By Polly
Polly122456@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Feedback: Welcome and appreciated
Classification: MSR, post-episode, alternates
between Mulder/Scully POV
Spoilers: Post "Millennium" (Season 7), and small
references to lots of episodes
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Chris Carter
and 1013 Productions
Archive: Sure
Notes: Written for the Haven May Sick Fic Challenge;
elements at the end
Thanks: To Sybil for her always challenging
challenges, to Peg's Girl for her always helpful
assistance, and to all those who encourage me to
continue to write
Summary: Not an ending, but a beginning
* * * * * *
JANUARY 1, 2000
Mulder
"The world didn't end."
"No, it didn't."
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed in her
reaction. I was certainly hoping for a little more
enthusiasm. Of course, it's been a long time since
I've kissed a woman with the intention of eliciting a
little enthusiasm, so maybe I was out of practice.
I didn't expect the earth to end when I finally
kissed her. But I did expect it to move a little.
For her, I mean. It did move for me. Oh, yes.
There was definite movement. The kiss was chaste and
sweet and perfect for the moment. But apparently it
barely registered on the Scully Scale; she hardly
raised an eyebrow. Oh yeah, Mulder. You rocked her
world.
But she didn't slug me, so I suppose she had decided
to humor me. After all, kissing someone - anyone -
at the stroke of midnight as the old year passes into
the new is a time-honored tradition, and doing so
when one millennium passes into another (math geeks
notwithstanding) is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I'm sure Scully decided to go with the flow since she
is not one to buck tradition or to pass up once-in-a-
lifetime opportunities very often.
"Happy new year, Scully," I said, trying to hide my
frustration that the moment had been a lot more
significant for me than it seemed to be for her.
"Happy new year, Mulder."
We headed for the door as Auld Lang Syne played
quietly on the TV, and I slipped my good arm
nonchalantly around her shoulders as we walked. I
was buoyed by the fact that she didn't shrug it off,
but dismayed that she didn't put her arm around my
waist. It would have been such a natural thing to
do, especially since I was still a bit unsteady on my
feet. But she didn't.
I continued to feel sorry for myself all the way
across the parking lot, but I didn't remove my arm
until we stopped beside her car. I waited while she
unlocked the door, tossed the Maryland road map into
the back seat, and made the necessary mechanical
adjustments for my long legs.
I climbed in and sighed as she pulled the shoulder
belt across my chest, adjusting it slightly so it
wouldn't put pressure on my arm. She leaned across
me and fastened it securely, then placed her hand on
my knee and looked into my eyes. "Comfy?" she asked,
and I nodded.
Then she kissed me, so hard and so long that I
thought I might pass out from lack of oxygen. Her
tongue ventured so far into my mouth that I thought
she might be doing the exploratory for a
tonsillectomy. When she finally let me up for air, I
was eternally grateful that the seatbelt was
fastened. Otherwise, I would have slid into a
boneless puddle right onto the sedan's floor.
"Happy new year, Mulder," she said with a sly smile,
and gently nudged my damaged arm a little to the left
so the door wouldn't hit my elbow as she pushed it
shut. As I waited for her to get situated behind the
wheel, I knew that I was looking positively giddy.
She fastened her seat belt, took one look at my goofy
grin, shook her head, and started the car to head us
toward home.
The ride seemed as if it took no time at all, though
I'm sure Scully didn't feel that way. She'd had just
as little sleep as I'd had over the past two days,
and she was trying to keep one eye on me and one eye
on the road. New Year's revelers, some still
probably under the influence, were hitting the
highways in force and traffic was heavier than usual
for this time of the early morning.
I mostly dozed, but when I wasn't sleeping I was
replaying both kisses in super slow motion, providing
play-by-play commentary in my head. I should have
known that her reaction when I made my move at the
hospital was typical Scully, not wanting to put on
any display of affection in a public area like an ER
waiting room - even though we were the only two
people there. She wanted the moment to be private,
so she held back until we were alone, and then she
showed me how she really felt.
*Boy* did she show me.
I blinked groggily when the hum of the motor stopped
and tried to get my bearings. We were in Georgetown,
outside Scully's apartment building, and she was
unsnapping my seat belt and easing me out of the car.
I knew there was no point in protesting that she
should take me home, I could take care of myself,
yada, yada, yada, because it would fall on deaf ears.
And truth be known, I really didn't want to protest.
She *did* put her arm around my waist this time as
she guided me through the building and into her
apartment. I tried to sit down on the sofa when we
passed it, but her grip was strong and she kept me
moving toward her bedroom. Once there, she sat me
down on the edge of the bed and clicked on the table
lamp.
"First, your pain meds," she said, pulling several
prescription bottles out of her jacket pocket and
lining them up on the nightstand. She returned with
a glass of water before I barely registered that
she'd left my side.
"I thought they gave me a shot at the hospital." I
winced as she selected the correct bottle from the
line-up and shook two pills into my outstretched
palm. I hadn't noticed until now, but the arm was
beginning to throb a bit.
"That was just to take the edge off," Scully said,
taking the glass from my hand after I'd drained it.
"Enough to get you home comfortably. This is the
good stuff."
"Good stuff," I repeated as she removed my shoes,
socks, and watch and unsnapped the sling holding my
arm to ease my tee shirt over my head. She helped me
stand up for a minute as she turned back the
comforter and sheets, and then she held onto me with
one arm while she unbuttoned and unzipped my slacks.
"A dream come true," I said as we both watched them
drop unceremoniously to the floor. She gave me that
sure, fine, whatever look and then pushed me back to
lie down on the bed. The clock radio display read
2:04 a.m.
As she pulled the covers up over me, I managed a weak
protest. "Scully, I'll sleep on the couch. I don't
wanna kick you out of your bed."
"Who says I'm going anywhere?" She winked as she
turned off the lamp and I followed her silhouette as
she disappeared into the bathroom, returning a few
minutes later dressed in a pair of her trademark
satin pajamas.
I suppose my mouth was hanging open as she climbed
into the bed beside me, because she grabbed my chin
and closed it before planting her lips lightly on
mine. "Goodnight, Mulder." She snuggled close,
laying her head on my left shoulder and resting the
palm of her left hand over my heart.
I could feel the pain pills kicking in big time, but
that didn't stop me from snaking my hand under her
pajama top and working my way up toward the curve of
her breast.
"No, no," she scolded. "Not now. We'll have plenty
of time for that tomorrow."
"S'already tomorrow," I mumbled.
"Nice try," she whispered in my ear. "Tomorrow."
I couldn't suppress the yawn. "'M holding you to
that," I said, and drifted off with that same goofy
grin plastered on my face.
Scully was definitely a woman of her word. She woke
me a couple of times to make sure I took my
medication, and we both slept till noon. But after
that, the day was a blur of parades, bowl games, and
lazy lovemaking. I'm generally very touch oriented
when I make love to a woman, so the one-handed thing
was new for me, but I think I improvised pretty well.
Let me put it this way: I didn't hear any
complaints.
We ordered in Chinese and made love again before we
settled in for the night, and I drifted off
contentedly, not believing my good fortune at having
Dana Scully snuggled beside me for the second time in
one day. It was off to such a good start, that I was
convinced the year 2000 was going to be a very good
year.
* * * * * *
JANUARY 2, 2000
Scully
It's amazing how quickly you can get used to having
Fox Mulder in your bed. I murmured his name when I
woke up and didn't see his head on the pillow across
from mine, but when I reached over to touch the space
he had previously occupied and found the sheets
wringing wet, I screamed his name at the top of my
lungs.
It was then that I heard the retching coming from the
bathroom, and I was out of the bed like a shot. When
I snapped on the light, I couldn't believe it was the
same man with whom I had shared a passionate
afternoon and evening. He was slumped on the floor,
hanging on to the toilet for dear life, dry heaves
wracking his body. He was soaked in sweat, but when
I touched his cheek, he was burning up.
I quickly wet a washcloth and knelt on the floor next
to him, holding the cloth to his lips while I pushed
back the hair that was clinging to his forehead.
"Oh, Mulder, why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't want to wake you." He gasped for breath
holding his stomach as he heaved. Finally he was
able to speak again. "First I thought it was just
bad Chinese, but now I don't think so."
"I don't think so either, Mulder," I said as I
checked his pulse and his pupils. His heart was
racing.
As I started to unfasten the sling, he looked up at
me with those sad eyes that get me every time and
asked, "Do you think I'm allergic to you, Scully?"
That was my Mulder, joking in the face of adversity.
"No, I don't think so, Mulder," I responded. He
cried out when I touched the arm and that confirmed
my suspicions. "You sit tight. I'm gonna call for
an ambulance."
I knew it was bad when he didn't lodge a complaint.
When I got back from placing the 9-1-1 call, he was
passed out on the bathroom floor.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
By 5 a.m. they had moved him out of the ER and into a
regular room. I sat by his bedside, stroking his left
hand with my thumb while I watched him sleep. The
doctors assured me he would be fine, the infection in
his arm caught early enough to be treated with
systemic antibiotics and topical antiseptics. He
would need lots of bed rest and the wounds and
stitches would need to be cleaned and irrigated
regularly, but that was something I'd be able to do.
The doctors wanted to keep him for a few hours, but
said he'd be able to go home as soon as the fever
went down.
I had called Skinner to let him know about Mulder's
setback and he was genuinely concerned. He assured
me that Mulder would have all the time he needed to
recuperate, despite the recent drain on his sick
leave thanks to that damned artifact and all the
trouble it caused all of us.
I touched Mulder's forehead to assure myself that the
fever was indeed subsiding and he opened his eyes. I
smiled, glad to see that those beautiful hazel orbs
were much clearer and brighter than they had been a
few hours ago. He licked his lips and I raised the
bed slightly and spooned a few ice chips into his
mouth.
"No water for a little while, Mulder," I said, wiping
away some drops that had dribbled down his chin. "We
want to make sure your stomach is settled first."
"What happened?" His voice was barely above a
whisper.
"It was my fault." I gave him a few more ice chips
and set the cup and spoon back on the tray. "I
should have been checking your arm regularly for
signs of infection. But I was somewhat distracted."
He managed a soft chuckle.
"It's not funny, Mulder. You could have died."
"But what a way to go," he rasped.
It was my turn to laugh and I took his hand in mine
again, resuming the soft stroking of my thumb over
his knuckles. I knew that would eventually lull him
back to sleep.
We sat in silence for a few minutes and then he spoke
again, his voice a little stronger this time. "Is
that what was wrong? My arm was infected?"
"Infection was definitely beginning to set in," I
told him. "The doctors up at Rice County did a good
job of patching you up, but unfortunately there's not
exactly a conventional course of treatment for
someone who's been mauled by decaying corpses. Your
arm was pretty badly torn up, and the risk of
infection was high given that it's hard to tell what
kinds of bacteria those things might have passed
along to you."
He let go of my hand and reached up to trace the
scratches along my neck. "I'm fine, Mulder. These
are just superficial. I had a tetanus booster, just
in case." I guided his hand back down to the bed.
"Your arm looked a bit like ground hamburger when I
found you and Frank in that basement, but it really
did look worse than it was. Still, it's going to
take you a little while to get full mobility back,
especially to get recertified with your weapon. And
you're going to have to learn to use your left hand
for awhile."
"I always wanted to be a southpaw," he yawned.
"Well, I'm sure you'll be as good as new soon," I
said, checking his forehead again. Only slightly
warm now. "All in all, you were very lucky. Those
things could have killed you."
"Saved by my magic circle of salt." He smiled and
yawned again.
"And your necktie," I added. "If you hadn't made
that necktie tourniquet, you probably would have bled
to death before I got there."
"I always knew there was a reason I wore those things
..." His voice drifted off and soon he was snoring
softly. I continued to watch him until I was sure he
was sound asleep and then I leaned back in my chair,
pulling the blanket the nurse had provided up to my
chin.
The new year was barely two days old and we'd already
made two trips to the ER. I hoped this wasn't an
omen of things to come in the year 2000.
* * * * * *
JANUARY 3, 2000
Mulder
They finally released me from the hospital about 11
a.m. yesterday, and Scully hasn't let me "distract"
her once since then. And don't think I haven't
tried. She is absolutely focused on my recovery,
insisting on complete bed rest, arm elevated at all
times, no exertion. She makes sure I take my
medication exactly when it's due - not one minute
before, not one minute after.
We just finished lunch and I was preparing to settle
into the sofa for a Star Trek marathon when she
clicked off the TV and grabbed my hand. "Come on,
Mulder. Time to change the dressing on your arm."
"But Scully," I whined, "it's Star Trek. Captain
Kirk, Mr. Spock, the whole Enterprise gang."
"It'll be on all day, Mulder," she said, pulling me
along to our destination. Once there, she sat me
down on the edge of the bed, loosened the sling,
released my bandaged arm, and pulled off my tee
shirt.
"I think this was just an excuse to get me in the
bedroom." I waggled my eyebrows seductively, but she
wasn't biting.
"Lay back on the bed," she called to me over her
shoulder as she headed for the bathroom to gather up
the supplies she would need to change the bandage.
I complied and twiddled my thumbs until she returned.
The arm was a little tender, but it felt good to have
it out of confinement and to be assured that I could
flex my fingers without pain.
Scully returned quickly and spread her instruments
out on a towel she laid on the bed. When she started
to cut off the old bandage, I turned my head, not
really wanting to look at the lines of stitches that
were hidden beneath it.
"It looks much better today, Mulder," she said as she
cleaned around the stitches, applied the antiseptic,
and rebandaged the arm from wrist to elbow. I just
nodded, almost daring to sneak a peek but deciding
against it at the last moment. I didn't want to risk
barfing all over Scully's comforter.
"All done," she said, and bent over to kiss me on the
forehead before picking up the towel and returning to
the bathroom. I just lay there, basking in the
afterglow, glad that the physical displays of
affection were returning slowly but surely.
How lucky I am, I thought, to have a doctor who's a
dedicated professional one minute and a hot lover the
next. That only happens on soap operas. Sometimes
it seems like Scully and I live soap opera lives; we
have things happen to us week after week, month after
month, year after year that no one would believe
(like having your arm gnawed on by dead FBI agents,
for instance). "Like sands through the hourglass, so
are the days of our lives." Come to think of it, I
think Scully and I have gone through more trials and
tribulations than Bo and Hope Brady, the royal couple
of daytime drama.
Okay, so I got hooked on 'Days' while I was
recuperating from my unscheduled brain surgery. Sue
me.
* * * * * *
Scully
When I came out of the bathroom, he seemed lost in
thought. I don't think he even noticed that I'd
returned to the bedroom until I placed the items in
my arms onto the night table and turned to face him,
hands determinedly on my hips. He eyed me warily and
started to sit up.
"Stay right there, Mulder," I said, pushing the
sleeves of my sweatshirt up to my elbows. "While
you're in here, I'm going to give you a bath."
He laughed. "I'd rather take a shower. With you."
"I'm sure you would." I tried to muster up my most
disapproving face to hide the fact that I would like
nothing better as well. "But it's too risky. Even
with a plastic bag, the area might get too wet. I'm
afraid a sponge bath will have to do."
I reached down to slide his sweatpants over his hips
and he grabbed my wrist with his left hand. "Scully,
what are you doing?"
I pushed his hand away and deftly slid the pants down
his legs, dragging his boxers along with them. "Come
on, Mulder, I've never known you to be modest. Trust
me, neither one of us will die of embarrassment."
"Easy for you to say."
I tried to be as clinical as possible, talking about
anything and everything as I soaped, rinsed, and
patted dry every part of him, but it was hard to keep
my mind (and fingers) focused on the work. A girl
didn't get a chance like this every day, after all.
His beautiful body, stretched out on my bed, as naked
as the day he was born, vulnerable, trusting - and
silent.
I'd never known Fox Mulder to keep his mouth shut for
such an extended period of time; he was obviously
focusing all his concentration on avoiding any
unexpected reaction to my ministrations. Who would
have guessed the king of innuendo and the double
entendre could be so incredibly shy? It was sweet
and endearing, and it was thrilling to realize that I
could still learn something new about him after seven
years together. And of course, it would make great
fodder for some good-natured teasing later on. I
always relished the opportunity to be the one to
"dish it out" for a change.
"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" I asked as I
dropped clean sweatpants and boxers on the bed and
sat down beside him.
"A Nurse Nancy fantasy come to life."
I laughed and leaned over to kiss him, softly at
first but then with purpose. My hand rested on his
chest and I trailed my fingers through the coarse
hair and gently dragged one fingernail across a
nipple. That got a rise out of him, so to speak.
"Are you sure my HMO covers this?" he asked as he
tucked my hair behind my ear.
"It covers all services provided by your primary care
physician," I replied, placing a kiss on the tip of
his nose. "With a ten dollar co-pay, of course."
"I'll get my checkbook."
My head told me to stop this right now and get his
arm back in the sling, but my heart told me to ignore
my head and focus on alternative forms of treatment.
A half-hour or so couldn't really hurt, could it?
Okay, an hour, tops.
* * * * * *
JANUARY 4, 2000
Mulder
"Who's Daniel?"
Scully stopped in her tracks, like a deer caught in
the headlights of a two-ton truck. "What?"
"Daniel," I repeated, and held up the gold pen that
I'd found between the sofa cushions. "Who is he?"
She struggled to regain her composure and continued
her trek to the living room. She sat the bowls of
chips and salsa on the coffee table and took the pen
from my hand, rolling it between her fingers.
"I'd forgotten all about this," she said. "I
misplaced it a long time ago and then I forgot about
it. Where did you find it?"
"Down here," I replied, slipping my hand between the
cushions, then reaching for a chip. "So who's
Daniel?"
"Nobody. A friend." She went back to the kitchen
and returned a few minutes later with two glasses of
iced tea. "So what are we going to watch?"
She obviously forgot she was talking to Fox Mulder,
the man who knew why they put the "I" in "FBI."
"Must have been a pretty close friend to give you an
expensive gold pen for your birthday."
She looked at me in surprise. "The inscription," I
explained. "'To Dana, Love Daniel, 2/23/89'. Your
birthday."
"He was just somebody that I used to know," she said,
handing me the remote control. "I'll tell you about
him some other time. Anyway, I thought you wanted to
watch television."
I nodded and clicked on the TV. I'd let her win this
round, but I would find out about "Daniel"
eventually. I don't know why it always affects me
like this when I realize that Scully had a life
before she met me. Somehow I want to believe that
nothing and no one existed for her before that day in
1992 when she knocked on my office door and walked
into my life. In my mind, she sprouted there, full
grown, like the Goddess Athena, incredibly beautiful
and dressed in full body armor.
My melancholy faded and the thought of Daniel was
filed away when she snuggled against me and drew my
arm around her shoulder. I smiled and began to surf
through the channels one by one.
After a few minutes she grabbed the remote from my
hand and sat up straight. "Mulder, what the hell are
you doing?"
"Watching TV," I replied, trying to take back the
remote. When she wouldn't surrender it, I grabbed
another chip loaded with salsa.
"But you're not watching anything. You're just
flipping through the channels."
"That's how men watch TV, Scully." In her moment of
confusion I snatched the remote and pointed it at the
TV, happy to be clicking through the channels again.
"It's because we're hunters. Our most primal
instincts at work right here in the 21st century.
You wouldn't understand because you're a woman. A
gatherer. Men hunt, women gather."
"Come again?"
I stopped channel surfing for a moment while I
explained. "Since the beginning of time there has
been a basic difference between men and women, other
than the obvious I mean. Men are the hunters, women
are the gatherers. Men kill the game, women make the
nest. The way we watch TV just proves that things
are no different today."
The crossed arms and ascending eyebrow didn't even
slow me down.
"Men point the remote control at the TV like a
weapon, zapping the stations as they pass by. We
don't want to stop to examine the kill, we just want
to kill something else. Women go through the
channels slowly, stopping at each station to pick up
information before moving on. Hunters versus
gatherers. Get it?"
"That's a pretty sexist observation," she said,
grabbing a tortilla chip for herself, sans salsa.
I just shrugged and continued to click. "Hey, I
didn't invent it. I just follow the rules."
"I've never known you to follow the rules for
anything." She caught me at a weak moment and
grabbed the remote out of my hand. "Well, let's just
*gather* some information and decide what we want to
watch, okay?"
"Okay," I answered, holding my bandaged arm with the
other and sticking my bottom lip out as far as it
would go. "Whatever you say."
She rolled her eyes and dropped the remote in my lap.
"All right, but let's compromise. Zap slowly so I
can at least get a look at the *kill* to see if it's
worth *gathering*."
I grinned from ear to ear. There wasn't a woman
alive who could resist the Mulder Puppy Dog Pout. I
raised my trusty remote and took aim.
Jerry Springer - no.
CNN - no.
Friends - no.
Championship billiards - no.
Leave It to Beaver - no.
Martha Stewart - no.
ER - definitely no.
NCAA cheerleader championships - maybe.
"I'm getting dizzy," Scully said from her spot beside
me on the sofa. She had her head against my
shoulder, her legs were tucked up underneath her, and
she was absently stroking my thigh. Since I had no
desire to lose that contact, I decided to slow down.
I paused on the next click to allow her time to
gather information. It was the movie "Speed," and
Keanu was getting his morning coffee just before
Dennis Hopper blows up the bus as a message to
Keanu's character, Jack.
"Today, we've secretly replaced Keanu's grand latte
with Folger's crystals," I said in my best Tom Servo
imitation.
"Wow, 'Mystery Science Theater', live and in person."
I turned my head and stared at her. "Be still my
heart. Scully, don't tell me you're a Mistie?"
"Oh, I've been known to watch a bad movie or two in
the name of mystery science." She winked at me. "And
I've seen enough of this one. It brings back too
many bad memories of you in a car that could only go
in one direction. Zap on."
I hadn't thought of Patrick Crump in ages. I sighed
and shook off the memory. I didn't want anything to
spoil this evening. Scully had to go back to work
tomorrow, at least for part of the day, so this dream
world I'd been living in for four days was about to
come to an end.
"Your wish is my command," I said, pushing the
channel button on the remote again. "Look Scully,
I'm getting pretty good with my left hand."
"I don't think that's the kind of therapy the doctor
had in mind." She reached for another chip. "Oh,
stop. It's 'M*A*S*H*'."
I stopped zapping again to watch Hawkeye and B.J.
concoct a prank to play on Frank Burns. "Hey,
Scully, did you know that the 'M*A*S*H*' theme song
is 'Suicide is Painless'?"
My endless supply of useless information was
obviously not impressing her. So I tried another
tactic. "Okay, Scully, pop quiz. Trapper John
McIntyre or B.J. Hunnicutt?"
"Trapper John."
"Henry Blake or Sherman Potter?"
"Henry Blake."
"Frank Burns or Charles Winchester?"
"Frank Burns."
I smiled broadly. "'Mystery Science Theater,' a
'M*A*S*H*' purist. You know, Scully, it's still not
too late to start picking out those china patterns."
She ignored me as always. "I never really watch much
TV when I'm home," she said, "but 'M*A*S*H*' seems to
be one of those shows that's always on. Sort of like
'I Love Lucy.' No matter what city we're in, no
matter what time of the day or night we get there,
you flip on the TV and 'M*A*S*H*' or 'I Love Lucy' is
on. We're usually wrapped up in such horrific cases
that I always just look for something to make me
laugh. That's why I like the early years of
'M*A*S*H*.' Before it got too preachy, too
moralizing. I liked it better when it was just
funny."
It felt wonderful sitting here listening as she
revealed little bits and pieces of herself. It was a
new experience and I liked it. I was about to tell
her so when she placed her thumb over mine on the
remote and clicked to the next channel, reminding me
that she was not your average gatherer.
I laughed and clicked a few more times, then stopped
when I spotted Tom Hanks and John Candy on the
screen. "Hey, it's 'Volunteers'." I dropped the
remote on the coffee table (reminding myself that I
wasn't your average hunter either) and took a long
swig of iced tea. "Have you ever seen this movie,
Scully?"
"I don't think so." She yawned and slipped her head
into my lap, circling her arms around my knees.
"What's it about?"
I ran my fingers through her hair as I spoke. "Tom
Hanks is this spoiled playboy who has to flee the
country to escape his gambling debts. He sneaks on
this plane that's filled with Peace Corps volunteers
on their way to Thailand to build a bridge for a
village. But being more of a capitalist than an
altruist he starts finding ways to turn a profit and
begins to improve the conditions around him, much to
the chagrin of the idealists who volunteered to make
the world a better place in a different way. He
eventually learns a lot about himself and changes his
ways."
"What makes him do that?" she asked sleepily.
"The love of a good woman," I answered quickly. "You
know, Tom Hanks met his wife while he was making this
movie. I think there's a huge lesson to be learned
there."
She looked up at me. "What's that?"
"That sometimes people who work together are destined
to be together, no matter how hard they try to deny
it."
She sat up, wiggled into my lap (being careful of my
injury, of course), and put her arms around my neck.
She kissed me sweetly and chastely, nearly a carbon
copy of the kiss we had shared at the stroke of
midnight just a few days ago, when one millennium
slipped into another.
"I'm really glad you kissed me at New Year's," she
said, her fingernails tickling the hair on the back
of my neck.
The goofy grin was in danger of returning. "Me too."
"And I'm really glad that the world didn't end." The
light from the TV was flickering in her beautiful
blue eyes, making them sparkle more than usual.
"Me too," I agreed, with thoughts of giving her a
carbon copy of the second kiss we'd shared that night
dancing in my head.
"So many people were afraid that the year 2000 meant
the end of everything," Scully said. "But for us,
it's a new beginning, isn't it?"
I just nodded and she hugged me tight (still being
careful of my arm). She tugged my earlobe between
her teeth and then whispered in my ear. "Happy New
Millennium, Mulder."
"I thought you said the Millennium didn't start until
2001?" I whispered back, filling my nostrils with the
glorious mixture of soap, shampoo, and just a dab of
Chanel No. 5 that was Eau de Scully.
"Nobody likes a math geek, Mulder." She began to
blaze a trail of kisses down my jawline, and I knew
where those lips would eventually end up. Lucky me.
I *was* a lucky man. For the first time in a long
time I had a good feeling about the year that lay
ahead. A new year, a new millennium. And Scully was
right: A new beginning.
THE END
* * * * * *
Elements:
Sick Fic - one character caring for another
Finding something you didn't know was lost (or you
forgot about)
Hope
Volunteers or volunteering
Mystery Science Theater
Suicide