Chapter Text
1.
She left Carson City in the rain. The locals had warned her that a storm was coming, that she’d be better off waiting it out, but for once in her life she didn’t give a fuck about what she was supposed to do.
The case had been a bust. Her partner, recently assigned and soon to be reassigned, was also a bust. The bureau was going to have a meltdown about that. And then there was the phone call she’d just received during a shitty meeting in a city she didn’t know nor particularly enjoy. She couldn’t even think about that yet without feeling a stab of pain. It felt like her whole life was basically a bust. She had to hit the road, be on the move, and outrun the weight of it all.
She tossed her suitcase into the back of the navy-blue Ford Taurus that she’d been so generously assigned by the field office. The FBI really had love affair with Taurses, and for the life of her she couldn't understand why. If she ever died in the line of duty, her last feeling might be gratitude that she’d never have to drive another one. This one was particularly bad, because the driver’s seat was molded into the shape of an ass that wasn’t hers, and she felt permanently lopsided when she drove it.
She backed out of the motel parking lot with a screech of tires and hit US Route 50, otherwise known as “The Loneliest Road in America.” At first, it didn’t live up to its name. There were gas stations and convenience stores every few miles. The rain fell gently, the Sierra Nevadas were in her rearview mirror and the Desatoya and Shoshone mountains loomed ahead. It wasn’t ugly. At least there was that.
The plan was simple: drive straight through to Salt Lake City. It was only 3 PM, and she was wide awake. She had a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee for now and a Diet Pepsi for later. She didn’t have snacks, but at the moment she couldn’t imagine feeling hungry. She had three CDs to choose from and a book on tape - a veritable cornucopia of entertainment.
Mostly, though, she wanted to drive because a long road trip alone was cathartic. It soothed her. It made her feel free, like she could be anyone, do anything. No one knew she was the enigmatic Dana Scully, medical doctor and special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Her reputation for logic, reason, and an even temperament did not apply. The solitude was heavenly.
Silly, she thought. You live alone, most of your time is alone time. Now you won’t even have a partner, so you can look forward to spending much of your work day alone, too. You want solitude, when you’re already a hermit?
These thoughts were intrusive and unhelpful, and she tried to turn them off, but they ignored her commands and continued. Good work. You’re a parody. You’re a workaholic who can’t maintain a relationship because you’re married to your job. You’re probably destined to be single forever. And childless, too - don’t forget childless. She’d always imagined herself as a mother, and this last part made her ache for things she’d lost without ever having in the first place.
“Shut up,” she murmured. She reached over to the passenger seat and chose a CD – Natalie Merchant’s Tigerlily - and shoved it into the player. She would sing along, because it was hard to sing and have mean, self-deprecating thoughts at the same time. Plus, if she turned the volume up loud enough, she wouldn’t have to hear herself. That would be good, because couldn’t carry a tune.
“Oh, happy day,” she muttered as she punched the skip button until she got to the song she wanted.
Well, I’ve walked these streets - a virtual stage, it seemed to me.
Makeup on their faces,
Actors took their places next to me...
It was a song that resonated. “All the world’s a stage,” as Jaques said in William Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Life is a theater in which you played your role, took a bow, and faded out. If you were very lucky and put on an exceptional performance, you got a standing ovation. The thought was soothing. The pain she suffered wasn’t personal, it was simply a twist in her character’s story...her job was to keep acting and see it through. Part of her knew this was a type of disassociation and may not be healthy, but she didn’t care. Sometimes you did what you had to do to survive.
She found herself relaxing into the driver’s seat. Her mind emptied. The rain began to fall harder as she drove through plains of sagebush and rolling foothills. The last vestiges of civilization were slowly disappearing – the gas stations were more and more often deserted, and the convenience stores were replaced with abandoned structures left over from a mining boom that had long since passed. She didn’t notice.
2.
Nearly four hours had gone by, and now the rain fell in sheets. The formerly dusty road was slick with mud, and the sky was so heavy and oppressive that she wanted to scoot down in her seat and make herself smaller, closer to the ground. She slowed to 50, then 40. By the time she reached 35, her nerves were shot. Her wipers slapped uselessly at the deluge as the ribbon of road disappeared into a darkness that swallowed it whole.
You’re usually so careful… a rule follower. See what happens when you’re not?
She yanked open the case of her audiobook without taking her eyes off the road and stuck the first tape into the slot. Distraction. She needed distraction.
“Random House Audio presents ‘G’ is for ‘Gumshoe’, by Sue Grafton. Copyright 1990 by Sue Graf...”
There was a garbled, squealing sound, and she jabbed the eject button. The tape slithered out like a snake, the ribbon unraveling in her hand. She forced herself to ignore the urge to hammer the thing on the steering wheel until it shattered into a hundred little pieces and instead tossed it into the back seat. She drove on.
Faint lights appeared on the horizon and her pulse kicked up. Civilization? Or maybe it was a mirage. Could there be a mirage in a storm?
As she grew closer, though, she saw that it was a lone civilian vehicle. A Chevy Malibu from the look of it, its once-upon-a-time white now streaked with mud. A man with a suitcase stood beside it, waving his arms. No umbrella, no coat.
For a split second she considered passing without stopping. She loathed the idea of getting out of the car to look at someone’s flat tire or hissing radiator, and picking up a hitchhiker was certainly ill-advised. Especially out here... it seemed like the perfect setup for a horror movie in which the stupid girl picks up an axe-wielding psychopath and receives exactly what she deserves. Then rationality took over her baser instincts, and she remembered herself.
She was an FBI agent. She had a goddamn Glock in the glove compartment. If the would-be murderer took out his axe, she’d simply shoot him. Besides, if she left him behind the guilt would gnaw at her, and she didn’t need one more thing to berate herself about tonight. Not after that stupid case, and certainly not after that phone call. She slowed, stopped, and moved her service weapon to the little pocket inside her door. She unlocked the car.
“Oh, thank christ,” the man said breathlessly as he opened the rear door and tossed in his suitcase, then flung himself, soaked and disheveled, into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.
“Hey, watch it!” she snapped as he shook his head like a dog and water flew, pattering against her face.
“Sorry, sorry.” He pushed his wet hair away from his forehead, panting. “Jesus, I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think I’d end up sleeping in that godforsaken car. Oh - what am I sitting on?”
He shifted and pulled out her CD cases and dented tape container. He winced. “Crap. Did I break these? Sorry, again.”
He looked up at her then, and a strange sensation washed over her – deja vu, maybe, or something like it. He was handsome in a way that she momentarily thought she recognized – dark hair, green eyes, a full lower lip and a rather large nose. A strong jaw softened by a day’s worth of stubble. She blinked, shaking herself, and hoped she didn’t look like the big bad wolf eyeing up Red Riding Hood at dinner time. But, god – he really was beautiful.
People thought that about Ted Bundy.
She shoved the thought away.
“It’s fine,” she managed. “I forgot to move them.” She took them from his hands and tossed the whole lot indifferently into the back seat.
“I’ll replace anything I damaged. Really,” he said. He was studying her, and she felt herself flush under his scrutiny.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing - for a second, I thought I knew you. But… I don’t. I’d remember you.
She flushed. “Thanks, I think.”
“It was a compliment, so, you’re welcome. Sorry – bad weather, weird vibes. Let’s start over.”
“That seems like a good idea.”
“Hi. Thank you for the rescue. I’m Mulder.” He held out a hand.
“Mulder, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. It was a strange name, and familiar in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“It’s my last name. Trust me, my first name is worse.”
“I’m not going to ask,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Are you going to tell me anyway?”
He grinned. He had a lovely smile. “Probably.”
She smiled back despite herself. “Well, Mulder. I’m…” she paused. “Scully.”
“You don’t seem sure.” He laughed, and she laughed with him. It sounded surprisingly intimate here in the darkness of the car, surrounded by the pouring rain and the lashing wind. It was like they were the only two people left in the world.
She shrugged. “It’s my last name.”
“Fair enough, Scully. Where are we headed?”
“I’m going to Salt Lake City. You?”
“Eureka.”
“‘Eureka’? As in… ‘Aha!’?” She threw up her hands, miming excited surprise.
“Exactly. It came about during the gold rush. “
“I sort of remember seeing it on the map. It’s not too far ahead, right? Maybe 50 miles?”
“Yup. Although it could take two hours in this.”
She shook out hands, fatigued from clenching the steering wheel. “I guess we’d better get started.”
“I can drive, if you want,” he offered.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Mulder shrugged. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“You could drive me out into the desert and strangle me or something. No thanks. I’ll stay in control of the vehicle.”
“We’re already out in the desert. And I could strangle you here, too. It’s not like there’s anyone around to see.”
“Thank you, that’s a comfort.”
“Or you could strangle me… don’t be sexist.”
“Oh, I’m not. It’s just that women rarely strangle… we don’t like to get our hands dirty. We poison, things like that.” She paused. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Gee, that’s tempting.” He smiled. “You’re fun.”
She didn’t know how to feel about that. She wasn’t someone who was often described as ‘fun’. She was serious, reserved, slow to warm up. She was behaving utterly unlike herself, and it left her with a sense of disquiet.
Pull yourself together. He’s just a man, for fuck’s sake.
“Buckle up, Mulder,” she said. He did, and they were off.
3.
For a while they were silent, and the only sounds were the wipers, the wind and the rain. Then she noticed he was shivering. He was wearing a suit and tie, and everything was drenched.
“You’re soaking wet,” she said. “You’re going to get sick. You have dry clothes in your suitcase, I assume?”
“Yeah, but I’m not seeing an abundance of places to change.”
“Well, you can’t stay like that.” She sounded a little snippy to her own ears, and she made herself soften her tone. It wasn’t his fault that his presence was affecting her so dramatically, that he was born hot and she was born ridgid and risk-averse.“I’ll pull over. You can change in the back seat.”
“Are you sure? I mean, that would be great, but I don’t want to make it weird.”
“I’m sure. Besides, this whole thing is already weird.” She pulled over to the berm.
Mulder gripped the door handle. “I can’t get any wetter. I’m going to make a dash for it.”
She nodded, and he threw open the door, scurried to the backseat and jumped inside.
“Fuck. This is crazy. We’re in the fucking desert.”
She kept her eyes on the windshield. She heard the snap of a suitcase, fumbling, and then the slide of a zipper. She swallowed. “So, Mulder, what brings you to Eureka?” She asked lamely.
“Work, actually.” More fumbling sounds.
“I see. Are you a gold miner, then?” she joked.
He laughed. “Hardly. What about you? What’s with the road trip to Salt Lake City in this mess?”
“Same. Work.”
“Yeah? What do you do?”
She paused, then said “I pick up lonely boys in the rain.” She didn’t know why she said it, but it was past her lips before she could stop it.
“Ha. Is this a new job, or have you been at it for a while?”
She cleared her throat. “Actually, I’ve never done this before.” She chanced a peek in the rear-view mirror – she couldn’t help it. He was just beginning to button some sort of grey flannel shirt. He was bare underneath, and she caught a glimpse of skin and fine, dark chest hair. He was watching her, and he saw her look. Their eyes caught and held in the mirror for three long seconds. She felt her face grow hot and looked away. “I’ve never picked up a hitchhiker.”
“Well,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you did. I was really unprepared for this weather… I shouldn’t have been driving in it in the first place. No offense.”
“None taken. I shouldn’t be driving, either. What was wrong with your car, anyway?”
“Who knows? I’m not a car guy. It made a strange sound and then would no longer go. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Did you run out of gas?”
“Scully, I said I’m not a car guy, not that I’m an idiot.” He leaned forward between the seats. His face was dangerously close, his breath a warm whisper against her face. “How do you propose I get up there without going back out into the rain? Or should I stay back here?”
“No…no. Come back.” She didn’t want to feel like a taxi driver. There was that, and there was the fact that she wanted him beside her. There was no rhyme or reason…she just did. “Just squeeze through. Here…let me put your seat back. You’ll have more room.”
She had to lift her hips, rotate, and stretch across the width of the car to reach the lever that would lower the back of the passenger seat. She realized, mid-contortion, that her ass was in the air. She also realized he could’ve simply reached the lever himself had she suggested it. Too late now, *Scully*, she said to herself. At least she was wearing her most flattering pair of Levi’s.
He was quiet, and she wondered where his eyes were. She could ask. Clearly, she was not herself. Clearly, she was attracted to this stranger, and she was getting the sense that he was attracted to her, too. And what the hell…she’d never see him again.
Sigmund Freud believed that the personality was divided into the id, the ego, and the superego. The id was the impulsive part of the brain that was driven by pleasure, the superego was the part that was morally correct and exercised good judgment. The ego was the mediator who heard both sides and then made a decision. Her id was obviously in control here when she thought, live a little. Engage in some harmless flirting. Have a little fun, for Christ’s sake. Other people do it all the time.
“What’re you looking at, Mulder?” she asked, eyes fastened to the knob she was turning at a snail’s pace.
“I’m not going to say. You’ll kick me out of the car.” He was attempting humor, but his voice had changed.
“Try me.”
His inhale was audible. She made herself sit up and look at him. Their eyes held again, and this time the electricity between them was a palpable thing. He licked his lips.
“You have a beautiful body. You’re a beautiful woman. I’d have to be blind not to notice. But I’m only saying it out loud because you asked.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Not so bad, huh?”
“Maybe better than not so bad.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. There was a long pause, and then she finally blinked and looked away, breaking the spell.
“Okay…I’m coming up there. Don’t watch. It’s not going to be sexy,” he said.
She laughed, and she did watch as he awkwardly maneuvered himself over the lowered seat. His stockinged foot nearly caught her in the chin, and then his head hit the passenger window with a hard crack.
“God, be careful, Mulder. Wait…hang on, don’t sit.”
She pulled her thick fleece sweatshirt up and over her head and set it over his seat. “There…otherwise your pants would just get wet again.”
“Jeez, I didn’t even think of that…thanks.” He settled his denim-clad behind into the seat then looked over at her fitted white tank top and her bare arms. “You sure you won’t get cold?”
“I’m fine,” she said, and it was true. She was so warm, suddenly, almost hot.
“Tell me if you change your mind. I’ve got an extra sweatshirt in my bag.”
“Okay. How’s your head?”
“It’s fine, but I don’t see any hospitals on the horizon to confirm it. You’ll have to take me at my word. If I pass out, you can just shove me out of the car. I won’t be mad.”
“Unfortunately for you, I’m a doctor. Come here, tip your head down so I can take a look.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Sorry – I shouldn’t have assumed…”
“Oh, it’s fine – there’s no way you would know. Now come on, let me see.”
He leaned towards her and lowered his head. She ran her fingers gently along his scalp, probing carefully for bumps or for blood. She could tell right away that there was nothing, but she took her time anyway. It felt good to touch him. Her fingertips trailed over his skin and through his hair.
He made a little sound of contentment, almost a hum, and she felt it low in her stomach. It turned her on, she realized, and she pulled her hands away before she did something crazy like pulling his face to hers and kissing him.
“You’re good. We’d better go.” Her voice was unsteady, but so was his when he replied.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Thanks, Doc.”
“No problem.” She steered back onto the road and drove.
4.
They traveled at an absurd 30 miles an hour. They hadn’t seen another vehicle in a long time, but she was still wary. The road was slick with mud and the sky was black and low. The wind was like her mood; huge squalls followed by gentler winds.
Me and the weather, she thought. Both of us behaving out of character, both moody, both intense and changeable. Mulder’s going to think I have some sort of personality disorder. Look at me, let me touch you, go away.
“Mind if I try the radio?” he asked.
“Be my guest, although I suspect that we won’t get any stations way out here.”
He played with the knobs on the radio for a bit, eliciting nothing but static and one voice that seemed to be traveling to them from a great distance. It sounded like a televangelist. He switched it back off.
“So, Scully,” he said. “Where are you from?”
Small talk, then. Vaguely disappointing but also safe.
“East,” she said. “The east coast.”
“Small world. I grew up in Chilmark.” He drummed his fingers on his knees, radiating a sort of nervous tension that wasn’t there before.
“Fancy,” she remarked.
His smile was a little grim. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I mean, I’m grateful. We had money. But it wasn’t exactly an idyllic childhood.”
“How come?”
He sighed. “My father worked for the government, and some of his… behaviors were a little shady. My parents fought a lot.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, and she really was. “Any siblings you could commiserate with?”
“A sister,” he said shortly. She could tell from those two words that it was a touchy subject for him. Painful, maybe. She didn’t press. He was a stranger, after all. “Anyway, I’ve lived in Atlanta for the last few years.” he continued.
“I’ve only been there once. It was hot, I remember. Very hot. Do you like it there?”
“No. Not even a little,” he said bluntly. “I had to move there for work. I’m hoping it’s temporary…I think I might be going back to my original office soon, which would be great. But at least I travel a lot, so that helps.”
“To amazing locations like Eureka, Nevada?”
He smiled sardonically. “To be honest, this is not exactly a work-sanctioned trip. But it’s within the realm.”
“That’s cryptic.”
“Well, it’s highly classified. Aliens and stuff.”
She laughed. As if.
“Enough about me. I’m boring.”
“You don’t seem boring,” she said. She side-eyed him, and added, “Is that how your girlfriend would describe you?”
“Scully, that was terrible. You could just ask.”
She turned a thousand shades of red and considered flinging herself out into the rain, but it seemed unwise given that she was driving. No need to involve him in a fiery wreck. Although now that she thought about it, it was more likely that the car would just coast along until eventually coming to a stop. What would it possibly hit out here?
“It was, it was really terrible,” she finally said. “I’m appropriately embarrassed. Is there a Mrs. Mulder? A girlfriend?”
He smiled. “See? That wasn’t so hard. No, neither. I’m not especially datable. My work isn’t safe, I’m gone a lot, and I suspect I’m considered kind of a loose cannon. Reckless, resistant to authority…that kind of thing.”
“Surely you must have some good qualities,” she said, smiling back.
“I’d like to think so,” he said mysteriously.
“Care to share?”
“Nah. I’m tired of talking about me. Tell me about you.”
“I’m really not that exciting, Mulder.”
“Sure you are. You’re out here in the middle of nowhere in terrible weather, you picked up a hitchhiker and you have a Glock 9mm in your door. That’s interesting.”
She looked at him sharply. “How did you know about the gun?”
He shrugged. “I saw it when I was climbing over the seat.”
“And you were able to identify it from that little glance?”
“Sure. I have the same thing, although yours is a 19. Mine’s a 17. Makes sense – the 17 has a larger grip, and I have big hands.”
“You have the same thing?” she repeated.
“Yup. It was tucked into the back of my pants when you picked me up. Now it’s in my suitcase. I admit that I reconsidered my choice to store it away when I saw yours, but I figured I’d take my chances. You seem like a nice girl. Anyway, where were we? I asked you to tell me about yourself, you said you weren’t interesting and I disagreed.”
“That sounds about right,” she said, her mind stuck on the his-and-hers set of firearms they apparently carried.
“Is there a Mr. Scully? A significant other?” he asked, then added, “Notice how I just flat-out asked you.” That got her attention.
“Congratulations, Mulder. No, there isn’t.”
“Single and looking to mingle?” He wagged his brows, and she laughed out loud.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Not just beautiful, but smart. Intuitive.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not looking to mingle. I’m too…I don’t know. Wound up. Rigid, or something. I don’t date much.” She wasn’t sure where the little tidbit had come from, that moment of honest vulnerability, but he immediately picked up on the vibe. He was still smiling, but it was gentle.
“Why do you think that is, Scully?”
She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Trying to prove myself, maybe, in a man’s world? No offense, but white men have it made. You can take on a serious career and it’s assumed that you’re capable unless you prove otherwise. It’s the opposite for women. We have to prove our worth every day.”
“I’m not offended. You’re not wrong.”
This surprised her, but not as much as she’d expect. He was different, somehow. “Thank you for saying so. It’s just…where would I possibly meet someone? I’m not much for picking someone up in a bar. Certainly not at work. Even casual flirting could make me the office harlot, and it could set me back for years career-wise. Not worth it.”
“People must flirt with you, though.”
“They used to. Not anymore. I turn any would-be suitors down cold, and I can shut down flirting with just a raised eyebrow. Really.”
“Show me,” he said.
She looked at him and raised a single brow. He whistled.
“That’s great,” he said. “Well done. And it always works?”
“Well, yes. Why?”
He tipped his head to the side, seeming to consider. “I guess I just feel like I’d try harder for you.”
It was the for you that got her. It was personal, it was intentional, and it wasn’t just about her looks. She could tell, and it almost made her want to cry. It had been a long time since she’d felt… seen.
She swallowed and focused on the road. “Thanks…that’s kind.”
“I’m not being kind, Scully, I’m being honest.”
“In any event, it’s worked so well that I have a nickname at the office now.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“The Ice Queen.”
He snorted. “That’s stupid. And juvenile. And I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything.”
“I know. I’m sorry that it happened, though. Happens. I can see that it hurts you.”
She blinked. She prided herself on her poker face. She was not a woman who wore her emotions on her sleeve; she kept them carefully checked and hidden and stored away in an imaginary box marked “feelings”, and she only opened it when she was home and the door was locked the day was done. She’d take a bath, and sometimes she’d cry. Sometimes she’d yell. And sometimes she’d just lay there, staring at the ceiling and wondering whatever would become of her.
It wasn’t that she believed that a woman needed a man to be complete. She did not. She believed that a woman could be happy with a spouse, a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a partner, a series of lovers that changed all the time, or completely alone. She believed that a woman could feel fulfilled with six kids or no kids, with a dozen cats or one goldfish or without a single living thing in her home besides herself. But everyone was built differently, everyone had needs and desires and yearned for things that they could not always explain. It just was.
She didn’t know exactly where she fit amongst all those things. She was lonely…that she knew. She hadn’t had a hand on her body besides her own in over three years. She ached to be touched, but she was choosy about who she went to bed with. She had had three partners in her life. She put her effort and energy into her rising career. She could be a Special Agent in Charge someday, an Assistant Director, a Deputy Director… higher. She was 30 years old, smart and fit and credentialed with nothing holding her back. Besides - there was something in her that believed that the right person would come along without her having to seek him out. There had to be a way to have it all, but…
Well. Almost all.
”Is this Dana Scully? Ms. Scully, this is Dr. Parenti…”
No. Do not go there.
“Scully? I think I lost you for a minute.”
“Oh! Sorry,” she managed. “What was that?”
“Kids. Do you have kids?”
Or maybe she’d go there. Maybe, with this stranger, she could say aloud what what was breaking her heart, what had caused her to spiral into this abyss that had left her reeling, and that caused her to be driving, right now, down the Loneliest Road.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” he said. “I’m a good listener.”
“Why do you keep doing that? Reading me? Nobody can do that. I don’t like it.” She sounded whiny and hostile, and she hated herself a little for it.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You do have a good game face. Really. I just…I don’t know. I feel you. I can’t explain it. I’m not saying it to try and sound like a sensitive, modern man, I’m saying it because it’s true.”
“I believe you.” Her voice was quiet. Her heart, which had been somewhere between a trot and a gallop ever since he got in the car, slowed. A strange sort of calm came over her. “I believe you because I feel it, too. If I tell you what happened, and why I’m on this godforsaken stretch of road, will you answer a question for me?”
He didn’t ask what it was. He just nodded. “Sure. I can do that.”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve always wanted a child. Always. When I was a kid I mothered all my baby dolls very seriously. I remember dropping one once, and I cried. I was sad I’d let it get hurt, even though I knew it wasn’t real. My older brother teased me relentlessly, but I didn’t care. It was good for me even, because it made me work harder at everything else. I loved science and math and BB guns. I tried to excel at everything; I wanted him to see that one didn’t cancel out the other. Of course, that belief that I needed to be the best is probably why I turned into such an anal-retentive bore, but there it is.”
She was needlessly drawing out the story, she knew, perhaps trying to give him context about why she hurt the way she did. He didn’t rush her. She looked over occasionally while she spoke, and he was always watching her, paying careful attention to her and her words.
“So… I went to my OB recently. I was having all sorts of problems with my period – sorry. Is this too much?” She glanced over, and he looked surprised she’d asked.
“Of course not. It’s fine. Go on.”
“I was sent to a specialist, had more tests…and today they called my cell. I was in the middle of a meeting in Carson City, a closing meeting, at least, so my work was done, and normally I still wouldn’t have taken a call but I’d been so anxious for results. I stepped into the hall and answered. It was my doctor. He said… he told me that I’m infertile. Very likely infertile, were his words, but that’s enough. I could feel my heart just shatter. I know, it’s ridiculous, I can still be complete -”
“Stop,” he said sharply. “You don’t have to justify your feelings. And in any case, it’s not ridiculous. You’re heartbroken. It was your dream.”
She wanted to believe that it was dark enough so that he couldn’t see her tears, but she’d be kidding herself. Of course he could see them.
“It was,” she said. “I cried, and I’m not a crier in front of other people. I mean, this moment not withstanding. Then my partner came into the hall to see what was keeping me –”
“Partner?”
“ – and he saw my tears. He laid into me. When we were first assigned together just a few months ago he made no secret of his romantic interest in me, and I turned him down flat. He was appalled, he refused to believe that there was a woman alive who wouldn’t fall for his stupid fucking advances. He was cold ever since, and so I was already worried. I mean, you have to be able to trust your partner. But when he came in the hall and saw me crying, he completely berated me. He told me to grow up, act like a professional, get my shit together and stop being such a fucking girl. His words – ‘fucking girl’.”
There was a stretch of silence, and then she finally asked, “What are you thinking?”
“That I want to meet this guy. I want to tell him what a shitbag he his, and then I want to break his jaw.” He meant it. She could hear it in his voice, and her gratitude at that moment was so deep and intense that, had she not been driving, she would’ve flung her arms around him and given him the tightest hug she’d ever given anyone. But she was driving, and she settled for a brief squeeze of his arm.
“Thank you, Mulder,” she said. “I did hit him – I hit him hard. In the face. His nose bled. He lost his mind and threatened to call our superior, but I reminded him of how intensely he’d hit on me early on, how poorly he took ‘no’ for an answer, and what a god-awful partner he’s been since. So we agreed to split up. Irreconcilable differences…ha. Like a divorce. Our boss will put up a fight, of course, and tell us to work it out, but I’ll be able to convince him that this is necessary.”
“Good. God, I’m so glad. I’m so fucking glad. I hope his nose is broken. I hope he has to walk around with two black eyes and a big fucking bandage across his face.”
She smiled. “I think that might be the case. Anyway, there’s no way I was going to fly out with him as scheduled. The next flight was booked, and I didn’t want to spend another night in that city. I wanted out, immediately, and I was able to get a flight out of Salt Lake City for tomorrow afternoon. That was good, because I knew the long drive would help. This road is known for being so desolate, and that’s what I wanted. To be completely alone. Then I’d sleep at some airport hotel and go home and figure out how to move forward with a new idea of what my future might look like.”
“I sort of ruined, that, huh?” he said. “You’re missing out all that alone time.”
“Mulder,” she said. She bit the inside of her cheek, but it didn’t help. Another tear fell. Just one, but he saw it. He touched it with his fingertip.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “Just really, really glad.
“Me, too,” he said.
5.
She stared through the windshield with disbelief. “It’s barely drizzling out there. When did the rain stop?”
“A long time ago,” he said. “You had other things on your mind. It’s normal, it’s called ‘highway hypnosis.’ Typically it occurs on routes that the driver often travels, but it makes sense right now. Everything looked the same – rain and a sliver of road. You didn’t really need to focus.”
“I could’ve been driving faster,” she said. “I’m still going 35. We could be there by now. Mulder, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be. If I can be honest…” he trailed off.
“I think we’re at that point,” she said wryly. “Go ahead.”
“I don’t really want to get there anymore. I’m happy in here with you.”
She slowly loosened her palms. She didn’t need to strangle the wheel with both hands anymore…the roads were muddy, but one hand would suffice. She reached across the car and he met her halfway. Their fingers intertwined and it felt like the easiest, most natural thing in the whole world.
“So…” he said slowly. “What’s your question? I think I can guess, but what is it?”
“Are you sure? Because I don’t have to ask. And I don’t want you to talk about something that hurts. You don’t owe me anything, especially that.”
“I know. I know I don’t. I think that maybe I’m just ready to tell you.”
She squeezed his hand and then asked, very gently, “What happened to her?”
He shook his head. “I only said two words. ‘A sister.’ How did you know?”
“I feel you,” she said simply. There was a beat of silence, and then she asked, “How did it happen?”
Her particular heartache was new, but she could tell that his was very old. It was in the way his eyes closed briefly before he looked up at the dark sky, the way he absently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. It spoke of sorrow that had been kept close, held in his heart and away from the rest of the world.
“It’s not exactly like you think. She might not be dead. It’s almost worse, though, the not knowing. Is that bad, do you think? Is it selfish to think that maybe the uncertainty is worse?”
“No, honey. I don’t think it’s bad at all. It’s human. We need closure, time to mourn and grieve, and until then we can’t move on. You’re not selfish. You’re suffering, and I’m so incredibly sorry.”
“I remember it in bits and pieces. She was eight. I was twelve. Our parents were fighting again, and Samantha – her name is Samantha – was crying. She always was when they fought, and I vacillated between being an asshole older brother to being her protector. Sometimes I held her, sometimes I turned on the television and pretended nothing was happening. I feel bad about that. I could’ve done so much better.”
“You were a child. Children are not equipped to deal with those kinds of emotions.”
“I know. I know it, but it’s still hard to believe. Does that make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“They fought. They left after that, and I remember that they were going to the Galbrands – whoever the hell they were. They left me in charge. We were watching TV and playing Stratego…remember that one, where you had to capture the opponent’s flag? And you had all these secret characters surrounding the flag. One was a spy.”
“I remember,” she said.
“I think Samantha was losing. She got really whiny, and she told me that Mom and Dad said she could watch some western movie, and so she was going to change the channel. There was a news story about Watergate on. I was sort of interested in it, but mostly I just wanted to watch ‘The Magician,’ and it was starting any minute. I told Samantha she couldn’t change it. We yelled. Then there was a popping sound and the lights and TV went out, and I became even more angry. I remember thinking ‘a fuse went out and that little bitch is probably glad.’ I specifically recall that. I called my sister a ‘little bitch.’” There was misery in his voice.
“Not out loud. And we all had thoughts like that about our siblings. I once filled out a whole page in my journal with the line ‘Bill Scully is an ashhole’ over and over. Just like that. ‘Ashhole.’ I thought that was the word. I was maybe six.”
He laughed a little. “That actually makes me feel better. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She gave him a minute to collect his thoughts, and then she asked, “Do you want to tell me what happened next? You don’t have to.”
“I do. I want to. There was a light. It was white, maybe a little blue. It came through the windows and was so bright that it hurt my eyes. When I looked back at her she was… floating. That’s the way I remember it at least, although every child psychiatrist and psychologist I ever saw said that I was replacing memories of things I didn’t want to remember and that I didn’t understand. They said that about the alien-looking forms I saw, too. They said it was ‘dissociative amnesia’ and ‘confabulation.’ I trained as a psychologist, and they’re probably right.” He snorted derisively. “Whatever the case, she went right out the window. I never saw her again.”
She knew her eyes were wide and tear-filled, and she wanted to fix it so that she didn’t look quite so traumatized, but she couldn’t help it. It was horrific, tragic, a nightmare. She ached for what happened to Samantha, but more than that she ached for the 12-year-old boy who had witnessed it. “Oh my god…I don’t know what to say.”
“Am I crazy, do you think?” he asked. His voice was matter of fact, but his eyes were wet and filled with pain.
She put her foot on the brake and came to a careful stop. He looked at her, confused, but said nothing. She put the car into park, undid her seatbelt, and reached over. She wrapped him in her arms. “You are not crazy, Mulder,” she said in his ear. “You. Are. Not. Crazy.”
He rested his head on her shoulder and took long, slow breaths. His hands were light on her back, at first, and then tighter. She held him for as long as she dared, and then she loosened her arms. He lifted his head, and she saw that his face was damp with tears.
“Thank you for telling me. Are you okay?” she asked quietly, feeling silly. Of course he wasn’t. But when he responded his voice had changed. It was still sad, but now it contained something else, too. Relief, she thought. Relief that someone else knew of his pain. He’d shared his burden, and now his load was lighter.
He nodded. “Yes. I feel better, actually. I haven’t spoken about her in so long, and I’ve told very few people about what happened that night. I’m glad you’re one of them, Scully.”
“Me, too,” she said. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, and then she made herself turn back to the wheel. She shifted into gear and began to drive again. He took her hand back and folded it between both of his.
“Did you ever learn anything? Anything at all? From your parents, maybe?” she asked.
“They refused to speak of it. My father is dead, and my mother is in a facility for people with Alzheimer’s. I’m still trying though. I’m looking on my own, and I’m maintaining hope. The truth is out there…it has to be.”
“It is,” she said gently. “And I know you’ll do your best to find it. I hope you do. And Mulder - she’s really, really lucky to have you for a brother.”
He closed his eyes. “I think that’s the best thing anyone has ever said to me, Scully.”
She couldn’t find the words to respond to that, and so she just grasped his hand tighter. Sometimes you didn’t need words, anyway.
6.
Her headlights lit up the mud-streaked green sign: Eureka – 15.
“Nearly there,” he said. “I wish we weren’t.”
“I wish that, too. Except we have nothing to drink but whatever water we can wring from your clothes and nothing to eat but the airline pretzels I slipped into my bag. Actually… I think I ate those.
“Yikes,” he said.
They both laughed, but it was tinged with sadness. We’ve just met, she reminded herself. Just today, just hours ago. These feelings are circumstantial, they’re the result of good chemistry and the sharing of secrets and the fact that we’ve been locked in a little space together during a stressful situation. Well… and maybe because he’s so kind. So real, so sweet, so attuned to my feelings. It’s like we’ve known each other in another life, and the reconnection was inevitable. Something in our hearts remembered. She shook her head, trying to clear it. These last thoughts were so unlike her. So disorienting.
I feel you.
“Hey, maybe we can get some music now that we’re close to town,” he said.
“Yeah, good idea, try,” she said, grateful at the idea of a distraction.
He flipped on the radio. They heard only static, and so he spun the dial.
So I pulled up along side, and I offered him a ride,
He accepted with a smile, so we drove for a while.
I didn’t ask him his name - the lonely boy in the rain.
Fate - tell me it’s right, is it love at first sight?
Please don’t make it wrong – just stay for the night.
All I wanna do…
Her heart began to bang.
“The lonely boy in the rain,” he said, so quietly she hardly heard him.
No umbrella, no coat, she thought hazily.
“I’ve been so lonely,” he said. “So incredibly lonely. But I’m ok with lonely, usually. There’s just something here that…that…”
“I know,” she said. “There is.”
“Do you believe in fate, Scully?” he asked without looking at her. He was nervous, but then again, so was she. The storm was over but the electricity remained, and it crackled between them. Want, frightening in its intensity, swept through her.
“I don’t think so,” she said shakily. “Logically, it doesn’t make sense. Do you?”
“I do. So much right now that I think I can believe enough for the both of us.” She knew what was between the lines, the question he was asking without actually saying the words.
“I’ll stay,” she said. She said it without thinking, and she didn’t regret it. She was done trying to fight it.
He nodded and sighed with relief. “I was really, really hoping you’d say that.”
They passed the Eureka city limits 20 minutes later. The motel where he had his reservation was easy to find: it was right on the side of Highway 50 and had a neon sign that said “Motel” in red. There was no name that she could see. There was a down-at-the-heels diner called “The Gold Nugget” beside it with the words “Open 24 Hrs” hand-painted in the window.
“That might come in handy later,” she murmured.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I don’t even know when you ate last. I should’ve asked. Maybe we should go get some food in you.”
Oh, that’s not what I want in me.
“It’s fine,” she said. “We can eat later, maybe. Unless you want to right now?” She was fumbling, suddenly, shy and awkward.
He shook his head. “I want to get to the room, Scully.”
The way he said her name, the way he so candidly voiced his desire– these things made her shiver; made her womb clench and her skin flush. She’d never in her life been so turned on and so ready to go to bed with someone. And this was a stranger.
Except he wasn’t, was he?
I feel you.
She pulled up to the motel lobby.
“Do you want to come in with me?” he asked.
“I’ll wait here.” The idea of being before a check-in clerk under the stark florescent lights and with lust written all over her face was appalling. She hadn’t even stood beside him yet. He had to be almost a foot taller than her, and he would dwarf her. The thought stirred something inside her, some primal desire she didn’t even know she had. No, it was best that she didn't get out of the car with someone watching. It was entirely possible that her knees would buckle and that he’d have to catch her before she swooned and felt straight to the floor.
He got out of the car, started for the entrance to the lobby, then pivoted and came back to stand beside her door. She rolled down the window, and he leaned down to look at her.
“Don’t leave,” he said.
“I would never.” It was true. She’d have to be hauled away kicking and screaming in order to leave him now.
He smiled. “Good. I don’t want to have to shoot out your tires.”
She smiled back. “I have your gun, Mulder.”
“That’s right. I’ll just have to trust you, then.” He winked, and it was so endearing that her heart gave a little squeeze. He started to stand, but she stopped him.
“Wait.”
He paused. She reached through the window and took hold of his shirt near the collar, and she pulled him closer. He leaned in, and she kissed him. It was light, barely a whisper, but she felt it from the place where they touched all the way down to the tips of her toes. His lips were so warm, so soft, so perfectly shaped to fit over hers. He made a little sound in his throat and put his hand on her cheek, increasing the pressure for just a moment before pulling back. He looked dazed.
“I’ll be quick,” he said, his voice thick with desire.
She could see straight into the lobby through the large plate windows, and she watched him as he checked in. There was a sense of restlessness in the way he shifted from foot to foot and in the polite but hurried smile he flashed the 60-something receptionist with her pile of blonde hair and her blue eyeshadow. He gestured toward the window and held up two fingers. The receptionist squinted at the car, smiled and said something that made him smile, too. But his smile was fleeting as he quickly tucked away his wallet, snagged the key she handed him and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. No time for chit-chat, ma’am, I have a one-night stand to get to.
The thought came out of nowhere, and it pained her. She pushed it aside knowing that she’d have to face it later, and that it would be hard.
Fate - tell me it’s right, is it love at first sight…
“Impossible,” she whispered to herself. But maybe it wasn’t.
He disappeared into a hallway that probably led to a bathroom, then reappeared a few minutes later with bottled water and an armload of snacks. He waved goodnight to the clerk and pushed through the door and back onto the parking lot.
“We’re in 212, around the back on the right. I brought provisions,” he said when he’d gotten back to the car. He reached behind him and dumped the pile of food onto the back seat.
“Looks like we won’t have to leave the room for days,” she said with a little smile, and then they both went silent when they thought about her flying out tomorrow. She cleared her throat. “The receptionist looked pleased. What did you tell her?”
“That’s Sharon - I know her. I’ve stayed here twice before. I told her I was changing my reservation to two. She looked out the window and saw you and said I was a lucky sonofabitch. I agreed wholeheartedly.”
“Mmm,” she said, thinking the conversation had gone very differently.
She’s a lucky woman. I hope she knows that, Scully imagined Sharon saying. And she did. She knew it very well.
She pulled into a slot at the back of the building and turned off the engine. He exited, grabbed both suitcases from the backseat, then walked over to her side.
“Ready?” he asked.
It was such a layered question. Ready to get out of the car? Ready to go upstairs? Ready to have a man you’ve just met strip you down and get inside of you?
I feel you.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m ready.” She took her Glock from the door, thankful she’d remembered it at all, and tucked it into her jeans at the small of her back in a smooth, well-rehearsed move as she climbed out of the car.
His eyes had followed her movements, and he raised an eyebrow. “Interesting,” he said thoughtfully.
“What?”
He didn’t answer. She stepped toward him, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds before swallowing hard and looking at her again.
“Christ, Scully. You’re so fucking small.”
“I’m not as fragile as I look,” she said. She was standing so close to him that she had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze.
“No. No, you’re definitely not.”
She was perfectly capable of carrying her own suitcase, but there was something about him that said ‘chivalry’ without being sexist. He was going to take her to bed, and he was going to be a gentleman about it.
“Lead the way,” he said, his voice tight.
She climbed the steps. She was hyperaware of him close behind her. The ring of his footsteps on the metal staircase sounded unnaturally loud, the peeling paint of the railing felt gritty under her hand. Her senses were heightened, her breath shallow.
“212,” she said as they approached the door. It was green, chipped, and it was like a portal to another dimension. He stopped, but before he could set down the suitcases she reached into his pocket and fished for the key. He didn’t move or speak, but his harsh intake of his breath spoke for him.
The room was utilitarian. There was a burnt orange shag rug, wood paneled walls and a king-sized bed draped in a shiny brown coverlet. She knew without checking that the opposite side of the bed covering would be scratchy. The heater ran with a low whoshing sound, and the prints on the wall depicted cacti in a sea of sand, tumbleweeds scattered throughout. The lights were off, but they could see everything because the high-pressure sodium lights from the parking lot cast the room in dull amber, and the glow from the neon motel sign added a surreal hint of red.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I would’ve done better, but I thought I’d be alone.”
“Don’t be sorry…it’s all we need,” she said as she set her suitcase on the particle board dresser. She put her service weapon in the dresser drawer. “I’ll be right back.”
She was quick in the bathroom, unwilling to give herself time to think and too overwrought to want to try, anyway. She used the toilet, splashed water on her face and rinsed out her mouth. She avoided looking in the mirror, afraid she’d want to adjust her hair or her makeup and that would be the biggest, stupidest waste of time. He was out there, waiting.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoes off and hands in his lap. He looked so beautiful, and her heart squeezed. She went to him.
He parted his knees and she stood between them. He rested his hands lightly on her hips, and she touched his hair.
“I don’t know what to do,” she confessed. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Me, neither,” he said. “I just know that I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I want you right now.”
She put her hands on his cheeks and tilted his face up toward hers. Their noses touched.
“Mulder,” she said. His name felt holy on her lips.
“Scully,” he returned, and his voice was a plea.
The kiss was searing, a collision of longing and inevitability so intense that it bordered on desperation. His lips pressed against hers with a hunger that made rational thought impossible, and she didn’t care. This wasn’t like any kiss she’d ever had. It wasn’t logical or calculated or careful. It was raw and fierce and she was utterly consumed by it…by him. By his mouth, by his smell, by the feel of his hands that stroked her back with what could only be described as reverence, even amidst this haze of desire.
Mulder fell back, pulling her with him, and they tumbled onto the sheets. His tongue twined around her own, stroked, explored. His hands began to move over her body – up her arms, across her shoulders, up to briefly thread through her hair and then down over her neck to cup her breasts. She moaned against his lips and rested a knee on either side of his hips, pushed down and rocked against him. His hard length pressed against her heat through their clothes, and she gasped aloud. His intake of breath was harsh.
“Fuck, Scully,” he groaned. “Jesus, I’ve got to… I need to…”
“God, please.”
Her hands flew to the button of his jeans at the same time he grasped the hem of her tank top and yanked. She made a little noise of frustration when she had to let go so that he could pull her shirt over her head, and then she laughed breathlessly at her own desperation.
He rolled her onto her back and kissed her again, his tongue pushing into her mouth as she unsnapped and unzipped his jeans. She slid her hand down into his boxer briefs and grasped him in her fist. He was an iron rod wrapped in silk, huge and hot and throbbing like a heartbeat.
He hissed in a breath and thrust into her hand once, and then he had to pull away. He made his way to his feet and shoved his jeans and underwear down together, kicked them aside and stripped off his socks while she toed off her shoes and shoved them to the floor. She slid out of her jeans and then unsnapped her bra and slipped it down her arms as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and then flung it into the darkness. He peeled off her socks, and then her panties, and then he climbed back into the bed.
“Oh, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he said as he kissed her mouth, her cheeks, then ran his tongue down the side of her neck before nipping at a spot with his teeth. “I want to leave marks on you… can I?”
“Yes, yes, yes…” She wanted to imprint him on her, to carry the evidence of their lovemaking for as long as she could, so that when she was home and alone and stared into the mirror she would remember that this had not been a dream. He fastened his lips to her skin and sucked at the tender flesh there while she tipped her head back and felt her womb clench.
Her thighs were slick with want. He pressed kisses to the bruises he’d left and moved down her body, lips blazing a trail from her collarbones to the valley between her breasts and then to one turgid nipple. He took it in his mouth as his fingers plucked at the other.
Her hands gripped his hair, and her hips seemed to move on their own accord, rolling against him in a desperate attempt to find him and pull him inside of her. She’d never come without the aid of her own hand, which had never really bothered her – it was common enough, and there was a part of her that liked the control it gave her – but now she felt the first stirrings of an orgasm as his teeth grazed her nipple.
“Scully, honey, we haven’t even talked about protection,” he managed as he came up for air and moved back to her mouth. “Anything I had in my suitcase expired while George Bush was still president, but they had a vending machine in the men’s room in the lobby. I got a couple. They’re surprise colors and ribbed for your pleasure.”
She laughed breathlessly, then her laugh became a groan as he slipped his hand between her legs and touched her there. “Mulder…” she began, and then stopped to gasp when his fingers brushed her clit. She tried again. “Mulder, do you want to use something?”
“I know that I should, but honestly… god, I don’t want anything between us. But I will, of course I will.”
“I don’t want anything between us either. I trust you. I know that’s crazy, but I do.” She ran the tips of her fingers along his spine, took his ass in her hands and squeezed before moving them to his hips.
“I trust you, too. Completely.”
“I’m glad. I’m clean, and it’s not as if…”
”Ms. Scully, this is Dr. Parenti.”
Her eyes grew moist and she blinked back her tears. She did not want to cry now. Not while she was in the middle of what was already one of the most significant experiences of her life. Not when she was about to be made love to by a man she’d known for a handful of hours and was still somehow the best person she’d ever met.
“Oh, Scully.” He kissed her again, gently, and his fingers left her body so that he could take her face in his hands. “I would give that to you if I could. I don’t even care how fucking insane that makes me.” Her chest ached with what had to be love. It couldn’t be anything else. She didn’t care that it made no sense, that it was unreasonable and illogical. Maybe there were different types of love. Maybe there was love for the people you know best, and also a kind of love for someone that was new but not new, because your heart remembered. Maybe from another life, or maybe just because their souls were the same.
“I know you would,” she said, and she meant it. “I want you inside me…please.” She put one foot up on the bed near his waist, knee bent and thighs spread.
“I want you to tell me,” he said as he guided himself to her entrance, “if something isn’t good. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you need, and don’t let me hurt you.”
“Okay,” she whispered, and he found her lips again as he pushed into her.
“Oh, god. Oh god, oh god,” she gasped. It was being impaled, split in two, filled to capacity and then more, so that every nerve ending lit up and sparked. The pleasure was immense, the stretch delicious, the pain hazy and right. He slowed as she winced, and she urged him on with the press of her heels against his lower back.
“Keep going,” she pleaded. Ecstasy coiled inside her, her belly tightened and she felt like she was buzzing – her fingers, her toes, her breasts where they brushed against his chest.
“Fuck, Scully,” he groaned. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “You’re so good. Christ, I feel like we were made for this.”
He bottomed out inside her with a final push, and she shuddered, quaking, her breath coming in shallow pants.
“You okay?” he managed. “Talk to me.”
“I’m going to come,” she gasped.
“Now?” he asked with surprised pleasure. She nodded frantically and he took one of her hands in his, kissed the knuckles and then pressed their joined palms to the pillow beside her head. “God, I want that. I want it so much. Come for me, sweetheart.” He lifted his head to watch her face. Their eyes met and held.
“Now,” she moaned. “Now, now, now.” He pushed, hard, and then stilled against her with his glans against her cervix as she wailed and then began to spasm around him, tightening and then releasing, each wave seeming to draw him in further until there was no knowing where she ended and he began.
She saw him bite his lips, focusing everything he had on not letting go even as he held her through through the most intense, mind-blowing orgasm of her life.
“Mulder. Mulder, Mulder… ” she cried.
“I’ve got you,” he said into her ear. “It’s ok, oh, you feel so good. So, so good.”
Her shaking began to slow, and when she could breathe again, she whispered, hoarsely, “Fuck me. I want to feel you come. I want it inside me.”
He groaned and began to move – slowly, then faster, then harder until he was slamming into her with abandon. She missed him with every withdrawal and then sparked with almost unbearable pleasure every time he pushed back into her, enveloped in her tight heat all over again.
“I’m close,” he told her, even though she already knew by the way he trembled and by the frantic speed of his thrusts. “Can you come again?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and it was only then that she realized she was weeping. Her voice was tear-choked and she tasted salt when she licked her lips.
“Let’s try,” he gasped, and he leaned back a little so that he could put a hand between them. He found her clitoris, massaged and flicked, and she realized she could come again. She would. Her nails dug into the skin of his back as she grew taunt.
“Oh, yes,” he groaned as she squeezed, and then his movements became jerky and graceless as he let go.
She couldn’t recall ever feeling a man’s release before, but she felt his. She felt his warmth bathe her insides and his cock pulse as he came and came and came. Her own orgasm pulled at him, and they didn’t slow until she had milked him dry and he had nothing left to give.
When he finally collapsed against her, face buried in her neck, she felt his sweat, or maybe tears, or maybe both. She held him, hard, her arms and legs wrapped around him in the tightest, fiercest hug she was capable of. He shuddered, and she comforted him with little kisses to his hair and her palms gentle on his back.
“I didn’t want it to end,” he finally said. “Ever. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what we have here, but I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s as if I’ve been inside you a million times before, even though it was so new and exciting and so fucking good, Jesus, I came so hard…”
“I feel it too,” she said. Her heart was full, her heart was breaking.
They lay there, sweat drying and hands stroking, until she finally had to disentangle herself from his arms and stand. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, and then she headed into the bathroom on unsteady legs.
She cleaned up, but not well. His cum that seeped from her body and tricked down her legs felt wonderful, and she wasn’t going to wash it away. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess and three separate hickeys marred her skin – one on her left breast, one near her shoulder and one higher up on her neck, so high that she’d have to either cover it with makeup or turtlenecks or endure the stares. Maybe she’d endure. Maybe she’d let them talk and wonder, and it would be okay because it had been Mulder who had done it to her. She ran her fingers through her hair and told herself she wouldn’t cry, because he was still out there, and they had all night. She could cry on the plane, in her car, in her bed. But not here – at least not yet.
When she left the bathroom, she found him standing in the center of the room. He was rooted in place, his face showing something like shock. He held her jeans in his hands.
“What?” she asked. Her heart gave a little lurch. Something wasn’t right.
He swallowed. “I was picking up our clothes, I was going to lay them on the dresser, and this fell of your pocket.” He held up the familiar black leather case and flipped it open.
DEPARTMENT of INVESTIGATION
FBI
Special Agent Dana Scully
“Don’t worry,” she said, confused. “It’s not like I’m investigating you.”
“You said you were a doctor.”
“I am. I’m a pathologist. And I’m an FBI Agent. I work in violent crimes. My office is in the Hoover Building. What’s wrong?”
He reached for his own jeans and pulled a similar wallet from his back pocket. He opened it. Same emblem, same words, same everything, except…
Special Agent Fox Mulder
She shook her head slowly. “I can’t believe it.”
He licked his lips. “I’m in the Atlanta field office. It’s a punishment for an argument I had with a deputy director named Kersh back in DC. He shut down my unit – The X-Files. This was about seven years ago. But I think I’m getting another chance. I think they’re going to bring me back home. My assistant director, Walter – ”
“... Skinner,” she finished. “I know him. And I know of The X-Files. Not much, it had been closed for years before I came. But I thought your name sounded familiar. Now I know.”
“Scully, this is… this is…”
“It’s unbelievable.” She made her way to the bed and sat. She rested her hands on her knees and saw that they were shaking. “It doesn’t change anything, though.”
“I guess not,” he said. He sat beside her and took her hand. “Unless they do send me home. Then it could change everything. If we wanted it to.”
8.
14 months later
Scully walked into the office and closed the door behind her.
“Do you have an update, Agent Scully?” Skinner asked.
“Yes sir, I do. The victim did indeed die of hypoxia, but the cause is not what you’d think. Nor you,” she added, turning to Mulder. “It wasn’t any sort of oxygen-sucking phantom.”
“That’s not exactly what I said, Scully,” Mulder said.
“Uh-huh. In any case, I’ll have a report ready shortly. In the meantime, it would be great if one of you could figure out how to get me a set of maternity scrubs. I can hardly breathe in these things anymore.” She gestured at the way her belly pushed against the blue cotton, her navel prominent. “I’ve asked the lab four times and they haven’t done it yet.”
“Hang on – I’ll get Kimberly on it right now.” Skinner picked up the phone.
“You’re grumpy,” Mulder whispered to her. “Is it because you haven’t been laid in about ten hours? We’ll be done here within the hour and I’ll make you feel better.”
“No! I don’t know. Maybe. But I’m pregnant, and my hormones are out of my control. And we’re going straight to my mother’s for dinner, so that’s a no-go.”
“God. I forgot. And your brother is going to be there… I can’t wait.”
“He’s been trying lately, I think,” she said.
“He hates me.”
“I’m his sister, and you knocked me up about five minutes after we moved in together.”
“I think it might’ve been before then, actually,” he said with a brief squeeze to her knee. “With regard to your particular… needs, maybe we’ll have to escape to the basement. Maybe I need to help you find an old turkey platter, or something.”
“We used that excuse last time.”
“Candlesticks? Grandma’s old tea kettle? There’s got to be a reason for us to slip away. We only need five minutes.” He grinned, and she smiled back.
“It’s just dinner. We’ll be home before we know it,” she said.
“Ten bucks says we don’t make it that long.”
Skinner hung up the phone and sighed. “Agents, I can talk and listen at the same time. Please take it somewhere else. Kimberly is going to make sure you get the new scrubs, Agent Scully.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, flushing.
“You’re welcome. I look forward to your report. You’re both free to go…you’d better get that dinner over with.”
“Jesus,” she muttered. They all rose.
“Agent Scully,” Skinner said as he walked them to the door. “Have you given any more thought to our offer regarding The X-Files?”
She smiled. “I’ll let you know soon. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“Yeah, well – I figure if you’re crazy enough to be his wife and have his child, you might be crazy enough to be his partner.”
“Hilarious,” Mulder said. He opened the door and put his hand on Scully’s lower back, thumb lightly stroking.
Skinner said, “One more thing. Mulder – I know I’ve said it before but…despite the fact that you’re a pain in my ass, a thorn in my side, etc…I’m glad to have you back.”
“I’m glad to be here.” Mulder’s voice was even, but he was pleased. She could tell.
“I’ll bet,” Skinner said, glancing at Scully. “Get out of here, you two.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “Goodnight.”
~The End~