Title: The Hundredth Day 3: Flying Fig
Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)
Category: M/S UST
Rating: PG-13/soft R 
Spoilers: There is one but I don't want to spoil 
it. It's a season 6 reference. This story is 
season 7-ish.
Archive: Sure.
Summary: Scully is confused (it's hot, expecting 
me to be clever is too much to ask for). 
Disclaimer: CC and Co. own everything. Or was that 
Donald Trump?
Quick note: You don't need to read the first two 
parts of this series for this to make sense--probably 
(However, if you want to, it's here: 
http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic/). 
Reader's Digest version of the first two parts:
Scully hurt her foot on a day when she was feeling 
very vulnerable in her attraction to Mulder. He 
was sweet and kind and loving. She was 
tired of fighting her feelings and some not-so-
innocent kissing ensued. They stopped because of 
foot pain, basically (hey, it's better than a damned 
bee).  
Still, everything was hunky-dory when Mulder left 
that evening until Scully apparently got up in the 
middle of the night and sent Mulder an email 
explaining her little hundredth day theory. He is 
insulted at what he feels is her over-
rationalization of their relationship. She is not 
quite getting why he's so angry and tries to flirt 
a little (in a very enigmatic way). He seems to be 
falling for it but ends up leaving her high and 
dry  on the kitchen counter.
Go for it.


The Hundredth Day 3: Flying Fig

Contrary to popular opinion, most doctors are not 
walking PDRs. We don't automatically recall every 
side effect a drug may have. Especially those of 
us with practices consisting of the dead and a 
single FBI agent who seems to like his pain 
straight. I do know, however, even without a 
Physician's Desk Reference at hand, that popping a 
couple of Advil every few hours would not make me 
lose my perspective on life.

So how, I asked myself, did things get so fucked 
up within 24 hours, without me seeing so much as a 
single sign of bad things on the horizon?

I carefully hopped off the kitchen counter and 
made a beeline for my computer.

I needed to reread my email to Mulder. The email 
that seemed to be the source of our problems.

I read the nearly two pages of text. There was 
nothing wrong with anything I said.

I closed my eyes. 

Pictured Mulder leaving my apartment last night.

After kissing me. After laying his head next to 
mine and telling me he loved me.

He was pretty happy. So was I. We weren't going to 
do anything about it but, at least, we both knew 
we were on the same page in our relationship as 
far as the level of our emotions and desires. I 
pictured him waking up this morning to check his 
mail and finding my note. The return email address 
flooding his mind, perhaps, with certain 
expectations of the type of correspondence within. 
The type of correspondence one might expect after 
a fairly momentous evening in the history of our 
partnership.



Shit. It did sound as if I was rationalizing what 
we did. And that wasn't my intention at all.

I crossed the room and picked up the phone. A 
brief glance at my watch confirmed that he would 
be halfway home if that's where he was heading 
when he left my apartment.

A brief moment of panic overtook me as soon as I 
hit the speed dial.



He picked up on the second ring.

"Mulder, it's me."

So much for listening to gut reactions.

"What's wrong, Scully?" His voice contained a 
world weariness that was painful to hear.

"Everything. Come back. Please."

"Scully, we'll see each other at work in a few 
hours."

"This is not a conversation for work, and you know 
it. If you don't come back here now, I'm coming to 
your place and sitting in the hallway until you 
let me in."

"You're injured."

"There are cabs, Mulder. It would be better 
for my foot if I didn't have to leave but--it's 
your choice, really."

That should do it. I almost never play the guilt 
card with Mulder. With him, it really is fighting 
dirty but there was no way I was going to let this 
brew one moment longer than it had to. This 
situation was my fault, in some ways. Or the fault 
of two people with two entirely different ways of 
expressing themselves--caught in a moment of 
classic miscommunication. I liked that second 
choice better.

There was silence on the other line and then I 
heard the slight squeal of tires.  He had turned 
the car around. Using the Starsky and Hutch method 
of driving, apparently.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Good.

Now, how does one right a situation like this?



No, that wouldn't work.



Nah.

I was still considering options as I opened the 
door. He walked in and I knew he was about to 
launch into some sort of speech about whatever he 
had been thinking of during the past quarter hour. 
I didn't want that. I closed the door and chose the option 
my heart had been pushing. I simply walked over 
and put my arms around his waist and held him to 
me as tightly as possible.

"Scul. . ." he stopped mid-Scully. I guess I caught 
him by surprise.

Good.

"You think you know me so well, " I said in mock 
reproach as I leaned my head against his chest. 

"Scully--your foot."

Actually, I had shifted my weight automatically to 
my other leg. But he didn't have to know that.

"My foot is fine."

He relaxed then--lightly placing his hands against 
my upper back. I've known him for a long time and 
we've been in situations that I feel pretty safe 
in saying no one has been in. But he rarely smells 
bad. After a day of work and running back and 
forth to my apartment he just smells--warm. Like 
his body heat is activating old aftershave, 
deodorant, and whatever his clothes were washed 
in. It's nice. It's Mulder.

"I do know you," he said, breaking the silence. "I 
know you very well."

I ran my hands under his jacket and grabbed hold 
of the back of his shirt. It was something I could 
use to help pull him closer to me.

I felt him move his hips back a little and smiled 
to myself as I countered his move with one of my 
own.

"Scully. . ." a little note of warning in his 
voice.

"Hips before hands, Mulder. Remember?" I said, 
letting go of his shirt and running my hands down 
the slope of his backside. I gently squeezed his 
behind as I pressed myself more firmly 
against his impressive--firmness. There was a good 
possibility I was losing my mind but insanity 
seemed like a very desirable option at this 
moment. 

"Scully."

He put his hands on my forearms and I realized he 
was about to push me away. I hadn't given him any 
reason not to.

I pulled my arms away from his butt and gripped 
his forearms as he was gripping mine.

"I re-read my email and think I understand, 
Mulder. I never meant it that way. After you left 
last night, I was so happy. But I thought back and 
realized that you said some things I didn't say in 
return. And when I looked back over my actions of 
the evening--I just thought I needed to explain. 
On all kinds of levels. Number one--no matter what 
I felt and how you responded, I didn't want you to 
think I was disrespecting the work we've devoted 
our lives to. That I was forcing you--in any way--
to make a choice between it and a more intimate 
relationship. And yet, since I did initiate our 
physical contact, I also wanted you to know that 
even though I do control the emotions and feelings 
and responses that are  there--there are 
days that it's so difficult, that I no longer feel 
I can do it alone."

He looked down at me.

"So, we're back to square one--with me pushing you 
away when you get too close and you pushing me 
away when I do the same," he said.

Why did that option seem so bleak?

"Do we have any other choices?" I asked, a hint of 
hope in my voice. If anyone could think his way 
out of an impossible situation, it was Mulder.

I looked at him and met his soft smile.

"Find a happy medium?" he suggested, as he bent 
his knees and literally attached his lips to the 
right side of my neck. My grip on his forearms 
loosened as his arms went around my waist, which 
was a fairly good thing considering the fact that 
my knees were as close to buckling as they had 
ever been. I closed my eyes and leaned my head 
further to the left as he sucked a bit more of my 
flesh into his warm, wet, slippery--fabulous 
mouth.

"Mulder. This is not a medium. This is--me not 
being able to give a flying fig over anything or 
anyone but you if you don't stop. And God--I don't 
want you to stop."

And for a glorious minute or two, he didn't. He 
just shifted his beautiful mouth to mine and 
lifted me off my feet as I wrapped my arms tightly 
around his neck and my legs firmly around his 
hips. Height difference be damned. Our second kiss 
and we came up with a solution in less than sixty 
seconds. This had to be a sign of good things to 
come. 

This and the wonderful feel of Mulder's erection 
pressing in the exact place I wanted it. The wet 
slide of our tongues as we both tried to gain 
dominance in our mutual exploration. Very good 
signs.

But all good things come to an end. I felt him 
pulling his face away from mine and I followed in 
the same direction long enough to tussle with his 
mouth one last time before letting him disengage.

He turned us both around and leaned us against the 
front door of my apartment. He probably did it to 
help support the weight of my body but it had 
certain happy repercussions that made me moan out 
loud and pull his head back to my throat.

He didn't follow my lead. He was choosing to be 
sensible. He was doing what I had requested.

Damn it.

He pulled back and looked at me.

"Flying fig?"

I laughed and buried my head in his neck.

"It was the only "f" words allowed in the Scully 
household. However, they aren't the ones you 
usually inspire."

"No?"

I shook my head.

"Tell me," he whispered.

"Friend," I said, giving him a quick peck on his 
neck. The flesh under my lips was warm, moist and 
salty.

"Fire," this time, I bit down slightly and ran my 
tongue along the wound. My reward was my very own 
Mulder moan.

"And?" he prompted, breathily.

"Fidelity."

"Fidelity? I was hoping for something a little 
more--carnal."

"Um--that, too. But you do inspire fidelity. And 
I'll wait for the carnal part forever if I have 
to. Ah. 'Forever.' Another 'f' word."

"A nice one."

I unwrapped myself from around him and lowered myself 
gingerly to the floor. Forever. I  wait--
hopefully not forever but if that's what it took. 
. .

"Thank you, Scully."

"What?" I could hear the words but was not exactly 
processing them at the moment.

"Thank you." 

"For what?"

"For having your little hundredth day crisis. For 
attempting to get through to me through your 
email. For failing--miserably. Ouch. Don't pinch 
me, woman. And for blackmailing me back here to 
clear the air about what you were feeling."

"I managed all that?"

He nodded.

"Well, that's good but now, we  back where we 
started," I said with a sigh.

"No--back, probably, to where we were last night--
but with a bit more certainty. That's progress."

It was my turn to nod.

"Plus," he continued, "now I know that you think 
of me in that way. And I know how soft your lips 
are and what your skin tastes like. That nice 
little hip motion you've got going when you're 
grinding against me." He cocked his head to one 
side with a mischievous grin on his face. "And the 
exact shade of red you turn when I tease you about 
something sexual. And--I know you love me?" 

The damned man still had a question in his voice.

"Yes." A simple declaration."You  learn a 
lot."

"I had a good instructor."

"Glad to be of service."

He leaned down and kissed me softly.

"Good night?"

There we were in our endless ping pong match. It 
was my turn to make the final shot. My decision if 
we'd return to normal or move forward ahead of 
time.

Ahead of time.

There was my answer.

It wasn't our time yet.

But I now had something to tide me over.

"Good night, Mulder."

I would not be kissing him good night again for a 
very long time and we would keep each other 
honest. But we both knew the truth--and that was 
an amazingly huge step for us.

As I closed my door behind him, I heard myself 
whisper the "f" word.

"Forever."

And it would be worth the wait.

I turned to find a Hefty bag for my foot. Injured 
or not, tonight was a night for a very cold 
shower.

The end.

Author's Notes:
This is it for this little series, kids.
And it's supposed to end this way. No real smut 
but the promise of something in the future.
For this story, it's the right thing to do and 
Gina always does what's right (well, almost 
always).
Have a great Fourth of July. Consider this my 
birthday present to you.

    Source: geocities.com/ginarainfic