Part 7

March 24 
9:45 PM
Charlotte Colby's estate

Mulder and Scully were sitting in the drawing room of Charlotte's 
house, with George and Charlotte and Charlotte's agent, Jeff. He had 
flown in the night before, having heard of the untimely demise of 
Charlotte's writing partner. 

"We will. . .continue with the book but I think we may have a great 
deal of rewriting to do. Perhaps aim a little lower and try to write 
the book as Charlotte originally intended. A sort of tete a tete with 
her fans--letting them in on some of the dish, but slightly less of the 
dirt. Seems like the right thing to do given the. . .circumstances."

Scully thought they could actually take full advantage of those 
circumstances. Ironically, they were now getting a lot of pre-
publication press. It wasn't Jonathan's escalating murder schedule but 
his own death that caught the media's attention. Jonathan's third book-
-the dud--was already scheduled for a massive reprinting. The 
"metaphysical claptrap"--a murder mystery involving transference of a 
person's soul through its windows--the eyes--wasn't seen as quite so 
preposterous, once it was publicly conjectured that this was the way 
Jonathan himself pulled off no less than four murders and two attempts. 
He had been a student of mind control for many years but appeared to 
have only put his knowledge to use in order to garner enough publicity 
to save his own dying career. Even if caught, he knew a conviction 
would be nearly impossible. 

Well, perhaps a chapter or two on working with the mind-controlling 
murderer would allow Charlotte to have her biography--the way she 
originally intended it--without sacrificing a guaranteed audience. 
From George's smug look, it seemed that he had every intention of using 
his influence to keep Charlotte's memoirs on the "high road." 

Charlotte was in all her mesmerizing glory and for once, Scully could 
see some of the old movie magic in the aging diva. She looked across 
the room at Mulder--eyes smiling, cheeks flushed. Facing a childhood 
idol. He caught her eye and his eyes and smile changed. Softened. 
Became so tender and open that she found herself flushing in response. 
That look was for Scully alone. No silken caftans, no precious jewels--
jus the woman he loved. 

"I will dedicate my book to you," Charlotte announced to the two 
agents.

"No, please don't." Scully said. "Dedicate it to your fans or your 
friends. . .or anyone but us. We don't need any more attention."

"My dear--one can always use a little more attention. But very well, I 
will dedicate it to George for always being so faithful."

"You'll dedicate it to me because you're afraid I'll tell them what you 
really look like before I start my reconstruction every morning."

"Pooh, George. You are the worst person in the world when it comes to 
taking compliments. . ."

And Mulder and Scully left them a half-hour later, still bickering in a 
friendly manner.

11 PM
Mulder's hotel room

They were sitting face to face. Mulder had his back against the 
headboard and Scully was straddling his lap, her hands grasping the 
headboard on either side of him.  Their joined bodies rocked gently 
back and forth

"Um, this feels good, Mulder."

"I read about it somewhere."

"I'm sure. . .personal experience never entered the picture," she said, 
shifting her hips and driving him deeper within her.

"Actually, no. This is a first. . . well, with you anyway. In real 
life, I mean. I did have this dream once. . ."

"Won't be a last, Mulder. I like this a lot. God, you feel good."

"You said that already," he said, panting in short puffs as he picked 
up the pace of his, until now, steady rocking motion.

"I'll be saying it again in a moment. . .oh, Mulder."

He burrowed his face into her shoulder and held tightly to her hips.  
She sunk her hands into his slightly damp hair. She could feel his 
teeth lightly nipping against her flesh.

"You can say anything you want, Mulder. Don't hold back. I won't run 
away."

 he thought briefly. Their first two nights together, he had 
run a nearly non-stop, highly detailed soliloquy on the joys of loving 
her. The third night and tonight, he had said nothing of a personal 
nature. He thought she needed to remember that they were the same two 
people they always had been. That loving each other physically didn't 
change their essential personalities. Still. . .

"Anything?" he grunted out.

"Anything..."

He lifted his head from her shoulder and looked deeply in her eyes.

"Some case, huh?"

She giggled for a moment, then lost her train of thought as he steadily 
lifted her and dropped her back down against himself. The feelings were 
so intense she simply wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as 
he quickly pumped into her. They found release within moments of each 
other.  She drew herself up enough to be able to kiss the top of his 
sweaty hair and he used the unusual height difference to latch on to a 
nipple and draw it slowly against his teeth. 

"Mulder?"

"Hmmm?"

"I know we didn't start off in a picture perfect manner but really--
we're not doing too badly, are we?"

He let go of her breast and looked up at her.

"We're doing just fine."

She settled back down on his lap. He resumed his usual position with 
his chin lightly pressing against the top of her head.

"A lot of it is your doing."

"Not really, Scully. I just realized I was being every bit as dramatic 
as some of those smarmy movies I watched as a kid. Leaving in a huff, 
with my masculine pride dripping all over the place--knowing--really 
knowing that you would never intentionally hurt me unless there was 
something you were feeling that was pretty powerful to force you to do 
so."

"No role playing has ever been necessary in our relationship, Mulder. I 
was just afraid that now--it might become a requirement of some sort." 

"No requirements. We'll get together when we both want to and stay the 
night, or not. I, for one, make absolutely no promises about not going 
off after making love and catching the end of the Knicks game in the 
living room. No promises whatsoever."
 
She smiled. "I can live with that."

"And, of course, I don't know how long this wave of maturity will keep 
biting me on the ass. It might abandon me tomorrow and I could turn 
Neanderthal again."

"I can live with that, too."

The moonlight coming through the slightly opened curtains gave her face 
a slightly muted appearance.

"Are you in ragdoll mode or in fleeing mode, Scully?"

"Neither. I'm in a let's take a shower before sleeping mode. I'll soap 
your back if you soap mine."
 
He shivered at the thought.

"A bit of an encore, Scully?"

She smiled and disentangled herself from his embrace. She stood up, 
stretched and reached out her hand to him. 

"A standing ovation, Mulder."

He laughed and took her hand. She wrapped her arms around his waist as 
they slowly made their way to the shower.

Their soft laughter could still be heard as they entered the bath and 
dropped the shower curtain back in place.

The End.

Author's Notes:
This one has been a long time in coming for some reason. It's a story I 
had utter faith in but still kept reading and re-reading--just to make 
sure.
It's dedicated to my Grandma M.--a true redheaded diva on earth who, I 
am sure, is now holding court on a higher realm. For believing in me 
always, for loving me unconditionally and for just being one of the 
most interesting women I have ever known.

    Source: geocities.com/ginarainfic