WARNING:    

***NC-17***   

****RAPE****

This story is unsuitable for readers under the age of 17 and may
be unsuitable for some adults.

More Warning: 
Contains strong adult content, violence, language, disturbing
rape imagery and sex.   (Scully has flashbacks of being raped.  
She is NOT raped by Mulder.)

Author's note: 
I know many readers are not interested in stories that contain
rape content.  I agree completely.  Rape is a horrible thing. 
Unfortunately, once started, the rape storyline became important
to the whole story.  It has darker elements than anything I've
written so far.  On the other hand, I think it holds a positive
message of two loving adults.

Disclaimer:  The characters here belong to FOX.  The story
belongs to me.  No infringement intended.

Special thanks to Madeleine Partous who helped me with this above
and beyond the call of duty.  And to BeckyD proofer-extraordinare.



A Dark Slide of Ecstasy
By Shalimar
copyright 1997    shalimar@mediaone.net










Mulder lay in the dark of his cell.  No matter how hard he
strained his eyes, he could never see anything in the moist
blackness of the tropical night.  Long ago he'd stopped trying.

He was naked.  The one small blanket on the dirty mattress barely
covered him.  But he wasn't really cold.  It was never really
cold here.  Except sometimes in the hour before dawn, and then he
would curl up tightly beneath the blanket and dream of Scully.

Funny how he always remembered her holding him, because she
rarely had.  Sometimes, in the half-reality between sleep and
waking he'd be so sure he could feel her arms, her arms around
him and his around her.  His face nestled in her hair.  He'd
smile against her hair and pull her more tightly against him. 
Loving her warmth.  Loving her smell.  Pressing himself against
her and in her.  Burying himself in her as she--with a little
noise of love--would press back against him, then they'd ride out
their passion and their cries would mingle as they came together
in a dark slide of ecstasy.

And sometimes they wouldn't make love, but she would be there
with her comfort, her love, her arms wrapped around him.

But then he'd wake up.  His arms empty and nothing but his rail
thin body under a mangy blanket.

And no Scully.  No Scully ever again.  

Because she was dead.  

He'd watched her go over the cliff into the ocean a thousand
times in his mind.  Nothing could survive the two hundred foot
drop into the sea.  No one could survive the impact at the
bottom.  And him standing on the opposite side of the rift in the
precipice, unable to do anything but watch.  The walls of the
cliff echoing back his desperate cry.    Scul-leee.   Scul-
leeeee.   Scul-leeeeeee.   Till the sound was lost in the cries
of the gulls overhead.

And she was gone.  

And then he'd been hit on the head from behind and could remember
nothing till he woke up in this cell.  She was the last person
he'd seen.  He'd never seen his captors, no one disturbed his
solitude.  And how long had it been?  Six -- no -- seven months,
but that was only how many days he'd scratched on the wall when
he felt like counting.

They shouldn't have split up, but he'd told her to go that way,
and she'd gone, his Scully, just like she always had.  If only .
. . .  

If only.

His mind wandered now.  He liked to think he thought about
things, about the reasons he was here, about the work they'd been
doing, but he didn't, not much.   He spent the daytime hours
craning his neck and staring out the tiny slit in the thick stone
walls.  The desolate shore and the ocean were all he could see. 
He never saw another living thing cross his little bit of view. 
Not even the gulls, although sometimes he heard their high cries. 
But the ocean was alive, it had its moods, and it kept him
company of sorts.  

And it had Scully.  

And then, when night came, he'd imagine her coming from the sea,
slipping through the tiny crack in the wall and into his arms.

When she'd first died, he'd been in shock. Everything had been
blackness, his mind refusing to work. His heart gone.  

But then the numbness had  worn away and the grief hit him.   As
time passed it hadn't gotten easier.  Her death had eaten away at
him.  At his mind, at his body.  His soul.  So finally--now--he'd
lapsed into a state where he pretended she wasn't dead.  It was a
game he played in his mind.  He realized it was all that kept him
holding on.   He knew it wasn't real.  He did.  But he wouldn't
think about that now.  He'd try to think back and remember how
they'd been in love . . . but then, they hadn't really been in
love, had they?  He would spend hours examining all the little
clues. He could remember every little touch, or glance. 
Sometimes he thought--yes--they'd been in love, sometimes no.  

But now they were.

If he concentrated now he could feel her coming to him, the sea
salty on her skin, feel her arms go 'round him, her smooth cool
hands gliding over his chest, his back, stroking his penis,
cupping his balls.  He gasped softly as her fingers wrapped
around him, caressing him, loving him.  How many times had he
made love with his dream Scully come back from the sea?  A
hundred times, a thousand?  It was the only thing keeping him
sane.  If this was sane.

He rubbed his hands over her ribs, cupping her breasts, squeezing
the nipples.  She seemed thinner too, his dream Scully.

A sharp creak from the doorway snapped him awake.  

Someone was at the door of his cell.  It was hard to wake up, but
he made himself roll off the mattress onto the floor and crouch. 
No one disturbed him at night.  Ever.  The only interruption to
his solitary existence was the food, shoved under the door of the
cell once a day.

He rose slowly.  He was stiff.  He tried to exercise but he knew
his body was atrophying, rotting, gradually decaying in the moist
tropical heat.

The door creaked again softly.  He sensed rather than heard or
saw the presence in the room.  Whoever it was, he was trying to
be quiet.  

Mulder knew this space.  Knew the vibrations from every inch of
stone.  The intruder was standing by the door.  Waiting,
listening.

Mulder backed up to the wall.  His bare feet made no noise.  He
knew, if it were the guards coming for him, they would assume he
was asleep on the mattress on the floor.

He had the element of surprise on his side.  He wondered if he
should attack first.  They'd taught him that in the FBI.  Hadn't
they?  Did it really matter anyway if he was killed?  Would it be
better than this haunted existence?  A last shred of his former
life tugged at his brain. Was it absurd to jump at attackers
stark naked in the pitch dark?

The intruder made a slight sound.  A scuffing footstep on stone. 
It was just one person.

Mulder decided.  He jumped.

The person went down hard with a gasp, but not before
instinctively hitting back at him.  Catching him hard under the
chin with an elbow.  Making him see stars in the blackness. 
Mulder went down hard, too, and landed across the other's body,
with a grunt.  His attacker turned and fought back desperately,
fighting dirty.  Digging at his eyes, twisting and grabbing at
his beard, his hair--anything they could yank.

Shit.  He warded off the attack.  Then, everything happened at
once.  He realized the person he was fighting was as naked as
himself.  Another prisoner--there were others?--Who?--Why?--went
through his mind as he struggled.  At the same time his hand
encountered soft flesh, and after a split-second's consideration
he realized his hand was resting on what could only be a woman's
breast.  He went still with shock.  That was enough to give his
opponent the advantage and use the moment to twist from beneath
him and kick him in the balls.  Pain exploded through his body
and he rolled away.

His foe scrambled into the other direction, into the darkness.

A woman, he thought cloudily through the stabbing pain in his
groin.  They would have no reason to be keeping a woman here.  

Unless. . . .  He froze, his mind trying sluggishly to block the
pain and concentrate on the sounds coming from the other side of
the room.

He could hear her short panting breaths, she was feeling along
the walls, trying to find the door.  He couldn't let her go, he
had to know who she was.  He rolled across the floor and grabbed
at her ankles.  He caught at one and got a kick in the eye.

He didn't let go and yanked hard as she gave a panting little sob
and tried to wrench her foot free.

Mulder felt yearning grip his chest like a vise.  Could it be
her?  It couldn't be her.  He'd seen her fall.  It couldn't be
her.

Let it be her.

She sobbed again.

He didn't recognize the sob.

"Let go of me, you prick."  Her voice was low, rough, vicious. 
She jerked her foot, trying to twist it away from him.

He gulped back a throat full of tears and tried to make his
unused voice squeeze out her name.  He hadn't used his voice in
months--it wouldn't work.  

She lashed out at him--savagely--with her captured heel.

"Scuh-lee . . . ?" he managed, his voice just a breath of a
whisper.

The ankle stopped dead in his hands.  He lay panting, waiting on
the floor.

He let go.

Nothing.

Suddenly she dropped to the floor beside him.  And then her hands
were on him, touching him, feeling him all over--his arms, his
chest--touching him everywhere.  They moved to his face, stopping
suddenly at his beard, then traveling again, slowly and gently
over his cheekbones, his eyebrows, and his eyes, now brimming
over with tears.  Her fingers paused again as they felt the
tears. He started to raise up, then she grabbed him by the
shoulders and hauled him up against her, her arms going around
him hard, her face buried in his neck as he wrapped his arms
around her and crushed her to him as if his heart would break. 
It was breaking.  He hadn't realized it could break from
happiness.

"Mulder," she whispered against his neck.  Her voice completely
different now, thick with gladness, amazement and tears, her arms
clutching him tightly, frantically.

He could feel their warm tears mingling on each other's skin as
they rocked each other.  Relief shot through his blood as his
hands ran over her back, her body.  She was thinner, just like in
his dreams.  He tilted her head back and touched her face,
feeling all over it with his fingertips.  He ran his fingers into
her hair, then stopped in surprise.  Her hair was short, cropped,
and was about an inch long all over her head.  Now it was much
shorter than his.

"Your hair," he whispered.  He felt her shake her head.

"Oh, my God.  Oh, my God, I can't believe it," she whispered as
she ran her fingers across his face, too.  Feeling his beard,
feeling his lips, she ran her fingers into his tangled hair,
slowly following it to its below-the-shoulder length. 

"I'm filthy."

"Oh, my God.  I don't care.  Oh, my God.  Mulder."  He could feel
her gaze in the dark.  Staring at his face, tying to see him as
he tried to see her.  "I thought you were dead."  Her voice broke
on the words.  He stroked her back.  Her skin felt dry and cold. 
He could feel her start to shake in the dark.

"You're cold.  Let me get the blanket," he said, his voice was
coming back, still rough, but working.

"Don't let go of me," she gripped him tightly and he pulled her
to her feet with him.  He led her through the dark to the
mattress on the floor.

"Here," he said.  He sat her down and tried to drape the blanket
over her, but she wouldn't let him go.  He sank to the mattress,
and pulled her onto his lap, pulling the blanket around them
both.

She was really shivering now, shaking convulsively in little
bursts.  He huddled his body around her and held her as close to
him as he could.  Trying to give her the warmth of his body.  He
bent his head and pressed his face against her hair.  His Scully. 
His love.  Alive?  She was alive.  He was in shock.  Or--was this
the dream Scully?  His mouth was on her hair, the strands in his
mouth.  He realized he was kissing it.  He made himself stop.  He
did remember, he could remember when he had to.  They hadn't been
lovers.  If this was the real Scully, he couldn't kiss her. 

She was alive.

"Mulder, I thought you were dead.  I saw you fall off the cliff.
I thought you were dead," she gave a little sob.  "All this
time."

"You saw me fall?  I didn't . . . fall . . . off the cliff. . . .
You did.  I watched you fall.  I thought you were dead. I saw you
die."

"How?"

He tried to think back.  "Hallucinogens, maybe? In the food at
the Swiss Consulate that day," he said, realizing suddenly that
was what must have happened.

"And we had some kind of double hallucination?"

"I don't know.  Where were you?  Did they bring you now and put
you in with me?"

"No.  No.   I checked the door of my cell.  I do every night, but
tonight it was open.  I came out and felt my way down the hall.
There were only two doors--yours--and the other was locked.  I
had no idea you were in here.  I was trying to get out."

The hair on the back of his neck rose.

"You've been here since it happened?"

"Yes."

Right down the hall?  The thought made him sick.  

What had it been like for her?  He hugged her tightly.  She felt
so fragile, so small in his arms.  She'd lost weight.  A lot of
it.  Ten pounds, maybe fifteen.  She was still shivering, he had
to make her warm.  He pulled her still closer, tucked the blanket
around her and began rocking her gently and soothingly as much to
comfort himself as her.  

He was scared.  It was one thing to be here alone, slipping in
and out of his dreams.  When she was dead she'd been safe.  Now
she was suddenly here, in this horrible place where he couldn't
take care of her.  Couldn't take care of himself.  He had to
concentrate.

He couldn't talk.  His throat, his chest was still so full of
tears that all he could do was hold her close, his body aware of
every inch of her skin against his own as he rocked her gently. 
Back and forth.  Back and forth.





>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
She swam groggily up to consciousness.  Her head was splitting,
pounding terribly . . . she knew if she lifted it, it would break
in half.  Her eyes slowly focused in the thin light.  She seemed
to be in a room made entirely of stone.  Two slits high on the
wall were the only source of light.  She was bruised, her whole
body painful, aching all over.  Painfully she turned her head. 
She was lying on an old musty mattress on the floor.  

She realized all at once that she was naked, how had that
happened?  All that covered her was a thin blanket.  She put a
hand to the back of her head and pressed gingerly.  There was a
terrible bump, sticky with blood.

Mulder.  

Oh, God.  Suddenly she remembered.  Mulder.  Oh, no, Mulder, no. 
The cliff.  Tears rose in her throat and a sharp pain pierced
through her.  Her body was wracked with giant sobs.  Mulder. . .
.  She scrunched herself into a tight little ball and  wrapped
her arms around her knees. 

She lay hunched over, sobbing, for a long time.  Gradually she
became aware of a dull throbbing pain from between her legs, too. 
She reached down and touched herself.  She felt swollen, bruised-
-what?  She pulled her hand away and looked at it.  Oh no.  Dear
God.  No.  Frantically she looked around the room for something
to wash herself with.  A sink and a toilet stood in one corner. 
One tap let out tepid rush of rust-stained water, desperately she
splashed the water between her legs, washing and washing,
sobbing, gasping.  She had to get out of here.

She ran to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. She was
afraid to call out, afraid whoever had done this would come back.
Frantically she ran back to the sink and washed herself again and
again, until at last she sunk exhausted to the floor of her
prison, pressed her forehead against the wet stone floor and
wept.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<







"Scully?"

She'd been quiet for a long time, curled up against his chest.

She shifted a little on his lap.  He adjusted her so she'd be
more comfortable.  He didn't know why it didn't seem stranger to
be sitting here naked with her in his lap, as naked as himself,
skin against skin.  He didn't care.  Her skin felt wonderful
against his, as familiar as her smell.

"The other door is locked?" he whispered into her hair.

She nodded against him.  She'd tucked her hands around him,
lightly touching his ribs.  Now they went around him tightly. He
felt her give a small shudder.

"Do you think we could force it?" he asked.  Now she shook her
head, her short hair tickling his chest.

"It's like the door to your room.  Heavy wood."

"Is it any lighter in the hall?"

"No.  I had to feel my way along the walls.  It'll be dawn soon. 
Then we'll go check it.  Just . . . hold me for a little while,
Mulder."

"Okay."

He needed to hold her, too.  They'd go soon.  They'd go at first
light.

Pressing her forehead against him, she opened her mouth against
his chest and kissed him.  She kissed along the curve of his
chest until she came to a nipple.  She took it into her mouth and
bit it gently, then kissed it, too.

Mulder let out a small gasp.  

It took him a moment to realize what she was doing.  Did she know
what she was doing?  He couldn't believe she was kissing him.  He
reached down and took her chin in his hand, gently stopped the
path of her mouth and tilted her face up to his.  She tensed.  
He wished desperately for some light so he could see her eyes. 
Gently he smoothed his finger over her lips, tracing their
remembered shape, then cupping her face in both hands, he stroked
his thumbs along her cheekbones.

Her hands crept slowly, up his chest, his neck, her fingertips
running lightly across his beard, his lips, touching his cheeks,
his eyelids, his eyebrows, his forehead.  Burying themselves in
his hair.  She gave a gentle tug on his head, bringing it down
toward hers, slowly, inexorably.

Her hands stopped.  Her lips were one breath away from his. 
Mulder could feel their warmth on his own across the air in
between them.  For a long moment they both stayed completely
still, completely silent, completely aware of each other in the
dark, holding each other's faces, breathing each other's air. He
could feel her pulse beneath her skin.  It was beating fast.

He didn't know who moved first, but all at once their lips
touched.  He brushed his lips against hers softly, tasting her
gently, he kissed her lightly, questioning.  Her lips were soft,
smooth, warm.  He kept his mouth gentle, tentative, asking her if
this was what she wanted, what they both wanted.

She rose to him on her knees and pulled his mouth more closely
against her own, answering his question.  Her lips told him how
much she'd missed him through all of the loneliness of her time
alone.

Mulder rose to his own knees and gathered her closer, and he
kissed her back, his lips softly telling her, in return, of all
the emptiness of his time in the dark.  

Suddenly their mouths became hard against each other's and they
were kissing--wildly, desperately, intensely.

Her mouth opened, her hot little tongue reaching out to caress
his lips, stroke them open and stroke his teeth.  His mouth
opened to her and her tongue darted inside, seeking his own
tongue, teasing it, tasting it, sucking it.  He kissed her back
recklessly, slipping his tongue in her mouth, licking her teeth,
lapping her tongue deeply.  Sucking it hard.

Oh my God, this was Scully.  This was Scully.  And she was alive. 
Alive.  The word danced through his brain.  Scully.  Alive.  

And they were kissing the hell out of each other.

He couldn't quite believe it was real, that it was happening. 
But he'd known how she'd taste, how she would feel.   He rubbed
his hands across her shoulders and down her back.  She hooked one
arm around the back of his neck and buried her other hand in his
hair.  Pushing it back off his face.  Stroking his scalp with her
fingertips.  Grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck and
pulling him down, closer still, into the kiss.

"Mulder, Mulder," she murmured over and over again against his
mouth.

Then he realized he was crying again and he could feel her crying
too.  Tears were spilling down his face and into his beard.  

He slid a hand gently into the short curls at the nape of her
neck.  She tilted her head into his palm and his lips moved
across her face, covering it with kisses.  Licking her tears away
as more of his own fell to replace them.  Using his tongue to dab
them from her eyelashes, and out of her ears.  He couldn't stop
crying, but at the same time he found himself smiling and he
could feel her smiling, too.   

She ran her hands down his back and cupped his bare behind. 
Startling him.  

She gave a little yank and pulled him tightly against her hips.

He'd tried not to let her lower body get too close to his because
he was hard as a rock.  No surprise really, he was like Pavlov's
dog.  He'd been getting a hard-on for months just thinking about
her, so he'd been ready since she bit him on the nipple.  

Oh, well, the secret was out.  He moved his hips ever so
slightly, rubbing himself on her skin.  

Her breasts snuggled up against him.  A moment ago they were
off-limits, but now, with his and her mouths joined, her breasts
were fair game.  He slid his hands up her rib cage and cupped
them, his palms recognizing their softness and weight from his dreams.

He dropped his mouth to them and kissed each nipple lightly.

Scully drew in a sharp breath.  She dropped her hand between them
and grasped him.  And, impossibly, he felt himself grow harder. 
She drew her fingers lightly but firmly up to the tip then back
down to the root and he gasped, squeezing her breasts hard in
response, then letting them go to cup her bottom.  Her hand slid
slowly up and down the shaft.  Something about her breathing told
him she was still smiling.

She wrapped one leg around him to fit him against her.  She
pressed the head of his penis between her curls and rocked her
hips languidly, rubbing herself against the tip.

"Wait," Mulder said.  He groaned and slid his fingers down to
still her hand.  He wanted her badly, but he wanted to see her
face when he made love to her. He wanted to know what was going
on in her head.  He didn't want to make love to her for the first
time in this desperate rush in the dark.  

Hesitatingly, he reached down and touched the soft curls at the
top of her thighs, and ran his fingers across them gently,
reverently.  Then he parted the curls and let his fingers slip
inside. Her nub was hard and swollen.  He rubbed his fingers
across it gently, stimulating it and teasing the muscle above it,
until she moaned and reached for him again.  He stopped her.

Slowly, softly searching, he felt further into the curls, feeling
her hot moisture, her soft lips.  Gently, he stroked her, his
finger marveling at the texture.  He stroked her lips, smoothing
them back, feeling the rush of warm dampness coming from inside,
as slowly as he could, he pushed first one then two fingers up
and inside her.  The hot wet heat closed around his fingers, her
muscles clenching them tightly.  His thumb continued its gentle
stroking across the sensitive nub of her clitoris.

Scully rocked against him, pushing against his hand.  She reached
beneath him and cupped his balls.  "Sorry I kicked you," she said
against his mouth.  "I thought you were--" She broke off.  "Just
make love to me, Mulder." 

Scully. . . .   His mind was full of swirling emotions, his balls
in her hand, his cock pressed eagerly against her leg.  It felt
like it would erupt any second.  His brain was tempted to close
down every function except the part that would let him drive
himself hard into her and keep driving until he reached an
exquisite release.  But he couldn't let go.  He had to take care
of her.  

"We can't," he said, his voice rough.  He was breathing hard
against her forehead, his heart pounding.  "What if--what if we
get you pregnant?  We can't get pregnant here."

She was silent for a moment.

"I don't think I can get pregnant."

Mulder hesitated and looked down at her in the dark. "You don't?"

She took him in her hand and again began her gentle exploration,
soothing him softly with her fingertips.  They were separated
slightly now, but still he had his fingers inside her, and her
hand's motions were sending little shivers down his spine.

"I just don't think I--" she gave a little gasp as his fingers
pinched her gently, "--can. . . . Or I would be already."

He stopped moving.

"What?  Scully. . . .  Did they--"  He tried to find another
word, but there was only one.  "Did they . . . did they rape
you?"  Damn this blackness. He needed to see her eyes.  He slid
his hand from inside her.  Gently.  Scared.

"Please," she said, grabbing his wrist.  "Please.  Just erase it.
. . .  Just love me."

He slipped his arms around her, sinking back down onto the
mattress.  He hugged her against him, her head on his chest. 

"My God, Scully."  Helplessly he cradled her.  "More than once?"

She nodded against him.

"More than one person?"

"Please. . . . " she said.

"More than one man?"

She nodded again, sighing, and snuggled against him.  Her arms
went around him tightly.

Why was he asking this?  He didn't know.  He had to know.

"How many times?"

"Why do you have to know?  I don't know.  I can't remember."  She
shook her head, against his chest.  "Please.  Just love me.  Just
erase it."

"Scully. . . ." She started to shiver against him, her body
shaking.  Or maybe he was the one shaking.  He felt more helpless
than he had ever felt about anything in his whole life.

"Now you don't want me," she said in a small broken voice.  She
began to cry, the soft sobs tearing at his heart.

"Scuh-lee," his voice sounded soft, unrecognizably tender. "Of
course I want you.  I'm just afraid, afraid I'll hurt you.

"You can't hurt me.  You would never hurt me."  Her voice was
flat now, toneless, belied by the tears dripping from her face
onto his chest.  "After awhile . . . they weren't . . . brutal. 
They just used me.  Like a whore.  After awhile I'd just pretend
it was you."

His heart began beating unevenly, painfully.

"I pretended it was you, Mulder, it kept me sane."  

He felt something strange happening to the skin of his face; it
felt like it was burning in the dark.

Pretended it was him?  Raping her?

He felt her withdrawing.  He tried to hold her close but she was
leaving, withdrawing into her head.  He could tell.  He held her
silently for a long time.  For a long time she was quiet, until
at last he wondered if she'd fallen asleep.

Gently he lay down with her and wrapped his arms around her,
pulling her skinny little body against him and tucking the
blanket over them both.  He stifled a groan as his still rigid
penis brushed her warm skin.  Oh, Scully.  It went against
everything he'd ever learned or believed in to have sex with
someone who'd been raped.   So why the hell did he want to roll
on top of her and make love to her till the one thought left in
her mind was him and the only imprint on her body his own?  

He lay there in the dark with a straining hard-on, and wondered
what the hell to do.

After a few minutes he had to will himself to keep awake, staring
into the darkness.  He couldn't let himself fall asleep--he was
still afraid she might disappear.  To wake up and find that this
had all been a dream would be too much for him.  

He jerked awake.  Had he dropped off for a moment?   His arms
tightened convulsively.   She was still here.  His arms were
still around her.  His breathing quickened as if he'd run a race. 
Now he wasn't sure.  She was here, but--  Maybe this was the
dream.  In the dark, it was hard to tell.    

The thoughts kept prodding at his mind.  If this was a dream . .
. maybe it would be better for her.  What had she gone through? 
He didn't want to think.  Was it better for her to be here or
should he go back to sleep and let her slip away?

No, he was selfish.  He wanted to keep her.  His arms tightened
around her.  But Scully, he had to think of Scully.  She'd never
be the same.  She'd be hurting and unhappy forever.   He had to
let her go, back to her waves, back to the welcoming, soothing
waves of her sea.  He pulled her sleeping body against him for
one last hug.  She gave a little mew in her sleep and fitted
herself close against him.  Oh, God.  He couldn't let her go.  
"I love you," he whispered against her cropped hair.  He kissed
her softly on the forehead. 

He lay holding her for a long time.  Suddenly she began to move
restlessly.  She was mumbling, crying in her sleep.  The sound
broke his heart and made the decision for him.  He decided.  He
had to let her go.  This Scully was in too much pain.  She needed
to go back.  "Shhhh," he whispered against her ear to sooth her. 
"Shhhh."  At last she quieted.  With his face against hers, their
dried tears sticking their skin together, he let himself fall
asleep.




He was dreaming. . . .  She was here, his dream Scully.   But she
was lying so still. . . .  Her body almost limp against him, her
mind a thousand light years away.  What had happened?

Raped. 

She'd been raped.  

He couldn't stand it.  He pulled her closer against him, pressing
his face against her hair, wrapping his arms tightly around her
body, rolling her beneath him.  He covered her with his body. 
Shielding her.  Protecting her.  He held her tightly.  Scully. 
I've got you now.  I'll keep you safe.  I'll defend you with
everything I have.  My life.  My love.   He brought a hand to her
face and gently touched her cheek, her eyelashes.  They were wet,
he tasted the dampness.  It was cool, salty.  Was it tears or the
sea?  Oh, Scully.  Scully.  What can I do?  He bent his head and
pressed his lips to the cool skin of her shoulder, her neck.  He
kissed her chin and then her mouth.  I'm here.  I'll do anything,
Scully.  You want me to love you?   He pressed his erection
against her.  I'll love you.  I love you.  I've always loved you.

She rocked her hips against him softly, seeking.

It only took a little push.  "Ugghhh."  He groaned aloud and
slipped inside her.  Oh-my-God.  Scully.  He was inside her. . .
she was so soft, so warm inside.  His penis filled her.  Oh, God. 
That someone had hurt her, that someone had done this to her
without feeling the rush of intense, sweet, overpowering love
that poured from his heart as he buried himself in her.  He
couldn't stand it.  He would erase it.  He would envelop her with
his love.  He pushed gently into her and stroked back.   She was
so quiet, barely responsive.  His Scully.   It was breaking his
heart.

"Scully, it's me."

Her small hands came up and cupped his face, stroked his beard,
and she kissed him, her mouth soft.  She pushed her hips against
him.

"I know."

Scully.  Scully.  He kissed her in return.  You're alive.  I love
you.  He kissed her harder.  Had they kissed her mouth?  Her
lips?  Her lips were his, he would erase it.   He'd make her
forget.  He kissed her back harder, licking her lips, pulling her
lips into his mouth, sucking them.

Her mouth changed suddenly, and now her lips were hard, too. 
Hungry.  And her hands gripped his sides with desperation,
pulling him close, her hips pushing up to meet his.

And abruptly, like a wave, he felt her remember the pain. It
seared from her mind through his and he nearly cried out.  Oh,
Scully.  No, no.  It shot through his body like acid through his
veins.  Oh, God.  No.  Oh, Scully.  I'll do anything to stop
these memories from hurting you.   I'll stop them.  I will. 
You'll only remember me loving you. . . .   He pushed into her
deeper, harder, faster now, pumping, raising her from the bed
with each thrust.  Pushing back hard on the pain with his mind. 
Thrusting it away from her, too.   She wrapped her legs around
his back and cried out, gasping his name, gritting her teeth,
groaning.  She buried her face in his neck.   He buried his in
hers.   Her skin was warm now.  Hot.  Burning.   Suddenly she
arched against him, pressing her pelvis hard against his, and he
pushed himself into her so completely he was afraid he'd hurt her
womb.  She pressed her mouth against him and let out a stifled
moan, her muscles clenching on him hard.

"Scuh--leee," he gasped, and felt himself come into her, spurting
the pent-up juices of six months of solitude, drenching her with
them.  Cleaning her.  Claiming her as his own.  She was his.  His
now.  No other man.  Ever.  He felt himself clenching his teeth
as he gave one last stabbing thrust.

"Mine."  The words ground into her neck.  "Mine."

And then he kissed her, and she kissed him back and there was no
way this was his dream lover.  This was Scully, in the flesh, and
he was kissing her as he'd never kissed anyone or thought of
kissing anyone in his whole life or in any of his dreams.  And
she kissed him back.  Harder, softer, rougher, sweeter. 

This was it then.  This fierce thing was love.   It filled his
mind, his body, his whole soul and it was wilder than anything
he'd ever felt.  They had always loved each other, he realized
now, of course they had.  Always.  How could he have questioned
it?  And this was just a continuation.  An affirmation.  She was
his.  What had happened to her in the dark. . . he'd probably
spend his life trying to erase it, but he'd do it.  And he'd
started tonight.  He loved her.  More than life itself.  And all
at once he knew that the words weren't a cliche.

He pulled her closer in his arms.  She shifted her body to
accommodate his and gave him a kiss on the chest, just beside his
nipple.  She gave a contented little noise, a sigh.  He smiled. 
Scully.  Scully.  His Scuh-leee. 

They slept.




<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
She lay on her mattress, staring at the wall in front of her. 
Her blanket wrapped around her.  Her eyes slowly following a
pattern in the stone.  One part of her brain was amazed.  The
human body could go through a lot and not die.  The mind could go
through a lot and not break.

Her first worry, that she would get pregnant, never materialized. 
Her second worry, that she'd catch some kind of communicable
disease, didn't seem to materialize either.

Mulder.  She thought sadly.  I miss you so much.  I loved you so
much.  I love you still, so much.  I can't believe I never told
you.  I think you would've been glad.  I'm so sorry I never put
my arms around you and held you and told you how much you meant
to me.  How much I loved your smile.  Your laugh, your dumb
jokes.  

She felt something twist softly in her chest.

Mulder.  I wish we'd made love.  At least once, so I could think
of it and remember it.  When I think of all the days and nights
we wasted. . . .  If I could just have you back for five minutes,
I'd make love to you as fast as I could.  Your lips soft on mine,
kissing my neck, my shoulders, your mouth nipping here and there,
your hands, stroking caressing,  and your cock slipping
gently--then hard--between my legs. . . .

Slowly she rubbed a hand across her stomach, then down further, 
smoothing across her still damp curls, and soothing across her
sore sensitive skin.   The other slipped up to circle her
nipples, cup her breasts.  Now her eyes on the stone were blind,
unseeing, shutting them she arched her head back, rolling over on
to her back, letting her legs fall open.  Her thoughts now filled
now only with Mulder.  Loving Mulder.   Her mind, her body, full
only of Mulder.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<







*Scully?*

He felt soft fingers touch his cheek and then brush across his
beard with the gentlest of caresses.

He opened his eyes and realized dawn had arrived, because he
could see her.  She was still here.

Her blue, excruciatingly familiar eyes searched his and then she
smiled.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he said.  She was still here.  He felt his face break into
a smile like he hadn't had smiled in a long, long time.   Maybe
ever.

She was still here.  

Her hand reached up to his hair, combing it lightly with her
fingers.  He realized their other hands were linked tightly
between them.

Her eyes moved back to meet his and she smiled again.

He could only stare at her.

If he'd met her on the street he never would have recognized her. 
Her gorgeous red hair was cropped and dull, curling around her
face.  Her eyes dark and sunken.  Her cheeks hollow.

She looked . . . haunted.

His gaze fell on the cross on the chain around her neck.  How had
she managed to hang on to that?

Her eyes searched his with an intensity that frightened him.

Her face was so thin.  Her nose sharp, her skin pale.  Her
freckles faded.  The beauty mark she'd religiously kept covered
with make-up stood out darkly stark above her upper lip.  Only
her beautiful mouth was the same.  Its voluptuous shape
unchanged.  To reassure her, to reassure himself, he leaned
slowly forward and kissed it.  The barest of kisses.  She was
warm, she was real.  

She kissed him back.  Her lips were open and soft, her eyes were
open and still searching his.  There was something in their
brilliant blue depths he didn't recognize, but something else he
did, and it consoled him.  Last night had been real, then, too.  

"God, I'd never have recognized you, Mulder," she said quietly.

Or me you,  he thought sadly.  Oh, Scully.  In the light of day
he felt very shy.  He knew he must look terrible.   Plus he was
embarrassed; he had to take a piss, and he had a raging hard-on. 
It was pressing against her stomach, so she had to know about it.

"Do you suppose your door's still open?" she interrupted his
thoughts.

"The door," he looked at her stupidly.  "Oh, yeah."

He glanced towards the door.

"Don't let go of me," she gripped his hands tightly.  He hadn't
moved a muscle.

"They haven't delivered my breakfast.  It's past time."

"Don't let go of me," she said, her voice husky, her head
lowered.

He gripped her hand more tightly and looked down at the top of
her bowed head.

"I won't," he said softly.

He raised their linked hands to his mouth and brushed a kiss
against her inner wrist.  She looked up at him, her blue eyes
dark and sad.

"But I've got to, um. . . . " he nodded at the toilet.

"Yeah, me too," she said.  "You go first." 

Reluctantly he let go of her hand and got up from the bed.  His
body felt frighteningly bereft without her.

She rolled away from him and looked at the wall.  




********************
The door to the cell opened easily.  How long had it been
unlocked?  It brought him up with a start.  How far he'd come
from his former self not to have checked before this.

"Scully, do you think they're out there?"

"I don't think they stay here," she said.  

Mulder carefully looked out.  An empty stone corridor, not much
different than the cell, lit only by a slash of sun from a slit
high on the wall.

A door at the far end was open. 

"Yours?"

She nodded.  

So close. 

Another door at the very far end of the hall was shut.  They
slipped down the hall and paused at the door to her room.

"Should we get your blanket?"

She was wearing his, and he was naked as a jay bird.  

"I don't have one." 

He leaned towards her.  "What?"

She raised her head and shot him a look through narrowed eyes. 
The look said: Don't go there.

Mulder looked into her eyes and felt scared again.  No, this
wasn't his dream Scully.  This wasn't the same Scully who'd been
his partner either. 

He bit his lip and turned away.  His grip on her hand tightened. 
Things had been much worse for her.  The look in her eyes, her
face.  He didn't know what he could do for her, but right now he
was going to get them out of here or die trying.

"I guess I'll just have to go naked."  Maybe I can kill someone
for his clothes, he thought grimly. 

As he ushered her down the corridor he glanced back into her
room.  Dark like his own.  A bare mattress.  A toilet.  A sink. 
Nothing else.  Like his own.  A shadow crossed his heart.  

Scuh-leee, I love you.  I love you.

He glanced down sideways at her face.  It was shuttered, closed.



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Mulder.  Think of Mulder, it's his hands gripping your hair, him
pushing inside you. . . .  It's his hands, stroking you, soothing
you, erasing the pain, his mouth on you, loving you, smoothing
away everything and covering you with love.  Mulder.  It's him,
think only of him.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<


"Scully?"

"What?"

He looked down at her for a long moment.  She looked up at him,
the anger gone, the expression in her eyes now just  tired and
sad.

"Nothing, just 'Scully'."

The door handle at the end of the hall stuck at first then gave
with a creak.  It opened onto a twisting staircase.  She looked
up at him as if she were about to say something.  He pressed his
finger against her mouth and shook his head, pointing down below. 
They crept down silently.  Their bare feet made no sound.  At the
bottom was another door, this one ajar.  He pushed her behind him
and crept up to it.  He peeked out.  An empty room. No furniture. 
Nothing.  No one.  This one had windows and a door standing open
to the outside.

Scully peeked over his shoulder, he turned his head and looked in
her eyes, so close to his own. 

"They must've decided to let us go," he whispered.

"We must be worthless to them now."

Mulder felt a cold chill go down his backbone.  What horrible
things had been happening back in the real world in the time
they'd been gone?  He found he didn't really want to know.

Hanging behind the door was a jacket.  No pants.  He put it on.

"This is worse than being completely naked," he whispered,
looking down at himself. 

She looked at him and gave a little smile.  

No, he thought, not worse -- not if it made her smile.  Then he'd
go sans-culottes right into D.C.

"Try tying it around your waist," she said.

It covered him up.  Sort of.

They gazed out the door, eyes tearing at the unaccustomed light,
even though it was just the foggy grey light of dawn.   The small
ancient-looking stone fort they'd been held in stood on a rocky
promontory of land.  The closest vegetation was a hundred yards
away.  There was no sign of life or habitation in sight.

"We'll run for it.  If something happens, if we get split up,
we'll meet at those trees."  

He pointed.  

She just looked at him.

"I'm not letting go of you, Mulder," she told him.  Her eyes said
the same thing.

"Okay, let's go."

They ran to the clump of trees, hands linked.  Nothing stopped
them.  Nothing moved anywhere.

Both were out of breath.  "I'm really out of shape," he told her. 
She just breathed hard and nodded.  Not letting go of his hand.


*******************************
From the promontory the land fell rapidly to ocean level. They
followed the shore till they reached a small house, a hut really,
near the edge of the sea.   No one was in sight.  Mulder snitched
a pair of faded black drawstring pants and an enormous pink
flowered dress from the clothes line.  

When they were a safe distance from the house they paused to put
on their stolen goods.  What was that on her shoulder?  A scar
from a bite?  A human bite.  He looked quickly at her face, she
hadn't seen he'd noticed it.

"I'll swim in that," she told him.  

"What?  The dress?  Oh that's for me.  The pants are for you--you
look good topless."  He leered at her hopefully.  She reached up
and lay one hand on his cheek and just looked at him, for a long
moment, then he helped her pull the dress over her head.

The pink clashed horribly with her red hair.  It made her skin
look even whiter.  She looked filthy and bedraggled and
exhausted.  God he loved her.

"I guess that village isn't too far from here."

"I remember."

"Was there a phone?"

"There has to be."

"Who do we call?"

"Skinner?"

"No."

"We don't trust Skinner?"

"We don't trust anyone."

"My mom?"

"She's not in a position to get us out of here."

"Who?"

"Frohike."

Unspoken agreement flashed between their eyes.

"Are you all right?  Can you make it to the village?

"I'm fine, Mulder.  I'm fine."



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Scully looked dully at the bite mark on her shoulder.  It had
broken the skin.  She washed it in the rusty water.

If it got infected, she was in trouble.  Maybe she'd get lock
jaw. Maybe she'd get gangrene.  Maybe her arm would drop off and
they'd leave her alone.  Maybe she'd die.

Emotionlessly she went on washing it.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<



It turned out that calling Frohike from the only pay phone in a
little village in Cuba wasn't hard at all.

Mulder made the call.

"Hello?"  Frohike's voice floating over the wire almost brought
tears to his eyes.

"Collect call from Earnest Hemingway," said the international
operator's voice.

Silence.

"Calling from Andira, Cuba."

It took Frohike exactly two seconds to get it.

"I'll accept the charges."

"Hi, how's it going?" said Mulder.

"Oh, my God, it *is* you."

"Yeah."

"We thought you were dead.  Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah.  We're fine."  Mulder tugged on their linked hands
and pulled Scully close to him, so she could hear, and so he
could have her close against him.

"We're?  You mean--she's with you?"

"Yeah.  She's okay too."  He looked down at her.  At least he
hoped so.  She wasn't looking very okay.

"Thank God."   

Mulder heard muffled explaining to the others. 

"We need some help."

"You got it."

"Tickets, money."

Pause.

"You shouldn't come back here . . . right now.  I'll take care of
the rest."

Pause.

Frohike's voice came again, conversational.  "I always thought
Ernest would like the movie Blue Velvet."

Scully looked up at him perplexed.  He looked down at her and
smiled.

"I know what you mean.  Me, too."

"Better cut this short."

"Bye.  And thanks, man."

"Take care of my woman," Frohike said.

Mulder looked down at Scully and raised his eyebrows.  She shut
her eyes for a moment then opened them and poked him in the chest
with her forefinger.  Mulder grinned.

"She says she's my woman."

He heard Frohike laugh.

"It's about time." 

Click.  The receiver went dead.

"Okay, tell me."

"Our good friend, our VERY good friend, will have money waiting
for us at the Hotel Isobella in Havana."

Scully nodded slowly.  "You're good.  I'd forgotten *how* good."

"Is that why you're my woman?"  The question just popped out.  He
bit his lip and looked at her with trepidation.

"Partly," she said lightly, not meeting his eyes.  

She tucked her arm in his and pulled him down the street.  "Let's
find a bus to Havana."

"We need to figure out something for tickets."

She put a hand to the cross around her neck, "We can sell this."

Mulder's eyes rested on it briefly.  

"No, we can't."




>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Scully pulled her mattress away from the wall.  She thought she'd
seen an eight-legged something scurry quickly underneath it.  Her
eye was caught by the gleam of gold.  She dropped to her knees
and looked closer.  Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes
filled with tears.  It was her gold cross.  She pulled it out of
the crack and saw that the chain had come apart.  It must have
fallen off that first day.  She'd thought they'd taken it.

She held it cupped in her hand for a long time, then replaced it
under the mattress.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<







The bus ride was long and exhausting.  Luckily, they'd managed to
get seats after the first few stops.  The heat in the bus was
unbearable, but they still sat as close together as possible--
sides and thighs touching, his arm around her shoulders--despite
the constant lurching attempts by the bus to throw them apart.  

They'd barely exchanged a word since they'd talked to Frohike. 
But he felt her pulse beneath his fingertips as he gently stroked
the hair back from her damp temples.

Back at the village, Mulder had used his terrible Spanish, trying
to speak it with a French accent to hide the fact they were
Americanos, and bartered his jacket for two bus tickets and a bag
of fruit.  For the first time, Scully had let go of his hand and
tried to stay out of sight.  She said she was afraid someone
would recognize the dress.  

Mulder found he was the one who was unwilling to let go now; he
was afraid someone would recognize her.  She'd ripped a strip of
the material from the hem and tied it over her red hair to hide
it.  She had still stuck out in the little village like a sore
thumb.  Every man in town, and every woman, had eyed her
curiously.

Mulder had watched her like a hawk to see if she recognized any
of the men,  if she had, well. . .  Mulder knew he would kill
him.  Barehanded, squeezing his neck until it snapped.  Maybe
castrating him if he could find something convenient to do it
with.  

A thread of something dangerous had made its way into his blood. 
It was keeping him alert, bringing him back to his senses
quickly, and Scully was at its center.

She was steadily fading.  Whatever had been keeping her going had
left her when they boarded the bus, and she seemed content to
lean against him, her eyes closed, her cheek against his bare
chest.  And he found that despite her exhaustion, her simple
presence next to him gave him strength.

He had to keep her safe.  He would keep her safe, no matter what,
until they were back on U.S. soil.  Not that that meant anything. 
Maybe they'd have to go somewhere else.  Maybe Canada.  Tomorrow
he'd call Frohike again.  

He rubbed his eyes, he was exhausted.  The bus, the heat, the
noise, the smells.  Everything was beginning to take on a feeling
of heightened reality, whirling around him.  He felt as if the
only thing real was the feel of Scully's small body pressed
against him at the center of the confusion.

He needed sleep, that was it.  But he couldn't sleep yet, not
until til she was safe.


The old bus finally bucked over the last kilometer of road
between Andira and Havana and came to a wheezing halt.  

Havana.  They'd stick out like sore thumbs here, too, until they
could get some clothes and look like tourists.  If anyone wanted
to trail them it wouldn't be very hard.   He glanced at the other
occupants as they gathered string bags and chickens from under
the seats.  No.  No one was paying them the least bit of
attention.  No one had followed them.

"We're here," he said, his lips close to her ear.  "I think it's
just a couple of blocks to the hotel."

She looked up and him, and he realized he'd been waiting for just
that little half-smile.  His heart turned over as he helped her
to her feet.

Scully stepped off the bus, Mulder behind her, his hand in the
small of her back.  She tripped on the last step and just about
went down.  Mulder quickly slipped one hand beneath her elbow. 
She was exhausted.  The bus ride had taken its toll.   He knew
she felt like she was about to faint, and she was trying to hide
it from him.

She stumbled again and Mulder bent to take one look at her white
face then wrapped his arm around her to support her.   He wished
he had money for a taxi.  He felt her knees give slightly and he
tried to pick her up.

"No, Mulder, we already look bad enough."

She was so damn stubborn. He managed to help her walk the last
blocks to the hotel and they practically staggered through the
front door.

********************************************
The desk clerk was expecting them.

"Senor and Senora Fro-hee-kay?"  He must be careful, the clerk
thought, not to let his expression give a hint that he was
unaccustomed to registering guests such as these--tall, shirtless
bearded men and barefoot red-headed urchins--every day on his job
at the Hotel Isobella.  More loco Americanos, sneaking into Cuba
against the wishes of their government, smuggling out cigars,
maybe even drugs, probablemente.  He shrugged.  Well, it was none
of his business.

The tall bearded man nodded at him.  Although it seemed to the
clerk that the man had stiffened slightly at the mention of his
name.  Perhaps he had pronounced it incorrectly.

"Your brother called, Senor.  And told of your terrible
accidente."  He made a small sympathetic sound.  "And your
honeymoon.  Such a shame that you have lost--"  He eyed them, "--
everything."

He brought an envelope from beneath the desk.  "But--I hope my
news will please you.  Your travelers checks have already been
replaced."  He handed them over with a small flourish.  "Your
credit card has been authorized to cover the hotel and a
replacement will arrive via Poste Expresse tomorrow.  Meanwhile
they are extending you a cash advance."  He presented the cash
with another small flourish.

"Now, if you'll just sign the receipts, por favor. . . Senor!" 
His eyes darted to Scully.  "Your wife!"   When her husband had
let go of her, Senora Frohike had swayed and looked for a moment
as if she were going to fall to the floor.

Sr. Frohike quickly supported her.  "She just needs some food." 
He signed the register with one hand, holding her against him
gently.

The desk clerk's eyes flicked to the tall man's face.  He noted
his intense gentle expression.  A shame, really, to have such a
terrible accidente happen to them, cigars, honeymoon, drugs or
no.  He made the sympathetic noise again as he looked at Senora
Frohike.

"Of course, Senor.  I'll send something to your room immediately. 
We have fish today, and rolls, fruit, coffee."

"Everything you've got," Senor Frohike looked down at his wife
protectively and she smiled weakly up at him.  "And cold beer,
iced, a six pack.  And wine.  White?"  She nodded. "White. 
Something decent."

"Of course. Room 213," said the clerk, handing him the key. 
"That way, up the stairs, your bags. . . . " he trailed off.  "Oh
si, no bags.  If we at the Hotel Isobella can be any service to
you during your stay, please let us know."


"Gracias," said Mulder and ushered Scully quickly in the
direction the man had gestured.

At the stairs, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted
her, carrying her up the staircase.

"Mulder. . . .  You're dead on your feet, too."

"Shush."

He pushed open the door of their room.  A very nice room.   Clean
white-washed walls reflected back the sun sparkle from the water
outside the window.  Frohike had outdone himself.  And to use his
own name.   Frohike was the king of paranoid.  It must have been
the only way he could get the cards and money "replaced" so
quickly.  Or maybe it didn't matter anymore.

He deposited Scully on the large bed.  A table with bottled water
and fruit drinks stood by the slatted doors to the balcony. 
Mulder quickly uncapped a fruit drink and brought it to her.  She
took the drink and put it to her lips.  Downing half of it in one
gulp.  

She looked up at him gratefully as he polished off a bottle of
his own.  Her face was white and there was a delicate sheen of
perspiration across her forehead.  Her cropped hair was damp and
stuck to her face.  She looked like hell.

He brought two more bottles and sat down beside her on the bed. 
He gently removed the makeshift scarf and smoothed back her
tangled hair.

"I don't dare look in the mirror," she said, her eyes searching
his.

He grinned.  "Me neither."  Then sobered.  His eyes traveled over
her face.   He reached out and took her hand.

"You're beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world," he
told her, and he meant it.  He cupped his other hand along her
cheek.

Scully covered his hand with her own and turned her cheek into
his palm.  She looked back at him seriously for a long moment. 
Her blue eyes were wide and just a little too bright.

"I love you, Mulder."

Mulder felt elated.  He felt fabulous.  He felt ridiculous.  He
felt silly.

"I love you, too," he said solemnly.  " . . . Mrs. Frohike."

She threw back her head and laughed.  A delightful clear laugh
and Mulder thought for the first time that maybe everything was
going to be okay.  She looked back at him and smiled into his
eyes, a wide smile, a happy smile,  and he smiled back.  A silly
goofy grin.

He was just about to kiss her when there was a knock at the door.

"Hold that thought," he told her,  kissing his fingertips and
laying them gently on her mouth.  She pressed her lips against
his fingers, her heart in her eyes.  

He went to open the door.

"Here we are," he said, returning with the overladen tray of food
and a bucket of iced bottles of beer. 

She reached up and was digging into the food with her fingers
even before he set the tray down.

"Wait," he said.  She looked up, her expression pitiful as she
froze, a slice of fruit at her mouth.  "Okay," he said.  "Food
first."  He picked up a slice of mango and put it into his own
mouth.  "I'm going to investigate the bathing facilities."

She nodded, mumbling something unintelligible, her mouth too full
of food to answer.  Mulder popped another piece of fruit in his
mouth and mimicked her.  "Mrrh, mmmrh, rrrh rrrh." he said.       
                              

She gave him a swat.

The large old green-tiled tub looked more like a fountain than a
bathtub, but it was big enough to accommodate two.  The shower
was a little low for him.  The tub it would be.  He flipped open
the tap.  Hot water.  He sighed.

There were several bottles of shampoo and things; he started to
dump a bottle of one of them into the water.



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The man held her hair and pushed her head down towards himself. 
She struggled like crazy and hit him, clawing him with her nails. 
He slapped her face and pushed her down again.  She sunk her
teeth into his thigh, hard.  The man cursed and slapped her hard
across the face again, then gave her a shove that sent her
sprawling into the wall.  She lay there, panting, gathering
herself, ready to jump up and fight.  She stared at him through
the tumble of hair in her face.  

"You'll do it."
"Never," she said.
"You'll do it."
"Never."
"You will do it or I will force you."
"I'll bite it off."
"Then, I will kill you."
"So kill me."
But she saw in his eyes that he didn't have the power to do that.

That's when they cut her hair and shaved her head.

Punishment they said.  But she secretly was glad.  After that,
they couldn't hold her still by her hair.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<


"Scully?"

Suddenly he heard a soft sob from the other room.  He dropped the
whole bottle into the tub and ran back into the bedroom.  

She was sitting in front of the mirrored vanity.  Head buried in
her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break.  He knelt beside
her and put an arm around her shoulders.  When she looked up and
caught his eye in the reflection she covered her face and again
bent her head.  He looked at himself.   

Holy shit.  

His own mother wouldn't spare him some change.  His respect went
up several notches for the discretion of the staff at the Hotel
Isobella.

"Come," he told her and drew her to her feet, leading her gently
into the bathroom.  He leaned down and tested the water, looking
up at her.  She wouldn't look at him.  Her downcast eyes were
red-rimmed.  "Come on, we'll feel better when we're clean."   He
stood up and kissed her softly on the forehead.  She shut her
eyes.

He undid the neck of the dress and pushed it off her shoulder. 
He pressed his lips gently on the soft white skin he'd revealed.  

He pushed it off her other shoulder and stared at the bite scar,
he kissed her there, too.

She shivered and closed her eyes, but stood mute.  He loosened
the dress and it fell to the floor.  He held her arm and helped
her step into the tub.  Once she'd sat down he retrieved the tray
of food and placed it beside the tub.  She sank down into the
water with a little sigh of pleasure.  But she still wasn't
looking at him.   He dropped his trousers and stepped into the
hot water with her.

Her eyes flew open before he could sit down and the first thing
she saw was his erection staring her in the eye.  She shut her
eyes again quickly and he sat down with a splash.  Oh, geez, he
thought. 

Her eyes opened again and she met his eye.  Surprisingly enough,
an impish grin crossed her face.   

"I guess I should take that as a good sign," she said.

"You're beautiful."

"But on the other hand," she continued thoughtfully, "you haven't
been out much lately."

But he didn't take the easy way out.  "While we were in there . .
. I could have imagined anyone. . . ."

He searched for the words and she frowned at him slightly.

". . . but I only imagined you."

Her eyes told him she was glad, but then she remembered.  "But
you were only thinking about the way I was before.  Not--this." 
She gestured, frustrated, at her body.  Her face crumpled again
into tears.

"Believe me, " he said dryly.  The sight of her breasts peaking
out of the bubbles was not helping his hard-on.  "This'll do just
fine.  Wait.  That's not what I meant, exactly.  I just meant,
that in my dreams . . . you were getting thinner, too."

"Mine, too." she said.  He realized she'd revealed a lot to him
in that statement.  He could see it in her face.

"Except I didn't know about the beard or your hair."

"Yours either," he said sadly, and shook his head.  "The beard
really threw me."

"Mulder!"  She picked up a handful of bubbles and threw it at
him.  He laughed and splashed her back, then leaned forward and
gathered her to him and they were in each other's arms, hugging
each other tightly.  



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"You liked it," the man said
She just looked at him.
"I was thinking of the man I love.  I couldn't come thinking of a
pig like you," she said, disdain dripping from every word.  
He slapped her.
She reeled back from the blow, but steadied herself and held her
head up proudly and stared him in the eye.
"You," she hissed.  "Have a tiny little prick.  The man I love
has a cock this long."
And she held out her hands to show him.

That's when they took her blanket.  But that's when she realized
she was no longer afraid.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<


"Scully?"

At last, the tray of food empty, the bottles drunk, the bath
water cooling and both of them a couple of layers of skin
lighter, Scully lay back against Mulder's chest.  He was happy,
his eyes were shut, his arms around her waist.  His erection not
an issue at the moment.  He wasn't sure if she'd fallen asleep. 
She seemed content.

"What are we going to do for clothes when we get out?" she said. 
"I'm not wearing that pink thing again."

"We could join a nudist colony.  Nobody would ever think of
looking for us there.  Besides," his arm tightened around her
waist.  "I've gotten kind of used to going without clothes." 

"I think they call themselves naturists, now, Mulder.  That's one
of those facts you of all people should know, not me."

"Naturists.  I like that.  I could get really used to you going
without clothes, too.  Those suits. . . . " he trailed off and
shook his head.  "I always wanted to take 'em off you anyway." 
He opened his eyes to check her reaction to that.

She smiled and turned in his arms and kissed him, a long slow
loving kiss.

Well, maybe his erection was an issue after all.

"I don't want to get out."

"Me neither."

She was gazing longingly in the direction of the bed.  He could
see it through the open bathroom doorway.  It looked inviting. 
But he couldn't move.  He shut his eyes again.

"But the bed looks so empty.  So comfy," she said, her voice
wistful.

"Mmm."

"Come on.  1 - 2 - 3."

She stood up and stepped out.

"Come on, darlin'."   She tugged on his hand.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.  "Darlin'."  He smiled.  I
like bein' your darlin'."

"You've always been my darlin'."

"I have?"

"Yeah," she said softly.  "Come on out."

"Mmm,"  he agreed.

"1 - 2 - 3."

He stood up and stepped out too.  Carefully she dried him off,
neither of them commenting on his not-so-flaccid state, then they
made their way to the bed.

Scully pulled back the covers.  Smooth clean white cotton sheets
beckoned them.

"Clean sheets," she sighed and climbed in.

"Clean sheets," he echoed and crawled in beside her.

He wrapped his arms around her, and she wrapped hers around him,
every inch of their bodies touching that could possibly touch,
her face against his beard, his nose in her clean-smelling hair,
they slept.








Mulder was dreaming.  It was a warm dream, a cool dream.  She was
there, as always.  He smiled against her hair, the short ends
tickled his nose.  His dream love, she'd come.  His Scully.  He
held her in his arms, she was soft against him.  As he bent his
face down to nuzzle her breasts, her fingers enmeshed themselves
in his hair, her lips teased his ear.  She whispered to him,
telling him words of love, telling him secrets of the sea.  He
felt himself grow hard against her, felt her touch him gently,
felt her stroke him, her hands warm, her hands familiar, knowing
what pleased him, knowing how to make him groan.  He reached for
her, too, wanting her to want him.  Wanting her to feel good,
wanting to please her, wanting to erase the pain, now that he
knew.

He felt himself waking.  No.  He said.  No!  Not this time,
please don't make me wake up.   The longing to keep her with him
was stronger than the dream.  He wrapped his arms around her and
held her to him tightly.  Please let me stay sleeping, let me
keep my Scully, let me keep sleeping, Don't make me wake up from
this dream.  I can't face another day without her.  I can't face
life alone without her.  Please let me keep sleeping.  Please,
please, don't take her.  Let her take me back with her, back into
the waves, down among the fishes, back among the caves, the cool
caves beneath the sea.  Where the sun sparkles brightly through
the cool deep water, and everything looks green.  And the fish
swim by, on the way to wherever they're going. . . .

She was running her hands down his body now.  Her touch more
impatient.  Her hands hot, fevered, insistent.  They touched him
in places he hadn't remembered existed.  His ribs, his sides, his
neck, his shoulder blades.  They soothed him, stoked him.

And he touched her in wonder, smoothing her and stroking her,
touching her like a feather, touching her like a dream.  He
cupped her breasts and brought them to his mouth, first one then
the other.  He sucked them like a baby.  First softly, then hard.

His Scully was crying out now and reaching down between them, she
grabbed him in both hands and gently began to guide him.   She
wasn't understanding, this Scully in his dream.  Oh, Scully, he
tried to tell her, it's your love I want, not just desire, it
feels good, but I need *you*, your warming, not the fire.  It's
your loving that I live for, it's your loving that I long for . .
.  it's the longing, not the passion . . . it's the loving . . .
not the dream.


Mulder sighed and pushed his hips forward, she was being very
persistent, he'd go along with her right now, and tell her in a
minute, meanwhile searching with his penis for that place between
her thighs, where he could sink into her deeply and lose himself
in brightness . . .  and they'd lose themselves completely in a
warm slide of love.

"I love you, Mulder," she whispered.

He smiled.

"I love you," he said, his eyes still shut.

"I love you, Mulder.  Wake up."

He opened his eyes and found himself looking into a pair of
bright blue ones, not six inches from his own.  

His Scully.

His love.

He smiled.

"I love you, Scully."

She smiled.

"I love you, too."


She was leaning on one elbow, resting her head against her hand. 
The sun was setting and the last of its rays slanted through the
wooden shutters, splashing across her body where she'd thrown
back the sheets, washing her skin with red stripes of light,
lighting her tousled hair on fire and shining sideways through
her blue eyes, making them translucent.  She was just looking at
him.

"I love you," he said again.

"And I love you, too."  Her eyes traveled over his face. "I
didn't want to take advantage of you while you were asleep,
Mulder.   But I was about to." 

She smiled again and leaned forward slightly.  She sank her teeth
into his full lower lip, bit it then pulled it into her mouth and
sucked it gently.  Then kissed him where she'd bitten.  

Mulder moaned and shifted himself against her.  His penis was
rock hard between her legs, but not inside her.

"Mmmm," she said and kissed him there again.

She was here, she was alive.  It had been the dream that was the
dream.

She reached up to push his hair back from his face with her other
hand and combed her fingers through it.

"You know, you're really, really sexy with long hair, Mulder."  

"Oh, yeah?" he said softly.  "You know, you're really, really
sexy with short hair."

She gave a little grin and nestled herself closer to him so the
tip of his penis was just brushing the entrance to her warm moist
cave.

"Oh, yeah?" she said and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Yeah," said Mulder, and felt suddenly shy.

She still just lay there looking at him.  Looking up and down his
body with interest.  This was Scully for godsakes.  He felt
nervous.  They'd made love the night before in such a frantic
rush.   They hadn't talked about it.  It had been a wild mating
of two souls.  A desperate finale to their solitary time in the
dark.  Affirmation.  Closure.  Consummation.  Promise.  Now they
were one.

But they hadn't had a whole hell of a lot of foreplay.

But now.  This was new, a new beginning. 

They were together.  There was no doubt about that.  But when
faced with the thought of making love to her. . . he was nervous. 
Willing, but nervous.

The thing he'd wanted most in the world, snuggled against him at
last.

But he'd always been one to open his Christmas presents slowly.  

"Mulder."

"Yeah?'

Her eyes were serious.

"I really missed you."

"Yeah." he swallowed.   He didn't really have the words to talk
about it out loud.

He moved his erection slightly against the warm lips between her
legs. 

"Mulder?"

"Umm?"

His gaze moved across her face like a caress.  The food and bath
had done wonders for both of them, her face was healthier
already.  Her lips redder, her eyes brighter.

Her eyes were traveling across his face, too, pausing here and
there, drinking in the sight of him.

"I mean I really missed you."

"Me too, Scully.  So much I can't even begin to say."  

Much as he wanted to slide himself into her, he pulled back.  

Her expression was suddenly worried.  "Mulder?"

He smiled at her reassuringly.  "I've got to look at every inch
of your skin."

"Oh," her voice was a soft little sigh, flattered, happy.  "Why?"

"Because I love you."

He rolled her over onto her stomach and slowly stroked his hand
down the curve of her back.  She rested on her elbows and looked
at him sideways, willing for the time being to go along with him-
-he hoped.

He leaned forward and trailed kisses from behind her ear, down
across the nape of her neck, down her backbone, to the small of
her back.  

"Mulder?"  She craned her head and looked at him.  "What are you
doing?"  He was carefully examining the tattoo on the skin just
above her bottom.


"Nice tattoo."

"Thanks."

"Shh!"  He said, and put a finger to his lips, craning his ear to
the tattoo.  "It said something to me!"

"Mulder!"  She aimed a kick at his head with one heel.

Mulder caught her ankle in his hand and held it, pretending to
listen to the tattoo.

"Okay," he told it.

"Alright.  What did it say?"  She sounded more amused than
exasperated.

"Kiss me."

And he proceeded to do so, making his lips as gentle as possible
until he heard Scully give a little gasping sigh.

He smiled.  He'd been dying to get a good look at that tattoo.  

He continued across the warm swell of her buttocks to the place
where the round softness of her bottom turned to the long smooth
shape of the muscle on the back of her thigh.  Gently he kissed
that spot just below each cheek.  Then his lips continued their
trail down to the back of her knees.  He placed a kiss on the
back of each knee and she giggled.

"Mulder!  That tickles."

He placed one hand on the back of her calf as his mouth trailed
further down to kiss the soles of her feet.

"I haven't shaved my legs in awhile," she said apologetically. 

"It's sexy," he said.  Taking her toes in his mouth and sucking
on them.

"Or my underarms either."

"Oh, really?"  Mulder rose to his knees and turned her gently
over onto her back.  He took her wrists in his hands and started
to raise them over her head.  She tensed, and he stopped.  But
the look of wariness instantly vanished.  He placed her arms over
her head, but didn't hold them there. 

Then he lowered his head and kissed the soft tuft of red-blond
hair in one armpit, then the other.  Nestling his nose in it. 
Smelling her smell.  Then he kissed his way up to the peak of one
breast.   Slowly and contemplatively he stopped to suck at first
one soft red tip then the other before trailing his mouth down
further, across her ribs, kissing each one on one side and then
each one on the other.  "We need to fatten you up," he said
between the kisses.  He looked up at her.  She was laying back
against the pillows, arms still over her head, watching him.

He grinned.  She looked so abandoned lying there, the setting sun
warm across her skin.

"You, too," she said.

His head slid further downward and his mouth encountered her flat
stomach.  He kissed it very gently and then slid down further
still.  He reached the red curls and kissed his way along one
side of them, along the line where the curls met the white flesh,
then he kissed his way down to the place where her thigh turned
to her inner thigh.  

Cupping her buttocks he spread her legs and kissed down along the
tender hollow of her inner thigh, working his way back up to the
top of the curls and slowly started down the other side.  Briefly
he buried his nose in her hair.  These curls smelled warm and
sexy and inviting, too.

He glanced at her face.  She'd pushed herself up on her elbows
and was watching him, an amused expression on her face.

When he reached the inner thigh he brought his hand in to part
the curls and see her soft folds of skin.  She was lovely, her
skin a softly glowing pink, her little clitoris swollen and
straining to be touched.  He let his tongue flick out and touch
it briefly and she arched convulsively, letting out a soft moan.
"Mul-der."

He smiled and began to tease her with his tongue and then his
lips, alternately licking then sucking, until he couldn't hold
her still, his thumbs stroking the flesh of her inner thighs,
lightly, gently in rhythm to his sucking.

"Oooooooo, Mulder," she said, then gasped.

And now he left the nub and slid his tongue further down her,
parting the folds and slipping inside.  He licked her, tasting
gently.  He knew what she would taste like.  He recognized her
flavor.  It stopped him for a moment as he compared her with his
Scully from the sea.  But she wasn't having any of that, she
buried her hands in his hair and pushed his mouth back against
her.  "More, Mulder," she whispered, "More." 

Gently he rubbed his beard over the straining little knob of
flesh.  She arched her back and let out a stifled shriek.

Mulder smiled against her warmth and kissed inside her, then
kissed along the folds.  He kissed her very softly, then moved up
to suck on her nub again.  

She rocked and bucked beneath his mouth, and he nipped her
lightly.

"Yessss," she whispered.

He smoothed the skin back and sucked it even harder till her hips
pushed up in the air and she convulsed against his mouth and he
sucked her so hard he was laughing, laughing at her pleasure, and
she laughed too, in a breathless gasp, and said, "Oh, Mulder just
come up here and make love to me."

He looked up and crawled up over her, smiling into her eyes. 

"Patience, darlin'."

She just grinned at him, pulled her to him and kissed him long
and hard. 

Mulder sat up and pulled her onto his lap, straddling him.  His
erection seemed to be having a mind of its own.  It slipped
between her legs and started pushing against  her where his mouth
had been a moment before.  She reached down between him, gave him
one long firm stroke then guided him to her and pressed the tip
against her entrance.   

Mulder groaned and shut his eyes--this was going to be over
quick.   She stopped and looked at him and he opened his eyes and
looked at her.  An unspoken affirmation flashed between them and
he tipped his hips very gently and she tilted hers to meet him
and ever so softly and smoothly he slipped into her heat.  She
was tight and inviting and he pushed a little further till he was
in as far as he could go.  She gave a little "Ohhh-hhh-hh" of
pleasure and he thought he was going to come right then.  

He didn't want to hurt her, he'd let her do the leading.   He
wanted her to be in control.  She began to rock down on him
gently, their eyes not leaving one another's.

She pushed and pushed against him until he couldn't stand it
anymore, he pushed back, too, harder, and he slid his hands
beneath her bottom, gripping it, kneading the flesh, lifting her
until he was supporting her with each thrust.

He slid a hand down between them and pushed hard on the center of
her desire, pinching it, rubbing it, smoothing back its little
hood until she clenched her muscles on him and screamed.

The feeling exploded over him.  He kept pushing harder until a 
moment later his own release came, and he kept looking in her
eyes.  First he whimpered then he shouted her name and then he
came with a rush inside her, her hips still rocking against his
as her insides clenched on him again and again and again, until
the sweet waves of pressure from her insides milked him of
everything.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
He  was still inside her, although much smaller now.  They were
laying back on the bed, they had been for awhile, in an
unidentifiable tumble of arms and legs.    Although she felt kind
of gooey she didn't feel like moving.  In fact, she didn't care
if she ever moved again.  If she squeezed her muscles very softly
she could feel him.

She stuck out her tongue and tasted his skin, licking the salty
sweat from the hollow of his neck.  Then she gave him another
little squeeze.

"Uhhh," Mulder said into her neck.  

He raised his head and brushed a curl gently back from her
forehead.  His concentration on it intense.  Then he looked back
into her eyes and smiled. 

"Scuh-lee," he said.  His mouth moving over her name in a gentle
caressing tone she'd never heard from him before, a smile in his
voice, a breaking sound of happiness that squeezed her chest. 
"We made love."

He sounded awestruck, amazed. 

My God, they'd made love to each other, finally.  Her hands
slipped around his forearms, feeling the skin, making sure he was
real.

She smiled at him, hopeful that maybe things were going to be
okay.

"It was about time," she said.

At the smile that lit up his face, her eyes filled suddenly with
tears.  She shut them tightly.  Her throat was full too.  She
opened her eyes and stared at him, scared.  

"Just don't let this be a dream," she said.

Mulder glanced around the hotel room, his expression startled.  
She kissed him to reassure herself.  He felt so real in her arms,
his skin, so warm against her, his warmth, her taste on his
mouth.  Her breasts against him.  He was still inside her, and
half-hard again at that.  He ground his hips against hers in a
now familiar rhythm.

"I'm real," he said and ground against her again.  She tried to
smile as she felt him growing inside her.  

His eyes tried to reassure her.  She looked into them deeply, the
large black pupils, the yellow ring, the grey irises.  Memorizing
every detail, willing the picture of his face to burn itself into
her mind.  Just in case.

"You're real," he said, and pushed into her a little harder. 

Yeah, he was real.

Languidly she pushed back, her eyes glued to his, her hands
finding his, then their fingers intertwined as they gently
pressed back and forth.  Softly, slowly, sweetly, drowning in
each others eyes, sinking, sliding, falling, in a bright slide of
love.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<




The end.

    Source: geocities.com/area51/hollow/8338

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