetry of Rumi... So, there I was with all this theoretical knowledge and no one to practice on." I can see it now. Poor Mulder, all dressed up and nowhere to go. He shakes his head ruefully and I feel ashamed. It's not funny, not really. I can't take my eyes off him in the mirror. His face looks like it was carved from marble, totally expressionless. Not so his voice. Pain resonates in every syllable. "I was a sucker for romance, too. Given the lack of love at home, and everywhere else I looked, I took it where I could find it -- in books. The knighthood stories of Howard Pyle, Sir Walter Scott's epics, Malory's 'Le Morte d'Arthur', all that chivalry stuff. I was looking for a Lady Fair. Phoebe saw me coming a mile away." His eyes look distant now, sere and withered. Forty years in the desert might produce eyes like that. Then I remember my first view of him tonight and amend that to 'forty years in the desert or five with me'. I blink back my tears and keep stroking his temples. He needs me to ground him, he's lost in the wastelands of his memory... I lean forward to kiss his neck firmly and hug him again with the other arm. His eyes meet mine in the mirror and yes, he is. And we both know it. This time I'm the one who has to look away. I hear Ahab's voice saying, "Be careful what you wish for, Starbuck. You just might get it." Mulder has, emotionally, opened his wrists for me tonight, and I know that he's only doing this to himself because I want him to, need him to. I realize, with a cold clarity, that he will do *anything* I ask if I insist hard enough. I'm going to have to be very, very careful from now on. *************************************************************** How is it possible to be uninjured and still hurt this badly? I keep expecting to hear some damn beeping hospital gadget, they're always around when I'm in this much pain. I'd love to look at her some more but that hurts, too. Not fair, dammit. It's the only thing that ever makes me feel better -- looking at her -- and somebody's found a way to poison that now. Surely I am in hell, that my only joy is become my latest agony. I'd fold up but I'm already squashed so small, if I go any deeper I'll disappear beyond my own event horizon. I snort. Mulder as black hole, she'd love that one. Asshole, sure, we all know that... Well, no sense in delaying. The only way out is through and the Inquisitor awaits. "Looking back, I'd have to say that Phoebe was really a lousy lay. She was technically proficient but terribly cold. What she did have was a raw, potent sexuality that was impossible to ignore, like smoke coming off dry ice. It's embarrassing to remember how she led me around by my dick. God, I was pathetic." I shake my head sadly. "Everybody has twenty-twenty hindsight, but I have to admit that my friends were right about Phoebe. They all warned me but I wouldn't listen. Later, when I began to see how right they were, it was too late. She was like a drug in my system, it's the only way I can explain it. Like catnip to a cat, or crack cocaine to a human. After awhile I knew she was gonna fuck me over and I *still* went back to her. And that's when it *really* got bad." I shift position restlessly, then get up. I can't stay in her arms, not when I'm talking about Phoebe. It's not right. I snag my boxers and drag them on, then start to pace. I feel dirty all over again. Dana pulls a sheet over herself but doesn't move, just watches me. I run a hand through my hair and try to come up with the right words. "See, there's bad and then there's worse. When you're in the bad you call yourself all sorts of names and try to think of a way out. Then you hit worse, and suddenly bad doesn't seem so bad any more." I sit on the edge of the mattress but it's no good, I have to keep moving. I remind myself to watch my breathing, the last thing I need right now is an anxiety attack. "Up to that point the humiliation had been private. No matter what I did it wasn't quite good enough. Should have lasted longer, didn't stroke her quite right, this, that -- always some damn thing. Once she knew she had me, that I couldn't leave, she began playing games in public. We had sex in places where we were almost sure to get caught and she got off on how much that worried me. Men generally don't perform well when they're scared. I'm no exception, so she had a new one to slice me with -- can't get it up. I could go on but I'm sure you get the idea." I finally come to rest in the bathroom doorway and turn to face her. She tries not to show it but she's appalled. Well, so am I. I grit my teeth and plow on. "They say every alcoholic eventually hits bottom. For me, bottom was when I found her with two men in a cloakroom at the university library. I got back early from a trip and walked in on them. She was surprised for a moment, and then..." I gulp down sour vomit and finish. "... she laughed. She just -- laughed, Scully." I shake my head in wonder, even now, before continuing. Unwanted, the scene plays out in my mind's eye again. I squint past the pain and trudge onward. "I decided then and there to swear off women completely. Zero for three was just too much evidence to argue with. Unfortunately my body disagreed with me. I was twenty years old and in my sexual prime. My traitorous body needed an outlet. Any outlet. Sheep were starting to look good." She chuckles more than it deserves. I'm grateful for the vote of confidence. See, Mulder can still make jokes, he hasn't lost it quite yet. "That's when Perry the Poof found me." She blinks. "Who the which?" I grin at her confusion. A small grin, true, but I'll take any triumph at this point. "Perry the Poof. He was this gay upperclassman who was too lazy to find his own boyfriends. He used to wait until Phoebe tired of toying with her latest mouse and reel him in while the misogyny was still fresh." "Get out of here, Mulder, there's no such word." My grin gets wider. It will be a cold day in Hell when I pass up a chance to tease Dana Scully. "Nope. Perry was a poof, a bender, shirt-lifter, bugger ..." "Okay, I get the picture -- " " ... bum bandit, rectum raider, shit dipper ... " Scully dissolves in giggles. God, I love her laugh. I'd love to keep her going but my heart's just not in it. "Anyway. Perry was anticipating a night of intense proctological research when I came to my senses and got the hell out of his rooms. The rest of my time at University was spent studying and exercising and taking cold showers. I graduated, came back to the States and Patterson recruited me about ten minutes after I got off the plane." Scully raises an eyebrow and pats the mattress next to her. I walk over to the table and take another sip of water. I offer her some but she shakes her head so I finish it off and refill it from the bathroom sink before sitting down. I suggest that we trade places for awhile so she scoots forward and drops her head against my chest when I take her spot up against the headboard. Almost done. I'm tired, but I can see the finish line from here. Mulder has knobby knees. Well, nobody's perfect. I'm not ready to look into his eyes yet, not after that. I sink back into him and listen more carefully than ever. I can actually feel his heart thudding in his chest. His penis is flaccid against my back. Well, it has every excuse. My fingers miss his hair so they start wandering up and down his calves like he was doing with my legs. Hey, fair is fair. He has nice, sculptured legs. All that running, no doubt. Mmmm. "Patterson made them give me every possible shortcut at Quantico. He wanted me on the team fast. I spent about three months getting up to speed, then he sent me into the field. And the nightmares began." I can imagine. I have nightmares, myself, and I'm a pathologist. When I was a rookie I just dealt with the physical aftermath in my nice, quiet autopsy bay. It was just research, however messy. What must that poor sensitive young Mulder have gone through? "I discovered something really strange on the road, Scully. The women who work at the field offices are closet cop groupies or something. They seemed to compete in chasing the boy wonder from the Main Office. Guess it was a status thing." I can't believe this. Mulder has no idea why women chase him? I chance a look in the mirror to see if he's spoofing me. Nope, he's totally serious. So gorgeous, and so clueless. Amazing. "I was stressed six ways from Sunday, Scully. I was seriously close to losing it. After self-diagnosing, I decided to take the simplest method of stress relief available. I started to say yes. It was the best, and at the same time the worst, thing I could have done." My ears prick up. *This* sounds interesting. "Being able to bury myself in somebody at night, to not be alone, kept me sane enough to do my job without cracking up. The sex was nice, of course, but what saved me was actually being able to touch someone, to hold and be held. But tough federal agents, especially the ones on the Traveling Squad, have a reputation to uphold. So I used everything I'd learned from Phoebe about how to satisfy a woman, refined it with my own extensive field research, and taught myself how to fuck instead of make love." Mulder takes a deep breath before continuing. "I saved my mind but lost my soul." I'm afraid he can see my face so I duck my head and hide behind my hair. Silly me, I thought this couldn't get any worse... "What amazed me was how little it took to make those women happy. All I had to do, really, was just listen to them. I put my best efforts into the sex, of course, and they seemed to like it, but just listening to what they had to say and treating it like it was important seemed to do more for them. I was so sad when I figured that out." This is killing me. It's so Mulder. Burning himself at both ends for that bastard Patterson, trying to catch maniacs while hiding from the in-house shrinks, self-diagnosing to keep himself working and he still found the strength to give those women what they needed even when he couldn't save himself. I can't hold the tears off much longer but I can't cry until he's finished... "It was only supposed to be a stopgap measure until I could figure a better way to deal with things, but I never did. Eventually I met a nightmare that was too big for me and I cracked. Later, when I was pronounced fit for duty again, I found the X-Files and got myself put in charge of them." He hugs me and kisses my left ear, making me shiver, but I can't let go, not yet... "And then you came." *************************************************************** Her eyes finally meet mine in the mirror, my angel with the fiery hair and the flaming sword. I can't take it any more. I lick my lips, swallow convulsively, and whisper, "Could you please kiss me, Scully?" Fast as a striking snake she twists in my arms, drags my head down and flows up against my lips. Saved again. While I'm kissing that perfect mouth the pain can't touch me, has no place to enter. The whole world goes away, just goes away, and there's nothing but Scully... ... until she starts to weep. This is ridiculous. If it's not one of us it's the other. We'll never get anywhere this way. I try to get her to tell me what's wrong, plead with her not to cry any more. I can't bear to see her this way. She won't answer me, just shakes her head and keeps crying and kissing me. I finally decide if I can't stop the one I'll have to help with the other so I kiss her just as well as I know how. She kind of half-falls to the side, pulling me down on top of her, and deepens the kiss. I glide my fingers down her sides, across the ribs and up the chest to her nipples. I haven't touched them so far tonight but this seems like the time. Apparently Scully agrees with me. Her eyes stay closed but her mouth opens in a little 'o' shape and she rocks her head back. I knead her breasts gently and roll the nipples between forefinger and thumb, increasing the pressure slowly until she gasps and arches up into me. I lock that setting into my fingers and keep the action going while trying to think of something else to do. I lean in and start licking my way up her neck. That gets me a nice little moan so I keep it up and throw in a few nibbles here and there for good measure. The moan is getting stronger now, it's one long note that goes straight to my root. It's amazing what this woman can do to me, and she's not even trying yet! Lord help me when she starts in on me. She's keening softly now, the sound only stops when she has to take a breath. I drag the instep of my right foot up the back of her calf until my thigh presses into her groin. God, is she wet! The moan immediately gets louder and she starts rubbing herself against my leg. Her natural pheromone is thick in the air, the scent is driving me nuts. I want to jump her like never before but I have to get this right, this is Scully and she deserves the best. That's not me, but I'll just have to figure out a way to exceed my limits. My balls are about to explode but I have to hold back, I haven't even entered her yet for God's sake. Her fists are clenching and unclenching in the sheets. I pull back from her neck to see her face. Her eyes are open wide and she's panting madly, staring at the ceiling. She looks my way, the baby-blues focus and she launches herself at me. She rubs her chest against mine and starts sucking madly at my neck. Major hickey in the making, here. She moves up to my ear and the licking and biting nearly does me in. My hands are unoccupied since she glued herself to my torso so I slide them down to her pelvis, rolling over slightly to make her more accessible. My left hand is squeezing her perfect ass while my right plays with in the hair between her legs. She switches to my other ear and the panting is making me crazy. My dick feels like a crowbar, so hard it hurts, and my balls are pulled up tight against my body. I take a deep breath and slip a finger into her. She convulses against me and starts to whimper. I've learned the hard way not to ask women if I'm hurting them at times like this. The same thing always happens -- they look distracted or disgusted, or both, and snarl *NO!* before demanding that I get back to work. Of course, if I squeeze something too hard or whatever and don't stop immediately I'm a crude and thoughtless bastard. I have to say, women are damn confusing. Lord, but she's tight down there! I manage to work in a second finger and she goes ballistic. Ohgodohgodohgod... I tried, I really did, but when a man who kisses like that *begs* me to kiss him, well... One thing led to another, as they say. Be careful what you wish for, indeed. Once I got started I couldn't hold the tears back any more and when Mulder couldn't get me to stop he seems to have decided to give me what I so obviously wanted earlier. I rolled him over on top of me to make sure he didn't change his mind, dense bastard that he is, and started to rape him. He may be crazy but he's not stupid. He proceeded to send me straight to heaven. How he manages to coordinate so many parts of his body when he can't even read a bloody map is beyond me. Soon all coherent thought will be beyond me. Damn, he's good. The top of my head is about to blow off and the volcano between my legs, long dormant , is about to erupt, and just when I think it can't get any better he slips a finger into me. Good thing I'm nearly grafted to his body or the spasm would have broken bones. I've been sucking his neck and nibbling his earlobes and quietly (all right, noisily) loving the way it interrupted his breathing. Good thing I'm between ears, I might have bitten one off. Instant orgasm, pow! Oh, he's good. I drag my left leg out from under the covers and throw it over his hip. It's embarrassing how wet I am but I'll be grateful soon. I remember how big he looked earlier, and he feels hard as a rock now. He adds a second finger to the mix and all I can think is please, Mulder, please... stop being a gentleman, get down here and fuck me! I can't take it any more. I can't. I have to get inside her. I roll her hips into position and move in close, but before I can do anything else she grabs my cock like a vise and drags it to where we both desperately want it. She grabs my ass, apparently determined to stuff me in there and damn the soft tissue damage. I push back against her hands, earning a truly furious glare, then reach down with my right hand. I rub the head of my cock up and down the entry a few times to ease the passage before slipping inside. Won't go very far. She calms down and goes back to kissing the hell out of me. I pull out a bit, then rock forward and manage to get an inch or so further in. Her eyes get really big and she brings her knees up to her chest to improve the angle. God, she's a limber little thing! Who would have guessed? I pull out, slooowly, and she sobs with the pleasure. God, I love that sound. I'm determined to hear much much more of it. I kiss her eyes, her nose, her chin and rock forward again. Each time I get a bit further in, and each time her smile gets a bit wider. It takes about six or seven more strokes before I can feel the root of my cock press up against her pelvic arch. She's babbling nonsense now and grinning like a thief as my thrusts get more powerful. Well, at this point I'd have a hard time reciting the Gettysburg Address, myself. We get a nice rhythm going for a bit, she's got her legs over my shoulder and... ... and it's not enough. Oh, it's magnificent, and she's very vocal, if not intelligible, but I know I can do better. I roll her onto her side, tuck her knees up tight -- she seems to like that -- and continue pumping away. She looked confused for a moment but the new rhythm soon has her in its grip and she's panting and ... ... and it's still not enough. I have to think of something else. I keep the rhythm going while I search my memory files. The really odd thing is that I can't seem to feel my dick any more. Oh, it's hard, no question, but for some reason it seems... disconnected. Frustrating, but useful. If I can't feel it I won't have to come for awhile, which leaves me free to concentrate on her. God, I love serendipity. For awhile there Mulder seemed to be channeling some damn porno actor, going from one position to the next. He finally gets me up on my knees and moves in from behind. He spread my legs a bit wider with his knees and enters me with the firmness and authority I've been waiting for. Finally! I lower my head to the pillows, relax my back and wait for it, shivering in anticipation. I turn my head to watch him in the mirror on the bathroom door. His face is a study in barely bridled lust. It's not enough. He's still too controlled. His lips are curled back in a silent snarl and he's pumping like mad but he's still in control. There's way too much control going on around here. No, what I need right now is just to be an animal, and I want him to be one with me. I want what I've denied myself for far too long. And I think I know how to get it. My right hand slithers slowly over the sheets beneath me, seeking its prey. Such a sneaky bitch I am, tonight! I find my own thigh and follow it up, waiting until he slams his next thrust home and his balls smack against my clit. I have barely enough brain cells firing to do this so I have to get it right. I wait five strokes to be sure I've got the timing right, then on the sixth I cup his balls in my sweaty palm. He growls, actually *growls*, and starts pumping even more wildly. I moan and circle my hips clockwise. He's still making those noises back there and I grin fiercely. So you like that, do you? Just you wait, G-man... I roll his balls gently in my hand and reach two fingernails to lightly scratch from either side of his anus to the base of his cock. Jackpot! He bellows like a bull, grabs my hips in a bruising grip and goes from zero to sixty in about .2 seconds. I've been climaxing for some time now, little tiny ones like bing-bing-bing but this is off the Richter scale. I scream like a banshee and rock my hips back into him, trying to meet his rhythm. Our wailing somehow harmonizes and seems to go on forever, like the final chord in that old Beatles song. Time is not a universal invariant in my bedroom either, thank God. I'm gonna have to light a whole *bunch* of candles... What the hell did she *do* to me? Secret Doctor Things, no doubt. When my pulse finally makes it down into double digits and my breathing slows enough I pry an eye open to survey the damage. It takes me a couple of seconds to focus, then I wish I hadn't. Oh, she's gonna have bruises. I can see my hand prints, all ten fingers, across her hips. God, what kind of an animal am I? She's panting like she's just finished a marathon, which gives me a smug little grin, but she keeps doing this little quivering thing, like mini-convulsions. Oh, shit. She's the doctor, not me, what the hell do I do now? She collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. I nearly crushed her but managed to land beside her instead of on top of her. Thank Someone for small favors. We're both covered in sweat. It's embarrassing, and yet I want to lick her from top to bottom. How sick is that? Well, we've both been acting weird tonight. I reach over and start kissing my way up her back along the spine, from between the shoulder blades up to the base of her skull. Somewhere in there she arches her back, presses into my lips and damn near *purrs*! This frankly feline behavior is beginning to worry me. I start to apologize but before I can get two words out she rolls over and smiles up at me. With teeth. Jesus, that smile! It lights up her whole face, damn near meets in back of her head. My jaw drops, then I start to smile back. <...and the Russian judge gives it a 10! The crowd goes wild!> Maybe I did something right for a change, if the way she's kissing my chest is any indication. Then the exhaustion hits me like a freight train. My head thuds down on the pillow and I vaguely hear her mumbling something about 'poor baby' before it all goes away. My legs feel like butter, I'm tingling all over and I can't get enough oxygen. Mulder starts to kiss and lick my back and I almost get another orgasm from that alone. Screw the gold, we should keep Mulder in Fort Knox. I'm gonna limp for a week. Like I care. I manage to roll over and face him. The idiot thinks I'm mad at him! What he said earlier rings in my head so I throw him the very nicest smile in my arsenal. He lights up like a Christmas tree in return. It almost makes me cry again, that such a little thing means so much to him. I want to tell him that but my vocabulary is off-line. Then his eyes glaze over and his head hits the pillow like a hammer. Three days without sleep and a sexual marathon will do that to a guy, I guess, and giggle madly at the thought. God, I haven't giggled in years. When did I lose the capacity to laugh? The thought should depress me but a glorious weariness is dragging me under. We're not done, though, Mulder. I drag myself atop his lanky frame, briefly wish for a flag to claim this territory with, and use him for a whole body pillow. I laugh again and snuggle my head into his chest before dropping off. Best Friday night I've had in years. Well, actually, it's been Saturday for some time now, but the principle still holds... *************************************************************** I wake up feeling incredibly rested and at peace with the world. How many years since that happened last? I want to just lie here forever, it feels that good, but life must go on. Reluctantly I begin my morning ritual. I catalog impressions before opening my eyes. You never know who's out there. It's not a motel, the smell is all wrong. Well, actually, the smell is all right. I know this smell, I've dreamed of it for years. Nope, it can't be. I was dreaming. But there's a wonderful soft weight on my chest and its breath is tickling my chest hair. It smells like my own personal heaven. I raise an eyelid cautiously. A blue eye stares back at me. From close range. With a hungry smile behind it, one I'm afraid I recognize. "Morning, partner." Gulp. With both eyes open now I can see that her head is propped up on her forearms, which are pillowed on my chest. She looks indecently pleased with herself and very comfortable. I manage to squeak out a good morning while my mind dashes madly around the inside of my skull like a trapped rat. Okay, she's decided not to kill me immediately. That's good. I don't trust a Scully who's this cheerful before coffee, though. Something's not right. Before I can ask what's going on she looks surprised, then twists around to look behind her. "Oh, good! Room service!" Before I can ask what the hell she's talking about she grabs my morning woody and starts sliding down my body toward it. Hot, tight wetness occurs around my cock and I damn near go crosseyed with instant lust. This is not fair. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. My head thuds back into the pillow and I can feel an idiotic grin spreading across my face. Scully is a happy camper. Look at that smile. God, I could drown in that smile, not to mention the exquisite agony she's inflicting on my dick. What incredible muscle control! I want to do my part but the gears won't engage. I can't even get a hand up to those perfect breasts bobbing right under my nose. It's all I can do to make a gargling sound but she seems to know what I mean, she grins even bigger and kisses my chest as she enthusiastically rides the pony. Take me now, Lord. God, I've missed this. Sex first thing in the morning is the best. What a way to start the day! Mulder is more rested than he's been in ages, I got to watch him sleep for quite some time. He's disgustingly cute when he sleeps. You'd never know he could be so infuriating while awake. He woke up confused and I ambushed him, just climbed aboard his morning hard-on. He never knew what hit him. This is sooo nice. We'll have to decide pretty soon whether or not we made a horrible mistake last night but in the meantime I'm making the most of the situation. Look at him. I've heard the expression, "screwed stupid", but never saw an example until now. His eyes won't track and he's got the ultimate shit-eating grin on his face. He couldn't manage a two syllable word right now if his life depended on it. Good. He talks too much anyway. I shower his face and chest with kisses, play with *his* nipples for a change (which produces some interesting results), and shamelessly indulge myself by clenching my internal muscles just to watch the expression on his face. I really shouldn't, it's cruel, but it's just too funny and feels too damn good. A year or so later I come and collapse across his body. We both drift off to sleep as the clock radio display changes from am to pm. I wake up first, around dinnertime, and draw a tub of the hottest water I can stand. She wears a sleepy smile when I come to get her . I lead her, stumbling, to the bathroom and get in behind her after making sure she doesn't slip and kill herself. Drag her back against my chest and we just sit there enjoying the hot water. An occasional ear-nibble keeps her at least partially awake while I take my time cleaning her with that spongy thing. Loofah? Well, whatever it is, she seems to enjoy the process. Lots of sighs and interesting noises. For a vagrant moment I wonder why I'm not hungry. It's been ages since I ate, I should be starving. Then I consider the morsel in front of me... I get out first, dry off quickly and rub her down with a fluffy towel, taking care to buff the more sensitive bits. Her face -- well, her whole body, actually -- is flushed as I lead her back to bed. I stretch her out across the mattress and get comfortable for Round Three but she won't stay where I put her. I intended her to relax while I went down on her but she twists so she's facing south while I'm facing north. I have to strain to hear the chuckle, then I figure it out. Playtime! "Feeling a bit competitive, are we, Scully?" "What's the matter, Mulder? Afraid of a little challenge?" I kiss her thigh before answering. The muscles bunch and relax as she sucks in a quick breath. I grin, mostly because she can't see it from her present position. Her hair is like silk across my own thigh, making me shiver. An unfair advantage. "Do you have a wager in mind, Agent Scully?" Then I do a little gasping of my own. Her teeth graze their way up the back of my thigh and her breath is hot across my groin. Oh boy, am I in trouble... "Winner gets to make love to the loser?" Her voice is full of mischief. It takes me back to the early days, when we knew how to have fun. I do some nibbling of my own on her butt. She tries to swallow it but the quick little 'ah!' escapes her. I grin again. "You're on." And the games begin. It's an even contest at first, each of us taking our time with the other, learning the territory, finding out where to lick and rub and suck and nibble. I find a couple of ticklish spots and mark them for future reference, sure that the knowledge will come in handy someday. I spend some time exploring her ass, incredible feature that it is. Gorgeous curves, they fit my hands so well, and boy is she sensitive back there. Either she *really* likes the attention it's getting or she's not used to it and I'm making her nervous. Probably the latter. I make a note to ask her later and begin kissing my way back to territory she's more comfortable with. She relaxes a bit. While I'm congratulating myself on my insight she strikes. No warning, Pearl Harbor time, she basically just gobbles me up. I make a feeble attempt to rally, get in a few half-hearted licks to her center, but she's got me and we both know it. I hear the mewling sounds coming from my own throat and roll on my back in surrender. If I'd known he was going to treat me like this I would have raped him a long time ago. A *bath*? Holy smoke! I'm too caught up in the simple pleasure of it to say much. Does sighing and ooohing count? He chuckles a few times, a deep and somehow very male sound, and it starts to kindle the fires again. His voice just does that to me. He wields a mean sponge, too. It's a pleasurable roughness that wakes up my skin in huge swaths, making an interesting contrast with the parts of me that are still sleepy. He seems to *know*, somehow, which parts I want scrubbed a bit harder and which to leave alone. I'd make a Spooky comment but he wouldn't take it well right now. It's true, though. Another entry in the "weird things Mulder can do" file. He gives me a hand out of the tub and proves himself as deadly with a towel as he was with the sponge. I'm *so* glad I bought new towels last weekend! God, this is nice. I could get used to having a towel boy. I'm so bemused by the possibilities that he's got me laid out like a window display before I realize what he's up to. There's a serious look in his eyes. I don't want Serious Mulder in my bed, he's no fun. And I'm way behind in the Fun category. I can feel the laughter bubbling out of me, and I want to kiss the man for making it possible. I haven't laughed in far too long. I twist around into a "69" position and it doesn't take him long to get the idea. I've managed to winkle Playful Mulder out of his hiding place. And so we play. Like puppies, almost -- a nip here, a little bite there, lots of licking... This is just too much fun. Mulder's fingers begin to work their magic on my butt. The man must be mapping my erogenous zones or something, he goes over every single square inch of me. To my intense delight, I might add. Nobody's ever done that before and it's intensely erotic to be the focus of such a, well, *focused* mind. I start to get that tightly wound sensation again, my flesh humming... Strange as it sounds, I don't want to come right now. I want to stay at this plateau of pleasure awhile and just enjoy it. He figures that out somehow, too, and moves back to safer territory. If negative behavior should not be reinforced, it follows that positive behavior *should* be reinforced. Right? So as soon as he relaxes and drops his guard I pounce. He was about to go down on me but I beat him to it. Gotcha, Mulder! He tries to regain the initiative, he's a competitor, but it's too late. Doesn't take him long to acknowledge it and surrender his body to my dark desires. He knows when he's licked. So to speak. I take my time and start to catalog *his* erogenous zones. He's delicious down here, too. My, my, my. I try to identify the taste as I work my own brand of magic. I did some intensive research too, once upon a time, but turn my thoughts away from those dark days. I grin suddenly at a new image: Holly and I and some of the gang from the Hoover walk into a bar and a voice yells "It's Mulder Time!" I have to work hard at not-giggling. Mulder is making some new sounds up there and that's funny too. I think of all the things I've wanted to do with him for so long, things I kept in the "no, no, no!" file in my head. Things that might not be so impossible now if I play my cards right. I apply myself to the task at hand with renewed vigor. Mulder is approaching the threshold fast. We can't have that, can we? I take appropriate measures and revel in the surprised look on his face. What good is being a doctor if you can't put your knowledge of anatomy to work? We both have to work too hard to see each other from this position so I go back to work and hear his head hit the mattress immediately afterward. Mulder, like most men, is goal-oriented. He wants to give me an orgasm, and then another, and then another... Like notches on the bedpost, though he doesn't seem to think in those terms. I decide it's time he learned another approach. He's going to marinate in pleasure for as long as I can keep him there. Just call it my own version of 'attitude adjustment'. I sigh happily, pillow my head on his thigh for a bit, then return to my self-appointed task. It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it... *************************************************************** Oh. My. God. Where the hell did she learn this? And who do I thank? Besides her. I'm looking forward to returning this favor. I have no idea what she just did to me but suddenly I don't have to come. The pleasure hasn't abated but the desperate urgency is gone so I can enjoy her expert ministrations at my leisure. Well, our leisure, apparently. Scully seems to be that rarity, a woman who actually *enjoys* giving head. I'm sure Murphy's famous Law applies somehow, I'm never this lucky, but he can just go do himself. I'm gonna enjoy this while I can. I enter a truly incredible state of being. All sensation seems to be focused through my groin, like a lens. This is damn odd, like a new level of thought or something. Beyond thought, maybe? A diamond focus. How's that for an image? Oooh. She's smiling down there and it changes the sensation. I want to ask what's so funny but it's probably one of those girl things. Can't win when that happens, they just shoot me one of those you'd-never-understand looks and smirk. I hate it when that happens. Never mind, I'll just concentrate on enjoying this and plotting my 'revenge'. And then it happens. I gave up on the search for satori years ago, decided that I was too Western in outlook, too lacking in patience, to pursue an enlightenment that most people never achieve. The roshi gave me so many different examples of what it could be like that I finally quit asking him about it, which was probably the idea. This feels like a memory cascade, only different, which sounds stupid but it's the only valid description I can find. It feels like being caught in a landslide of emotion and concepts and god knows what else, all slamming into me and demanding my attention at the same time. Like crystals forming in a supersaturated solution some things begin to reach the upper levels of my consciousness. Foremost among them: There will never be a happy ending for Scully and me. Not in the life we've chosen, the work we do. It's just not gonna happen. So I, or we, can either leave the work -- with all the ethical dilemmas that implies -- or we can accept our fates as being an equitable price to pay and move on toward the inevitable result. Thoughts of William Wallace resound again, but without the usual attendant feelings of despair. Not a foregone conclusion, this time, but a choice to be made. A lousy choice, but a choice nonetheless. Depression threatens, like a tsunami that's just become visible on the horizon, and then I remember my saving grace, my angel. My Scully. If I can be with her, *really* be with her, I can stand the rest of what's ahead. I can. These feelings are an odd mix of Eastern and Western mysticism, of enlightenment and the stoicism of the Viking Gods going forward to meet their preordained fate without complaint. What a strange juxtaposition. Then again, just the sort of thing people expect from Spooky Mulder. It's cold comfort, but being grown up is often so. Or so they tell me. I try to console myself with the nobility of fighting in a supposedly lost cause. It doesn't help much. Then I think of Scully, and I'm not so cold any more. My last thought, as probably the most devastating orgasm of my life takes me, is a ridiculous one. Mulder comes with an intensity I didn't expect. Guess I'm not as out of practice as I thought. After a moment I realize he's laughing and crying at the same time so I crawl up his lanky frame, sprawl across his chest and hug him as hard as I can. He hugs me back but it doesn't' seem to help whatever is going on in his head. Maybe the aftershocks from his earlier emotional collapse? Well, whatever it is, he's not making much sense right now. I reach down with my toes and drag the blanket up where I can get at it, then slide down to his side and cover us both. It takes some work but eventually his head is pillowed on my chest and I hold his head and stroke his hair while he shakes. Whatever is happening, it's powerful. For both of us. Mulder is letting me be the strong one for a change. Usually we're both strong, but side-by-side. He's never done this before, and the intimacy is overpowering. I don't have words for what's going on in my heart but nobody better fucking get between us. Ever again. I have a major headache -- both of them -- when I wake up the next time. It's an ungodly cow-milking hour to be awake. Par for the course for me. Sleeping this much can't be healthy. I drag myself to the toilet and do what's necessary. Good thing I didn't wet the bed, it probably would have drowned us both. I dig around her medicine chest, find the acetaminophen and take three of them. I peek out at her but she's still asleep. I collect my clothes and tiptoe out into the living room, closing the bedroom door softly. Christ. Now what? What the *hell* was I thinking? I'm so far over The Line that I can't see it from here. I dress quietly and try to come up with a reasonable plan. I fail utterly, which is no surprise. Reasonable plans were never my forte. I pace a few circuits, start toward the bedroom twice but change my mind both times. Finally I straighten my back, pick up my suitcase and head for the front door. I actually have my hand on the doorknob when I stop, my shoulders slump and I lean my forehead against the jamb. I can't. I can't go, and I can't stay. I'm fucked. Finally I turn to go back to the bedroom but pull up short. Scully is standing in the room, buck naked, watching me. There is no discernible expression on her face. I drop the bag and move toward her, stopping three paces away. I still can't read her face, but she doesn't look like a happy camper any more. At least he didn't ditch me this time. He was going to but he stopped himself. I'd like to think that means there's hope. I missed his body heat so I came out here looking for him, thought he'd be making breakfast or something. He was so wrought up he didn't even hear the bedroom door open. His internal pressure was a terrible sight. I managed not to call out as he went to the door and my courage was rewarded. He didn't leave. He didn't. He comes back to me now and stands like he's facing a jury, or maybe a review board. I take his arm and pull him to the couch, then push his chest gently. He plops down and waits for my next move. I remember what he said last night about being distracted. I'm not laughing this time. I interrupted the process last night, like not getting all the infection out when you lance a boil. I go back into the bedroom, come out wearing his shirt and take a seat at the other end of the couch. I wait. This time I'm going to get it all. He figures out what I'm up to, goes to the kitchen and comes back with two glasses of orange juice. He gives me one and sips his own, putting his thoughts in order. When he puts his glass down he picks up right where he left off last night. *************************************************************** "I want you more than my next breath," I tell her, "but I'm afraid of what will happen if I ask you to be with me. Every time I make this decision I fuck up. I'm trapped on the cusp. I have to decide, one way or the other -- ask you or don't ask you. I thought about just waiting for you to make up your mind but that's the coward's way out. It puts all the blame on you if something goes wrong and I can't do that, either." I'm panting like I've just run a marathon but at least I got the damn words out. Now if I can just get up the nerve to look at her... This is it. The moment I've prayed for and dreaded. At last I know where I stand. You'd think I'd be used to this sort of thing by now. Ho-hum, one more life-or-death decision, yawn... I really should have seen this coming. Last night, when I heard his horror story, if not before then. True, I was distracted, but still... I keep thinking, poor Mulder. All of his relationships with women, every single one of them, have been disasters. His mother was, if not an abusive parent herself, at least an enabler for one. Samantha disappeared while in his care. Sarah tried to trap him, Ruksannah nearly got him killed, Phoebe tortured him, Perry tried to rape him and the FBI Babe Patrol just fucked him. Then he gets me for a partner, and I can't help but remind him of his missing kid sister, so of course he loses me, too. And then, miracle of miracles for Mulder, I came back to him. The only one to ever do that in his whole miserable life. And I listen to him, the only one who does that, too. Naturally he's fixated on me. Might as well have removed a thorn from his paw. How much of a road map do I need? Oh, God. Oh, Jesus. I can't stay with him just to save him, that never works. I've heard enough horror stories about people who tried that and it always blows up in their faces. Always. I sip my orange juice to buy some time. I can feel him watching me but I can't look over there, not yet. Stay or go. If I go, he dies. It's that simple. Maybe not today, but soon. If he doesn't eat his gun he'll go into a situation unprepared because he really doesn't care if he lives or dies as long as he finds his Truth. We've become dependent on each other. Him more than me, but me too. I hide it better, that's all. Mulder understands me when no one else does. He won't look at me like a freak when I wake up with a gun in my hand because he's done it too. He'll hold me when I'm in danger of flying apart, he wants nothing better. All I have to do is find the courage to let him do it. Yes. God help me, but yes. And that simple fact seals my fate. When is a choice no choice at all? It will be a rocky road, but I'm used to that. At least this way we'll both have someone who cares. No more waking up alone, thank you, God. I'll never have a child thanks to Those bastards, but Mulder will help me find Them. If I loved him for nothing else, I'd love him for that. Mulder will be with me every step of the way, no matter what. She turns to face me, finally, and I can't read her face at all. She says, "Ask me, Mulder." I blink a couple of times in surprise, then take all my courage in hand and before I can lose my nerve I say, "Will you marry me, Scully?" Her eyes don't quite bug out of her head, but it's a near thing. Guess I overdid it again. She can't get her voice going right away. I nod in acceptance. Time to go... "No, huh?" "Mulder. Look at me." Oh, Scully. I'm brave, but not that brave. Then she says it again so I grit my teeth and look up from my lap. She smiles radiantly. I get my hopes up for a moment before her words penetrate. "No, Mulder. I can't do that, not yet. It would complicate things too much. But thank you for asking." I nod my head, defeated, not listening to the rest of it. Blah blah, yadda yadda. All the nauseating platitudes I remember from high school come back to me. Can't we just be friends? I really like you, but not *that* way. Time to go... She crawls determinedly across the couch and takes my chin in her hands, forcing me to meet her blue gaze. "Mulder, you're not listening to me. That's a bad habit. I said, 'I won't marry you *right now*'. I didn't say never." I blink hopefully. She continues. "We want the same things, we go the same places. I want to be in your bed, Mulder, or you to be in mine, however you choose to look at it. I want us to take things to the next level. But we have to make some changes. Understand?" I try to wipe the grin off my face and concentrate but it's difficult when you've just received that last-minute reprieve from the Governor. "Could you be more specific, Agent Scully?" Her eyes are smiling but her face is grave. She's pleased, but wants to be serious. Okay, I can do serious. I paste an attentive look on my face and listen. "You will not ditch me again. Ever. You will tell me what you know about each case as we begin. No more feeding me bits and pieces as we go, I've had enough of that shit. I want to know up front what you know, what you think you know, and what you only suspect. These demands are non-negotiable, Agent Mulder." "Agreed. It won't happen overnight, you know. Those habits are deeply ingrained. I may get as far as the airport before I stop myself, but each time I'll remember earlier. A day will come when I won't even get to the front door before I call for you. Can you live with that?" She nods. Scully has always been reasonable, give her that. Then she says, "What about the other?" I smile at her. "I'm going to miss teasing you that way, but if it's that important to you I can do it." This makes her blush and look away for some reason. When she looks back she's smiling gently. As always, it makes my heart go a bit faster. "And what do you want from me, Mulder?" I get up and tower over her. She hates it when I do that. Tough. "You will fucking stop telling me you're fucking fine when you're not fucking fine. Is that fucking clear, Agent Scully" I snarl. She starts to say something but I put a hand up. "This is not negotiable. Period. Put up or shut up." She looks away and nods unhappily, then looks up at me. "That's it? That's all you want?" Is she demented? "You said I could have you. What else would I want?" That shuts her up for a minute. Good. She talks too much. Well, what could I say to that? He may be infuriating but he sure knows how to get my pulse going. Marriage? Where the hell did *that* come from? I can see I'm going to have to do some more reading on personalities like his. I reach for him and he picks me up effortlessly. God, but I do love a strong man. Silly, and not at all PC, but there you are. I lean my head into his chest as he carries me back to bed. He lays me down gently and strips the shirt away. I love the way he looks at me, hot and hungry. What will he do now, I wonder? The answer is quickly forthcoming. No subtlety at all, he just spreads my legs and begins to feast on me. Holy God, where did he learn this? Extensive field research, he said. I guess so! His fingers softly spread my lips and his questing tongue begins its dance. Up one side and down the other, with occasional forays into the interior. His thumb makes me jump when it grazes my clit, and my temp goes through the roof. It's late afternoon, what a crazy time to make love. Who cares? I suspect this will continue well into the night, with occasional breaks for food and drink. Mulder's other hand is wandering across my breasts as I sing a happy song, my heels drumming against his shoulders. The marvelous muscle in Mulder's mouth drops like a hammer, exactly on target. I'll have to ask him how he does that just as soon as I get my brain back... *************************************************************** I wake up slowly, unbelievably relaxed. Twice in a row! What are the odds on that? It should be illegal to feel this good, and probably is in some states. Isn't that what you're supposed to say? Hey, if it means feeling like this regularly, I'll convert. I just lie there for awhile, soaking it up. Eventually I open my eyes. There she is, sleeping like a baby. Her hair is all mussed up and she's wearing a tiny smile, even in her sleep. Ansel Adams was all wrong, *this* is natural beauty. I can't let well enough alone, my hands start to wander across her slumbering form. I have to grin at the aptness of the saying: so round, so firm, so fully packed. God, that's an Olympic-class ass. My fingers skim across her curves and press just a little bit as I rub the muscles on either side of her spine. She smiles and 'ooohs' in her sleep and snuggles into my chest. This is heaven. No question about it. I could retire right now and do nothing but this until I die. I'd be hard as a rock if I didn't already have a morning -- evening? nope, it's morning again -- erection the size of Cleveland. The hydraulic pressure will not be denied much longer. I have to get us untangled before I embarrass myself. It takes a minute to achieve the desired result, and she almost wakes up. I mumble reassuring nonsense and kiss her lips and eyelids softly until she drifts off again. It takes incredible will power not to jump her in her sleep, she's that sexy. I close the door to the bathroom and try to make less noise than Niagara Falls. While I'm in here I avail myself of Scully's mouthwash. Wouldn't want to kill her with my breath when I emerge. I shake my head at my image in the mirror. Nothing this good is free. I know I'm going to pay a horrible price somewhere down the road but I can't make myself care. For once I'm just going to enjoy the moment. Then the nickel drops. I stick my head out to check on her. Still snoring. I sneak out to the living room and dig my cell phone out of the suitcase. Speed dial five gets me a thoroughly irritated Skinner. "This better be good, Mulder." I look at the phone before answering. "How did you know it was me?" He sounds disgusted. "Who else would call me on a Sunday? And while the game is on?" Ooops. He's got me there. I try to keep the grin out of my voice, no sense in annoying the man further. Especially since I need a favor. "Sir, do you recall a '*really* off the record' conversation we had recently?" "Yeeeeees...?" "Sir, I think Agent Scully needs to take some time off." I can hear him sorting the implications in my voice. He knows this is a nonsecure line. Wonder how long it'll take... "I agree. I heard about what happened on Friday." Good catch, boss! I try to inject the proper tones of concern into my voice. "Then you know she probably wouldn't take it coming from me." Suspicion tinges Skinner's voice. "Gonna make me be the bad guy, are you, Mulder?" "That's why they pay you the big bucks, sir." He grumbles a bit before acquiescing, as he must, given that we both suspect we're being overheard. "Okay, but I won't have you sitting down there in the basement playing Doom II on the computer. You were fucking useless last time she went out of town. That's the price, Mulder. If she goes, you go." Oh, he's good. I have to protest a bit more, though. I never give up that easy. "Sir, Scully is the one who needs to unwind. I am quite capable of doing my job..." "Shut up, Mulder. Don't make me get The Folder." Erk. He would, too. "Ah, no sir, that won't be necessary. You will tell her, then?" "After the game, I will. Which you might consider next time you bother me on a Sunday." "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. See you in two weeks, sir." "Good *bye*, Mulder." I jump up and do a little victory dance in Scully's living room, pumping my fist. Yessss! Now, if I can just get back in there before she wakes up... I have no idea how Mulder was able to strong-arm Skinner into giving us this time off. Doesn't matter now, I've got two weeks to torture it out of him. Two entire weeks of not working, just Mulder and me together doing whatever we want. The mind boggles. I can't believe I'm doing this. No plans, no nothing, just get in the car and go! He swears he's got the money to cover it. How he saves anything on our salary is another thing I look forward to torturing out of the man. Various ways and means drift through my head as we walk out to my car. I get to drive since he cabbed over here. He throws our bags in the back seat, then digs in his pocket and comes up with a quarter for the ritual coin toss. I put on a serious face and demand to check the coin. "Jeez, Scully, give me a break. One lousy time! This quarter does *not* have two heads, okay?" I throw him a saucy grin. The impact knocks him back a couple of steps before a slow, amazed smile graces his lips. The pleasant ache between my legs and the memory of what happened in my bed -- and on my couch, and the kitchen table -- is enough to keep me smiling all the way to the train station. "Close your mouth and flip the coin, Mulder." He blinks. "Yes'm." The coin goes up and comes back down, he slaps it across the back of his other wrist and waits for me to call it. "Heads." He looks, grins and shows it to me. Rats. I give him a mock glare before I open my door and slide behind the wheel. "Okay, but no headbanger stuff." He nods in fake submission as he gets in his side and twiddles the controls until he finds the local classic rock station. I shake my head at him while the engine warms up. "Elvis was last weekend, Mulder." "Yeah, well, anything is better than opera." We sit through a couple of stupid commercials and then it's time to hit the road. I check for traffic and pull out smoothly. None of Mulder's NASCAR stuff, it's too nice a morning. I can feel him watching me, his hungry eyes caressing my face. Good thing I burned out all my fuses last night or I'd be blushing right now. God, I haven't blushed in years. Well, I haven't done anything like that in years, either. I resolve to spend the next two weeks making up for lost time. His heart is in good condition and he has no STDs, according to his latest hospital records. He should live. I finally meet his eyes. "What, Mulder?" He's wearing that damn goofy grin again. I can feel my nipples coming up. I hope there's a sleeper car on that train. "Have you decided where you want to go? I read in last Sunday's paper about this village in Mexico where there's no phones, no electricity, no nothing. Just cabins by the Sea of Cortez and lots of privacy." He bobbles his eyebrows suggestively. I think about it for a moment. Riding horses through the surf, gorgeous sundowns... I sigh softly, then shake my head. "I'm a redhead, Mulder. While I'm sure you're picturing me in a bikini in the surf ..." I glance over. Yup. Guilty grin in place, gotcha. "... I'd rather not die of terminal sunburn. Besides, you told me not to worry about money and to indulge myself." Another sidelong glance. He's worried now. Good. Mulder can't stand to be too happy for too long, it makes him nervous. I'm going to have to increase his tolerance for it a bit at a time. Besides, it's fun to watch him squirm for a change. Not to mention that he's waved a red flag at a bull. Money is no object, hey, Mulder? I haven't forgotten that Ice Queen crack. Visions of an expensive bed & breakfast I recently read about dance through my head. Let the games begin... The strains of a bagpipe come from the radio and I recognize an old favorite. "Ooh, Mulder! Turn it up!" He does, and I sigh happily. I love Judy Collins. He smiles sweetly, glad to indulge me. God, this is nice. Dare I hope for a happy ending? Well, hopefully it's not an ending but a beginning. I settle back into the seat and hum along with the music. I've always loved 'Amazing Grace'. Most people know the chorus, and truly it does seem to fit us. Especially after the last two nights. I sing softly along with the first verse when it comes by. 'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, And grace my fears relieved! How precious did that grace appear The hour I first believed. Mulder surprises me by joining in on the second verse. I get a bit misty, remembering his roundabout way of telling me he thinks I'm beautiful. We both fall silent and let Judy finish the song. There will be many changes over the next two weeks. I'm going to have to remember how to be Dana. Even harder, I'm going to have to let him see me as a woman instead of Scully. I wonder how he'll deal with the concept? I have rarely been this afraid. I can't let her see it, she's trying so hard to give me what I want, so I play along as we head out to the car. She even joshes with me about the coin. Usually she waits until I serve up a smart remark before she blasts it back across the net. This time, though, she's taking the initiative. She's even smiling for me. She sends one my way that damn near sets off the cartridges in my pistol. Wow. After a bit of good-natured bickering over the radio station she drives us to the train station. I sit back and admire her profile. God, she's gorgeous. I can't get over the fact that she's actually agreed to spend the next two weeks with me. Just us, no work. I'm filled with affection for this woman. I can't even tease her about waiting for the engine to be properly warmed up instead of turning the key and whipping out into traffic like I do. I can't help myself, I've been hungry for this for so long. I just sit there and drink her in. She catches me at it, of course, and looks amused. Hey, sue me. She wants to know if I have a destination in mind. I throw out the first thing that comes into my head, knowing she'll hate it but knowing it's the best way to get her to make a decision. She never spends any time or money on herself. I intend to rectify this situation. Sure enough, she throws out a couple of hints about how she's going to bleed me dry. I can't wait to see the look on her face when she figures out how much capital I have at my disposal. I look forward to spoiling her rotten for the next two weeks. If she doesn't deserve it I don't know who does. Suddenly she's excited, some old song on the radio. I turn it up and the pipes go right to my heart. I blink quickly to banish the tears and glance over at her. She's singing along softly, she didn't notice. Good, I didn't blow the mood. Bagpipes always remind me of the Black Watch playing at cop funerals. The skirling notes speak to me of all the men and women who've fallen and are yet to fall in the war we wage. Still, I have hopes, largely because of the woman beside me. I try to fix that thought firmly in place and join her in the next verse. Through many dangers, toils, and snares We have already come; 'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far And grace will lead me home. Grace, to me, means Dana Scully. We listen to Ms Collins' pure voice until the song ends, then sit in companionable silence the rest of the way. Scully leaves the car in long term parking and we head for the terminal. She swings along in that purposeful stride I know so well. She's wearing jeans and a t-shirts under her jacket instead of her usual suit and trench coat so I drop back a pace to enjoy the view. About three steps later she notices what I'm up to and slows down a bit, changing to a marvelously sinuous gait. I chuckle in quiet appreciation, but my eyes also sweep the crowd for danger. Try as I might, I can't stop waiting for the Sword of Damocles to drop. -- End --