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It had been hours. Or it felt like it had been hours, anyway. He craned his neck to see the time on the microwave; 3:15. Her appointment was at 1:00, she should be back by now. He considered calling her, but maybe she wanted to be alone. Maybe it was bad news again. He shifted around a bit to get more comfortable on her small couch, thought about lying down in her bed but decided against it. Thought about digging through her fridge for something to eat, but decided against that, too. If Scully was devastated right now, if the last embryo transfer didn’t work, he had no right to physical comfort or nourishment. So he laid there and waited.
When she’d first asked him to be her sperm donor, he was so shocked he couldn’t speak. That turned out to be a good thing, because she insisted that he not answer right away; she wanted him to take some time to think it over, not go with whatever response came to him readily. He wasn’t sure if she was worried that a too-fast response would be a yes or a no; was she afraid he’d regret saying yes? Or was she worried that he’d say no, but might have said yes if he’d had more time to think? It didn’t matter, his immediate answer was yes, and his answer the next day when he stopped by her apartment was yes, and each and every time he saw her, or thought about it, or went to the clinic for his “deposit,” his mind screamed yes. Yes, I want to father your child. Yes, I want to be tied to you forever. Yes, I want to argue over whether or not they can play contact sports or date when they’re 15 and whether we’re willing to pay out of state tuition for college. Yes, I want it all, with you. He didn’t really know if any of that was available to him; maybe she just wanted his sperm and nothing more. But whatever it was, however little or much she wanted from him and with him, the answer when it came to Scully was always yes.
When he’d come by her apartment to give her his answer, there was so much he’d wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he needed her to be in his life always, that whether she decided to quit the FBI or transfer back to Quantico, or something else entirely, that he would be by her side. He’d tried to say all those things, but what came out was “I wouldn’t want this to come between us,” which he realized too late sounded like he was softening a “no.” The look on her face was a punch to the gut; the gentle quiver in her chin that she recovered from quickly, her rush to assure him that it was okay, that she understood. All the profound things he’d wanted to confess fell out of his head and the only thing he could muster was that the answer was yes. Watching the realization dawn on her, the relief flooding her body, the joy that tugged at the corners of her mouth, felt like magic. That he could make her that happy was something he’d only dreamed of. She’d hugged him so tightly, and he smiled against her hair, smelling her shampoo. For as much pain and suffering as he’d brought into her life, he could do this for her. It didn’t make up for all the rest, but it was something.
He’d had a lot of questions about how the procedure worked, but he didn’t want to burden her with explaining it so he did his own research, learning about all the hormones she’d have to inject herself with to prepare her body and the affects they would have on her, and the need for precise timing of when they transferred the embryo into her uterus.
The embryo.
It was a medical term, but in a literal sense it was the combination of their DNA. Half of her and half of him, duplicating and developing into what had the potential to become a baby. It got them ¾ of the way to pregnant; all the embryo had to do was attach to her uterine lining. It just had to stick around. The statistics said there was a 60% chance, generally speaking, but that didn’t necessarily take into account the damage done to her ova under cryo storage, much less the damage done to her body during her abduction; he doubted the medical community had data on how those factors affected her odds.
The first transfer he was mostly out of the loop on. Scully told him when to go in and provide his sperm sample, and that was it. He observed her mood swings and irritability and inferred they were side effects from the hormones, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to be intrusive and wasn’t sure what his role was. He wanted to know everything, but he didn’t think he had a right to. One day, a couple weeks after he’d spent some quality time in the donation room, she’d been flipping through some documents in the office when she got a paper cut. What started with an expletive quickly devolved into sobbing and he was confused, and worried, and a little bit scared. He went to her, gently placing a hand on her back, and she shook her head as if to say “it’s nothing, I’m fine.” He crouched down beside her, trying to see her face, but she hid it in her hands.
“Is it…is it the hormones?” He’d asked tentatively.
She’d looked at him then, her eyes bloodshot and wet, and shook her head again.
“It didn’t take,” she squeaked out between shuddering breaths. “I went in for a pregnancy test yesterday. It didn’t work.”
He’d moved closer, kneeling on the floor beside her chair, and enveloped her in a tight hug, stroking her back as he whispered in her ear reassuringly.
“It’s okay, Scully. We can try again, right?”
She’d nodded, but didn’t speak, her arms wrapped around his neck with a strangling grip. After a time, the sobs that racked her tiny frame subsided and she sniffled, relaxing a little. He took a chance at humor, wanting to bring some levity to the moment.
“That one just wasn’t the one, Scully. It was probably the next Jeffrey Dahmer or something.”
She snuffed a small laugh, pulling back to look at him. The pain in her eyes gripped at his heart and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep his own emotions from spilling over.
“Why didn’t you tell me when the transfer was, or when you were taking a test?” He asked, hoping that his tone conveyed care and concern, not irritation.
She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be that involved. I didn’t want you to feel obligated I guess.”
He picked up one of her hands from her lap and held it between both of his.
“I want to be as involved as you’ll allow me to be. It’s your decision, but I’d like to know where you’re at in the process, if I can. Did more than one zygote make it to embryo stage? Did they freeze any?” His knees ached from kneeling on the floor but he didn’t want to lose this moment where she seemed to be opening up to him.
The corner of her mouth quirked and she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Yes, there were three embryos resulting from fertilization. They transferred one, and the other two are in cold storage. How do you know so much about this, Mulder?”
He gave her a shy smile and shrugged.
“Well I wanted to know what was going to happen to my… my genetic material, so I did a little research.”
Her mouth screwed up in attempt to hide her smile. It was an expression he knew well.
“I promise I’ll let you know for the next one” she finally said, putting her other hand on top of his and squeezing.
She was good to her word, letting him know when she started her period, and that the next transfer would be about 15 days later. She’d even jokingly asked him how his donation appointment went and then laughed at him as his face turned beet red, assuring him it wasn’t a question she expected him to answer. When she snapped at him for something mundane, she apologized and explained that the hormones she was taking to prepare her uterine lining for the embryo transfer made her irritable. On the day of the transfer, she wouldn’t let him go with her but she did let him bring her dinner afterward, and then pretended not to mind that he treated her like she was made of glass until the day she could take a test. Being included in the anticipation and build up was amazing, and he found himself daydreaming about what a child of theirs would look like, how cute Scully would look with a little belly. It also made it that much harder when she called him to say that it didn’t take again. He asked if he could come over, but she insisted that she wanted to be alone. He sat in his empty apartment as the weight of disappointment settled on his shoulders, and he realized how much he had wanted it. Not just for Scully, he’d wanted it for him. He wanted to be a father, wanted to share a child with her. He’d never had strong feelings either way about parenthood, and now he could see that was because he’d never known anyone he wanted to be a parent WITH. Now that he had glimpsed what having a child with Scully might be like, he wanted it more than just about anything. A few quiet tears rolled down his cheeks and he wiped them away before grabbing his gym bag and heading out to shoot some hoops.
They’d had three eggs that fertilized, three chances, and that was it. There were no more viable eggs. The third cycle felt different, less anticipatory and more desperate. She kept him in the loop, but they were both on edge the whole time. After the transfer, she took a day off to relax, hopefully increase her odds, and he brought her lunch and smiled through his anxiety while they talked about everything except what they were both thinking about. He wanted it to work, so badly, but there was nothing he could do to affect the outcome. It felt incredibly helpless, standing by while she overanalyzed every twinge in her belly, wondering if it meant something. Over lunch the day before she went in for her test, he gently asked if he could come with her, trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice. It was news that he was just as invested in as she was, even though he worked hard to hide it. The last thing he wanted to do was add his own emotional needs to her overloaded plate; she should only be worrying about herself, not him. She declined, but compromised on letting him wait for her at her apartment, so he’d know as soon as she got home, and so he could be with her either way.
So here he was, waiting. The delay in her return told him he should prepare for bad news, but the mind is a fickle thing and he was still dreaming of a positive. He envisioned a daughter, a tiny thing with red hair and blue eyes. Basically a pint sized version of Scully, freckles and all. She’d be wicked smart, of course, and curious as hell. He wondered if Scully would want to name her after one of their sisters, maybe both. Would she want the baby to have his last name? It would be her choice, but the idea of another Samantha Mulder having a chance in the world made him smile as a lump formed in his throat. At some point he drifted off, visions of tossing a toddler in the air while Scully looked on with a smile dancing behind his eyelids.
It was the thunk of the deadbolt that woke him. He jolted upright, orienting himself to space and time, rushing quickly to the realization that he was about to learn his fate. Standing, he spoke.
“Scully? I must have dozed off, I was waiting for you to get back.”
One look at her face was enough. He felt his stomach lurch. He tried to find words as his heart quickened, searching for a sign one way or the other, grasping at hope. But he knew. She walked towards him slowly, her chin puckered and her eyes wet. It was bad news.
“It didn’t take, did it?”
“I guess it was too much to hope for,” her voice was strained around the fresh tears that pooled in her eyes.
He felt his heart break. He’d hurt many times, for many reasons. He’d worried over Scully countless times. He’d cried for her, and with her. He’d grieved for his sister for the majority of his life. But this hurt was different. This was the woman he loved more than life itself telling him that her dreams of being a mother were over. It was the end of a road, the slam of a door, the handful of dirt tossed on a coffin containing hope. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hiding his own pained expression in her hair, rocking her back and forth gently.
“It was my last chance” she keened into his ear, and he pulled a deep breath in through is nose to ward off his own tears. He needed to be strong for her. She could not bear the weight of his own grief on top of hers. He held her tighter. Closing his eyes, he tried to steady his breath, swallowing the lump in his throat until he thought he could speak without crying. Pulling away from her slightly, he kissed her forehead and then rested his own against it, taking another beat to recover.
“Never give up on a miracle” he finally said, not sure what exactly he meant by it. He knew he didn’t want her to give up, but he wasn’t sure what a miracle would look like. He did know that if anyone was deserving of a miracle, it was Scully.
She leaned back into him, tilting her face towards his so that for a moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. Just before her lips met his she passed his mouth and instead pressed them against his cheek, resting them there for a beat before she returned to his embrace. They stood like that for an agonizingly long time, rocking gently back and forth while her tears soaked the shoulder of his sweater and and her sobs became more shallow and further apart. He held her until she grew limp in his arms, and then he bent down and scooped her up, carrying her to the couch where he sat with her in his lap. She leaned into his chest, her eyes closed, as he reached down and plucked her boots from her feet, tossing them to the floor in a way that he knew would drive her crazy if she had the wherewithal to care. Next he pushed her coat off one arm, then lifted her torso off him gently to pull it free from the other arm and tossed it, too, onto the floor. Settling back against the couch, he wrapped one arm around her waist and encouraged her to lean into him, her forehead nestled in the crook of his neck. His other hand peppered her with tiny touches of reassurance; a brush down her shin, a stroke on the outside of her thigh, a thumb grazing her jaw, fingertips dancing over her arm, and finally intertwining with hers and settling in her lap. She was quiet for a long time, so long that he thought she may have fallen asleep. Finally she took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Are you okay?” He asked. It was a rhetorical question, but the only only one he could come up with.
“Not really” she answered, her voice flat.
“What do you need?” He inquired further. He felt like he should do something for her. What do you do for someone who just had their dreams stomped into dust?
She didn’t answer, but he felt her head shake gently against him. She didn’t know what she needed anymore than he did.
“Would you like to take a bath?” He asked, giving her a brief squeeze.
Now she nodded, her cheek brushing against his chest. “That sounds nice.”
He placed a kiss on her forehead before he stood with her in his arms; she was so light it took almost no exertion. He turned and set her gently on the couch and then went in to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He used the toilet and then stared at his reflection while he washed his hands. He stared back at himself, his eyes empty and expressionless. He willed himself not to feel, not to let the sadness overtake him too. He needed to focus on Scully. A pang of pain gripped at his heart and he closed his eyes, biting his lip. Just be here for her. Be her strength. She needs you. With a deep breath, he set his jaw, dried his hands, and drew her a bath.
When he returned to the living room, she was curled up in a ball on her side, staring vacantly. He knelt down beside her and ran his hand down the length of her arm. He forced a small smile to his lips. Be strong for her, he reminded himself.
“Hey,” he said in a near whisper. “Bath’s all ready for you.”
She lifted her head and he offered his hand to help her pull her to standing. She listed slightly, unsteady on her feet, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, escorting her into the bathroom.
“holler if you need me, okay?”
She nodded mutely and he left her, leaving the door open a crack. Returning to the living room, he looked around for something productive to do. He picked up her shoes and set them neatly by the door, hung her coat in the closet, straightened the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. Scully kept her apartment very tidy, so there wasn’t much to be done. It was nearly 5, he should think about dinner soon. A cursory inventory of her fridge indicated that they’d need to order out. Maybe they should watch a movie. Maybe she’d just want to go to bed. Should he get her pajamas ready for her? There was that helpless feeling again.
A sound from the bathroom interrupted his train of thought and he froze, listening. A low moan of agony sounded, followed by a gut wrenching sob. He walked quickly to the bathroom, knocking gently as he brought his lips to small space between the open door and the frame.
“Scully?”
Another wail and a sob. He felt a sharp pain in his chest.
“Scully, are you okay?”
He could hear her falling apart, the shredding sound of her pain gripping at him. He needed to go to her.
“Scully, I’m coming in.”
He pushed the door open slowly, the bathtub coming into view incrementally. She was sitting near the faucet with her legs tucked against her chest, her arms wrapped around them protectively. Her forehead was resting on her knees, and she was shaking with sobs as primal, guttural sounds escaped her lips, which were pulled into a grimace.
He rushed to her side, placing his hand on the bare skin of her back, which was dry and cool in the open air.
“Scully? Talk to me.” He felt afraid. He’d never seen her like this before.
She was shivering violently, her jaw chattering. She wouldn’t respond to him. She had gone somewhere else, somewhere deep inside herself. He needed to either pull her back, or go there with her. He needed to be with her. He stood, pulling his sweater and t shirt over his head in one quick movement, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down his legs, plucking off his socks. In a matter of seconds, he was down to his boxers, stepping into the empty space behind her in the tub. He pushed his legs into the narrow gaps on either side of her body and wrapped his arms around her, on top of her own. He pulled her to him so that her back was flush against his chest, and the shock of his warm skin against hers, which was chilled, seemed to jolt her back into reality. She went slack, releasing her grip around her legs as they straightened out before her, her head dropping back against him as she wailed. When she changed position, his arms had drifted to hold her around her rib cage, the soft swell of her breasts brushing against his forearms. She was so raw, so vulnerable, she didn’t even have the sense to care that she was draped over him naked, completely exposed. He was so engulfed with her pain, and with his own threatening to take center stage and pull him under with her, that he didn’t have the presence of mind to be affected by it like he normally may have been. He could see the taper of her waist and the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs, he took in the pinkness of her nipples and the wobble of her breasts as her body shook with her grief, but that’s all it was, grief. He didn’t allow himself to see the beautiful naked body of the woman he loved, he only saw how much pain she was in, and wanted to find some way, any way possible, to help her.
“It’s okay, I’m here” he cooed into her ear, gently rolling side to side in a rocking motion.
She turned then, flipping over on to her belly so that they were chest to chest, her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapping around his torso beneath the water. She was still crying, but more softly, more in control, more present. He looked down the expanse of her bare back, the swell of her buttocks bobbing just above the water line. He saw her tattoo, something she kept mostly hidden from him, and he reached out to trace his finger over it, and endless circle against her skin. His chin quivered and he closed his eyes, keeping his breath steady so she wouldn’t sense the tears that were breaking free from his eyes, rolling down to drop into her hair. He brushed them away, his wet hand spreading even more water on his face, which would only help hide what he wanted to shield her from. Her cries subsided slowly, and then stopped altogether as the water grew tepid. He felt her body stiffen, and knew that she had returned to a level of awareness that made her uncomfortable with how exposed she was and the intimate nature of what they were doing. He lifted his hand to brush her hair from her face tenderly.
“Let me get you a towel, okay?”
She slithered away from him, pulling arms and legs into position to shield her breasts and vulva from view so that he could step out, his soaked boxer shorts clinging to his anatomy. He pulled a towel from the rack and held it open, high enough that it would block his view of her, and she stood so he could wrap it around her tiny frame as she stepped onto the bath mat. He hugged her toweled form to his chest, kissing the crown of her head.
“I’m sorry” she murmured.
He pulled back a bit and looked at her face with confusion.
“For what?” He asked, his voice full of concern.
She shook her head. “I’m a mess” she finally said, her eyes on the floor.
He hooked his finger under her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to look at him.
“Of course you are. It’s okay to be a mess sometimes, Scully. It’s nothing to be sorry for.”
The ache in her eyes told him that she felt guilty for needing him, for being weak.
“Let me take care of you. Please.” He implored, and she closed her eyes and nodded softly.
Stepping away from her, he grabbed a second towel and wrapped it around his waist, reaching underneath to pull off his wet underwear and draping it over the side of the tub before slipping his hand under the water to pull the plug.
“come on, let’s get you dressed,” he directed her, putting his hand on her back as they walked to her bedroom.
She sat on the edge of her bed, exhausted but seemingly out of tears to shed for the moment.
“There are some clothes of yours, in the bottom drawer” she said absently over her shoulder, and he pulled it open to find clean boxers, sweatpants and t shirts, all items he’d noticed go missing at one time or another.
“You starting a collection, G-woman?” He teased her, and he was relieved to see her shoulders lift in the tiniest of chuckles. It was something.
He pulled on dry clothes, not concerned that she might turn and see him nude, then started looking through her other drawers for something she might like to wear.
“Do you want pajamas?” He asked, and she shrugged noncommittally. She didn’t care.
He grabbed some silk pajama pants, a black t shirt that looked like it would be comfortably baggy, and then paused at the smaller top drawers he knew would contain her bras and underwear. Which would be more intrusive; going into her underwear drawer or dressing her commando? He glanced at her over his shoulder and quietly opened the drawer. What was most readily available were black cotton briefs, and he snagged a pair to add to the pile of clothes. Towards the back, he could see lace, and red, pink and blue somethings. He glanced over his shoulder again; she had fallen to her side, her back still to him, head on the pillow. With preemptive guilt, he plucked at the red lace with his fingertips, pulling forward an impossibly tiny thong. He felt a little stirring in his pants and shoved it back in, chastising himself for thinking about her like that in a time like this. He closed the drawer and set the pile of clothes on her nightstand, kneeling down on the floor beside her. Her eyes were open and staring at nothing. She was there, but not. He touched her arm gently to get her attention.
“Scully? There are some clothes for you here. I’m going to order dinner, is there anything in particular that sounds good to you?”
Her eyes focused on him as though she’d only just realized he was there.
“What?”
“What do you want to eat?” He pushed a lock of hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.
She sighed deeply before responding. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’m not sure I can eat.”
“I’ll have to order something really, really good then, so you can’t resist,” he smiled softly at her.
She pushed her mouth into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Okay.”
He left her to get dressed and ordered pizza from her favorite place, then picked through her DVD collection and opted for something silly and light. Just when he was about to go check on her, she emerged from her bedroom dressed in the clothes he’d picked out and looking slightly more alert. She stopped to look at the opening credits playing on the TV.
“Weekend at Bernies?” She asked with raised eyebrows.
“You own it, Scully, don’t try to act like you don’t like it.”
She pursed her lips and nodded, having no retort for that fact, and sat beside him on the couch, folding her legs beneath her. Mulder appraised her out of the corner of his eye; she looked better, a little bit anyway. They watched the movie in companionable silence, Scully smiling but not laughing at the funny parts, until a knock on the door alerted them that dinner had arrived. After paying the delivery boy, he plopped it unceremoniously on the coffee table and grabbed a roll of paper towels.
“Whose apartment are we at, Mulder?” She asked him with a teasing tone, and he got up to retrieve two plates as well two beers from the fridge. “That’s more like it” she declared, and he was relieved by how much she sounded like herself.
They enjoyed upwards of an hour of something resembling normalcy, but he knew that didn’t mean they were out of the woods. While people like to see grief as a concentrated experience that is constant until it disappears, he knew that it operated more like waves against a shore; sometimes gently lapping, sometimes receding into almost nothing, sometimes crashing suddenly without warning. He would enjoy this still water, ready to hold her up when it returned to knock her on her ass, if she’d let him.
She didn’t eat much, picking at one slice of pizza until it was eventually gone, but she did finish her beer and then lay down, not resisting when he picked up her bare feet and set them in his lap, brushing his thumbs gently against the arches in an almost-foot rub. As the movie approached its conclusion, he glanced at her and saw that her eyes were again wet and shining, though her expression was neutral. He squeezed the foot in his hand and she looked at him, offering a sad smile.
“You wanna go to bed?” He asked, and she nodded. It wasn’t yet 9pm, but she was exhausted from emotion.
He stood and offered his hands to pull her to her feet, pausing to wrap her up in a brief hug before he escorted her to her bedroom. He wanted desperately to be near her, but he also knew that she often chose solitude when she was sad, and the fact that she’d allowed him to be here as long as she had was likely the limit of what he was going to get. Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d let him sleep on the couch. He was considering how to make this request as he pulled back the covers and tucked her into bed, sitting beside her hip on top of the comforter. She took his hand and looked at him in the soft light seeping in from the living room with something like trepidation in her eyes.
“Will you stay?” She asked, and the doubt in her voice shocked him.
“Of course I will,” he answered, squeezing her hand. “I can crash on the couch.”
She shook her head gently. “Will you stay here, with me?”
That lump was back, constricting his voice, so he just smiled at her and nodded, crawling over her legs to lay down behind her on top of the comforter, draping his arm over her waist. They were quiet for a while, but he could feel the buzzing of her thoughts and knew she wasn’t sleeping. It was getting chilly as night fell, and he shivered in his T shirt and sweats.
“Are you cold?” She asked, turning her face to the ceiling in an attempt to look at him.
“I’m okay” he lied.
“Get under the covers,” she ordered, and he complied, the warmth of her tiny body a welcome reprieve from the chill of the room. He returned his arm to its station at her waist and she took his hand under the blankets, clutching it to her belly. She sighed deeply.
“What are you thinking?” He asked, sensing that she wanted to talk.
She rolled on to her back, not releasing his hand, and looked at the ceiling as she spoke. “I just…” she started then stopped, and he watched quietly as a tear escaped the side of her eye and trailed down into her ear. “I feel like I don’t know what to do, how to move forward. Being a mother was always what I pictured for my future, and knowing that I’ll never be one….” She stopped again, wiped her free hand at her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was tight and pained. “I feel like I have no purpose. I know it’s stupid and I don’t believe at all that a woman’s only function in life is to bear children, but I still find myself feeling like my life holds no meaning now. What’s the point of this life if I’ll have nothing to show for it, no legacy to leave?”
He felt his own chin quiver and he pulled her to him, burying her face in his chest and wrapping his arms around her back, cocooning her against his body with her toes brushing his shins. He let out a shuddering breath as quiet tears rolled across the bridge of his nose and into the pillow, rubbing her back and willing himself to regain control. How could he tell her that he felt the same way? When his mom was gone, he would have no one on this Earth who was family to him. He would leave no legacy, at least not one he could be proud of. All he had was her, and she was questioning her worth.
“That’s not true, Scully,” he whispered, whispering being all he could manage through his emotions. “You can’t think like that. For one, this doesn’t have to be the end of the road for you, there are other options, other ways you can be a mom. And even if you choose not to pursue those, you have touched so many lives, mine included. Don’t ever think you won’t leave a legacy.”
She didn’t reply, just sobbed against him, clutching at his back until weariness overtook her and she drifted into a fitful sleep. Mulder stayed awake for a long time, enjoying the proximity to her that he so rarely experienced, the gentle thrum of her heart beating against his sternum a reminder that for all they had lost, they still had each other. At some point, he joined her in the reprieve of unconsciousness.
********************************************
When he woke, the room was dim though the clock told him it was after 8am. He could hear the patter of rain against the window; a dreary, grey day to complement their broken hearts. He turned to see Scully still sleeping, her plump lips slightly parted and her blonde eyelashes fluttering with dreams. He wanted so badly to kiss her, but now was not the time. He didn’t want her to think it was borne of pity, or sadness, or anything other than an unabashed desire to touch and love her the way she deserved, the way he’d wanted to for years. Reluctantly, he left the warmth of her bed and body to use the bathroom and then start a pot of coffee.
When she emerged 40 minutes later, he was sitting on the couch in silence, a cup of coffee in his hands and his feet on the table.
“Morning” he greeted her with a warm smile, and he felt his heart clench when she walked right over and sat beside him, leaning into his torso so he would wrap an arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest. He had the distinct feeling that she had missed him from her bed and sought out the comfort of his physical presence, and he placed a kiss to the crown of her head in appreciation. “Sleep okay?”
“Okay enough,” she answered.
“Do you feel up to going out for breakfast? Or I can go pick it up and bring it back here, if you want.”
“No, I should get dressed and attempt to be a functioning human at some point” she said, sitting up extracting herself from his embrace. “Give me 30 minutes?”
“I’ll be here, take your time” he replied, and she retreated to the bathroom where he heard the shower come on. Her change in demeanor lifted his spirits, and her acceptance of his comfort drew a smile to his lips. Though he hated the circumstances, he couldn’t deny how good the physical closeness felt. He knew that she’d likely put her walls back up without warning, and vowed to enjoy it while it lasted.
******************************************
After a short wait, they snagged a booth at one of Scully’s favorite breakfast spots that offered things beyond pancakes and bacon; scrambles on a bed of greens with whole cloves of garlic and house made potatoes were just what she needed. He was happy to see her actually eat and they chatted idly about a case they were planning to fly out on next week, some bureau gossip and the merits of jam versus jelly. During a lull in conversation, he saw Scully glance behind him toward the door and her face fell. He turned to look and immediately knew that the very pregnant woman talking to the hostess was the source of her demeanor change. He slipped out from his side of the booth and sidled up next to her on her side, taking her hand under the table wordlessly.
“I know this is going to sound really terrible,” she spoke in a hushed tone, “but this whole experience has made me really hate pregnant women. I feel angry at them for being able to get pregnant when I can’t.” He easily identified the shame in her statement.
“I think that’s pretty normal. I’ve always kind of hated people with normal families and parents who give them the time of day. It’s not very productive, but it can be pretty cathartic, at least in my experience.”
She looked at him skeptically. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“No, I’m serious. When I see a two parent family with a boy and a girl, having a nice time out at the park or whatever, some part of my brain thinks ‘I hope they drop their ice cream cone on the pavement.’”
Scully laughed. The sound paired with the broad smile on her face were like fireworks and he beamed at her.
“That’s messed up, Mulder. I like it.”
“I bet that lady’s baby will come out with one of those smushed cone heads” he offered.
“I bet she has heartburn so bad she hasn’t slept in weeks” she retorted, smiling guiltily.
“She can’t see her feet and doesn’t realize her toenails look like raven claws.”
“She’s probably going to throw up that fancy breakfast she just ordered.”
“I bet she takes a giant poop on the delivery table,” he quipped, and Scully burst into a fit of giggles so bad she put her arm on the table and rested her forehead on it while she tried to collect herself, her body shaking.
He felt like he was walking on air, knowing that he could make her laugh like this when she was so low. He would happily quit the FBI and spend the rest of his life trying to make her laugh. Finally, she lifted her head, her eyes shining with tears of joy instead of sadness, that megawatt smile still on her lips.
“You’re right, that was cathartic” she said, and leaned in to press her lips to his cheek. In that moment, he realized the capacity of the heart to hold so much joy and sadness at once, and was amazed that he was able to stand and walk out of the restaurant without crumpling under the weight of it all.
******************************************
It was past noon when they arrived back at her apartment. He followed her inside and she gave no indication that she wanted him to leave, so he decided to stick around until she told him otherwise. She toed off her shoes by the door and hung her coat, then walked right into her bedroom and flopped onto the bed face down. Mulder removed his shoes and jacket, then slowly meandered his way to the room, mentally scanning back over all that had taken place in the last 24 hours in order to decide if it would be weird for him to lay down with her. He recalled holding her naked in the bathtub as she cried the night before and figured that they had already well crossed the line of awkward, so he crawled up on to the bed next to her and lay on his side, head propped up in his hand. After a beat, Scully rolled onto her back, her side now flush with the front of his body. She studied his face, searching for something, to which he raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Aren’t you sick of me yet?” She asked self consciously.
His face flashed on confusion and he reached out to brush his fingers over her forearm, which was draped across her stomach. “What are you talking about?”
She sighed. “You’re very sweet, Mulder, and I am so grateful for your being here with me, but you really aren’t obligated to stand witness to my wallowing. You can go home whenever you want.”
“I know I can,” he replied, thumb still tracing across the bump on her wrist. “Do you want me to leave?”
She shook her head solemnly. “I just…I know this affects me very differently than it does you and I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay.”
“How does it affect me differently?” He asked, trying to understand what she was thinking.
“It’s okay, Mulder, this was always my thing. And you’ve been so supportive of me, but it’s okay if you just want to move on with your life. I don’t expect you to sit around and watch me be sad.”
He looked at her, her eyes averted to some invisible spot on the ceiling. She really did believe that everything he’d done was only as a favor to her. That he was just being a good friend. He should be glad; that was exactly what he was shooting for, to save her from the burden of his feelings, but instead he felt a swell of loneliness.
“You think I’m not sad, Scully?”
She looked at him sharply, confusion pulling at every corner of her face.
“I-“ she paused, considering. “Well I think you’re sad for me.”
Her eyes were so blue, and so open. The lump was back in his throat, but this time he didn’t try to fight it. His lip quivered a little bit.
“I am, I’m very sad for you.” He said in a hoarse voice. “but I’m sad for me, too.”
“Why?” She asked, and it was a little bit rhetorical. She could imagine, but she wanted to hear him say it. Her eyes were big and growing misty at this revelation.
He looked beyond her, towards her closet door, while he spoke. “I’ve never given much thought to having kids. When you asked me to help you, I said yes because-“ he took a breath and looked at her face, which was rapt and searching. “I said yes because I care about you, I love you, so much, and I wanted to make you happy.” Her eyes were now brimming with tears, but she was still and quiet, listening. “But the more I imagined it, what it would be like to have a baby with you, the more excited I got. I know that’s very presumptuous, because you never said I would have any active role in the child’s life, but I hoped I would. I know I wasn’t dreaming of it for as long as you were, and I know it’s not the same, but I’m sad too, Scully. I wanted this too.”
The tears were spilling from her eyes now, her chin pebbled and her lip quivering. He lifted a hand to her face and brushed the dampness from her cheek with his thumb. “Anybody ever tell you you’re really beautiful when you cry?” He asked and smiled half-heartedly, wanting to somehow move forward from what he’d shared. He moved his hand to rest on her hip.
She brought her hands to cup his face, smoothing her thumbs along his jaw. “You do, Mulder,” she said in a sob-choked whisper.
“I do what?” He questioned, not following.
“You do make me happy,” she finished. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-I just thought you were doing this for me. I never meant to discount your feelings.”
“Don’t be sorry, Scully. I went to great lengths to hide them from you, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I see that I just left you to go through all that alone. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“What did you think about? When you imagined it, what did you imagine?” She’d stopped crying, her hands moving to rest on his chest, her torso tilting slightly towards him.
He smiled shyly. “Well, I always pictured a girl, I don’t know why. A tiny version of you, red hair and blue eyes.”
Her lips curled into a smirk. “She couldn’t look exactly like me, what would she get from you?” She asked, enjoying dreaming together even if it was too little too late.
“Maybe she’d be really good at basketball? Or maybe she’d have brown eyes, anything other than my nose.”
Scully reached up and ran her finger down the bridge of his nose. “I like your nose” she said, her voice full of affection. Her finger continued to trail down to rest on his bottom lip, and he puckered them into a kiss to her fingertip. She blushed and returned her hand to his chest, her eyes still locked on his.
“When you said not to give up on a miracle, what did you mean?” She asked, and he felt his heart quicken.
He swallowed hard, bringing his hand from her hip to her face, brushing his thumb across her lips. “The kid should definitely have your mouth. You have a beautiful mouth,” he said, then leaned toward her and pressed his lips softly to hers. It was a lingering kiss, though closed-mouthed and chaste, her hands sliding to his neck and back, respectively, pulling her body flush with his so they were both on their sides. When he broke the kiss, he stayed so close he could feel her breath cooling the moisture on his lips. He waited, needing some indication from her that she wanted to continue, and within seconds she had latched on to his bottom lip and was sucking at it gently before sliding her tongue along his teeth, seeking entrance. He sighed into her mouth and lapped at her tongue, his hand returning to her hip, then sliding under her shirt to touch the bare skin of her back. They kissed deeply and languidly, sucking and licking every surface, tasting coffee and salt and desire. When Mulder released her lips and brought his mouth to the flesh of her neck, she made a tiny gasping sound that elicited a moan from his throat and an unconscious thrust of his hips against her. Only now did he realize how hard he was, and that she could very likely feel it. The thought both terrified him and turned him on even more. He kissed and licked at her neck, nipped at her earlobe and scraped his teeth across her shoulder, all of which she seemed to enjoy immensely based on the breathy sounds tumbling from her lips. His hand was far enough under her shirt that it had slipped under the band of her bra and he ran his fingers beneath it around the perimeter of her rib cage until he came into contact with the soft flesh of her breast. He paid close attention to how she responded, to sense any hesitation, but to his delight she reached back and unclasped her bra with one hand, granting him access. He trailed his fingers along the underside of one breast, stopping when he felt the firm bud of her nipple and she hummed and arched her back into him, encouraging his touch. His heart was pounding, his cock straining against his jeans, begging to be touched, but he willed his body to slow down. He wanted to savor this, in case it was all he ever got. He also wanted to make sure that he didn’t miss any signals that it was too much, that she wanted to stop.
Scully did not seem to be on the same page.
Without warning, she sat up and peeled her shirt off over her head, tossing it aside as she flung her unclasped bra from her arms. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him to lie on his back and straddled him on the bed, her bare breasts hanging in the space between their chests like sweet little pendulums. She leaned in to kiss him and he felt the hardened tips of her nipples graze his chest through his shirt, his hips thrusting against her in appreciation. He let his hands slide up her bare back, then follow the curve of her waist back down to her hips, marveling at the softness of her skin. She gyrated against him and they both moaned, the sounds colliding between their open mouths deafeningly loud in the quiet apartment. Suddenly he had doubts.
“Scully, wait,” he said against her lips, and she froze. “Are you sure…are you sure you want to do this?”
He could practically hear the walls constructing around her. The speed with which she sat up, brought her hand across her chest in a belated attempt at modesty and went to move off him was alarming. He wrapped his arms around her hips at the last second, holding her in place. She wasn’t looking at him.
“Just a second, just talk to me for a second, please,” he begged, not wanting to lose her to the place inside herself where he couldn’t follow.
She shook her head, eyes on the wall behind him. “I’m sorry, Mulder, just forget it.”
He sat up, scooting back to recline against the headboard, bringing her with him. She was so small and vulnerable, her arm still draped protectively across her chest. He brought his hands to the sides of her face, tilting it to look at him. She kept her eyes on his mouth or forehead, anywhere but his eyes.
“Scully, look at me,” he said softly, and she did, shame shining in the tears that pooled under her irises. “Scully, I want this, I want YOU, more than you could possibly imagine. I just don’t want you to do anything that you’ll regret later. I don’t want to take advantage of you when you’re not in a good place. I couldn’t live with myself if you regretted it.”
She licked her lips and blinked slowly. “I won’t regret it, Mulder,” she said with confidence and conviction. She didn’t need to say the rest, he could intuit it from her demeanor; she had wanted this for as long as he had.
His hands still on her face, he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. She dropped her arm from her chest and ran her hands down his torso, finding the hem of his shirt and slipping her hands underneath. Her fingertips on his belly were electric, their proximity to where he wanted to be touched most not going unnoticed. She pushed his shirt up and he leaned forward and allowed her to pull it over his head, tossing it aside. Before she could lean back into him, he dipped his head and captured a nipple between his lips, brushing his tongue over its hardened peak. She let out a breathy moan and pushed her hands into his hair, encouraging him as he switched sides, squeezing and massaging the breast not in his mouth with eager hands. He intermittently allowed himself to be lost in the moment, enjoying smells and sounds and sensations long forgotten or entirely new, before it would hit him suddenly that this was Scully. His Scully, half clothed in his lap, mewling and writhing under his touch, wanting him. Having wanted him for how long? He’d have to consider the implications of that at a later date.
He released her breast with a wet smack and she leaned against him, bare chest to bare chest, the cooling moisture on her nipples tingling on his warm skin. She tucked her face against his neck and kissed him tenderly along the juncture of his shoulder, a contented sigh rushing past his ear. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she clung to him tightly.
“You okay?” He asked, trailing his hand up and down the bare skin of her back.
She nodded against his shoulder, then lifted her head to look at him. “Very okay,” she said with a tender expression. He took in the freckles dusting skin, the little beauty mark above her mouth that she always covered with makeup, the soft pink of her lips, puffy from their kisses. Affection and love swelled in his chest. He smiled softly at her and the corners of her mouth quirked in response.
“What?” She asked, a little self consciously.
He shook his head gently, dispelling any concerns she had. “You’re so beautiful” he said.
She rolled her eyes and scoffed, brushing him off.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He asked, and she lifted one arm to rest an elbow on his shoulder, propping her head on her fist. The other hand trailed around his waist, teasing at his skin. She was delightfully on display, and he kept his hands on her hips, resisting the urge to speed things up, relishing the moment.
“I suppose now’s as good a time as any,” she replied playfully. “Shoot.”
“I saw you, once, before we met officially in my office. Skinner gave me a heads up about my new partner and I did a little digging to learn that you taught at the academy, and I snuck into one of your classes.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “And?”
Mulder chuckled. “AND, when you stepped up to the lectern my very first thought was ‘holy shit-she’s gorgeous.’ And I didn’t want a new partner, so I decided that I was going to seduce you and then drive you away, which was kind of my specialty at that time.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said coyly. “But you didn’t-why?”
“Well,” he continued, sliding his hand from her hip up to her waist, then further up to her rib cage, his thumb brushing against the side of her breast. “I stayed for your class, and I read your thesis, and I was impressed. And when I met you, I really liked you, beyond just how you looked. And after Bellefleur, I saw how willing you were to trust me, and listen to me, and I didn’t want to lose that. I guess I was even more interested in your brain than I was in your body.” He cupped her breast in his palm, thumb skirting over her nipple, which puckered in response to his touch. “Although, now that I’ve seen you naked, I’m second-guessing my position.”
She made a mock-angry face and darted her hand up to his armpit, tickling him. He clenched his arms to his sides protectively and then grabbed her by the waist, flipping her on to her back beside him and moving to hover over her, arms bracketing her shoulders with one of his knees settling between her thighs.
“What about you?” He asked, dipping his head to brush his lips across her clavicle. “What was your first impression of me?”
“I’d heard some rumors,” she responded breathily. “I was expecting you to be good looking, and you did not disappoint.” He hummed against her skin. “But I had a boyfriend when we were first assigned to work together.”
He lifted his head to look at her, surprise and confusion on his face. “You did? You never mentioned him.”
She brought her hands to his waist, sliding them down towards his lower back until her fingers brushed against the top of his jeans. “I broke up with him within the first month we worked together.”
“Why?” He asked earnestly.
Her fingers danced against the edge of the rough fabric, slipping inside and teasing the skin just above his ass. “I didn’t really have time for him anymore,” she said, running her fingers around his hips until they were hitched just under the button of his fly. “And I realized that when I was with him, I was always thinking about someone else.”
She popped the button open and he shuddered, dropping his head to kiss her as she lowered his zipper slowly, painfully slowly. Her lips were warm and soft as her fingernails skirted through the hair below his belly button, inching closer to the elastic of his boxers. He felt like a live wire, on the edge of sparking and bursting into flame. The thought that he may immediately come when she touched him crossed his mind and he felt preemptively embarrassed. Her fingers slipped under the elastic and his heart was pounding in his ears, his erection straining, desperate, needy for her touch. His mouth had stopped movement, open against hers but stilled in anticipation, his breath ragged.
“You okay?” She asked against his lips, a smile in her voice. She paused her movement, her hand mere inches from the head of his cock.
He let out a breath and a half-laugh. “Yeah, sorry. It’s-uh-it’s been a while. I have absolutely no confidence in my stamina and I’m afraid I’m going to embarrass myself.”
She dragged her lips back and forth across his. “Do you trust me?” She asked, her voice sultry.
“You,” he paused to press his lips to hers in a kiss, “are the only one I trust.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about,” she replied, letting her hand drift lower until the soft tips of her fingers brushed against his cock and he groaned, sucking her bottom lip between his.
They kissed, sloppy, wet, making-out style kisses while she explored him tenderly, skirting from tip to base before she wrapped her fist softly around him and pumped once. She made a little sound of approval and he felt his confidence surge along with all the blood that was vacating other areas of his body and traveling to his crotch. The hand that was not stroking him pushed at the top of his jeans, forcing them down and off his hips along with his boxers. It felt incredible, but he didn’t want it to be over so soon.
“Slow down there, ma’am” he said in a jovial tone, pulling her hand from him and his boxers back up. He stood, kicking his jeans off before returning to his station above her, taking note of her moderately confused expression. “I’m a huge fan of what you’re doing, but I have a very strict ‘ladies first’ policy to uphold here.”
“Oh” she responded, a flash of doubt crossing her features.
He pivoted so that he was laying next to her on his side, one leg draped over hers. With his free hand he traced a path down her sternum, between her breasts, until it rested on her belly just above her pants. “What’s wrong?” He asked, seeing how hesitant she’d suddenly become, the confidence of the prior moment having dissipated quickly.
She screwed up her mouth. “I guess it’s my turn to be self-conscious.”
“About what?” It was hard for him to imagine that Scully, one of the most confident, self-assured people he’d ever known, would be self-conscious.
She inhaled and let the air escape her lips haphazardly in a puff. “This is really embarrassing, but I-uh- I haven’t shaved in a while.” She looked at him with a cringing smile and he felt affection swell in his chest. He laughed, and she stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.
“I’m not laughing at you, Scully. It’s actually very cute that you think I’d give a single shit about that. Honestly, you could be Sasquatch from the waist down and it would not deter me one bit.”
She smiled at him. “It’s not THAT bad, thankfully.”
He thought about pointing out that he had seen her naked just yesterday, but he didn’t want to remind her of how they ended up here and dampen the mood, so instead he slowly slid his hand to cover the button of her jeans, poising his thumb to pop it open.
“I’d say we could turn the lights off, but they ARE off, and it’s the middle of the day.” She nodded. “We can always take a rain check, if you want.”
She licked her lips and shook her head. He flicked the button with his thumb and she inhaled a quick breath, not quite a gasp. He leaned down to capture her in a kiss as he worked the zipper, and was pleasantly surprised when she lifted her hips and reached down to wiggle out of her pants, kicking them away. He glanced down and barely suppressed a smile when he saw that she was wearing the lacy red thong he’d seen in her drawer the day before. He slipped his hand behind her and moaned as his fingers grazed the bare skin of her ass, traveling down to the back of her thigh where he pulled on her leg to hitch it over the top of his, the thin cotton of his boxers and a little lace all that stood between them. He kissed her as he gently rocked his pelvis against hers, kneading one breast as her hands were in his hair and on his back and his hips; she was touching him all over, hungrily exploring him. He could feel her heat on his cock, radiating desire that he desperately wanted to taste. He’d imagined how she’d taste thousands of times, stroking himself alone in his apartment while in his mind, his tongue was slipping between her wet folds until she called his name. Removing his hand from her breast, he trailed it down her body and slipped it under her panties quickly, not pausing to ask if it was okay. He should have asked, but for just a moment he lost control and let his desire take over. Down past her hair he traveled, not paying it any mind as promised, dipping into her silky wetness.
“Fuck” he whispered against her mouth.
She was so wet. So incredibly, unbelievably wet. Knowing that it was because of him, and for him, made him dizzy. He explored her, sliding across her swollen lips and eliciting whimpers from her mouth, tracing up and around her clit, not touching it directly, to which she dug her fingernails into his neck. Suddenly, he remembered his manners.
“Is this okay?” He asked breathlessly, grinding his erection against her hip bone.
“Oh my god, yes,” she replied, her voice trembling with want.
He pulled his hand from the tiny triangle of lace and tugged it free from her hips and down her legs, tossing it away as her leg fell to the side. He slid his finger down her slit again, this time finding her entrance and pushing his middle finger inside, the throaty moan that vibrated into his open mouth going straight to his dick. He pressed up into her front wall, sliding in and out in search of the spot he hoped to find. When she gasped and her hips jerked, he knew he’d found it and he stayed here, flexing his finger gently as her head fell back and her eyes closed. He correlated little moans to the pulse of her walls against his finger and could only imagine how amazing it would feel when he was inside her. He wanted to taste her, but wasn’t sure if he should ask or just go for it. Moving over her, keeping his finger inside, he kissed down her neck and chest, pausing to suck and lick her breasts, continuing down her belly. It should be obvious where he was headed, if she wanted to stop him she had ample opportunity. He kissed the insides of her thighs as he positioned himself between her legs and she said nothing, though she threw her arm across her eyes as though to create a little privacy for herself. She had fine downy hairs, strawberry blonde and not at all obtrusive, and somehow knowing that this was just her as she is, not a version of herself that she had curated for him, made it even better. She smelled incredible, sweet and earthy and warm like rising dough and ripe fruit. His finger still fluttering inside her, he darted his tongue out to taste her lips and she panted, anticipating. She was slick and salty and after the first lick, he growled and lapped at her hungrily, causing her hips to jump off the bed. He hummed and groaned as though he were the one being pleasured, flicking her clit with the pointed tip of his tongue and intermittently sucking at it while she whimpered and breathed hard in shuddering gasps. The flexing pulses of her walls against his finger increased in frequency and he thought she may be close, so he found a combination of movements and a pace that she responded to and stuck with it, not deviating as her breathy moans became louder. Suddenly she gasped and brought the hand covering her eyes to the back of his head, holding stalk still as he continued with the same pressure and speed. He chanced a look at her face and she was watching him, her mouth hanging open and her eyebrows knitted in the most beautiful expression of pleasure he could ever have imagined. Locking eyes with her, he felt the vice grip of her walls clamp around his finger and then her clit started to pulse under his tongue as her eyes rolled back in her head and she made a sound that must be the ambient noise in heaven for how blissful it was. Her head fell back and her thighs clamped against the sides of his face and he didn’t stop, not until she pushed him away when it became too much. She went limp, and he crawled back up the bed to her, draping his body over half of hers and kissing her neck.
“Hi” he ventured, and she put her hand over his mouth with a “shhhhh” to which he laughed. “Oh it’s like that is it?” He asked and she nodded, not answering or opening her eyes. She sighed with a satisfied hum and they lay there for a few minutes quietly.
Finally she opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Hi,” she said, running her hand through his hair.
“Back among the living are we?” He asked, returning her smile.
She shrugged. “Take it as a complement if you like.”
“I do like. Very much so.”
She turned to face him, both on their sides, threading her arm around his back and tucking her face into his chest. He ran his hand down her back and over her bare backside where he gave her a squeeze and she chuckled.
“I don’t know, Scully. I’ve seen you in a lot of outfits I liked, but I think we may have found a winner.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “Somehow I think that might violate bureau dress code” she said, her own hand mirroring his and sliding into his boxers to squeeze his ass.
He kissed her, at first tenderly but before long they were biting at each other’s lips as his reawakened erection pressed into her belly. She moved her hand from his ass to his cock, squeezing and stroking firmly as he groaned.
“Mulder?” She said against his mouth.
“Mmmm?” He said in response.
“Take your boxers off” she directed, and he discarded them quickly with one hand, the feel of her naked body against his length warm and welcome and delicious.
He thrust against her, whimpering when her tiny hands cupped his balls gently and squeezed. He wanted to be inside her, but he didn’t know if she wanted that, or if it was too soon. He would definitely come if she kept stroking him like this, and he was more than happy if that was as far as they went. She tilted her body into his, slowly pushing him onto his back, and he buzzed with anticipation of what she might do next. She slid her body on top of his, dragging her knees up to rest on either side of his hips. She was straddling him, dear god. She had her upper body flush to his and was kissing him furiously, flexing her hips so that his cock slipped back and forth against her hot center, and he wasn’t sure if he was about to die or ascend to heaven. She pulled back just a little and looked at him.
“Is this-I don’t want to assume- what you want,” she fumbled with her words, trying to ask him for consent. His heart swelled knowing that she cared about him so much, that she was afraid SHE might do something HE was uncomfortable with.
“I want you,” he said in response, hands on her hips, then added “should we…do we need to use something?”
Her face fell a little and regret panted in his chest. They had forgotten about that, for a time. Allowed themselves to be lost in this moment, and he’d jut pulled them back. She shook her head solemnly.
“Doesn’t seem necessary,” she answered. “Unless you have a secret sex life I’m not privy to,” she added, smirking. He hadn’t ruined the moment, thank god.
He held up his right hand “just this one,” he said with a smile.
“Well that’s hardly a secret, Mulder,” she replied, leaning forward to kiss him as her hand gripped his erection and guided it to her opening.
Just the tip at first, and they kissed while she slowly, so slowly, lowered herself onto him. Each delicious inch had his breath staggering, resisting the urge to push into her, letting her take her time and be in control. She was so small and while he didn’t classify himself as exceptionally endowed, there was still a possibility that he’d hurt her. When she had swallowed every bit of him, sitting fully in his lap as he disappeared inside her, they both relaxed and stilled for a moment, brushing their lips together languidly. She began to rock her hips and he groaned, struggling to stay still in this moment he’d waited so long for.
Scully snickered. “You want to be on top, don’t you?” She asked, flexing her hips forward and back.
“I…I am just happy to be here at all” he replied through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into her hips.
She lifted off him and he cried out from the loss of her heat. “Where are you going?” He asked with more panic and desperation in his voice than he would have liked.
She lay on the bed beside him, her legs falling open in invitation. “Come on, G-man. Show me whatcha got,” she said playfully, and he practically lunged at her, kissing up her torso until he was once again poised at her entrance.
He slipped inside her with a forceful thrust and she gasped and then smiled, her arms threading around his neck. Nose to nose, he began a steady rhythm, the smile fading from her face as pleasure overtook her. He hooked his hand under her knee and lifted her leg up to rest against his ribcage, deepening his angle, and she whimpered. She felt amazing, tight and slippery, and the fact that it was her made his head swim. This was so much better than he’d ever imagined, and he’d imagined it a lot. The details he never knew to conjure in his fantasies struck him the most; the sound of her wetness as he slid in and out of her, the gentle bounce of her breasts with each thrust, the warmth of her breath on his cheek as she panted and moaned, the nudge of his balls against her ass each time he reached the hilt.
“Oh god, you feel so good” she breathed against his ear, and he felt new waves of pleasure flush through his pelvis, bringing him closer to orgasm than he wanted to be yet.
She removed one of her hands from his neck and brought it down between them, rubbing little circles over her clit. The sight of her touching herself was overwhelming and he closed his eyes, hiding his face in her shoulder. She was moaning and he could feel her flexing around his cock sporadically. Was she going to come again? Jesus, he was so close, he either needed to slow himself down or get her to the edge with him, and the way she was moaning in his ear there was no way in hell he was going to be able to slow himself down. He shifted his weight to one arm and brought his hand to her breast, squeezing and pinching her nipple. She gasped and then went still and quiet, so he kept pace on his thrusting and rolling her nipple between his fingers, hanging on, so close.
Fireworks. Or an avalanche maybe. No, a tsunami. Receding, quiet, invisible before it rushes forward and overtakes you. That’s how it felt when she starting coming around him, squeezing and pulsing, tight and wet and overwhelming. He saw nothing but white behind his eyelids, blinding hot pleasure coursing through his balls and gripping at his cock, drawing every drop from his body. He lost sense of space and time, up and down, day and night, and disappeared inside her. Sounds echoed around the room, booming and crashing, and he wasn’t sure where they came from- maybe his own lungs?
When he had the wherewithal to comprehend the world around him, they were back on their sides, his softening cock still inside her as they panted. She opened her eyes lazily and looked at him with so much affection and adoration as she reached up to stroke his cheek. To his surprise and embarrassment, he felt tears prick at his eyes and he bit his lip to try and ward them off. She pushed her lip into a pout and leaned forward to capture him in a sweet kiss. Betraying him, the tears fell from his eyes and she kissed them from his cheeks. He shook his head ruefully.
“Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m a damn mess.”
She stroked her fingers over his neck and through his hair, down his back, comforting him.
“It’s okay to be a mess sometimes,” she said softly, then smiled at him warmly.
He chuffed a little laugh, recognizing his own words, and nodded.
“Will you stay?” She asked, her eyes hopeful, no longer unsure.
“For as long as you’ll have me,” he answered.
He slipped out of her and got up to grab a towel. After they were both wiped clean, they stayed in bed for a bit marveling at the feeling of each other’s nakedness and the gravity of what had just happened between them. Mulder lay on his back with Scully’s head on his chest, their legs intertwined beneath the covers, his fingers trailing lazily up and down her back.
“You never answered my question, Mulder,” she finally said.
“Which question was that?”
“When you said not to give up on a miracle, what did you mean?”
He considered the question for a moment. “I’m not really sure, honestly. But I know that there have been so many times with you where I thought hope was lost, but you came through. Your abduction, your cancer, when you were taken by Schnauz or shot by Ritter. Over time I’ve learned never to give up on you, because by some miracle things always turn out okay. I don’t see why this should be any different.”
She was quiet for a while. Finally she sighed and draped her arm over his waist, squeezing him. “I hope you’re right, Mulder.”
“Aren’t I always?”
She paused. “No. No, you’re not,” she replied, and they both laughed, cuddling closer against the rain that still fell outside.