MY NOTES: This is part III of a four part MSR titled "Scent of
a Woman." Please read stories in order for maximum "effect."
Scent of a Woman I
Scent of a Woman II-The Nest

To find missing installments, visit:
www.oocities.org/hotsprings/8334/fic.html.
Scent is under the MSR/RST section.

SPECIAL THANKS: to my fab beta babes: Sue, Michelle, and
Deb without whom, you'd all see what a truly lousy editor I am.
And to all the Scent readers who have begged, threatened and
screamed for me to finish this. Sorry it took so long.

And extra thanks to Bugs for the free lunch and "interesting horse fact."
And Missy for the descriptions of Old Town Alexandria.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Moose and Squirrel, but tonight
I'm taking them to dinner. All regards to 1013, FOX, and such
for providing the fodder for my dirty little mind.

FEEDBACK: Slap me silly!!
Terma99@aol.com


Scent of a Woman III--Dinner

by Terma99


Scully held the DIXON Trimline No. 2 pencil between her forefinger
and thumb, rolling it back and forth admiring its freshly honed point. In
a breath she applied a snap of the fingers and a flick of the wrist, letting
the missile fly through the stale basement air in perfect form, tip forward,
ready to embed itself into the...shit! fluorescent light fixture. The pencil
tip snapped as it collided, rattling the rectangular plastic cover and
slipping it from its rails.

Defying gravity in an almost equally dexterous feat, Scully leapt up
on Mulder's desk from where she had been half reclined in his chair
and caught the cover before it shattered to the ground. She balanced
the plastic sheet with her fingertips and gingerly slid it back into
place, expelling the dust that invaded her lungs with a cough.

She sighed, brushing desiccated bug parts from the front of her blouse.
He made it look so easy. During their tour of duty under Kersh, Scully
had watched the deft fingers of her partner effortlessly toss dozens of
carbon-tipped projectiles into the sound absorbent tiles until the
bullpen ceiling resembled the back of a porcupine. A talent the janitor
enjoyed maintaining almost as much as his careless seed munching
habit.

Seeds. She was standing on a mini assortment of them that had
hidden under the blotter. She moved her heel to examine the crunchy
mess, sucked clean of their contents. Lucky little bastards to get that
much attention from a mouth she had only recently begun to sample.
Somehow everything today had been about Mulder. Waking in Mulder's
bed tangled in his blanket, dressing in Mulder's bedroom...imagining
Mulder dressing in Mulder's bedroom...Mulder eating seeds...Mulder
molesting a straw, a pen cap, the inside if her thighs...

What time was it anyway? Her head-to-head view of the wall clock
revealed the endless Friday afternoon was just approaching 2:30. Still
an hour too early to leave for the airport. She had checked the battery
in her cellphone twice now, but no call. So to cover her tracks she
planned a visit to the nearby Hall of Records on an old case to help
explain her "just passing by the airport" when she knocked the wind
out of him with a big hug and a tidy smack on those salty lips.

Her plotting was interrupted by the basement door suddenly opening.
Her partner entered with a shove of his shoulder, his arms carrying a
large file-stuffed archive box. He stopped and stared up at her,
perplexed.

"We have mice, Scully?"

"I..." she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. *What the hell was
he doing here?* "Cute, Mulder, help me down."

He set his box down on the table and offered her his assistance.

"I was adjusting the lighting panel," she explained, easing herself
down, holding his wrists for balance.

"Funny, I've never had trouble with it before," he said, looking up.

"That's because I've been keeping my eye on it."

She slipped off the desk and onto her feet, looking up at him. "You're
back early," she said, a little flustered. He squeezed her hands and
released them with a quick smile. So much for a passionate deplaning.
She was too startled for a proper hello now and it was far too soon
for good-bye. No wonder Mulder didn't date, he was too infuriatingly
unpredictable.

"I requested an earlier flight," he explained, resetting the fall of her
suit collar with a fingertip. "We wrapped up early yesterday and I was
getting sick of the smell of wet horse hair. Unfortunately, four hours
was the best they could do for me." She thought she caught a flicker
of disappointment in his eyes.

He let whatever it was pass and turned, gesturing to his box. "Look what
I have."

She stepped closer, wrinkling her nose. "Smells old. What is it?"

"Missing persons cases dating back to the early '70s. Kathleen, the
new archives intern, has been doing a little project for me. She surprised
me with it this afternoon on my way in. I think she's a little sweet on me,"
he added with a wink.

"I think she's seventeen, Mulder."

He shrugged, unfazed.

"I had her cross-check the database for names of former State
Department employees. Came up with quite a few."

"And?"

"Well, my weekend is *set.*"

Scully rolled her tongue and sighed. "I guess it is."

He moved past her over to his desk, sat down and started clicking at
his computer keyboard.

Scully stood there a moment, hands on her hips. Watching Mulder
assume his familiar detached innuendo-self made last night's fantasy
seem like a grandiose delusion. The airport was her plan of attack;
without a plan she was completely disarmed. Now there was a very
official Fox Mulder-plaqued desk between the two of them. Not
knowing what else to do, she picked up a stack of manila folders
and started filing. How pathetic.

"Soo..." he dragged out, leaning back in his chair to open a drawer.
"What were you working on?"

"Hmm...?"

"You were occupying yourself with something here Scully, the chair's
still warm."

Scully glanced nervously at the ceiling. *Come on Dana, pull it
together. You're acting like you've been working for the consortium.*

"I was...back-checking those race form dates."

He looked up from the keyboard, puzzled. "I thought...didn't I tell you
we got the mare back when you called yesterday?"

She looked at him, a file half stuffed in the drawer. Blue to hazel, guilt
met confusion in a awkward beat of silence.

"I just wanted to be thorough," she mumbled.

He chuckled a bit at her oddness. "I think I'm beginning to have an
adverse effect on you. You didn't used to be so...obliging."

She slid the last file in and shut the drawer firmly. Retreating to
relative safety of her "area," she pretended to look busy while trying to
rein in her head. Organizing her paper clips was what she needed to do
right now--a mindless task to occupy her while she hit "restart" on
her cognitive functions. Blues in the first slot, silver in the middle...

"So...did everything go okay?" He asked after a few minutes of
blissful silence.

She had a reasonable answer this time. "Yes. The Louisville office called
in the..."

"No, I meant last night."

Dammit. She had just managed to shut that part of her memory off.

Scully looked up from her folding table-cum-desk. He was staring at
his flickering screen scrolling through something, giving her only half
his attention.

"Uh, yeah."

"Wasn't too cold?"

"No."

"Upstairs neighbors keep you up?"

"No."

"Packed in your own drinking water?"

"Yes."

"Door give you any trouble?"

"A little."

"Bed comfortable?" His voice turned up just a bit like he was trying to
sneak that one in.

Why was the bed so important?

"Uh, yes. It was fine."

Fine--Scullyism for "Drop it, Mulder."

He did, seeming satisfied with his line of questioning, and shut down
his computer.

"Well, I'm out of here." He stood, grabbing his keys off the desk.

"It's only three." Ugh, that came out in a whine, didn't it?

"I know, but I had a rotten night in bluegrass country and need to catch
up with the backs of my eyelids," he said, taking up his precious box
of dusty entertainment.

Scully made to stand, but kept her rear in place. Waiting.

He took a few heavy shuffles toward the door and stopped. He turned
his head back to her as if his haste to exit was suddenly interrupted by
a thought.

Bless him, he remembered it was Friday.

He hobbled shyly over to her, box in arms and setting the edge of it on
her table, bent close to her mouth.

"See you Monday, Scully," he said softly; and she smiled, arching up to
meet his kiss.

"Have a nice weekend."


****************************************


Scully woke Saturday morning in the familiar trappings of her too
neat apartment. She'd spent most of the remainder of Friday night
cleaning--a domestic attempt to redirect the nervous tension she had
been harboring the better part of two days. Somehow her plans had
gone awry. If memory served, she was supposed to be waking sore
and sticky, tangled in upset bedding next to an old friend. Instead,
you could eat off the top of her refrigerator right now.

Okay, so maybe yesterday afternoon didn't go exactly as planned.
Somehow her resolute decision to seduce her partner was derailed
into a basic jumble of standardized noun/verb agreements. "Yes,
Mulder. No, Mulder. I don't know, Mulder." Why did every sentence
always end with "Mulder?"

What was she supposed to say? "Hello Mulder; how was Kentucky? By
the way, I explored an erotic fantasy about you last night while
fingering myself in your bed. I hope you don't mind if we leave a little
early tonight so we can go rut like mini-lops until we collapse from
muscle trauma. Did you remember to save your rental receipts?"

That might have engendered more direct results. Still, his kiss was nice,
if not a bit unbalanced by the load he was carrying, the file box that is--
a parboiled appetizer that made her salivate for the next course.

Food. Dinner. Maybe that was a good idea. They could handle that
perhaps. A dinner date in a real establishment specifically designed
for couples to simply enjoy a meal together--not just a big surrogate
kitchen for carrying away springrolls and chow mien to accompany
autopsy photos and mucus samples. A little food, a little conversation,
she could unload a few thoughts, weigh his reaction, fight over the
check; kiss like mosquitoes in the entryway, followed by a hungry
groping across the front seat of her car. It could work.

What time was it? She didn't suppose dinner started at 8:30 in the
morning. She'd have to iron her socks until at least 5:00. With a call
at say, 3:00 to give him plenty of warning.

She wasn't going to let him escape this time.

*******************************************

Mulder was halfway through the "O's" when his cellphone began to ring.

A spread-out file under one hand and a creamy glob of mystery dessert
in the other, it took some creative juggling and finger licking to reach
it before his voice mail service took over.

"Mulder." He announced, annoyed.

"Mulder?" Her tentative voice resonated pleasantly in his ear.

His mood immediately brightened. "Oh, hey, Scully. What's up?"

"Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No. No. I just had my hands full. You rang my cell, I was expecting work."

"I just wanted to be sure I reached you."

"Something wrong?"

"No nothing's wrong. Just thought I'd call, see what you were up to."

"Basketball, Scully. NCAA finals."

"Oh," she said, sounding a little disheartened.

"That's okay though. Something come up after I left last night?"

"No. Not really." She still sounded a bit odd, like yesterday afternoon.
Maybe she was coming down with something. He'd better take a vitamin.

"I thought maybe you were calling about my frivolous trip expenses. I
really needed those hip boots. Why the unsolicited call?"

"I don't need a major traumatic event to call my partner on a Saturday,
do I?" That was her defensive tone. She had a point; lord knows he
called her often enough to go track down slimy swamp monsters and
other unofficial weekend business. Despite her formula griping, he
always found her at the door wagging to go.

How often had they used work as an excuse to not spend the
weekend alone?

"I left something in the fridge for you. I thought I'd better mention it in
case you never looked there."

"No. I found it." It was just one of the little surprises he'd found waiting
for him yesterday. "I have my fingers in it right now. Delicious. What is it?"

A beat of silence on the other end.

"Uh, tiramisu. It's Italian."

"Hmm...well, it's my first."

"You need to get out more."

He laughed. "Yes, I probably do."

"How about tonight then?"

Tonight? He glanced at his watch. 4:30, only halfway through the
second period in the last game of the Final Four...crap...

"Mulder?"

"Mmm, sorry. Yeah, when?"

"I could try to get us reservations at the Blue Nile for 5:30."

Let's see, college basketball, final game, Scully...

"It's that new Ethiopian restaurant everyone's talking about near you in
Old Town."

"Ethiopian?"

"Yes, crepe-like bread, steamed lamb, embroidered pillows. You know,
sit on the floor and eat with your fingers--sounds like you've had
some practice with that already today."

Georgetown down by ten, 45 minutes until he'd have to leave,
*sniff,* shower optional, Scully kneeling next to him licking her
fingers...

"Sure Scully, you want me to pick you up?" *Wait a minute, can
the gentlemanly stuff before you have to leave in the middle of the
third period.*

"I think it's about midway between us. I'll meet you there."

Yes! Fourth quarter saved with driving time and the car radio.

"I'll see you at 5:30."

***************************************

A half hour later (the box of files and licked-clean tiramisu tin
long forgotten) the pie graph that represented Mulder's attention
allocation was quickly shifting from Lorenzo's 3-point shot in favor of
"Date with Scully."

This was a date, wasn't it? Granted, he'd been distracted at the time of
the call; but if memory served, Scully had made no mention of
reports, aliens, Skinner or bog sludge. Just dinner. The simplicity of
the concept made him nervous enough to decide a shower was
worth missing the beginning of the fourth period.

A blow-dry and a shave later, Mulder found himself in a fresh pair of
boxers and cotton tee pacing in front of the closet, with televisions on
in both rooms, volume up. Should he go casual or half-dress? He
knew which suits she liked, a formal dining establishment would have
made the decision easier--Charcoal suit, burgundy tie. But "you sit on
the floor and eat with your fingers" was suggesting something a bit
more user-friendly. Were any of his jeans clean? He checked the
dwindling folded selection on his living room table. Last pair, no
holes. Thank god for small miracles. Johnson missed the penalty
shot...shit. The game was getting closer.

Okay, bottom half covered, top half to go. He riffled through a few of
the hanging long-sleeved selections trying to decide if gray blue or
camel tan went better with denim. Nah, too obvious. He didn't want
to *look* like he'd dressed for this. To play it safe he'd have to
wear something she'd seen on him before. To the dresser... It was cool
out, a breeze was blowing off the river that was likely to get brisk
by nightfall. Long-sleeved forest green knit. He pulled it on over his
head. Done. Time? Ten minutes until the drive.

***************************************

Scully knew she was a little late as she hastened her pace along the
wooden sidewalks of Alexandria's historical Old Town. Parking had been
a challenge, so despite her nine hour lead time, she was still battling
the clock. Just as well, she didn't want to "look" like she'd been
waiting around all day for this. She came to a pause outside the grass
mat-covered windows of the newest addition to Virginian eclectic
cuisine and opened the door.

Mulder was already there, standing in the dim, crowded entry, ducking
his tall head between strings of shells and beads hanging from the
low ceiling. She pushed up close to him past a clan of paired-off
young lovers who were snuggling to keep one another warm as the
door opened and closed. It looked like fun. Mulder must have been
thinking the same thing by the look he gave her as she scooted closer
and the way his arm found its way around her waist. She couldn't
help herself but stretch up for a little taste of that pleasant humor
playing across his lips.

"Hey, you," she smiled, drawing back from the brief kiss. He
looked wonderful and smelled positively delicious. His hand rubbed
her back briefly.

"Thanks for taking me out, Scully. I was beginning to mold."

"That's probably more information than I needed, but you're welcome."

More people were still squeezing into the overstuffed entrance,
the constricting space led her to step just in front of him. Mulder
didn't seem to mind the imposed closeness and let his hands
rest protectively on her shoulders. He nodded toward the matre'd.
"I gave them our name, but it'll still be a twenty minute wait. That
was about ten minutes ago." He almost sounded disappointed by that.
She had pegged Mulder as a snuggler years ago; she just never thought
she would get the opportunity to be his designated snugg-e. Scully
looked up behind her at him; he was wearing a funny little smile that
looked as if it deserved another kiss. Well, they did have some time to kill...

Their second taste of "hello" was slower and lingering, yet still
modest enough to be ruled innocent in a court of law. He looked
positively taken by that one, his head still bent toward hers. When
did his eyes get so green?

"Bureau, party of two?"

"Mulder, you didn't pull the badge, did you?"

He shrugged and led her by the elbow to follow the hostess.

****************************************

Jesus, she was wearing something he'd *never* seen her in before. A
nice low, but still respectably cut, short sleeved sweater with a long
flowing print skirt that swirled around her ankles and hugged her hips
as she walked ahead of him. He'd give anything about now to rub that
silky material over the curves of her...

"Cushions or couch?"

His lips caught in confusion. Scully was asking him a question about
the seating arrangements. The hostess had pulled open the silk tapestry
that hung over the little dining nook they were about to duck into. It
looked like an exotic African bedroom.

"Cushions," he quickly decided. They looked the more awkward. Holy
crap, there was a *couch* in there.

Scully slithered into the couch-like seat while Mulder built himself a
seating nest out of gold and red rounded pillows on the opposite side
of a circular brass table. The hostess passed them a duet of scribed
faux skin menus and shut the curtain, enclosing them in a private
purse-like hovel of draped cloth and beads.

"This is...different," he said, eyeing the native setting. Not to mention just
a fair bit on the erotic side, complete with hypnotic drum and flute
music permeating the dimly lit atmosphere.

"They just opened. Considering the crowd it must be pretty good,"
she noted, reading over the selections.

"I don't think this menu's in English," he informed her, flipping his
menu over and back trying to spot a string of familiar terms.

"Work with it, Mulder. There's more to the culinary palette than egg
rolls and cheese steaks, you know."

He squinted at the print. It *looked* like English but the letters didn't
form anything he'd read about before. "Come on, Scully, help me out.
You know how I am with languages."

"Well, basically, you have a choice of lamb or beef or greens and
everything comes with an array of spicy vegetables and wat."

"What?"

"W-A-T. Wat, its a lentil stew."

"And you're supposed to eat that without a spoon?"

"Don't panic yet, we'll be served a stack of steaming enjera to soak up
the runny stuff." She peeked at him from over the top of the menu to see
if he was still following. He flashed her a playful glance.

"I think I just got very turned on."

He was following all right.


*********************************************

Scully unraveled her nerves and settled back into the cushions sipping
a fruity beverage while Mulder entertained her with an animated account
of his adventures at the horse barn. It seemed he had his share of
country living. The handlers made him work for his information, putting
a pitchfork in his hands and directing him to shovel fresh hay around
the stalls--in a suit and tie and hip boots no less. That alone might
have been worth the price of admission had she opted to go.

A beautiful dark-skinned Ethiopian waitress parted the curtains and
kneeled beside the table, serving them their selected dishes. Scully had
gone for the lamb while Mulder opted for the mustard greens. He
explained all that hay bailing had put him in a "herbivorous kind of mood."

"Did you know a horse can only sleep for brief periods lying down?"
he asked. Following her lead he tore off a spongy strip of enjera and used
it like an edible paper towel to wipe up a bite of soft spicy vegetables.
"If they spend too much time down, they'll suffocate from the weight
on their lungs."

"My medical curriculum must have excluded Horse Anatomy," she
answered wryly, hoping that was the only amazing equine fact Mulder
would decide to share with their meal.

"See, I learn something every day," he said, waggling a cooked baby
carrot at her, then sucking it into his mouth with a slurping sound.

Scully just smiled mildly at him, sipping contentedly from the rim of
her rum banana mango smoothie. He met her gaze with a puzzled squint.

"So tell me Scully, what's the special occasion?"

She looked down and attempted to enclose a few teaspoons of wat in
an enjera balloon without it dribbling all over her hands.

"There's no occasion, Mulder. Just thought I'd take you to dinner."

He smiled, cleaning the fingers of his right hand one by one through his
lips. "Nice try, but I know you. You don't do anything without there being
a well documented reason." He stopped as if something just struck him.
He leaned forward speaking low. "It's not your birthday, is it?"

She shook her head, giving in and letting the wat win as she stuffed
the loaded bread in her mouth losing some over the edge of her lower
lip. Mouth too full to respond just yet, she let him stew on it a bit.

"Not that I object to a little spontaneity from my otherwise controlled
and calculated partner, just wondered if I missed something."

Scully sat up straighter and began to wipe her hands on her lap towel.
Maybe it was time to let him in on a few things. They were relaxed,
happy, snuggly enclosed in their little dining pocket; the waitress had
just finished delivering a stack of enjera high enough to dry off a
Turkish bathhouse, no interruptions likely...here goes.

"Mulder, we've been partners for..."

"Six years."

"Yeah, I know that...don't interrupt."

"Sorry."

"And here we are working together, year after year, up to our ankles
in rubber gray aliens, government conspiracies and blurry UFO photos...
do you ever wonder if we could be searching for something more?"

"Something more than gray aliens? Yeah, I think they come in blue, too."

She looked pensive. "That's not what I'm getting at. I'm talking about life."

Mulder nodded his head trying to catch her meaning. Okay, life.
Sure, there's more things in heaven and earth than multi-colored
aliens. Basketball for one, the game had gone into overtime and he
missed the final score, maybe they had a radio in the kitchen...Why?

"I don't mean more to the paranormal, I mean more to us."

"Us?" He sat up straighter.

"You know...you, me, this restaurant, your apartment, us."

Was this a word association game?

"I didn't quite get how my apartment works into all this."

"I stayed in it the other night, Mulder." She smirked at him like he
was supposed to "get" something.

He knew it, he *did* leave his shorts in the bathroom...

"I slept there. In your bed."

He nodded his head slowly, yes she most certainly did. "And...?" Why did
he get the eerie feeling he was about to get into some kind of trouble?

"Have you given any thought as to what I might have been thinking
that night?"

Well, yes he had given it quite a bit of thought--especially as to what she
had been *doing.* Either way, he certainly wasn't expecting to be
sharing this information any time soon. Time to dip into the dry wit...

"You weren't worried I was going to come home early that night
were you?" he smirked, trying to keep this imagination under
tight surveillance.

"No, but I certainly discovered how much I wished you had."

Mulder froze, a wad of mustard greens dripping from his enjera'd palm.
He let it drop to his plate. Something wasn't right, she was staring right
at him.

*Don't tell me after six years of throwing innuendo curve balls at
Scully, she's finally decided to swing. What's my line here?*

Mulder took some time to get his tongue and vocal cords to work as a
team."Can you repeat that last part?"

"I realized Mulder, that I wanted to sleep with you. Badly."


There had to be a hidden camera, Mulder began to look nervously
around for it.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Look at me."

Okay, he could do that. He looked.

"This is making you uncomfortable, isn't it?"

"This? No. No, I'm okay. You just caught me a little...unprepared."

"Did you catch the point of my conversation?"

"Yeah...um, you want to sleep with me. Was that it?" That would sure as
hell explain dinner.

"Well, I'd hope for more than just sleeping, although that would probably
be rather nice."

Mulder didn't know if the proper physiological response at this point was
to feel aroused or terrified, so his sympathetic system went for both.
The duality of emotion was a little dizzying. He resorted to numbly
blinking back at her no-nonsense expression.

*Shit, shit, shit. Get your head out of your ass, fast. This is *it.**

He was appalled at himself for not having the slightest clue how to
respond. Where did he think those little kisses were going to get them?
And all that cavalier "Sure Scully, take the bed" crap. Dammit, this was
not good. Time was passing by seconds or minutes. He had to say
something fast. He opened his mouth and refocused his eyes in time to
see his delay of game had fallen into the penalty zone.

Scully was all but devouring the last of her food, keeping her eyes on
the plate, her face a deep flush of embarrassment, obviously in a rush to
get through this as fast as possible.

"Scully?" she looked up, startled. "Hey, slow down, honey, what's wrong?"

"What?"

"...sorry?"

She looked annoyed. "You just called me honey."

"I did?"

He did?

"Yes, you did."

"I..." he caught himself with a puzzled frown, and shook his head to clear
it. What the hell was going on here? Honey? This is a date, not a
reception. He could remember how to do this. It was just like conducting
an investigation. Take control of the scene, look for clues, profile
the woman, determine motive, then take her home and undress her.
Simple.

Shit. Nothing was simple about *this.* None of his embarrassingly
limited dating experiences could have prepared him. Couldn't she have
sent out an APB first?

"Sorry, Scully. I just really didn't know what to say."

"You could tell me if I'm completely out of line."

He shook his head vigorously. "No. You're not. I'm out of line. I didn't
think we'd ever be having this conversation... But I'm not sorry we are."

That was better, she was taking a slow breath, wiping her lips on her
towel, thinking.

"Okay then. I think I've said enough. Your turn."

"My turn," he pointed at himself. He was supposed to talk now. The irony
of it was he'd love to finally open up that six year damming of his
emotions in one big spillway event, but he was terrified he'd wash her
right out of her seat.

She decided to take pity on him and give him a nudge. "Mulder, tell
me honestly if you've never considered the possibility."

He smiled sheepishly at her. "That's a one-sided question to ask a man,
you realize. Of course I have."

Good, that sounded more like himself. Something in her manner
relaxed and she looked at him with an offering of sympathetic
forgiveness. "I guess I did know the answer," she said softly. "Still, I'd
like to hear your take on it."

"My take on it?" He tapped his finger on the edge of the table, while
his brain did an advanced search for the right words.

"This isn't a trick question, Mulder. Just answer me honestly. We're
both adults."

His lower lip found its nervous way through his teeth before he replied.

"Yeah, Scully. I've thought about taking you to bed. On many
occasions. You're a very desirable woman." Her chin lifted a bit,
but she was still maintaining a poker face--not quite ready to let
go of her hand. "Have you, thought about...me? Other than the
other night, I mean."

"Certainly, Mulder. I've always found you rather...interesting." She
was beginning to come around again.

"Interesting?"

"And bizarre and definitely unique."

"Unique." He nodded his head. He liked that word.

"I'll vote for desirable, too, in a sexy, unusual way."

"Unusually sexy," he clarified.

"Yes. I'd even say surprisingly attractive."

"You're flattering me."

"You know, that is a good word for you, surprising. Just the minute I
think I have you figured out, you do something completely unexpected
and often stupid. Especially if it involves sneaking away to pull it off."

"You're not going to start with me on that Queen Anne thing again
are you?"

"No not tonight, but I'd like to point out that you always get in over
your head when you slip past me."

He nodded in agreement. "Like leaving my conscience behind."


Scully felt the tension between them beginning to bend. She hoped
the turbulence they'd encountered on this takeoff was only
temporary. Mulder was calming down, taking a gulp of fruit beverage.
It looked like he might survive this after all.

"We spend nearly every waking minute together. We trust each other,"
she analyzed. "Strangers look at us like we're together, Mulder.
We *are* together. The only people who don't see us as lovers are
ourselves. How much sense does that make?"

"Scully," he laughed, almost swallowing his banana blend down the
wrong tube. "You're preaching to the choir here."

She smiled. "I guess I am. Which brings me to my second point. What
the hell are we waiting for?"

He looked at her, taking a deep breath. His words punctuated carefully.
"I don't have a clue." He chuckled shaking his head in amazement
glancing up at the silk tapestries hanging over their heads. "We're in
a public place? There's some rule about having sex within one-half
hour of eating?"

"I don't know either, Mulder, and I can't even quite grasp that we're
discussing this over mushy carrots, but let's just set a date and get it
over with already."

His voice squirreled up into a gravely punch. "Get *it* over with?
Just expunge the problem; drain the pool; let the dog out? Scully, I
thought we were talking about *making love*?"

The tender way he said those words which are so often misused to
represent just plain old sex, sent a warm flush through her chest. He
shook his head. "And I just can't take it that lightly." He reached for
her hand and brought her open palm to his lips, holding it there and
rubbing his cheek against her. "You're worth a hell of a lot more to me
than that."

She fought against her blush, but lost. Glancing aside, she spoke low,
"I know. So are you." God, this was difficult for her. There was no way
to just brush over the topic and get on with dinner, was there? But he
was worth it no matter if it tore her apart to put it to words. "Sorry
Mulder, I'm just out on a wire with this. Let me try that again. What
I'm saying is, I think I'm going to come apart if we don't go home
together tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Well, if you don't have plans, I mean, we could maybe reschedule..."

"Scully, I'd cancel a coronation to spend the night with you. You thought
I'd rather do my laundry?"

"Well...I don't want to pressure you."

That was it, he couldn't stand it anymore, and started laughing outright.
She didn't want to embarrass herself any more than she had already,
but seeing his face light up into the biggest most beautiful grin she'd
ever seen, made her slip into a ridiculous smile herself.

"Jesus, Scully. You ask me out to dinner--which just about made my
whole damn year--then you start on me with these little kisses in the
doorway in front of a bunch of strangers, practically sending me into
orbit; and then to my utmost relief, ask me to take you home and
consummate six years of unrequited lust which you very well know I've
had for you all along, and you're apologizing for coming on to me? Scully,
if this table wasn't full of food I'd be tossing it to the side and taking
you right here on the brocade pillows in this goddamn harem of a
restaurant you've dragged us to."

"I think you'd have to tip the waitress for that." Her deadpan and the
look the two of them exchanged in the wake of his confession could
only have one conclusion.

"Move over," he growled. She jumped, bouncing to her left on the seat as
he rose and tugged the curtain closed over their little nook. Circling
the table, he slid his arm around her, pushing her back into the couch
cushions and clutching a palmful of her hair, dove in for a nice fat
kiss.

His hand was already caressing the rise of her breast through her sweater
as her fingers found their way up the back of his shirt. His mouth was
full and heavy on hers, sliding her lips apart with his tongue. Moaning low
in this throat, he got a thorough taste of her smooth soft lips, moving
freely into her mouth, meeting and stroking her warm tongue.

She was pressed back into the cushion, which was slowly giving under
the added weight as they grasped and sank onto one another, kissing
like bandits. In another moment they would be tumbling to the floor,
most likely tearing down a few tapestries with them. Wouldn't *that* be
fun? Mulder fortunately had presence of mind to swing a leg out and
steady them while he took his time finishing their encounter. His hand
slid from her breast to the soft fall of her skirt, caressing her hip and
thigh. He nibbled her bottom lip a moment, kissed her nose and cheek,
and then sat back on the floor on his knees, regarding her with no
small satisfaction.

"Now that's a hell of a lot better," he remarked with a nod of his head.

His stunned and flushed partner took longer to rebound,
nervously straightening her hitched-up sweater. She mimicked his
nod. "That was pretty good."

Pretty good? That was fucking unbelievable; her whole lower body
was throbbing. The side of her breast tingled where he had laid his
palm. She couldn't even begin to think about what other parts of his
body could do to her.

"More, Scully?" he asked encouragingly.

"Yeah, I think so...but we'd better take it outside."

She didn't need a sixth sense to tell her she was in for one hell of a good
lay tonight. She grit her teeth to keep from wrestling him to the floor.
Where was the goddamned check?

"Good plan," he agreed, and popped his head through the slit in the
overhang, looking all too much like Yenta calling for their waitress.

*************************

Mulder stood at the register tapping his VISA impatiently as the 90 year
old cashier squinted under her frames, typing in the total. Any second
now Scully would reappear from the ladies room and god help him if
she started kissing him again in the entry to pass the time.

"Sign here please." Mulder practically rent the flimsy paper in half signing
it in frantic penmanship a physician could appreciate. The old women
looked at him with annoyance.

*You don't get it grandma, but odds are you've had twice as much sex as
I've had in the last five years. And I intend to catch up on at least half of
the deficit as soon as I haul my date home tonight.*

Just his luck the cashier appeared to be telepathic, her smeary old eyes
widening in geriatric disgust. He sent her another particularly graphic
image just for kicks. Scully was heading his way through the dangling
shells. She looked like some misplaced European nymph walking out of
the jungle. Time to get his over-active imagination out of here, quick.

Scully captured his hand and they headed outside into the wind and
down the walk. They didn't speak at first as the wooden planks
resonated each nervous step. Some amazing wat-inspired transformation
had taken them from competitive colleagues to romantic interests in
one meal. Well, maybe it took more than just one meal. Scully was the
first to speak.

"I want you to promise me something," she said quietly.

"Absolutely."

"I don't want you to feel you have to wait for me. I'm not always
that... forthcoming the first time around."

His ego brightened. Only a lady with a track record of lousy lovers
would even consider that kind of request a favor to a man. She was
going to be in for one hell of a treat.

He smiled softly and ran his hand down her arm to link her gloved fingers
in his. "I don't know what you're used to dealing with, Scully, but I'm
old fashioned when it comes to these matters. I don't intend to go
anywhere without you for the next 16 hours. Longer if need be. I think
you can trust me on that."

"You ain't kidding, are you?" She quirked, giving him a dubious look.
"Makes a girl wonder what's been keeping the chorus line at bay."

Was that a challenge? Six long years--Mt. St. Helens was less volatile. Sure
he was a little rusty, but you know what they say about bicycles.

"Takes a certain kind of woman to bring out the Casanova in me."

"You mean someone who won't lock you up every time you see
interplanetary visitors?"

"No. Someone who only pretends not to laugh at my jokes."

"I don't laugh, Mulder."

"I know. And that makes all the difference."

She made a happy sound, and leaned closer to him as they slowly
walked along. Maybe he was going to pull this off after all. Suddenly
she stopped. What did he do now?

"Where are we going?"

"My car."

"I'm parked on Gurnet."

"You can't leave it?"

"No, I'm in a four hour zone."

Shit, why did they drive two cars here?

"So am I."

She raised her eyes to him apologetically. "So we meet at home?"

He nodded. "Wait! Whose home?" God forbid they wind up at
different apartments.

She smiled. "I think we better finish this where it started."

"My/Your bedroom." They said in unison, meaning his place.

Mulder walked with her to her car at a somewhat quicker pace, his
mind racing. From the corner of his vision he caught her taking one or
two calming breaths. Just the thought of this final journey into intimacy
was knocking down years of comfortable familiarity. There were so
many new things to learn about one another. He was feeling it too,
and communicated it with a gentle squeeze of her hand as they crossed
the street to her car.

A moment later they were standing near the driver's door looking
awkwardly at one another.

"See you soon?" She asked.

"Yeah...come here first." Not wanting to take any chances the nature of
the universe would rear up and spirit her away from him, Mulder
couldn't let her go without holding her a minute. She stepped into his
arms and he hugged her to him lowering his face to her shoulder. After
a little bit he tilted her chin up and kissed her lightly. Her cheeks were
blown rosy by the chilly wind. A China doll, he thought, and touched
the rise of her cheekbone with a back of his index finger. Precious,
priceless.

"God, Scully, you have any idea how badly I want you right now?"

"Mmm, I think I might."

"No, I don't think you do," he swallowed and his voice dropped to a
half-whisper as he continued to stroke her cheek. "Ever since you asked
to stay in my bed, I've imagined coming home and finding you there
warm and sleepy, waiting for me. And all I've been able to think about
is sliding in next to you and touching your bare skin and loving you
until you cry out my name."

She answered him with a shy smile. "We'll see what we can do about
that." And she kissed him briefly just letting her lips press against his.
His eyes remained closed a few seconds as she stepped away, holding
the sensation. She unlocked the car and slipped in.

"Soon," he promised and waited as she started the ignition, watching
over her until she pulled away. *Soon.*


******************************************

I'm know I'm asking for it by stopping here.
But there is a full Part Four of smut to come.
Promise!
And I'll try not to take so darn long with it.
Thanks for hanging in there.

Come kick my slow ass at: Terma99@aol.com

Or visit my smut lair at:
www.oocities.org/hotsprings/8334/fic.html