Worth Breaking (3/6) by Narida Law (narida_law@hotmail.com) Headers available in a separate post. Other parts can be found at: http://www.angelfire.com/ms/naridalaw ~~~~~~~~ Chapter Seven ~~~~~~~~ Mulder's Apartment September 20 9:32 p.m. Popping open a can of diet soda, Mulder took a long gulp, then settled onto his sofa and flipped open the pages of the journal. It had been three days since his last entry. At the time, he had penned the last word with a feeling akin to relief - it had been cathartic to spill his guts onto paper. That had changed in the past few days. He was more anxious than ever. Although he had seen Scully since his last entry and their lovemaking had been as powerful and enjoyable as ever, he was beginning to feel as if she was trying to distance herself. She was doing the exact opposite of what he had hoped their closeness would induce - she was retreating rather than embracing. And he didn't know how to stop her from slipping further away. The situation was making him insane with worry. This time, he didn't hesitate. He picked up his pen and began to write. **I've always been open and honest with Scully. I've always told her everything. But I've kept one thing from her these past few weeks - knowledge she has a right to. Though this is the only thing I have ever kept from her, I feel like the biggest liar on the planet. I don't even think I've kept the secret all that well, but amazingly enough, Scully's keen instincts haven't picked up on it yet. I must be more talented than I give myself credit for. Actually, I lied to myself just now. It's not the only thing I've ever kept from her, but we made it through the other instances with our friendship intact and possibly even stronger for them. This, however, has the greatest ramifications to the continuance of our friendship to date. I'm scared. Scully has always been the strong one of the two of us, and this time it's not any different. I'm tempted to confess all and let =her= come up with the solution. The only reason I haven't is that I'm afraid her solution would be to leave me. And that would make me want to shoot myself in the head. So. I have to remember how strong our bond is. It makes me ashamed that I have to remind myself, but there it is. Fear is crippling. I can't lose her. We've had more than our share of tragedy and pain, but in a twisted way, that makes our happy times even more meaningful - not that I wouldn't take back all the pain I've caused her if I could. Right now is a happy time. Sort of. I love being able to express my love for Scully in a physical way, and I love that she enjoys it, too. The threat of these happy times ending haunts me. I know I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive for being able to experience what we've had. I'm also a greedy son of a bitch, though, and I want more. I want it all. I'm addicted to the fact that whenever things look like they can't get any worse, I see Scully beside me and realize that things will never be at their worst if she's with me. I love that I can depend on that. It scares me shitless to imagine a time when I can't. It used to be fine to accept it like any other given in life. The sun will always shine. The sky will always be blue. Kersh will always hate my guts. I will always have Scully. Now such assumptions are dangerous. Now there is a chance that a given will change. Scully may not be there. Then you might as well ask me to stop breathing. Such fears prompt even more dangerous thoughts. Thoughts of confessing what I feel for her. More and more, I'm thinking these dangerous thoughts. Thoughts I hope and am yet afraid will manifest themselves, making it impossible for us to continue on the way we have. It would force us to make choices. Well, force her to make a choice, at least. It's not really a choice for me. Do you want to go on living? How would you answer that? I'm living a fucking lie. I don't want to pretend anymore that I have lesser feelings for her than I do. But I will, if the only alternative is a life without Scully. Sometimes, I let myself hope that she's living a lie, too. Then we can confess our truths to each other and move on, complete and together, from there. But the realist in me doesn't dwell on it too long. I know that if only one of us is living a lie, then we both lose, just in different ways. I know she's not ready to hear my truth yet. What I mean by 'ready' is: ready to give the response I want to hear. She's not going to drop everything and declare that she returns my feelings. I think the only time I could ever expose myself like that, bare my soul to her, risk our partnership, would be when I'm reasonably sure she's not going to utterly reject me. Because if I do come clean with her about the way I feel and she doesn't feel the same, not only would I have to deal with the rejection itself, but also with the knowledge that I'd made myself a burden to her. She'd have to deal with my feelings. Not exactly the kind of impression you want to make on the woman you love. Worse - she might pity me. Or maybe not worse. It's pathetic, but the selfish part of me would even take that, if it was all she could offer. But then she'd feel guilty...unhappy...stressed. And if there is one thing I have sworn to myself about my sorry life, it's that it will in no way, shape, or form, cause Scully unhappiness. I've already failed plenty of times in that respect, I suppose. Never with that intention, though, and never when I could prevent it. This I can prevent. I'll just keep my damn mouth shut and everything will be fine. I don't know what to call these feelings. I suppose, love - which explains everything and nothing at all. I don't think we have a word for what I feel for Scully in the English language. Perhaps another. Perhaps somewhere, in another country, another continent, a language exists where a man is able to describe in one word what he feels for the woman who completes him, sustains him, owns him body and soul. The other day, I ran through the gamut of words that I know and none of them fit. They are all so pale, so drab, so unfit to describe what Scully means to me. I would do anything for her. People die for causes all the time, and I'm no different. I'd die for a cause if I thought it worthy, I'd die in exchange for my mother's life, I'd even die for your average citizen on the street. Hell, that's what they pay me for, isn't it? That's what an officer of the law risks every day. But how many people can say they have something - someone - to live for, truly live for? Scully is it for me. I don't think there's a single person in this universe who could get me to stay in this world if I wanted to go. Except Scully. It's a lot harder to live for someone than to die for a person, I can tell you that. Dying for someone or for a cause requires only one moment of bravery, and then you don't have to worry about anything ever again. I've had a number of such moments in my life. *Well,* I thought during those times, *this is the end.* While I was never =happy= about those occasions, I wasn't entirely full of regret, either. I suppose I took the thought of death rather pragmatically. We all have to go sometime. Most people probably think about their loved ones when they're about to die. The precious faces, the good times, the shared love. I never, ever, let myself think of Scully at those times if I can help it. It makes the prospect of leaving this world too hard, the yearning to stay too strong. Why put myself through that kind of agony if it's really my time to go? I haven't always been successful at putting her out of my mind. That's how I know what agony is. On the reverse end, there have been very few times in my life when I've been consciously happy to be living. Scully is associated with them all. The day her cancer went into remission, life had never seemed so beautiful. I was thrilled to be alive, because my life had been given back to me. That may not make any sense to anyone else. The way she looked at me, those beautiful eyes sharing her relief, her bravery, her pain, I think she knew what I was feeling. I ask Scully for a lot - sometimes, more than she wants to give. More than I deserve. But I ask anyway. How can it be expected of me not to ask? One day I'm afraid that my need will swallow her whole. I see it coming, sometimes, the way the sea swallows an object as strong as a ship - in the end, it's as if the ship was never there. Scully will be minimized, reduced to becoming a part of me, because I couldn't learn to coexist with her. Instead, we'll be made into a sick parody of togetherness. I've tried to keep my distance to please her - God, how I've tried. The time we broke down and actually said each other's names while making love, I was a little scared. Her name was ripped out of me and I thought I'd given everything away. I was afraid she'd see right through me - she'd see what she meant to me, and I would lose her. Imagine my intense relief when I heard her cry my name out too. I had to pretend to be detached; pretend it didn't faze me at all that she'd fucked me within an inch of my life. So what if it was one of the most incredible sexual experiences of my life? I was very convincing. I amazed myself. The last thing I'd wanted to do was wash off the delicious fragrance of Scully, me, and sex, but she was watching me and it would have looked suspicious if I hadn't. Sure, part of it was pride, too. If she didn't want to care about me, then I wasn't about to confirm how truly pathetic I was by begging her to do it anyway. So I was clinical about it, as she would appreciate, following the spirit of our pact. I washed, I dressed, I went back to my own room to sleep. Just because these actions made me miserable didn't mean they weren't necessary. I probably made Scully very relieved. That's something, I suppose. And if I wanted more than anything to hold her in my arms as I fell asleep - well, that was my own fucking problem, wasn't it? I don't worry too much about that time anymore, though. Since then we've learned that we both sleep better with each other than without, so it's not a memory that causes me much anxiety now. I remember the first time she actually let me stay with her in a motel situation. To say I was thrilled covers maybe a tenth of what I felt then. It happened during the time we broke our last rule, actually. I'd been so frustrated - by the case, unrelieved horniness, and Scully's tempting presence - that I was practically demented by the time we got into bed. I still think we did everybody concerned a good turn by breaking that rule. I'm certain that it's what finally got my mind unknotted enough to complete the profile on that son of a bitch, and we nailed his ass. But that's a whole other story. My anxiety now stems more from my possibly doing something stupid, something that will make her end it with me once and for all. And that doesn't just entail the confession of my feelings. It could just dawn on her one day that she's fucking a pathetic loser whose professional opinion she doesn't think is worth beans most of the time. You know, some poor schmucks live with that fear all the time, all over the world. I just never thought I'd be one of them. Before Scully, I don't think anyone would have pegged me for the type, =especially= myself. I was absorbed in a lot of things, but being in a relationship with a woman wasn't one of them. Now it's the most important goddamn relationship of my life, the only thing I'm really absorbed in, and I'm fucking it all up. I guess that's pretty typical. I suppose it's kind of sad how easily I accept that. I don't mind being a fuckup in the eyes of the world - in fact, I cultivated that notion. It was carefully orchestrated. Okay, maybe not, but I certainly didn't mind when it happened. But I can't be a fuckup in Scully's eyes. Her opinion =matters=, and if she doesn't see any redeeming value in me then I'll have to believe that that's because there isn't any. I suppose that one time we broke another rule and fucked in the office could be categorized as somewhat of a fuckup. Technically, it wasn't the office, it was the bathroom, but it was in the building where we work. Of course, I initiated it all. I know I can be somewhat of an ass at times. I could blame it on her shorter-than-usual skirt, or the top she was wearing that was so tight her breasts were practically exploding out of it, but that would be to place blame where it doesn't really belong. I have no control where Scully is concerned - I'm just grateful she puts up with it most of the time. She possesses amazing powers of forbearance. Then, she's had a lot of practice with me around. She really is the perfect woman. Needless to say, it was basically just down and dirty fucking at old FBI Headquarters, and even though it was incredibly stupid and risky...I still wish it would happen again. To know once more how it feels to have Scully wanting me that bad. The fact that we're not likely to do it ever again just makes the experience that much more memorable. Talk about thrill! Talk about danger! Man. Members of the mile-high club don't know what adrenaline =is=. It was fast and hot and sexy and I would've probably been willing to donate a kidney for the experience. Luckily, no such sacrifice was required of me. Of course, it did get Scully kind of pissed at me. I didn't know what she was so mad about - she enjoyed herself at the time, or it seemed to me, and I know she came. I still have scabs where she scored me with her nails to support my claim on that. To this day, I still have no idea what I did that made her so upset. Maybe it was the meeting with Skinner right after. Hey, it's not what I would have wanted after making love with Scully, either, but we =were= on the clock. I guess she just took her annoyance out on me. That's okay because Scully deserves to take some frustration out on me. I gotta say, Skinner is one lucky bastard, though. He got to see Scully after she'd been thoroughly fucked, and there isn't a more beautiful sight in the world. Of course, the reason why we both still have our jobs is due to the fact that he =wasn't= aware of what he was seeing. I have it on good authority, however, that it's been quite some time since anyone has seen her like that (aside from her lover, of course - and that would be me), so I'm counting Skinner as lucky. See, a little on-the-job-fucking can sometimes benefit more than just the two parties directly involved. I'm the luckiest bastard of all.** ~~~~~~~~ Chapter Eight ~~~~~~~~ FBI Headquarters - X-Files Division August 16 3:01 p.m. "It's Friday, Scully. What do you want to do?" He twirled a pencil. "Work, Mulder. You know, why I'm here in the first place." She kept her face buried in the document she was perusing. "I thought I was the reason." "Right. I forgot." There wasn't even an attempt at sincerity in her tone as she began to scribble on a pad. What the heck was she doing over there that was so much more interesting than he was? He leaned forward, trying to peer over at her desk. Eh, looked boring. He tossed the pencil skyward. YES! Clean stick. That sucker wasn't coming back down anytime soon. He looked over at Scully again, and could have sworn she was trying not to smile. She used the hand that wasn't holding her pen to play absently with her necklace, drawing his gaze to that area. She shifted a little, and Mulder's eyes widened. Had there been that much cleavage showing before? And if there had, why hadn't he noticed until now? Not that it mattered. He was in a constant state of arousal around her so it really didn't make much of a difference. They'd last had sex...when was it? A week ago? Two nights ago? Whenever it was, it was too long. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and he swallowed. Had that deliberately been provocative, or was he just really susceptible? Then she began to nibble on her lower lip. Without conscious knowledge, he imitated the action on his own lower lip, imagining it was hers. Uh oh. He was quickly getting excited. And they were at work. This was not good. Concentrate on something else, he told himself. Since at the moment he found it physically impossible to tear his gaze away from Scully, he just had to concentrate on her less provocative assets. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single part of her that didn't turn him on. Even her hands, so beautiful, so delicate, so pure and chaste, were not safe from his lust. From the graceful arch of her wrist to the tips of her delicate almond-shaped nails, she was sexy as hell. Not to mention that his mind vividly brought to the forefront the memory of what those hands were so good at doing. For a moment he allowed himself to believe that they were not at work, that they were somewhere else entirely, transported there by a benevolent being who had taken pity on him, and he and Scully were free to cavort as they pleased. He was doused in the cold water of reality when Scully asked if the expense reports were done. He looked at the pile of receipts and forms on his desk. "Uh...no?" "One of these days, Mulder - " "You're going to shove me up against the wall and punish me?" he suggested hopefully. " - you're going to give me a heart attack when you answer 'yes' to a question about getting any paperwork done." "I think that day is still far off in the future, Scully," he assured her. He thought he heard her mumble something about karma, but he couldn't be sure. Scully sighed, and for the first time he noticed - or thought he noticed - lines of tension around her eyes. "Want a neck rub?" he offered. At this point he had no thoughts for anything more than that; she looked tired and she appreciated a neck rub now and then. Of course, that was usually in private, but surely it wouldn't harm anything? "That would be good," she murmured. He was instantly grateful to Scully for understanding how much he wanted to do this for her, how much he needed to be able to help her in some way. Making his way to where she sat behind her desk, he loosened his tie a bit. Maybe they were both a little tense. He stood behind her, looking down at the top of her head, thinking once again that she was entirely too beautiful from any angle. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss where her hair naturally parted, taking the opportunity to take in her scent. His eyes closed, imagining that they were at home, relaxing after a long day at work, and he was going to ease her tension with a neck rub. She had stiffened a little under his hands from the kiss, and immediately he straightened. Unfortunately, only the last part of that fantasy was true - they were still at work. And more-than-platonic gestures were strictly forbidden. He might have already blown it with that lengthy kiss. It wasn't even a kiss, really, he defended himself, just the pressure of one part of him touching one part of her. He placed his thumbs at the junction of her neck and shoulders, and began with slow, hard strokes, the way he knew she liked. Her head bobbed gently forward as she allowed herself to relax and fully enjoy his ministrations. Slowly, he worked his way up the column of her neck, pressing his thumbs firmly against the tight muscles. She moaned a little, and his cock twitched at the sound. It was far too used to hearing that moan under different circumstances. Or perhaps it had been a preparatory twitch; after all, massages given in the privacy of wherever they happened to be often led to a vigorous bout of sex. It ain't gonna happen this time, he informed his penis sorrowfully. But it had taken on some of Scully's personality attributes - it knew who could bring it the most pleasure, after all - and stubbornly refused to listen to him. His hands had returned to the tense muscles of her shoulders, which had loosened considerably. He could also tell by the humming noise coming from her throat that he had at least brought her these few moments of relief. Another breathy moan and he was rock solid against his slacks. "Feel good?" he asked, not quite steadily. "Mmmm," she answered, the sound making the little hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention - and that wasn't all. He involuntarily moved closer to the back of her chair so that his erection was pressed up against it. "Good. I'm glad," he rasped. With every strenuous rub his hands performed, his lower body rocked forward, creating some blessed friction where he desperately wanted it most. He supposed he ought to be ashamed that he was practically humping Scully's chair while she sat there innocently believing he was only being nice. He truly had meant this to be an altruistic effort on his part. Once again, however, he had underestimated his need for her; his automatic response to Scully whenever she was near. Vaguely in his lust-addled mind it occurred to him that this problem was supposed to have abated somewhat - that's why he had thought up the whole sex-as-inhibitor thing in the first place. But he had fed his addiction when he should have starved it. The functioning part of his mind at the moment, however, was far from clamoring for him to cease and desist. However, all the blood rushing south didn't allow for many thoughts, and unfortunately his brain wasn't the organ in command. It was this other part that told him to lean down and plant a kiss on the soft skin of Scully's neck. And another. And another. It was this other part that told him her skin would probably taste sweet and salty at the same time, and encouraged his tongue to reach out and find out for sure. Yep, it was true. It was this other part that told him to suck gently on her skin until he elicited a moan from her throat - and this he did, with no compunction. He lifted his lips from her neck, noticing that her muscles had tensed again and her breathing was uneven. He didn't even know he was going to speak until the words had been said. "Ladies room. Two minutes." In the period of time between his demand and her answer, Mulder's head cleared a bit - enough to understand that he had probably just made an immense ass of himself. Not only was he suggesting they break yet another rule of their mutually-agreed-to pact, but his suggestion went against all of Scully's inured convictions of professionalism. He was about to open his mouth and apologize, when to his disbelief she gave a short nod, not looking at him, then got up and left. OH MY GOD. After he had gotten over the shock - well, let's face it, there was really no getting over it, only familiarize himself with it - he felt such an urgent surge of need in his pants that he thought he was going to burst right through his zipper. Holy shit. She was actually going to do it. She was going to let him fuck her in the ladies room in the basement of fucking FBI Headquarters. At the office. This admission of her desire, of her need, sent tremors of excitement jolting through him. His head was probably so swollen it could have popped with a single pinprick. That she would overlook professionalism, throw all caution to the wind, do this utterly stupid thing with him, was unbelievably sexy. He'd never been so turned on in his life. Oh, Scully. His prim, proper little Scully who was a tiger in bed but nevertheless kept her professional demeanor to a fault at the office. At work, this sacred place where she based much of her worth, she was going to overlook and bypass all that, so that she could have sex with him. He probably would have gone through another wave of amazement had his cock not reminded him of the time. His two minutes were up, and heaven beckoned. He nearly killed himself tripping over a box as he rushed out, narrowly escaping concussing himself on the edge of a desk. He shuddered to think what Scully's reaction would have been to find him knocked out on the floor of their office, beaten up by a desk, no less, after waiting who knew how long for him in the ladies room. He had chosen the ladies room because it was closest; the men's room was located all the way down another hall. At the time he hadn't really had any other consideration, but now that he thought about it, it had been a blessing in more ways than just location. The mental picture of making love to Scully next to a bunch of urinals was not exactly lust-inspiring, so there was that. But what =was= lust-inspiring, incredibly so, was the fact that they would be doing it in the room where Scully went everyday to do her mysterious little feminine preparations, whether it was to touch up her makeup or tweeze her eyebrows or whatever the hell it was that women did in bathrooms that made them take so damnably long. And now whenever she went in that room to do those things, she would remember this event. He made a vow right then and there that this was going to be the hottest, most erotic, unforgettable sex that he could give her. After he was through today, she wouldn't be able to walk into that room without soaking her panties. That thought sent more blood rushing to his cock, which made him grit his teeth. He was aroused to the point of pain, and if anyone should see him at this moment there would be absolutely nothing he could do to hide his condition. He would have to stop this barrage of excitement and control his dick, or the only thing Scully was going to do when she walked in that ladies room in the future was laugh. Standing in front of the door to the restroom, he took a deep breath. What if another woman was in there besides Scully, who had for some random reason decided to use the bathroom in the basement? Perhaps there had been long lines for the restrooms on other floors, and a woman had decided to venture down to the basement...what would he do then? Mutter a sheepish apology, he supposed. It was the only thing he =could= do. But it'd certainly look suspicious, if Scully was in there. Or maybe what would be suspicious would be to make too big a deal out if it, like he was doing now. There was a perfectly good bathroom here that hardly anyone but Scully ever used. Why should he have to walk to the men's restroom, which was all the way down in the other direction, when they were both grown adults and could listen to another person urinating without going into fits of adolescent giggles? But he'd - they'd - be breaking some kind of unspoken social rule. Men did not go into women's restrooms or vice versa. If they were caught in the same restroom, for whatever reason, it would probably be weird enough to pass along, and tongues were wagging enough about them as it was, without feeding the fire over where he took a leak. And with things being as they currently were, the less attention drawn to them, the better. Also, if there =was= another woman in there, Scully would no doubt be outside to warn him. Better to err on the side of caution. He'd open the door just a crack, take a tiny peep. He pushed gently; the hinges squeaked a little as they gave way slightly. There didn't seem to be anyone inside, as far as he could tell, but he couldn't see very much. He pushed a little harder, opening the door a little more. It occurred to him that if there =was= someone other than Scully there, it'd look a whole lot worse to be peeping into the ladies room than if he were just to open the door normally. However, before he could put this plan into action, the door swung rapidly away from him, causing him to pitch forward and stumble into the room. Before he knew what was happening, he had been slammed up against the wall and Scully was kissing him senseless. He eagerly responded in kind, and the kiss quickly spiraled out of control. His teeth ground against hers; lips were bitten; tongues clashed, and all thoughts of being discovered vanished. He thought he tasted blood, but whether it was Scully's or his own he didn't know and it didn't matter. He felt wild, out of control, and best of all Scully seemed to feel the same way. He wanted her to lose her head, to lose her cool, because that would mean he could sneak in and steal her heart when she wasn't looking. Or more accurately, he hoped she would give it of her own accord, but that wouldn't happen except perhaps during a vulnerable moment. And Mulder was determined to create as many of those as he could. Quickly, he reversed their positions. Scully grunted when she hit the wall a little too hard, but he didn't apologize and she didn't complain. It was perfect. This whole scenario was perfect; there wasn't such a thing as being too rough. It was going to be quick and dirty, the way they both wanted it. It was funny how they could read each other like that. He wondered when it had started. He wondered why it was so easy to read each other's sexual needs and why they couldn't do it with the important stuff. He supposed it was because they were unafraid to show one and scared shitless to show the other. That was the difference. Searching her face, he found it difficult to get past her expressive eyes, darkened by desire, and her hair, which was mussed by careless handling and framed her flushed cheeks. "Why..." he began, but the thought rolled out of his head when she cupped and massaged him through his pants. Scully met his gaze unwaveringly, wetting her lips with her tongue. It distracted him from her eyes, and he followed the movement hungrily. He saw them then curve into a small smile. Groaning, Mulder slipped his hands under that short skirt of hers and felt bare skin. Ah, Scully, what foresight. She had already removed her pantyhose. He glanced down and saw that she had put her shoes back on. Those black, clunky, high-heeled shoes. He groaned again. Was there anything about this woman that =didn't= turn him on? Oh wait; it'd already been established that there wasn't. Shoving his hands up her thighs roughly, her skirt obediently following suit, he kissed the area right above her still-clothed breasts. He was delighted to feel skin; Scully had undone two extra buttons. Kissing and nipping his way up to the base of her neck, he concentrated on that spot for a few moments. They didn't have all the time in the world, he realized this, but it was one of the sweetest spots on her, and for him, this was time worth spending. Scully threw her arms around his shoulders. He took the hint, grabbing her ass with his hands and lifting her up. She hooked both legs onto his hips. "Come on, Mulder," she ordered breathlessly. Well, that was enough time spent on that spot, he supposed. He slid his tongue up the length of her neck, stopping at her chin, kissing her there lightly. Her legs wrapped around him, helping her stay in position for the moment, and he was able to let go of her sweet little bottom to fumble with his belt. If he'd had the same foresight Scully possessed, he would have gotten rid of the thing in the office. Now, instead, his anxious fingers made it take longer than it should have. Then the button. And the zipper. Damn all these contraptions! Scully made no move to help, simply rolling her head back and forth against the wall, making impatient noises in her throat. Her arms had slid bonelessly down to her sides. Mulder hitched Scully up a little higher and leaned in closer, so that her weight was partially supported by the wall and his abdominal muscles. He could feel her burning through the material of her panties and his thin dress shirt. He needed to be =there=, right now. He was also starting to realize that he probably should have gotten his pants off before getting into this position, but now that they were there, there was no way in hell he would change things. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he attempted to slide both his pants and his underwear down in one easy motion. Unfortunately, the elastic of his boxers wouldn't give, and only his pants made it to the floor. "Goddammit," he muttered. Scully cracked her eyes open, staring at him from beneath her lashes. Mouth parted and swollen from his kisses, he thought he had never seen her more beautiful, and was going to die if he didn't get inside her within the next few seconds. "What's wrong, Mulder?" She spoke in a voice so transformed by lust that it was barely recognizable as hers. "Nothing, nothing," he said, latching onto a breast with his mouth. He could feel the hardness of her nipple through her shirt, and he circled it hard with his tongue, wanting to distract her. All right, there was no way he would be able to get his boxers off and still hold Scully up at the same time, so the boxers were just going to have to stay on. Impatiently grabbing the waistband with one hand while the other grabbed Scully under one of her knees, he began to hurriedly hitch the boxers back up. Unfortunately, in his haste he pulled a little too hard, and almost gave himself a nasty wedgie. Avoiding such an occurrence by a couple millimeters or so, he was finally able to reach into his fly and pull out his rock hard erection. His mouth let go of her nipple. Finally! He was home free! Oh damn, Scully was still wearing her underwear. All right, there was no way he could survive more delay. He was already half-deranged. Reaching toward the waistband of her panties, he tested the material quickly. Silk. Easily torn. One good yank and they were off, fluttering to the floor. Scully seemed to appreciate his impatience, because she emitted a sound that was a cross between a growl and a gasp. At last. He slid Scully down gently, until he was poised at her entrance. He knew she could feel him prodding at her, and she let out a breathy little moan. Her legs tightened around him, urging him closer. He gripped her right underneath her thighs, just below her ass. He had a good grip, which was important, because this was going to be hard and fast, and he needed to be able to keep them both upright. "You ready?" he rasped. "Yes, Muld - augh!" her response ended on a shriek as he rammed into her. Oh God, oh God, she was so tight and hot and wet and she was like a fist gripping him so firmly that it felt like heaven. Feels so good, feels so good, feels so good... "You feel good, too," she gasped out, her words punctuated by little gasps as he thrust forcefully into her feminine heat. Mulder realized he'd been speaking out loud. With every thrust of his hips, he yanked her body forward to meet it, so that they crashed against each other again and again, connecting almost violently. "Harder." He was already pounding her. "Are you sure?" "Harder." His arms were getting tired, and luckily Scully seemed to sense this. She wrapped her arms tightly about his neck and braced some of her weight onto his shoulders. She then moved herself against him, bringing herself down hard on his cock. Gasping, his freed hands slapped again the wall, bracing himself there. He continued to move his lower body with the ferocity she wanted, her little screams and gasps filling his ears. "Faster. Faster...y-y-yes, like th-that," her voice trembled as he complied. She continued to jerk herself up and down on him and he moved his hips even faster, faster than he thought he was capable of, faster than he thought any human being was capable of. But Jesus, did it feel good. Suddenly Scully let out a piercing scream, scoring the back of his neck with her nails, and began to shake against him. Her vaginal muscles squeezed him so tight that he let go, too, shooting into her like a geyser, bellowing into her ear. They held onto each other tightly for a few moments, waiting for their minds to clear and vision to return. When Mulder finally allowed himself to let up just a little on his tense muscles, it was a mistake - he slid weakly to the floor, taking her with him, nearly cracking his kneecaps on the tiles. Scully apparently was experiencing the same lack of strength, as she no longer tried to help him support her weight. Her cheek rested on his shoulder, and he really wanted to see her face. Did she regret this breach of conduct, which represented practically everything they had said they wouldn't do? Was he about to get his ass kicked? "Let me clean you up, Mulder." He guessed not. Lifting herself off of him, she pressed and slid her face against his shirt, down and down until she reached his cock, hanging feebly outside the fly of his boxers. Mulder closed his eyes as he felt her tongue sliding over him, cleaning their mutual juices off of him. Once, he thought he heard her say, "Mmm, we taste so good," but he was only half paying attention, so he couldn't be sure. Having her tongue and lips on him, combined with the sounds she was making, caused familiar stirrings of arousal. Before that could be manifested into another erection, however, it appeared he was finally cleaned to her satisfaction, and she tucked him back into his underwear. She then got up, wetted a paper towel, and scrubbed his face clean of traces of lipstick. When she was done, she grabbed his face for another quick kiss. He wanted it to last longer, and was disappointed when she pulled away. "I guess...we should go back to the office," he said regretfully. "I guess." Scully didn't seem particularly concerned. She stood in front of the mirror, looking at herself critically. Finger-combing her hair, she grumbled a little to herself. With a little difficulty, Mulder got to his feet then reached down to pull his pants up. He spotted Scully's underwear not two inches from his foot. Glancing at Scully, who was attempting to erase the smudges of lipstick outside her natural lip lines, he quickly snatched them up and stuffed them into his trouser pocket. They were torn, anyway - she couldn't wear them again. She hadn't noticed yet that he was pilfering her underwear. Or if she had, she hadn't said anything to him about it. He liked having them. The first time had been purely accidental - he'd seen a pair of his boxers lying on the floor after the first time they'd ever had sex, and snatched them up. When he realized that they were the boxers Scully had been wearing, he'd already found the panties bunched together with the boxers. He'd returned the latter but kept the former. Since then, he'd taken them whenever he could, remembering each sexual encounter by Scully's underwear. He washed them and kept them in his underwear drawer, placing hers right next to his. He supposed this was rather obsessive, freakish behavior, but was that supposed to bother him? Besides, he liked seeing their respective undergarments lying side by side in his drawer. As if...as if - this line of thinking was dangerous. It spoke of permanence, and right now they were far from that point. They were getting closer, though, and for that he was grateful. He stood there awkwardly a moment, studying her, wondering how she could be so poised, fixing her lipstick as if she had merely smeared it while eating her morning bagel. He didn't know why she was really bothering; there wasn't much left of it. The back of his neck throbbed vaguely; he placed a hand over that area and winced at the stinging sensation. Bringing his hand back to his line of vision, he gaped at the traces of blood. Damn, Scully was a wild woman. She'd broken skin. If he said something she might take it as a complaint, though, and he certainly didn't want that. "Meet you back in the office," he muttered, turning toward the door. This felt all wrong. He wanted to talk to her, to discuss what had happened, but she was just so put together. He got the feeling that if he tried to start any serious discussion she would just get annoyed with him. And he didn't want Scully to be annoyed with him. Just as he reached the door, he heard footsteps. High heels, to be exact, and they were coming from the wrong side of the door. Clack, clack, clack, traveling quickly, too. Oh, shit. "Scully, I think there's someone coming," he hissed. Looking around frantically, there was really only one thing he could do. He went into the nearest stall and shut the door. ~~~~~~~~ FBI Basement Ladies Room August 16 3:47 p.m. At the first sign of trouble, it was typical that Mulder would dive into the nearest bathroom stall and lock himself in. However, in the present situation, it was probably a good call. At least he had the presence of mind to stand on the toilet seat or whatever he was doing so that she couldn't see his feet. And thank goodness for it - not two seconds after his impromptu break for the closest door to hide behind, the door to the ladies room swung open. "Agent Scully?" "Kimberly," Scully exclaimed, trying to mask her dismay. The secretary's presence meant only one thing: Skinner was looking for them. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to intrude, but Assistant Director Skinner has been looking for you and Agent Mulder. I tried calling down here several times, but no one answered. And no one was in the office, so I thought I'd try here..." She stopped and sniffed the air. Jesus, she can smell us, Scully thought, not a little panicked. She let out a fake little laugh that normally would have made herself shudder. "Yes, I had to use the restroom. Just finishing up here. And we uh - that is, I came to see if uh..." She thought wildly. Her first inclination had been to say that she was fixing her makeup or her hair, but there was no makeup or brush in sight. "...see if they had replaced the tampons in the machine." Kimberly looked at her in puzzlement. Scully walked over to the machine that dispensed those feminine products. "Yep, looks like they did. Never know when you might need one of these things, you know. Goodness! They charge a quarter now? That's highway robbery..." She knew she was babbling but couldn't seem to stop. "Agent Scully," Kimberly interrupted, apparently having heard enough, "AD Skinner would like to see you. Immediately. Where is Agent Mulder?" "I think he's around somewhere." Scully pursed her lips. Kimberly looked at her expectantly, clearly expecting Scully to follow her out. "I'll find Agent Mulder, and then - " Scully began. "That won't be necessary. I've left a note in his office and a message on his machine to go up to the AD's office as soon as possible. It seemed urgent." This last was directed pointedly at Scully. "Oh, all right," Scully grumbled, not trying in the least to hide her irritation. If the other woman was surprised by this attitude, she didn't let on, for which Scully was extremely grateful. After thinking about it, after thinking about what Kimberly =could= have walked in on, she was counting her blessings. She shuddered to think. She and Mulder had been very, very lucky this time. Not that the inconsiderate bastard had seemed the least concerned by what they had done. No, it was wham, bam, thank you ma'am, out the door. Jerk, she fumed. And now she was following Kimberly back to Skinner's office, all sticky between her legs and fearing that things were about to get even stickier. She would have given almost anything for the chance to duck into a bathroom and take care of her problem, but Kimberly was walking so fast that Scully didn't dare. For one thing, she had already admitted to using the restroom, and for another, if Kimberly had been sent to look for them, it meant that Skinner was probably already annoyed it had taken this long. Once at their destination, she was quickly ushered into Skinner's office, where she encountered the scowl of her boss. It was then that she felt it. In her hurry, she hadn't been able to clean herself up, and now she stood with her legs pressed tightly together. Was it possible she could actually feel that certain fluids created during sexual intercourse were about to escape from her body, starting to trickle down her leg...? She let out a deep breath. Of course, it was only her imagination. For the time being. Skinner glared at her. At least, that's what it seemed like. "Where's Agent Mulder?" Scully opened her mouth to respond, but, as it turned out, she didn't have to. The subject in question answered for himself. "I'm right here, sir." Scully whipped her head around so fast it hurt. Mulder must have rushed out as soon as she and Kimberly had left. Damn him, he looked immaculate, while she felt - and was certain that she looked - completely frazzled. Skinner gestured for them to sit. Mulder did so fluidly, while Scully went about it a little more gingerly. Was it her imagination or did Skinner sniff at them? God, he couldn't smell her, could he? She was positively mortified by the possibility. Clamping her legs together as tightly as she could, she stared at him as he began to speak. None of his words registered. She could see his lips moving, could even vaguely hear the sounds that were coming out of his mouth, but her concentration was on masking the scent of sex as much as she could. She was still wet. What if she left a stain...? Oh, God. Yet another mortifying possibility to worry about. Mulder was sitting, utterly at ease, in his chair. His face was a little flushed, but for the most part, he seemed totally relaxed. And why shouldn't he be, Scully fumed. He wasn't the one still soaking wet, trying to not leave a wet spot on Skinner's chair. He wasn't the one who likely still reeked of their quickie. God, what had she been thinking! She had told herself it was a bad idea, over and over. She told herself that even as she took off her pantyhose and stuffed them in the nearest trash receptacle. She told herself that even as she unbuttoned her blouse. She told herself that even as she threw Mulder against the wall and practically assaulted him. Well, she was paying for her indiscretions now, wasn't she? She was the one who was desperately clenching her inner muscles, attempting to hold in not only the remnants of her sexual arousal, but his as well. It was =his= fucking semen that was threatening escape, and she would be the one to live with the consequences if she couldn't hide it. And just =where= the fuck were her panties? Those would have helped a little in this situation. Of course, perhaps not in this case, since she belatedly remembered that Mulder had torn them off. This recollection made her thoughts toward him turn even blacker. Now what the hell was Skinner saying? She sighed a little in irritation, and fought the urge to slug Mulder. Skinner noticed that her attention was not entirely focused on the meeting. "Agent Scully," he barked. "Is everything all right?" Scully noticed out of the corner of her eye that Mulder tugged around his collar a bit, but did not look at her. Yeah, you better be nervous, buddy. She felt another trickle of - something - between her legs, and she clamped them together even tighter. Damn gravity, anyway. Oh God, Skinner would be able to smell it, she was sure. She flushed in humiliation. She was going to kill Mulder for this. Fucking stupid semen! Slow, agonizing death. Yes. All for Mulder. Skinner stared at her expectantly. She realized she still hadn't answered. "Yes, sir," she said. "Fine." She congratulated herself on the slightly bored affectation of her voice, conveying that he had no reason to ask in the first place. It worked, and Skinner's brow furrowed. "In that case, there isn't much more to say. Your flight to Arizona leaves tonight." Scully opened her mouth to ask what it was exactly that they were supposed to do in Arizona, but immediately thought better of it. No doubt that had been covered during her homicidal ruminations. The important thing now to consider was escape. Mulder stood up quickly, as did Skinner. Scully was afraid to stand. What if the wetness had seeped through her skirt and onto the chair? It was really too bad that these chairs weren't made of leather, which would have made such an event fairly easy to hide. One conscientious swipe of her bottom... She tried not to glare at the two men who were looking at her with expectancy, and a little confusion. Fucking men. They had their fun and never had to deal with the consequences. "Uh...Scully?" Mulder raised an eyebrow. Damn him, that was =her= look. Death was too good for him. He was completely oblivious to her problem, staring at her with that condescending look on his face. "I'm sorry, I feel a little dizzy," she improvised. "Just give me a minute." She wondered wildly how she was going to be able to get up to surreptitiously check and see if she had stained one of Skinner's chairs - if =Mulder= had stained one, she amended, since she was positive it was mostly his fluid that was trying to escape. God, even his bodily peripherals were a pain in the ass! And if there =was= a stain, what in the world was she going to do, aside from die of embarrassment on the spot? Immediately Skinner looked concerned, while Mulder continued to sport his best imitation of a bemused hedgehog. Scully could practically hear his thoughts. He had just banged her but good in an FBI ladies room, and she hadn't shown any signs of illness then. Or was he responsible for this sudden bout of dizziness? Had he just been too damn good? Was it her imagination or did his chest actually puff out a little? It would be up to her to deflate that overactive ego. "Is this serious, Agent Scully?" She understood from the gravity of his tone what Skinner was asking, and she tried not to flinch at this reminder of the cancer. "No, no. I think it was something I ate." Mulder's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He was remembering, as she was, that she had licked him dry afterward. Which was why he was entirely comfortable while she felt like she was leaking like a faucet. "I guess it wasn't very good." She watched Mulder deflate to the point where his shoulders actually sagged. For a moment she was thrilled with her payback, but then she felt bad. After all, the sex had been spectacular. It wasn't his fault they had been so hurriedly called to Skinner's office, or that she had this new tendency to lose her underwear after getting laid. She felt sticky and uncomfortable, a little panicked because she didn't know what she was going to do if she =had= left a wet spot on Skinner's chair, and now, to top it all off, she felt like a bitch for hurting Mulder's feelings. And then it made her madder that he should be the one to cause this situation in the first place, yet =she= was the one who had ended up feeling bad. Skinner was still looking at her expectantly. After all, she said she was fine, so why was she still sitting there? She =had= to get their attention away from her. If Mulder was a little quicker on the uptake, he would have realized her predicament, but alas, he was Mulder - only brilliant when it didn't have to do with her. "I...uh..." She was really beginning to sweat now. The two men were staring at her raptly, no doubt wondering what the hell was =up= with her. And she couldn't come up with any diversionary tactics. "Sir," she finally blurted. "Could I ask you to turn around, please?" The straight-forward approach. Conventional, a little humiliating, but endurable. She had thought for a second about shouting, "What's that?!" and pointing, but dismissed the idea because only Mulder would have turned to look. Skinner's brows snapped together in confusion. Mulder merely gaped at her. "Agent Scully? What are you talking about?" "Turn around. Please. Both of you." She glanced down at her lap in what she hoped was an embarrassed look - let them think that she had feminine problems. Anything was better than the truth. Understanding dawned on Skinner's face, though he was still slightly puzzled. Scully saw Skinner glance at Mulder, who was still staring at his partner. Skinner gestured for Mulder to turn around. Judging from the look of utter confusion on his face, Mulder still hadn't gotten the point. Scully merely glared at him before he, too, followed suit. Seeing both of their backs, Scully quickly got up and glanced down at the material of her seat. Nothing. She craned her neck to look at the back of her skirt. Also nothing. It had all been in her imagination. All the moistness and dampness she felt had been contained within the confines of her skin and skirt, although the first stop she was making once she got out of this office was to the nearest restroom. "Thank you," she said huskily, and started out of the office, brushing by the two men quickly. She felt flushed, and could only hope that Skinner would interpret the redness of her cheeks to be embarrassment rather than anger, which would invite more speculation. But Mulder would know better. She would make sure of it. Once she could bring herself to admit her over-active imagination. This was the last time this was =ever= going to happen again. No more sex at the office. It had been risky, stupid, and utterly unprofessional. If either of them felt another unprecedented level of horniness again, they would leave the building, go to an apartment, a motel, a fucking park bench. But the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building was off- limits from now on. Even if they had been in a normal relationship, work would and should be a place where they drew the line. The problem was, they had drawn many lines, but they were getting blurrier all the time. She could hardly recall why so many lines had been drawn in the first place. But of course, she did remember. They had been drawn for her protection. Oh, they both pretended that it was for Mulder's protection, too, but she knew that she was the only one in danger of being seriously hurt. The one who could let this consume her, let it take her over, ruining their friendship and their professional relationship in one fell swoop. She had to follow the rules and remember why they had been created. There was one rule still intact, but the rules themselves weren't what mattered. It was the purpose =behind= the rules that was important. Sex was to be kept separate from their friendship and their partnership. She could not lose those things. And that was all the reminder she needed to strengthen her own resolve. ~~~~~~~~ Chapter Nine ~~~~~~~~ Office of Dr. Audrey Lake September 28 10:10 a.m. Scully hurried into the office, where Audrey was already seated. She took her normal place across from the other woman and put her purse on the ground, her breathing somewhat labored. "I'm sorry," she said a little breathlessly, adjusting her position and trying to get comfortable. "It's quite all right, Dana, relax." Audrey smiled, calmly taking a sip of coffee from her mug. "Would you like something to drink?" "Ah - water would be great," Scully replied, feeling how parched her throat was. Audrey buzzed her receptionist, who promptly returned with a bottle of water for Scully. "Thank you very much," she said, gulping gratefully. When her throat didn't feel as much like sandpaper, she explained, "I was running late this morning and then I couldn't find parking...finally found a space a few blocks down." Audrey looked at her with shrewd eyes. "You look tired." Scully almost collapsed at the other woman's words. She had been trying to keep her exhaustion at bay, but at the confirmation that it was evident, she deflated like a pricked balloon. She =was= tired. And confused. And feeling like she was about to start screaming any minute. "Something's happened, Dana?" Audrey's voice was matter- of-fact, and came across sounding more like a statement than a question. A hysterical bubble of laughter threatened to escape, but Scully suppressed it quickly. Something had happened, all right. "Our relationship is over." It was amazing how calm she sounded. Audrey was clearly surprised. "Oh, Dana, I'm sorry," she murmured. "When did this happen?" Scully waved a careless hand. "Nothing definite has been said. It just - is. Because of me." She took a deep breath for the strength to elaborate further. "I'm in love with him." She wasn't saying anything they didn't both already know, but it felt like a huge revelation, anyway. What was huge was how that factor affected what had happened last weekend. She felt that she had whizzed by the point of no return with barely a second glance. She had to try and salvage what was left. She only hoped that she was not too late. It wasn't until she licked her lips and tasted the saltiness there that she realized something in her had caved, and she had started to cry. Bringing her hands up to wipe the tears away, she murmured, "I'm sorry." Audrey opened a desk drawer and pulled out a box of tissues. She handed it to Scully, who apologized again. "Dana," the older woman said gently but firmly, "it's all right to express your emotions. This obviously upsets you. Let yourself cry." Scully gave a choked, watery laugh. "I let myself cry. I do it too much." This past week, anyway. In her bedroom, in the dark, usually alone. She tried not to do it when Mulder was around, but luckily the few times it had happened, the tears only came after he was asleep. Audrey smiled sympathetically as Scully tried to compose herself. "You haven't done anything yet." Scully shook her head. "But I will," she whispered. "I have to." "Will you be sharing with him what you just shared with me?" For a moment Scully thought Audrey meant telling Mulder that things were over, and her first response was, well of =course= she was. But then she realized Audrey meant her earlier "revelation," and Scully gave a short, bitter laugh. "How can I? It's bad enough I'm going to lose this part of him. If I were to tell him I'm in love with him, it'd scare him shitless. I'd lose what's left." "And what =is= left?" Audrey pressed softly. "Our friendship. Our partnership. The things that will last. This isn't an easy decision for me. God. I =wanted= to believe in the fairy tale." She hung her head, as if ashamed that this was the case. "And just what is the fairy tale?" Scully looked up, her smile bittersweet. "Everyone knows the fairy tale, Audrey," she whispered. "That, in the end, I won't have to hide my real feelings. That my love is reciprocated. God, how naive that sounds. I finally found something to believe in, and it was the one thing you couldn't share." This last was murmured to someone else. "So now you're going to...?" "I know what I should do," Scully said quietly. "I know what you - and let's face it, most people - will advise as the best course of action." "I'm not going to advise any course of action. I trust you, Dana, to know what is the best thing to do for yourself." That was the problem. There was no "best thing" to do for herself. Because of her wretched emotions, she had lost. No matter what she chose, Mulder was lost to her. It was a bleak, depressing reality. "I can't lose him." The tears fell in earnest. "I can't...but I already have." Mulder's reaction to what she had done the previous weekend had been everything she could have hoped for and more. But it was dangerous. He'd been feeling possessive, territorial. A natural reaction, since they were what they were to each other. However, she had started to see it as something more, as evidence of his deeper feelings for her. Letting herself believe he felt more than he did was so easy, so tempting. If she allowed herself to be immersed in that fantasy world, however, getting out would be impossible. "You know, Dana..." Audrey hesitated. "Have you considered that you might be wrong about your partner's emotional stake in your relationship?" "That the fairy tale is true, you mean?" Scully sniffed, blowing her nose. "The possibility briefly occurred to me, but I'm too realistic to entertain the idea for very long. I would only be setting myself up for more pain, wouldn't I?" She might have already gotten in too deep. That was why she had to end it before it could go any further. "Perhaps," Audrey conceded. Gently, she suggested, "But have you thought about the pain that awaits you by not making sure? Considered the happiness you might be throwing away?" Scully was confused. This was not the line of advice she had expected Audrey to give. She was expecting something more rational, not follow-your-heart. When Scully still did not answer, Audrey continued. "I know you're afraid of being hurt. We all fear the same things. We take that chance every time we allow our hearts to become involved." She took another sip of coffee. "Dana, let me ask you something. Do you consider yourself to be an optimist or a pessimist?" Scully was a bit thrown at the change of subject, but considered it for a moment, using a tissue to wipe away the remainder of her tears. "I don't believe I can label myself either, in all honesty. I'm a realist." She smiled a little. "I suppose that's one of the greatest sources of contention between Mulder and me." "Is Mulder a realist, like you?" The laugh that resulted was genuine. Mulder, a realist? "I take that to be a 'no.'" Audrey smiled. Scully's brow furrowed a bit. "Actually, I believe that Mulder believes himself to be a realist, as well." "What category would you put him in?" "He's an optimist." Scully smiled, seeing Mulder, his enthusiasm, his energy, his sheer strength of will. "I think he has enough hope for everybody in the world." "And what category would he put =you= in?" Scully's smile vanished as she considered this. "I suppose," she said slowly, "I suppose he would call me a pessimist in many ways, but not in general." She paused. "Does that make any sense?" Audrey nodded. "You know, pessimists call their views realism and optimists call it pessimism." "Just because I would label Mulder an optimist doesn't mean that he feels things he doesn't." "That's absolutely true. That's not what I was proposing; I was merely trying to suggest that perhaps what =you= see as his motivations may not actually be what they are. That isn't to say that your assessment may not be dead-on, of course, but there is another possibility." Scully shook her head. "But I know Mulder. I know him inside out." "Dana," Audrey began in a voice that clearly said it was not meant to offend but might do so anyway, "don't you see that it's impossible for you to have an objective viewpoint about Mulder's motivations? You have too much at stake. You have too much riding on the answers." "You think I'm being defensive." Scully's tone was almost accusatory. Audrey nodded. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "Yes. I do. It's perfectly understandable and natural. Many, many people in your situation - myself included - would probably react in a similar manner. It doesn't mean the situation will resolve itself the way you want. The only way that can happen is if you act. Or if he does." It was Scully's turn to nod. "But if I tell him how I feel and he doesn't feel the same - " Worse, if he looked at her in sympathy, or in pity, she would just dry up and blow away at the first sign of wind. "I will lose everything. His friendship, our recent closeness, the job that I love. It will make it impossible for us to work together. That can't happen. Our work is too important." If she had to sacrifice herself for the greater good by never letting Mulder know how she felt, then that was what had to happen. She had been doing it for the past six years - it could not be thrown away now. Not over her inability to control her hormones. Or was that just an excuse? "If I don't say anything at all and just end it, we can at least continue to work together." Audrey looked at her steadily. "Can you? You believe you can end this new relationship that you've started with your partner and go on as you always have? You mentioned something earlier about sounding naive. Does this seem like a sound plan, one that you honestly believe will work?" Psychologists weren't supposed to say things like this, were they? Tears flooded Scully's eyes again as Audrey echoed her own doubts out loud. "I - " She grabbed another tissue as the tears ran unbidden down her cheeks. "It's the only thing I can do." It was all too much. It had been folly to do what they had done; it would pain her to lose the physical intimacy that she now shared with Mulder. But he did not love her; he was not =in= love with her. If she confessed her feelings, their years of hard work would be wasted; she would be separated from Mulder. She shuddered. She might have been able to live with such a possibility a year ago, maybe even six months ago, but she didn't have the strength for it anymore. She had to be near him, to work with him, to see his beloved face everyday. She couldn't imagine life without him, and sure as hell didn't want to live it. She didn't know if she could go back to being his partner at work only; when their new tie was severed, it would be the most painful event of her life. No more weekends spent like the last one, no more satiating their hunger for each other, no more sweet, slow sex in the mornings, no more rough, fast fucks in restrooms, no more cleansing, life-affirming, passionate lovemaking in the dead of the night. No more whispered sweet nothings. No more relaxing baths together. No more kisses that made her toes curl and her heart jump to her throat. No more holding each other close. No more watching Mulder sleep. Losing these things would be gut-wrenchingly difficult. And it would be by choice. The hardest thing she'd ever done. But the alternative - losing him for good - was not acceptable. She simply did not possess the strength it would take to survive such an event. What she'd had only a few short months ago used to be enough. And enough it would be once more. The pain of one option simply held no comparison to the other. And since it was the only choice left to her, she had to make it work. She had to at least try. Scully explained this to Audrey, who nodded sympathetically. "I don't mean to be harsh, Dana. I only want to suggest alternatives, because I know you can't be completely objective about this subject. I want to be sure that you have considered every angle before you reach a final decision." "I understand," Scully replied hoarsely, throat thick with tears. She had already made her final decision: not to lose Mulder. Now she just needed the strength to inform him of her decision. No doubt he'd be disappointed, since there was no problem that =he= could see. "Do you believe that your partner will marry someday?" It was as though Audrey had slapped her. Scully sat there, momentarily stunned. The images that Audrey's words conjured ate at her soul like acid. Would Mulder marry someone someday? A someone that was not her? A someone who would share his life, his body, his heart? "I can see this idea does not appeal to you," Audrey noted dryly. "Have you considered that if you stay on as his partner at work, the day may come when you will have to confront his life partner of choice?" His life partner of choice. Mulder and another woman. Oh, God. Mulder and his wife. Oh, Jesus. Scully felt as though her chest had been ripped wide open, her heart removed and cut into a thousand pieces right before her eyes. "I hope - " The words came out as a croak. Scully cleared her throat. "I hope that when and if that time comes, it will no longer affect me the way that it does now. I hope I will be happy for him," she added, almost defensively. "Of course. And I hope the same. But our hope does not guarantee that event, does it?" Scully felt the other woman's look and shook her head. Of course it didn't. Of course not. Suddenly she wanted to scream. She wanted more than anything to be out of this office. Though she understood on an intellectual level that it was completely irrational, she wanted to get away from Audrey, who had forced her to think of things she would not have let herself imagine even in her worst nightmares. She could almost see it now. Mulder lovingly holding his wife, an unknown entity - Scully felt an almost consuming hatred toward the faceless woman - telling her that he loved her, that she completed him, that she was his life. And Scully, standing off to the side, her heart in her hands, her eyes huge and wounded as the man she loved professed his undying devotion to another woman. She felt almost disgust at this unflattering, degrading image. Her pride was rebelling at the thought. Pride was good. Pride would save her. She would never let herself go that far. The moment another woman came into the picture, Scully promised herself fiercely, she would be gone. She would leave. By that time, Mulder would no longer need or want her presence, and hopefully, =hopefully=, the sight of Mulder with someone else would be the final breaking point for her. The time when she had to face once and for all that he did not love her. She recalled with sudden clarity that almost a month ago, she had decided on a course of action to slowly get them back into the groove of their pre-sex relationship; they had just broken the rule about sleeping together while on a case. She had determined then to gradually extricate her need for Mulder in a way that would make it bearable for her and acceptable to him. Obviously, she had failed. Instead of getting less intense, they had only gotten more so, and now she was in danger of being consumed. Yet even now she hoped that perhaps she was wrong about how he felt about her. She felt herself tremble as a wave of longing washed over her. She had never wanted so much in her life to be proved wrong. Mulder...please. Please prove me wrong one more time. *Go to next chapter*