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Title:            Revenge
Author:           Lovesfox
E-mail:           Lovesfox@rogers.com  (Feed me, please)
Web site:         http://www.geocities.com/kim_djd/index.html
Rating:           NC-17 (violence, consensual M/S sex and strong 
                  language)
Category:         Implied UST then MSR, Angst, Story/X-File
Classification:   XRA
Spoilers:         Not really, but up to mid-S7
Archive:          As long as my name and everything stays attached
Summary:          An old case of Mulder's resurfaces seeking revenge

Disclaimer:       Alas, not mine.  They belong to Chris Carter and 
                  1013 Productions

Dedication:       To true friendship, through thick and thin.  
                  Thanks, T.

Warning:          This story contains some scenes of violence, a
                  rape attempt, implied character death, references
                  to incest, and graphic sex.




Revenge Part 14 of 29
by Lovesfox




Dana Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Saturday
11:00 am


Home.  She was finally home.  Scully stood a few steps inside her 
apartment, vaguely aware of Mulder talking quietly to their escort 
of agents behind her, and just stared.  It felt so good to be home.  
She moved in a little further, hearing the quiet snick of the lock 
after Mulder shut the door.  A rush of cool air teased her as he 
walked past, carrying her bag from the hospital.  He headed down 
the hall to her bedroom as she surveyed her home.

Signs of her mother's presence were everywhere, the vase of fresh 
flowers on the coffee table by the couch, the smell of her special 
chicken soup simmering in the kitchen, the sparkle on the hardwood 
floors.  Scully could tell her mother had done a massive clean-up 
job after Skinner and the other agents were done here, there had 
apparently been quite a mess.  

Mulder had finally told her their theory of her kidnapping, that 
she had been taken after exiting her car two weeks ago yesterday, 
and that he and Skinner had set-up a post of sorts in her 
apartment.  It had taken a lot of effort on her part to get Mulder 
to talk after her mother had revealed that Mulder had been the one 
to rescue her from the fire.

Even though she had still been reeling from that news, despite 
memories of so many other instances where Mulder had risked his own 
life to save hers, she had pressed him to tell her as much as he 
knew.  

He had done so, his voice sometimes monotone, other times choppy and 
thick, and even though he had been careful to relate only details, 
his feelings and emotions had leaked through.  It had been as she 
had imagined while imprisoned with Elliot; Mulder had gone through 
his own hell.

There had been silence for long moments after his recitation had 
ended, Mulder staring unblinking at his own hands, linked together 
and hanging towards the ground, his elbows on his knees.  His 
shoulders had heaved several times, his breathing harsh.  

She had watched him, eyes stinging with unshed tears, and finally 
whispered his name.  

When he had looked up, she had patted the mattress beside her, 
saying only, "Please?"  

He had hesitated only seconds before climbing up onto the bed, and 
once she had them arranged satisfactorily, with his arm wrapped 
around her and her head tucked into the hollow between his neck and 
shoulder, and her hand clasping his free one, she had told him what 
she remembered.  

She had held almost nothing back, knowing not only that he needed to 
know, but that she needed to tell him, for her own sake.  Mulder had 
been quiet through most of her narration, but she had felt his body 
tense when she told him of being forced to change and shower in 
front of Elliot, and of her near-rape at his hands.  Bitter curses 
had been torn out of him then.

The tears that had fallen from her eyes had been a form of release, 
of cleansing, and she had not been ashamed of them.  Nor had Mulder 
been ashamed of his tears.  She had been so very tired though, that 
she had fallen asleep, still cradled in his arms.

Scully finally forced herself to move again, walking over to the 
couch, and easing her still bruised body down onto the couch.  
She curled her feet up under her body, her head resting on her palm 
on the armrest. As she heard Mulder's footsteps returning from her 
bedroom, she recalled the one thing she had not told Mulder that 
day.  

That she had heard his declaration of love in the warehouse, when he 
had thought she was dead.

"Scully, do you want me to make you some tea?" Mulder asked, his 
voice soft, stopping beside the couch to lightly touch her 
shoulder.  

She realized he must think she was dozing, and pushed herself up 
onto her elbow.  She cleared her throat and smiled faintly at him. 
"Yes, thank-you," she replied, and watched him walk into the 
kitchen.  She lowered her head back to the arm of the couch and 
resumed thinking.  

She still wasn't sure why she had held back that little piece of 
information.  Hearing it while standing beside Elliot in the 
abandoned hospital's room, had affected her profoundly, caused her 
to finally and truly evaluate her own feelings for Mulder.  She 
loved him.

So why couldn't she tell him?

Because he hasn't told you, that little voice in her head answered.  
And he hadn't.  Not in words, anyway.  She knew he loved her, he 
showed her in so many ways.   She was just afraid it was not the 
same love she felt for him.  That it was a love of friendship, of 
mutual trust and respect.  Not a love of devotion, of passion and 
desire.

Through their years together, on hundreds of cases, in hotel rooms 
and abandoned warehouses, on stakeouts and investigations, she had 
caught glimpses of what she thought might be his attraction for 
her.  Sometimes even a flare of desire, quickly masked.  Heard his 
innuendos and teasing comments, wondered if there was meaning behind 
them. Hoped there was.

There is, she told herself.  Her mind flicked through memories, of 
warm glances, of tender touches, of late night calls just to make 
sure she was okay.  Images of his smile, the one only for her, 
sounds of his voice, saying her name in that way that made her toes 
curl.

This was love.  She was suddenly sure of it.

Muted sounds from the kitchen distracted her, cupboards banging, 
Mulder mumbling under his breath.  She had to smile.  It sounded 
so right, him being here with her, and she knew right then and 
there that she had to tell him how she felt.

Scully sat up straighter, but left her feet tucked underneath her.  
Her hands were cold, and her heart was pounding.  She took a deep, 
steadying breath just as Mulder walked back into the room, carrying 
a laden tray.  

He moved carefully and slowly lowered it onto the coffee table, 
nudging the vase of flowers aside.  She saw he had found her 
favorite china teapot, a gift from Melissa, two teacups, milk and 
sugar, and two spoons.  The couch moved slightly as he sat down 
beside her, his hand reaching out to lift the teapot.

No time like the present.  Another deep breath, which had Mulder 
looking at her with concern on his face, and she said the words.

"Mulder, I love you."

***

11:10 am

Mulder dropped the carry-on bag on the floor beside Scully's bed, 
his eyes wandering her bedroom for a minute.  Mrs. Scully had 
obviously cleaned up, the bed was freshly made, with a different 
comforter, and there was another, smaller vase of fresh flowers on 
one night table.  

Gone were the traces of fingerprint dust, the mess he had left when 
he had searched desperately for the clue supposedly left by Elliot 
Andercott, any trace that someone other than Scully herself had 
been in there.

For a brief instant, he saw again her bed as he and Skinner had 
found it, covered in the surveillance photos Andercott had taken of 
Scully for God knows how long, heard again the ringing of the 
cellular phone the man had left on her dresser.

He shook his head to dispel the memories, and headed back to the 
living room.  As he approached, he could see that Scully had settled 
down on the couch, her head resting on its arm.  He wondered if she 
was sleeping, but then could see that she seemed too tense to 
actually have fallen asleep.  He stopped beside the couch and 
reached out with a light hand to touch her shoulder.  "Scully, do 
you want me to make you some tea?" he asked quietly, and watched as 
she pushed herself up a little.

At her acknowledgement, he went to the kitchen to make the tea.  He 
found himself wondering if she were in any pain.  Her movements from 
the car to inside her apartment had been slow and careful, and he 
was pretty sure he had seen her conceal a wince or two.  He had also 
seen some of her bruises earlier that morning at the hospital when 
he arrived to take her home, having walked in on her without 
knocking.  

She had been partially dressed, her bare back facing he and the 
door, and he had not been able to control his harsh intake of air.  
One large purple bruise decorated her right shoulder blade, and 
other smaller, brownish ones dotted her spine.  She had looked over 
her shoulder at him as he mumbled an apology and backed out the 
door.  

Neither of them had mentioned what he had seen on their drive to her 
apartment.

He had asked if she was all right, of course, a couple of times 
actually, and the first time she had replied that she was okay.  
The second time, he had received her standard answer of 'I'm fine' 
in a somewhat testy tone.  He just wasn't so sure, but he didn't 
want to push her.  Despite their long talk in the hospital after 
her mother had left, she was still holding back.  He supposed it 
came from years of practice.  

Mulder snorted quietly to himself.  

Pot meet kettle.  

He was just as guilty as she.  He too had held something back.  
He knew that when he had told her of the week spent in frantic 
search for her that some of what he had truly been feeling, his 
despair and fear, had leaked through, had seen her reactions to 
his recital.  She had been drawn as taut as a bowstring in his 
arms, and had not been unable to control her ragged breathing or 
the occasional gasp or sniffle. 

Yet he had not told her he loved her.  He had chickened out.  But 
somehow, it had not felt right telling her something so important in 
the hospital, despite the fact that many of their confessions and 
declarations had happened in one.

He would have to find the right time.

The teakettle whistled then, knocking him from his thoughts, and he 
lifted it from the burner to pour the water into the teapot he had 
found.  He put the pot onto the tray with the other things he had 
rummaged through Scully's cupboards to find, and went back to the 
living room.

Scully was sitting up on the couch, and she looked so serious, 
almost melancholy, that he was a little taken aback, his steps 
nearly faltering.  He managed to get the tray onto the coffee table 
without incident, shoving the vase of flowers there aside, and came 
around to sit beside her on the couch.  He leaned over to pour the 
tea, and heard Scully inhale deeply.  He turned to her in alarm, 
worried that something was wrong.

What he heard floored him. 

Scully's voice, a little breathless and rushed, saying, "Mulder, I 
love you."

Mulder stared at her, speechless, unable to move.  His mind was a 
jumble of thoughts.  Foremost was 'Scully loves me'.   It was 
closely followed by 'She's confused, she doesn't really mean it'.  
The emotional upheaval she had been through with her kidnapping, on 
top of learning he had been the one to pull her from the fire, had 
done a number on her.

As much as he had longed to hear those words coming from her lips, 
had dreamed of hearing them, he did not think she meant them, at 
least not the way he wished she did.

Scully rose suddenly, avoiding his gaze, and hurried down the hall 
to her bedroom, and Mulder felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.  
Jackass! He yelled at himself.  She just told you she loved you!  
Even if the sentiment was misplaced, you could have at least said 
something. Anything!

He rose from the couch, tripping over feet that suddenly seemed 
miles too big, and called out, "Scully, wait!"

He knew he was in trouble when she did not slam her door, but merely 
shut it gently.  With finality.  He hustled down the hall, coming to 
a skidding halt at her door.  He knew there was no lock on it, but 
would not enter without her permission.  "Scully," he said, knocking 
softly.  "Can I come in, please?"

She did not answer, and he repeated his plea.  And twice more.  

Finally he heard her voice faintly telling him to come in.  He 
turned the doorknob and entered slowly, seeing Scully sitting on the 
edge of her bed.  Her face was composed, but color was still high on 
her cheeks.  She regarded him solemnly as he crossed the throw rug 
to sit beside her.

Although in reality only inches separated their physical bodies, 
his thigh almost touching hers, the emotional chasm between them 
was enormous.   

Now that he was there with her, he was at a loss for words again.  
He could feel her gaze on him, sensed her waiting for him to make 
the first move.

"Scully, I..." he hesitated, trying to find the words.  He started 
again.  "Scully, I know you think..."

Her voice interrupted them, low and husky.  "Mulder, why don't you 
believe me?"  She lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek, 
turning his head to face her.  She had shifted slightly on the bed 
as well, so most of her body was turned to his, her hand falling to 
her lap. 

"Why is it you can believe in the existence of aliens, and in all 
things fantastical and paranormal, but you can't believe that I love 
you?"  

She raised her hand again, saying, "I love you here."  Her fingers 
grazed his forehead.  "And I most especially love you here."  Her 
fingers left his forehead to touch his chest, her palm lying 
directly over his heart.  "I think I have for so very long, it just 
took a very terrible ordeal to realize it."

Mulder stared into her eyes, clear and wide and so very blue, and 
saw truths in their depths.  Beautiful truths.  

"Scully," he whispered.  He did not remember moving his hands, but 
they were suddenly framing her face, pulling her closer.  "I love 
you."  The thumb of one hand stroked her cheek, feather-light.  
"More than I ever thought I could love anyone."  

He copied her gestures, moving his fingers to touch her forehead. 
"Here."  Sliding them down along her face and neck to the swell of 
her breast.  "Here."  Back up to her lips.  "And here."  

He leaned towards her, and she met him halfway.  Just before their 
lips met, he whispered, "I believe, Scully."

***

11:20 am

Scully waited anxiously for Mulder to respond.  Slowly, the 
happiness that had filled her from uttering those fateful words 
turned to dread.  Oh, God, he doesn't feel the same way.  She got 
to her feet as quickly as her aching body would allow and fled 
down the hallway, not even looking at him.

It was not until she reached her bedroom did he finally speak, 
calling out, "Scully, wait!"  She ignored him; shutting the door 
softly behind her, enclosing herself in the silent, empty sanctuary 
of her bedroom.  She stood just inside, her heart racing from her 
flight, wondering what she was going to do now.  On shaking legs 
she moved over to sit on the edge of her bed.

Deep breaths, she told herself.  In, and out.  Again.  Feeling 
the thudding in her chest subside.  There was no way she could 
pretend it was all a bad dream, but maybe there was some way she 
could salvage things.  

Explain to him.  Explain what?  That you didn't mean it?  When you 
did, with all your heart and soul?

There was a soft knock at the door, and then Mulder's low voice, 
asking if he could come in.  She stared at the wood surface that 
was all that kept Mulder from her, and heard him ask again.  He was 
stubborn, he would stay there all day and night, and she would be 
trapped inside, alone.  "Come in," she said finally, her voice a 
little quieter than she had intended.

Yet Mulder had heard.  She watched the doorknob turn slowly, and 
Mulder entered.  She kept her gaze on him, her face carefully 
blank, and tracked him as he walked over to sit down beside her on 
the bed.  

He was so close to her, only inches away, and she imagined she 
could feel the heat from his body, warming her chilled one.  She 
waited, to see if he would speak first, and listened to his 
stumbling attempts. 

It hit her in a flash of insight.  

In the complexity that was Mulder's mind, he believed he was not 
worthy of love, and therefore could not believe that she would 
love him.  

She interrupted him, her new realization making her voice not 
quite level, and asked him why he couldn't believe.  She touched 
him on the cheek, the heat of his skin scorching her cold hand, 
and turned his face to hers.  She moved on the bed, so that she 
was now facing him, and spoke again.  

She did not mock his beliefs in the paranormal and fantastical, 
but questioned why he couldn't include her love for him in them.  
She lifted her hand again, touching his forehead lightly, saying, 
"I love you here."  Moved her hand to lay over his heart.  "And 
I most especially love you here."  Saw his eyes widen, saw him 
begin to believe.  

His hands lifted to cup her face, whispering her name, and then 
she heard the words she hadn't realized until now she had longed 
to hear from his lips.  

"I love you."  

His thumb on her cheek was so soft, so tender, and nearly moved 
her to tears.  "More than I ever thought I could love anyone."  
He echoed her gestures, touching her forehead and her heart, but 
added one of his own, his fingers lightly brushing her lips.  
"And here," he said.

She sensed him leaning towards her and moved with him, heard him 
say more beautiful words.  Words that filled her heart to 
bursting.  

"I believe, Scully."

Their lips met, tentative and light at first, then more firmly.

Scully parted her lips on a gasp of pleasure, and felt Mulder's 
tongue swoop inside, tracing her gums and teeth.  She allowed the 
tip of her tongue to meet his, and the kiss deepened.  Her hands, 
which had wound up at his hips, swept up his back to clutch him 
to her.  She could feel Mulder's hands, fisting gently in her hair, 
angling her head to the side.

Somehow she ended up on her back, Mulder's body partially covering 
hers, their legs entwined.  She could feel the delicious weight of 
him, all along her, and forgot all her aches and pains.  In one 
corner of her mind she was surprised at how easily and quickly they 
had moved from declaring their love to showing it physically.  She 
thought that it should bother her, but it didn't.  It felt right, 
and oh so very good.  

It had been such a long time since she had lain in a man's arms, 
and that it was finally Mulder, something she had dreamed and 
fantasized about, only made it that much more incredible.

Stop thinking, she told herself, and slid her hands into the silky 
softness of his hair.  She could not prevent a small moan from 
escaping when his lips left hers to trail along her jaw to her ear.  
She shivered next, when his tongue wetly traced its rim before 
biting gently on the lobe.  

His chuckle reverberated against her skin, followed by his warm 
breath as he whispered, "You feel so good, Scully."

"Mulder..."she sighed, lifting her chin to give him better access 
to more of her neck, not caring about the gauze bandages that 
still graced her skin, covering the rope burns.   

He obeyed her unspoken request, and kissed and nibbled his way 
around her neck, pausing when he encountered the white squares.  
His shoulders tensed as well, and she knew he was thinking about 
Elliot.  

She would not do the same, that man had no place in her bed.  
Nor would he, she would not let what he had done to them spoil 
what she had been wanted for so long.  She smoothed her hands up
and down his back, pressing her breasts up into his chest, and 
whispered, "Kiss me, Mulder." 

Slowly he relaxed, and groaned as she rubbed herself against him.  
In retaliation, he sucked at a tendon in her neck for a moment 
before moving back to her lips for a deep, satisfying kiss that 
went on and on.

She needed to feel his skin, his bare skin, and managed to get her 
hands under his cotton tee shirt.  She kneaded and stroked his firm 
muscles, feeling them bunch and flex beneath her hands as his hands 
moved too, touching her anywhere he could reach.  Soon even that was 
not enough, and she gripped the hem of his shirt, tugging it 
upwards, forcing him to break their kiss so she could yank it over 
his head.  As soon as she did, his lips descended again, hot and 
wet, slanting across hers.  The tee shirt fell from her fingers and 
then she was running her hands along his lightly furred chest.

One of his hands was hovering at her midriff, where her sweatshirt 
had risen slightly, the other rested near her head, supported his 
weight on his bent arm.  Her nipples tightened as she felt his 
fingers grazing her bare skin, and she sucked in her breath when he 
circled her belly button with one tip.

She teased his nipples with her fingernails, loving the way he 
squirmed in reaction.  

He groaned again, into her mouth, and pulled his lips from her, 
breathing raggedly.  "Scully..." he panted.  "We should stop.  
You just got out of the hospital, and I know you're still 
hurting."

"Mulder," she whispered, sliding her hands up his chest to hold 
his face.  "You make the pain go away."

The smile on his face was beautiful, as was the heat and desire 
she could see in his eyes.  She fluttered her own eyes shut as 
his face lowered to hers once more, her hands slipping to his 
shoulders. 

He traced her lips with his tongue, before pulling the lower one 
into his mouth, between his teeth.  He sucked at it for long 
seconds and then released it, lathing it with his tongue again.  

She surged her head upwards and caught his lips with hers, 
encouraging him to kiss her once more.

Neither one heard the sound of the key in the lock, nor had they 
seen the note left by Margaret Scully, telling them she was out 
buying groceries and would be back in one hour.  The breeze from 
them opening the door when they came in had blown it off the 
coffee table to land on the floor.

***

11:45am

Mulder was not sure what heaven was supposed to be like, but if 
it was anything like the feel of lying with Scully in his arms, 
he was prepared to die happy.  Of course, it helped immensely 
that she had just declared her love for him, as he had for her.  

Something he had hoped for, but never quite believed.

He moved his lips against hers, her mouth warm and inviting.  
Begging to be explored. Their tongues met, teasing and stabbing. 
He held her head by his hands fisted loosely in her hair, and 
turned it slightly, deepening the kiss.  He could feel her hands, 
at his hips, holding him to her, and his legs were tangled with 
hers.  He couldn't even remember kicking off his shoes, but he 
must have at some point.  Scully had shed hers as well; he could 
feel one sock clad foot rubbing along his calf.

She moved her hands then, to slide into his hair, sending goose 
bumps rising all over his flesh, and pulled his lips from hers 
to slide to her jaw, following along it to her ear.  He traced 
it with the tip of his tongue, hearing her moan, and nipped at 
her earlobe.  

Her answering shiver made him chuckle, and he breathed into her 
neck, "You feel so good, Scully."  The words seemed inadequate.  

She sighed his name, and tilted her head back, an invitation if 
he ever saw one.  One he would not refuse.  He kissed and sucked 
and bit along her neck, and then felt the obstruction against his 
lips, almost like being doused with cold water.  

Bandages.  Covering the rope burns.  He saw the Polaroid in his 
mind, the one that Elliot had taken of Scully with the rope 
around her neck, and couldn't help the tensing of his body.  

Scully seemed to sense where his thoughts had gone, as she 
somehow always could, and moved her hands up and down his back 
rhythmically, soothingly.  She thrust her breasts into his chest, 
the hard points of her nipples teasing him, and whispered, 
"Kiss me, Mulder."

How could he resist?  He banished the image, hopefully forever, 
and relaxed into her embrace.  Before he could oblige her, she 
rubbed herself against him again, making him groan.  He swooped 
down and bit at her neck before moving back to her lips.

He could lose himself in their kiss. 

Mulder felt her hands, sliding under his tee shirt, touching, 
stroking, and working at the muscles there.  His body responded 
automatically, the muscles jumping beneath her fingertips.  His 
hands became busy as well, touching her hair, her face, but not 
yet straying out of the safe zones.  

Scully surprised him by pulling his tee shirt up, and he was 
forced to break their kiss in order for her to remove it 
completely. Once she had, he dived back down to her luscious lips, 
thrilling to the feel of her hands on his bare chest.

He had to shift his body, his jeans were extremely tight.  He 
ended up supporting himself on one arm, lying beside her head, 
their lips still joined.  With his other hand, he teased the 
narrow ribbon of flesh at the waistband of her sweatpants.  
Her sweatshirt had moved up a little when they had fallen back 
onto the bed.  Her skin was soft and warm, a caress on his 
fingertips.  He let one finger stroke around her belly button, 
feeling her stomach tighten as she sucked in a breath.  

She scratched at his nipples, and they hardened immediately, 
making him shiver.  She smiled beneath his lips, and he groaned 
into her mouth.  

He wanted to tear off his jeans, strip away her sweat pants...He 
broke the kiss, panting for air.  They couldn't.  It was too soon.  
For God's sake, she had just got out of the hospital, and he knew 
she was still in pain.  He said that to her, almost gasping the 
words, and her hands left his chest to cup his face.

Her words blew him away again.  He made her pain go away?  
This incredible woman in his arms, did she realize the impact her 
words had on him?  

He smiled, so in awe of her, wanting her so very badly.  He 
watched her eyes close as he descended to claim her lips.  Her 
lower lip beckoned, and he traced them both before drawing it into 
his mouth, sucking gently.  He bathed it with his tongue again, 
but she had other ideas.  She moved, searching for his lips with 
her own.

Mulder's hand squeezed her hip once before moving upwards beneath 
the sweatshirt, aware of her hands once again on his chest, 
alternately stroking and scratching his skin.  His fingers grazed 
the underside of one breast, and she thrust upwards in reaction, 
encouraging him on. 

Emboldened, he cupped the fullness in his hand, his thumb flicking 
over her hard nipple.  She obviously liked it, for she began 
sucking on his tongue, her legs moving restlessly amid his.

The blood had long since rushed to his groin, but at her action, 
he hardened even more.  His hips began thrusting lightly, nudging 
his erection into her thigh.  Scully shifted so that he was 
pushing against the juncture of her legs.  They both groaned.

A voice called out then, startling them both.

"Dana, honey, are you all right?"

Mrs. Scully.

Mulder pulled away from Scully so fast that he actually fell off 
the bed, hitting the floor with a loud thud and a muffled groan.  
He rolled onto his back and from his perch, jean-clad legs sprawled, 
and the bulge of his erection still apparent despite the double 
shocks, he watched as a very sexy-looking Scully scrambled off the 
bed.  

Her hands first tugged her sweatshirt straight, and then went up 
to stroke through her hair, which had been lovingly mussed by his
hands.

From the other room came, "Dana?  Fox?"

"Are you okay, Mulder?" she whispered, her cheeks flushed bright 
red.  She bent slightly, offering a hand to help pull him up.

"Define 'okay'," he whispered back, eyes flicking from her face 
to his groin.  

She obediently followed his gaze, and although her cheeks 
reddened further, she actually smirked, her eyes shining with 
arousal and humor. 
He waved her off, saying, "Go reassure your mother.  I'll be 
out in a second."

She nodded, glancing at the partially open door, and then with a 
slow, devastatingly sexy smile, whispered, "I love you."

Mulder watched her leave, admiring the sway of her hips, and 
waited until she crossed the threshold before calling softly, 
"Scully?"  

She looked back over her shoulder and lifting up slightly, he 
blew her a kiss.  Once she was out of sight, he let his head 
fall back to the floor with another thud.  Maybe the pain would 
help make Junior go away.  Or an ice-cold shower.  

Knowing that was out of the question right now, he sat up and 
took several slow, deep breaths.  He thought about Tooms, his 
hands touching the man's bile.  He thought about kissing his 
grandmother.  He thought about Frohike in a black leather corset.   
Finally he felt his desire ebbing, even as he wondered where 
the hell that image of Frohike had come from.  

The passion-heated sweat on his body had cooled, and he realized 
he was bare-chested.  He gained his feet and found his tee shirt 
tossed in the middle of Scully's bed.  He grabbed it and slipped 
it on, then ran his hands through his hair, trying to tame it a 
little, knowing the spikes were probably going every which way.

As he headed down the hallway, he could hear Scully and her mother's 
voices, coming from the kitchen.  Mrs. Scully asking Scully if she 
had a fever, saying that her cheeks were flushed.  Mulder smiled 
to himself, thinking, the best kind of fever there is, Mrs. Scully.  

He entered just in time to see Mrs. Scully's hand slide from 
Scully's face, where she must have been checking her daughter's 
forehead for a temperature.  Scully looked at him with an 
embarrassed smile.  

"Hi, Mrs. Scully," he said brightly.  "We were just putting Scully's 
stuff away."

"Hello, Fox," Mrs. Scully answered, turning to face him.  She had a 
hard to read smile on her face.  "So Dana was just telling me.  That 
was very nice of you to help her, Fox."  She turned to the stove and 
busied herself with the teakettle. "Oh, and Fox?" she called out, to 
get his attention.  Her next words were bland. "Your tee shirt's on 
inside out."

Mulder felt his cheeks go red.

Bus-ted.

***

11:45 am

Margaret Scully thanked Agent Andrews for helping her carry the 
grocery bags in to Dana's apartment. After unlocking the door, and 
accepting the bags back, she nudged it open with her hip.  She saw 
that he waited until she had put the groceries down on a side table 
and then closed the door, locking it behind her.  She turned back, 
staring with curiosity at the empty living room.

Fox and Dana had to be back by now, Agent Andrews had pointed out 
the agents assigned to them sitting in an unmarked car just a few 
spots down from the front of the building.  She advanced further, 
wondering if perhaps Dana was not feeling well, and had gone to 
bed.  She heard something then, almost like a moan, and stopped 
in her tracks. 

"Dana, honey, are you all right?" she called out.  

A thud answered her query.

She took a cautious step in the direction the sounds had come 
from, her daughter's bedroom.  Her mind whirled with thoughts, her 
heart started to pound.  Was Dana hurt?  Was there someone else 
in the apartment?  Taking a firm rein on her emotions, she called 
out, "Dana?  Fox?"

She heard the faint sounds of voices, and then Dana was coming out 
of her bedroom, walking towards her.

"Sorry, Mom...we...Mulder was just helping me with...some things," 
Dana said, and she seemed flustered, not quite together.  

Margaret watched as Dana's eyes scanned the room and lit on the 
grocery bags on the side table.  "Um, are those groceries Mom?"  
She asked.  "I think I could go for some tea and toast."

Margaret saw that Dana was headed towards the side table, and 
moved to grab the bags before her daughter could.  "Let me get 
those, dear," she said, and lifted both bags.  "We'll get these 
to the kitchen and I'll make some tea."  

Dana trailed obediently behind her into the kitchen and leaned 
against the counter as her mother busied herself putting the 
items away.  "You were out of a lot of staples, and I picked up 
some chicken to make you some homemade soup," she commented.

After placing the milk and butter in the fridge and shutting the 
door, she turned to her daughter, curious about her silence.  She 
took a closer look at Dana and saw that her cheeks were flushed.  
"Dana, are you feeling all right?  Do you need to take a 
painkiller?"
 
"No, Mom, I'm fine, really," Dana replied.  

Her hands played with her hair, nervously it seemed to Margaret.

"Are you sure?" she continued, striding over to Dana's side, one 
hand lifting to her daughter's forehead, to check her temperature.  
"Do you have a fever?  Your cheeks are all flushed."  Yet Dana's 
skin was only slightly warm.  She was aware of Fox walking into 
the kitchen, saw Dana smile a little. She studied Dana a moment 
longer.  If she wasn't mistaken, Dana's mouth looked swollen.  

Kiss-swollen.

Fox spoke then, saying, "Hi, Mrs. Scully.  We were just putting 
Scully's stuff away."  

He spoke so heartily that she immediately knew something was 
afoot.  She turned to face Fox, saying, "Hello, Fox," and saw that 
his tee shirt was reversed.  It took her a moment, but two plus 
two definitely equals four.  As well, there was the fact that she 
had raised four children and had experienced teenage hormones and 
first loves.  Now of course Dana and Fox were not teenagers, but 
there were like them in some ways, fumbling towards something 
deeper and more profound than friendship.

She had to work hard to control the smile that wanted to escape.  
She knew she should be shocked, or even disappointed that Dana and 
Fox had been...fooling around in Dana's bedroom, but was just so 
tickled pink, and even a little bit relieved, that she couldn't 
be.   

And the fact remained that they were adults.  She was not that naive 
that she believed Dana was a virgin, nor Fox, and despite the 
teachings of the Catholic faith about pre-marital sex and 
abstinence, she also believed her daughter had to make her own 
choices and decisions.  As had her other children.

"So Dana was just telling me," she continued.  "That was very nice 
of you to help her, Fox."  Despite her pleasure that Dana and Fox 
finally seemed to be headed in the right direction, she still 
couldn't resist the urge to tweak them both.  She turned to the 
stove to get the tea kettle and said, "Oh, and Fox?  Your tee 
shirt's on inside out."  She was proud of how blase she sounded.

A strangled sound came from Dana, and then what sounded like a 
giggle.  Margaret glanced at her daughter, to see her with one hand 
over her mouth, her cheeks redder than before.  She looked over her 
shoulder at Fox, to see that his cheeks too were blazing.

Yet he met her eyes.  In his were an apology and a plea.

No wonder her daughter couldn't resist him.  His puppy dog look, 
waiting to be scolded or chided. Margaret smiled at him, a huge, 
happy grin, signifying her acceptance of what had happened, and 
saw him relax, saw the light return to his eyes.  

He smiled back, a thank-you, and said, "I'll be right back."  He 
shot a look at Dana, and a quick wink, and headed out of the 
kitchen.

Margaret gave Dana a few minutes to get composed, and busied 
herself with filling the kettle with water.  She didn't see the 
tea tray, or the pot, and instead pulled the loaf of bread out 
of the fridge, for toasting, and retrieved a jar of marmalade and 
one of jam.

She was very aware of Dana just to her left, and imagined her 
fidgeting like she had as a child when she had something to say, 
but difficulty getting the words out.  She had learned that it was 
best to wait it out and let Dana find them on her own.

"Mom..." spoken softly.

Margaret waited, keeping her hands busy.  Popping slices of bread 
in the toaster, putting the jam and marmalade in little bowls.

The next words were rushed, almost breathless. "I love him."

Margaret stopped and turned to face Dana.  "I know, baby," she 
said.  Two steps and she was pulling Dana into her arms, feeling 
Dana's arms wrap around her tightly.  "And he loves you," she 
whispered into her daughter's hair.  She felt Dana nod against 
her shoulder, and closed her eyes on the rush of tears that 
threatened.  "I'm glad, baby."

She heard what sounded like a sniffle, and pulled back slightly 
so she could look at Dana's face.  Their eyes met, both watery, and 
then they smiled at each other.  Margaret gave Dana one last squeeze 
and then released her.  

"Enough of this, or we'll both be bawling, and poor Fox won't know 
what to do."

She was rewarded by Dana's surprised laugh, and a nod of agreement.  
"Now where are your tea things, dear?" she asked.

Dana blushed again, which made her smile anew.  "They're...um, on 
the coffee table," Dana replied.  "Mulder made tea, but we..." her 
voice trailed off.  

Fox walked in just then, tee shirt on correctly this time, saying, 
"I heard my name.  What did I do?"

This time, Margaret laughed.  The puzzled look in his eyes made her 
laugh harder.  Dana started to snicker too, and Fox backed away 
slowly, looking from her to Dana.  Margaret took a deep breath and 
then said, "I'm sorry, Fox.  It's nothing.  Could you bring me the 
tea tray from the other room?"  

At the sudden intake of breath from him, Margaret knew he had 
figured out what was so funny.

The grin he gave her was unrepentant, because she had in sort 
given them her blessing, Margaret guessed, and then he nodded, 
leaving the room to fetch the tray.

When he returned with it, she told them to go sit down and that 
she would bring everything out in a minute.  She was pleased to 
see Fox take Dana's hand to lead her out of the kitchen.  

In minutes the tea and toast was ready, and Margaret joined them 
in the other room.  Fox jumped up from his perch on the couch 
beside Dana to take the tray from her and placed it on the coffee 
table.  She sat down in the wing chair and they settled back for 
their little repast.  

***

3:00 pm

Scully sighed after she shut the door and locked it.  She loved her 
mother dearly, but she had really been ready for her to leave a 
while ago.  

It had also become a little bit awkward when she learned that both 
Mulder and her mother had plans to stay with her.  She valued her 
independence, always had, and having either one of them around would 
be tough enough.  Both would be impossible.

Yet after only a few minutes of what had started out to be a tense 
standoff, her mother had capitulated, rather easily, now that she 
thought about it further, and said that Mulder was the better 
choice.  That he would be there for her protection.  

She had nearly bristled at that, about to vehemently protest that 
she could look after herself, when she had seen the look in Mulder's 
eyes.

She had seen fear.  Fear for her safety.  And fear that somehow, 
despite all that she had said, she had not meant what she had told 
him.  She had almost cried.  Instead, she had crossed to his side 
and slid her arm around his waist, insinuating her body tightly 
against his, and agreed with her mother.  Mulder's exhalation of 
relief had been audible only to her, and she had felt the shudder 
that had run through him.  

His arm had come up around her shoulders and squeezed briefly in 
return, before he moved over to the side table to pick up her 
phone.  He had called the agents down in the car, requesting that 
Agent Andrews return to the apartment to take her mother home.  He 
had then said he would clean up, and carried the tea tray back into 
the kitchen.  The sound of running water and cupboards being opened 
and shut had soon followed.

Scully realized her body had stiffened up from sitting on the couch 
so long after they had eaten their light lunch, and she walked 
slowly and carefully from the door into the kitchen to check on the 
pot of soup her mother had left simmering on the stove.  Mulder had 
done a quick clean-up only, rinsing the dishes and leaving them in 
the sink.  She stared at them for a moment, and decided she really 
didn't feel like tidying up right now.  She was actually a little 
tired too.

The aroma of the chicken broth had been wafting through the entire 
apartment for some time now, teasing her appetite.  She decided to 
check on it before going to lie down, and lifted the lid of the pot, 
releasing a cloud of steam and more of the delicious smell. She gave 
it a slow stir.  It would be perfect by dinnertime, along with the 
loaf of crusty bread her mother had also picked up.  

She replaced the lid and headed to her bedroom to find the 
prescription painkillers given by the doctor upon her release.  She 
hated to admit a weakness, and knew Mulder would go overboard in 
taking care of her.  As she thought more on that, she admitted to 
herself that it wouldn't exactly be a bad thing, being taken care of 
by Mulder.

She paused at the doorway, leaning on the wood jamb, watching Mulder 
trying to unpack her bag from the hospital.  

He looked up as if sensing her there, and straightened slowly, her 
bra dangling from his fingers.  He was smiling, and Scully was 
unsure of whether it was because of her lingerie in his hand, or 
because he was happy to see her.

"I don't think that will fit you, Mulder," she murmured, smiling 
back at him.  

His eyes crinkled in confusion, and she nodded towards his hand.  
He held up the bra, and she was rewarded with the second Mulder 
blush of the day.  "Uh..." he started to say.

Her smile widened.  It was so rarely that she got the upper hand 
with Mulder; it was usually he who had her tongue tied and fighting 
off a blush or a smile.  "And it's really not your color," she 
continued, walking towards him.

"Funny lady," he finally replied.  Not to be outdone though, he held 
it up to his chest, and struck a pose.  "Are you sure it's not me?"

"Mulder!" she exclaimed, trying to pull it from his grasp.  "You're 
starting to worry me.  Please don't tell me you like wearing women's 
clothing."

He waggled his eyebrows up and down.  "Only yours, Scully," he 
replied.  "Only yours."

Her struggles to get the bra from him knocked them both over, onto 
her bed, with her landing on top of Mulder.  He was wiggling too, 
and his elbow happened to catch her in the ribs, right over one of 
her bruises.  She could not contain her hiss of pain.

Mulder froze instantly, all traces of humor vanished.  "Oh, Jesus, 
Scully, I'm sorry!" he cried out, scrambling to roll her gently off 
of him.  His hands moved from her arms to her hair and back to her 
arms again, unsure of where to rest them.  "Scully, are you okay?  
I'm so sorry."

Scully heard the absolute panic in his voice, and managed to rise to 
a sitting position.  "Mulder, I'm okay, really.  You just hit a sore 
spot, that's all.  I'm fine," she hastened to reassure him.

"You're sure?" he asked, his hazel eyes running over her face, 
searching for evidence that she was hiding her pain from him.  One 
hand came up to stroke a strand of hair back behind her ear.  It was 
shaking slightly.

She reached up and grabbed the hand, bringing it to her lips to 
press a kiss on it.  "I'm sure, Mulder.  I'm okay," she replied.  
She shifted her body, grimacing a little.  

Seeing his eyes narrow and his mouth open to protest, she added, 
"I'm a little stiff and sore, Mulder, but not because of anything 
you or I did.  It's bound to happen, and will probably last a couple 
more days.  I just need to take a painkiller and lie down for a 
little while, okay?"

He finally relaxed, and leaning down, pressed a kiss on her cheek.  
"Thank-you, Scully," he breathed.

"For what?" she asked, tilting her head sideways, a little perplexed.

"For really telling me how you are, instead of just telling me 
you're fine," he said huskily.  This time he kissed her on the lips, 
a gentle brushing, before rising from the bed, careful not to jostle 
her at all.  "I'll get you a glass of water.  Be right back."  

Scully admired his butt in his tight jeans as he left the room, 
remembering squeezing it once while they had been making out on her 
bed earlier.  She shook her head at herself.  Making out.  She 
hadn't used that terminology in years.  Yet, it seemed to fit.  
Then she smiled.  

If she used Mulder's baseball terminology, she guessed they had 
gotten to either first or second base.  She was really looking 
forward to a home run. 

Somehow though, she sensed that tonight would not be the right 
time.  She wanted to be healthy and unmarked, despite the fact that 
she knew Mulder would not care how she looked.  She did though.  
She wanted it to be perfect.  And it would be, when the time was 
right.  

Hopefully that would be soon.  

In the meantime, she had a feeling she would be doing a lot of 
fantasizing.

True to his word, Mulder returned moments later, carrying a tumbler 
of water.  He went to her dresser and retrieved the bottle of 
painkillers from it, and brought both to her. With a smile of thanks 
she shook one out of the bottle he opened for her, and downed the 
pill with a drink of the water.  

Mulder put the glass and the pills on her night table and then 
helped her climb under the covers, pulling them up to her chest, 
and smoothing them a couple of times.  He bent and kissed her on 
the cheek, and then whispered, "Have a good rest, Scully."

She looked at his beautiful eyes and with a smile said, "I'll sleep 
better with you here."

That was all it took.  

In seconds he had moved around to the other side of the bed and was 
climbing in beneath the covers to lie beside her.  He moved 
carefully to snuggle up to her, placing his hand gently on her 
waist with a whispered, "Is this okay?"

Scully ran her fingers along the arm on her waist to entwine her 
fingers with his and whispered back, "This is perfect."  She closed 
her eyes, settling more into her soft pillow, and felt herself 
drifting off to the feel of his warm breath on her neck.

***

end Part 14 of 29