Title: The Hundredth Day 2: Make My Life
Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)
Category: M/S UST
Rating: PG-13 
Spoilers: Nada (set around season 7, though)
Archive: Sure.
Summary: A perfect moment is spoiled by email. 
Disclaimer: CC and Co. own the whole enchilada (that's 
the extent of my Spanish, by the way). 
Quick note: You don't need to read the first part of 
this series for this to make sense. (However, if you 
want to, it's here: 
http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic/hundreth.html). 
All you need to know is 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.
Okay, with all that in mind. . .
On your mark, get set, go. . .

Hundredth Day 2

Scully didn't come to work the morning following our 
first kiss. Not surprising, considering the fact that 
she could barely walk. No, I'm not flattering myself. 
A misstep at an impromptu picnic sprained the arch in 
her foot. Badly.

What was surprising was the email she sent me during 
the night. The email explaining a phenomenon she 
refers to as the "hundredth day syndrome." Apparently, 
our kiss was due to some bizarre law of averages that 
simultaneously makes her horny and me irresistible 
approximately 3.65 days a year. Apparently, ninety-
nine out of a hundred days, she can control any stray 
manifestations of said condition but this time, it 
struck when we both happened to be at the wrong place 
at the wrong time. Never mind that it felt so right. 
Never mind the physical. . . gusto. . .of the kiss 
itself, or the fact that we shared a pillow and I once 
again confessed my love for her. Apparently, none of 
that mattered because we were no longer in any danger 
of a repeat performance. At least, for the next 
ninety-nine days. 

Or some such shit.

I sat there in front of the computer and deleted my 
first, "Damn it, Scully. Your rationalization has now 
ruined one of the best moments in my miserable life," 
response almost as soon as I finished typing. I mean, 
how much of my own personal breast-beating was she 
supposed to take?

The next email was a simple, "Well, if you want to go 
on living in a fool's paradise, fine. But I know what 
I feel and I'm pretty sure I know what you feel."

Delete. I told her I was no poet.

Then came the humorous one: "Okay. But if you'd like 
to run another clinical trial on that little procedure 
you're trying to perfect. . .I don't know what you 
call it but, you know, the one where you tried to 
remove my tonsils with just your tongue. . .I'm 
available. Anything in the name of Science."

Delete. 

The funny thing is, I wouldn't have said one damned 
word about the whole kissing incident if she didn't 
send that email. We both know that it's not our time 
yet. We have work to do that's bigger than any needs 
we might have--individually, or collectively. But the 
email clinched it. Because she tried to explain 
something that defies explanation. Because she can't 
just sit back and believe. Not about us, anyway. She 
won't let herself or. . .something. And that 
rationalization, to me, is a denial of what exists. 
And that denial is a lie--of sorts. An untruth. And 
everyone and his mother knows how I feel about the 
truth.

She wanted me as much as I wanted her. I don't want 
her to explain it away. Not even to save herself.

I left her email unanswered and went to work, 
expecting to talk about it in person, when I got the 
call from Skinner's secretary informing me that Agent 
Scully took a sick day. My email at work contained a 
breezy message from Scully herself about her need for 
one day of RICE and NSAIDS. Rest, ice, compression and 
elevation and non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. 
As if I needed the spelled out version. After all this 
time, I could read a hospital chart with the best of 
them.

I chose not to answer that email as well. 

Childish? Perhaps. But mother always said if you can't 
say something nice. . .

And at that moment, my thoughts were not leaning 
toward nice.

The day passed in a haze of paperwork. Periodically, I 
checked my e-mail--including my home account. I kept 
hoping that, even though I had already read her 
message that morning--she still would have thought 
better of it and clicked the "unsend" button. The "no-
-I won't cheapen the moment with words" key. 

The message was still there.

Five o'clock rolled around and, for once, I left on 
time. I needed to see how the patient was doing. First 
and foremost, I had to make sure she was really all 
right. It's something I should have done in the 
morning but. . .well, I'm just a sensitive guy and my 
ego got a boo boo.

By the time I reached her door, I wasn't sure that 
coming over was a good idea.

I wasn't sure what to say; what to do. The night 
before, in a rare moment of complete inner honesty, 
she told me how tired she was. That was all she said 
but the subtext was clear. She was tired of fighting 
what we have. Of not having what we have. Fully having 
what we have. She gave me an out. Gave me the 
opportunity to be the strong, sensible one for a 
change--and I took it. For about five seconds. And 
then, I just got on the bed, trying not to squish her 
or her injured foot too much, and kissed her. And what 
a kiss. I literally thought we were going to fall 
through the bed at one point. She was pulling me and I 
was pushing her--all in an effort to get closer and 
closer. . .and then--as with everything in our lives--
we were interrupted. This time, by her injured foot, 
which picked just that moment to give her a huge 
nudge. And that was all it took. One moment to break 
the mood and bring us back to the reality we have 
accepted as our lives.

Damn.

I knocked before I could stop myself. No answer. I 
pulled out my key.

"Scully?" I called out to the seemingly empty 
apartment.

"Mulder?" Great. She was in the bedroom.

"You alone in there?" Oh. She'll love that. I'm not 
sure where my internal censor was when that came 
tumbling out of my mouth but I guess he was thinking 
that if the hundredth day was actually mistimed and, 
let's say, the superintendent of her building was the 
only man around. . .

"What?" 

Good. Saved by thick walls.

She came hobbling out a moment later looking--cute. 
Standing there in shorts and a sweatshirt with her 
hair a bit rumbled. Maybe I should repeat that "are 
you alone" question after all.

"Mulder--what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see how you were. I knocked but you 
didn't answer."

"I thought I heard something. I was watching an old 
movie and I guess I fell asleep. I thought I was 
dreaming."



"How's your foot? Swallowed enough Advil?"

"It's much better, Mulder. Really. Thank you for 
wrapping it for me last night. That and the Advil all 
day---and the rest--has really helped a lot."

"I'm glad."

"Did you get my email?"

"Both, actually."

She looked down at her foot for a moment. Forgot about 
the first one already?

"Good. I haven't had a chance to check my computer."

No chance? All day at home after dropping a minor 
bombshell and no chance to turn on the computer and 
check to see if I responded?

"Well, that's okay. I'm sure the links to "Farm Animal 
Fun" and offers of penis enlargement will still be in 
effect." 

She smiled a little.

Well, this was cozy. She was standing in the doorway 
of the living room, I was still standing about two 
feet from her front door. We were both making small 
talk like we had never spent more than five minutes 
together in our entire lives. Yup. Cozy.

"I'm going to go. I just didn't have a chance to email 
you today and. . .I thought I'd rather see how you're 
doing in person. So--rest up. If you're not feeling a 
hundred percent tomorrow, don't come in. Then you'll 
have three whole days, with the weekend and all. 
You'll be high-heel ready by Monday."

"No, I'll come in tomorrow."

"Scully. Nothing is happening in the office. Really. 
I'm all caught up with paperwork and I'm just running 
down old email and phone messages hoping to find a new 
case. Stay home."

She stood there and stared at me. Of course she was 
coming in tomorrow. I told her to stay home. She'd be 
there if she had to crawl in.

"Whatever," I said, giving in. "Feel better and have a 
good night."

I turned toward the door and grabbed the door knob.

"Want some tea?" she asked.

"Tea?"

"Coffee? Soda? Beer?"



"I could use something to drink."


The conversation continued in the same lively manner 
over her tea and my beer. It was a mistake coming 
here. I would have seen her at work tomorrow and 
pretended nothing had happened and we'd take one of 
those half-assed leads and be off and running once 
again. Not a bad life. Maybe I'd get lucky in another 
ninety-nine days or so.

I could save things right now. Start up a normal 
conversation. Just tell her about my day at work and 
begin the slide back to routine.

I could. . . 

"So, hundredth day, huh?"

But, I didn't.

It was just a momentary loss of control but I saw the 
mug shift in her hand before she gripped the handle 
tightly. 

If I wouldn't have been staring at her, I would never 
have known that I got to her. For just a second.

She nodded her head in response to my question. 
Clearly, she wanted the subject dropped.

"So, Scully. . .how does this thing work, anyway? I 
need to know the rules so when it happens in another 
98.5 days, I'll be prepared."

"Mulder. . ."

"No. Really. Explain."

"I did that in my email."

"You didn't explain. You damn near apologized." So 
much for keeping things unemotional.

She stared at me in surprise.

"Well, if that's how you interpreted my message, I 
didn't explain it as clearly as I was hoping to."

"I'm listening now."

She put her tea down and inhaled softly.

"After you left, I thought I owed you an explanation 
for my uncharacteristic behavior. I refer to days like 
yesterday as the 'hundredth day" syndrome because. . 
.I don't know, it's just a pet name, I guess. There 
are a handful of days a year that I find myself less 
able to deal with some of the complications of our 
relationship."

"Complications," I huffed softly.

"Yes."

"And on those days, it's my duty to reel you in?"

"You usually do."

"Do I?"

"All the time."

"So, I dropped the ball last night? Mixed-
metaphorically speaking?"

"I don't regret it."

"How charitable of you."

"Mulder. . ."

"Well, you should know that you didn't just make my 
day, Scully. You damned near made my life. So. . 
.please, don't downplay your lapse into the world of 
emotions. Or sexual urges or whatever it was. . ."

"Mulder. . .stop. Don't make this bigger than it has 
to be."

I needed to leave. Badly.  Because I  making it 
bigger than I had to. I knew that. In a moment, I was 
either going to weep in frustration or have a hissy 
fit worthy of old Scarlet O'Hara herself. And that's 
not exactly an endearing thing to present to the woman 
you love.

I emptied the rest of the beer in two quick swallows 
and went to Scully's counter to throw out the bottle. 
She keeps her trash in the cabinet under the sink. 
Neat and tidy. That's my Scully. 

When I straightened up, I nearly banged into her 
knees. She had hoisted herself up on the counter and 
was sitting there, watching me.

"Talk to me?" she whispered.

"I don't have anything to say, Scully."

"I think you have a lot to say."

"Yeah, well. Whether I do or don't--I don't want to 
say it."

She looked at me in silence. Her expression had that 
lovely unreadable quality to it.

"Would you rewrap my foot for me?"

"C'mon, Scully. You've been doing it yourself all 
day."

"It's hard to do on my own. I either make it either 
too tight or too loose. I've been trying to fix it the 
way you did last night, but it's not working."

I didn't believe her for a moment but I went to 
collect the supplies and pulled up a chair so my face 
was pretty much level with her knee. I lifted my own 
knee up a bit and had her rest her foot on it as I 
rewrapped her pretty, albeit still slightly swollen, 
foot in silence.

"Better?" I asked, as I finished. 

"Much. Thank you."

I looked back up at her. There was a sadness in her 
eyes. Even if I sometimes push her toward it, I don't 
like seeing it when it finally arrives.

"What happens if I have my hundredth day?" I asked 
her.

She just gave the smallest of smiles.

Well, as the kids say, 'duh.'

She's been reeling me in for years. 




I smiled back without a trace of real humor. This 
wasn't a funny situation. It was rather sad.

I stood up to leave and--well, I never could leave 
well enough alone. I just had to test a theory.

I faced her and placed one hand on each of her knees 
and gently pushed them apart. Then I stepped between 
them. Not quite in the danger zone of touching but 
close enough to make things interesting.  She sat 
there and watched my actions and her breathing hitched 
a bit--as she waited to see what I'd do next. I looked 
down and watched myself stroke her left knee with my 
thumb and forefinger. 

Part of me wanted to test her. See how she'd react 
when I was the one who was tired. Tired of playing 
games. Tired of not having what we have. Completely. 
Rile her up a bit. Find out if she still wanted me 
today or if it really was some crap that just happened 
with the alignment of moon, earth, sun and stars.
But a larger part couldn't look her in the eye.

I watched my hand continue its caress of her knee and 
listened to the rather heavy, uneven sounds of our 
breathing in the silent room. Yesterday, I could hear 
us as we lay on her bed kissing. The television was on 
in the background but I still managed to hear the 
sounds our lips made as they shifted against each 
other--alternating levels of suction, the funny 
smacking sounds of  parting and coming together. The 
gaspy breaths we were forced to take in order not to 
disconnect this precious, first contact. Yesterday, it 
was love. For me, it's still love. And if she's not 
ready to own up to that entirely. . .

Then she's not.

And I don't want silly tests, or games, or scientific 
terminology to categorize and file away something that 
is way too precious to me.

I stop the slow caress and step away from her. My 
hands push her knees together.

"Do you want a boost down?" I ask finally, meeting the 
smoky blue eyes that became slightly narrowed in 
confusion.

"No. I can get down on my own, Mulder."

"Of course you can. Well, I've got to go. You. . .rest 
up and I'll see you tomorrow--or, Monday. Whichever."

"Tomorrow. I told you." she said softly.

"Yes, you did."

She made no move to get down from the counter. And I 
think she felt that would somehow keep me there. She 
was wrong.

"Goodnight," I said softly and didn't look back as I 
walked to her front door and left her apartment. 


Author's notes: Gasp! I left the story hanging--sort 
of.
Part 3 of this series will come soon enough. After I 
write it, of course.

    Source: geocities.com/ginarainfic