by Pam Gamble
eksphyl@yahoo.com

CLASSIFICATION:MSR
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY:  Scully attempts to deal with her jealousy of the other woman
in Mulder's life--and it's not who you might think.
TIMELINE: 5th season, before "The End"
DISCLAIMER:  Poetry, quotes, and characters all used without
permission. Although, for all the money I've spent, you'd think CC
would give me a little piece of them!!
DEDICATION:  This story is dedicated to all the residents of
Smutville, especially to Kasey for her encouragement, and Laura, for
editing and for helping me dress-and undress Mulder. Thank you both
for everything you did.
ARCHIVE:  Sure. Fine. Whatever.
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You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then
And we'll leave it far and far away--
(Only you and I--understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and--
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart--
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I'll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

--e.e. cummings
 
 

Enough (1/4)

     She was standing on a diving platform. Up so high.  So high, she
couldn't even bring herself to look down at the water below.  But she
could sense that this was no placid pool.  Dark churning waves awaited
her fragile body, ready to crush her within their swirling torrents.
She could sense the living creatures whose survival depended on her
demise.

She moved closer to the edge.

The atmosphere around her had become dry, threatening; blue-grey
clouds gathered overhead. The entire universe seemed to be beating out
a warning:
<don'tdon'tdon'tdon't>
Her heart was pounding in her chest, a staccato
rhythm<don'tdon'tdon'tdon't>

Yet she took another step toward the edge.

She felt her teeth chattering. She felt fear seize her stomach like a
living creature seeking her last shred of common sense.

Now her body was in harmony with nature, all of these elements
combining in a cacophonous chorus that made her ears ring, her head
rush, the blood pounding through her veins <don'tdon'tdon'tdon't>

And she turned away, ready to climb down from her precipice.

Then she heard his voice.

Over the riotous noise she heard two clear words.

"Jump, Dana."

No promise of salvation, no reassurance. Just, "Jump, Dana."

"Why??" she screamed to be heard.

"To find her."

And she closed her eyes.

And she jumped.
 

1:43am
     Dana Scully gasped and sat up in bed, as her eyes flew open.
     "Not again," she moaned.
     For the third night in a row, Scully swung her feet over the edge
of the bed, pulled her white robe around her shoulders, and padded
into the kitchen.  She gulped down a glass of cold water, making a
vain attempt to slow her breathing. Still in the dark, she sat down at
her kitchen table.  She could still recall the panic she had felt in
her dream. At least this dream had been different from the others.

Mortal fear she could deal with, had dealt with. Too many times. But
for a woman who insisted on running her life by her own rules, her
reaction to Mulder's words, to Mulder, was even more frightening.

How many times had she followed him on some wild goose chase, risking
her own life in the process? Was there nothing more important to her
than his quest? She had so many scars; some of them were visible. Why
would she do that to herself?

To earn his respect?
She had that. Probably since their first case together.

To save the X-Files?
That seemed to be beyond their control anyway.

Why then? Where--when would she stop?

When had she come to feel like a pawn in his game? Pawns could be
sacrificed; the game still won.

When would it be enough? Would he push her over the edge? Was she
strong enough to survive?

Would he be there if she did?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

8:25 a.m.
FBI headquarters

Scully left Skinner's office and stepped into the elevator, watching
as several other agents pressed the number for their respective
floors:3, 5, 8. Scully stabbed her finger at the button marked 'B' and
tried to pretend she didn't notice the amused smiles of the other
agents. Riding the last three floors down alone, Scully's 'bad mood'
mutated into 'kicking-puppies evil'.
     "Assholes", she muttered to herself as she shoved open the door
to Mulder's office.
     "Good morning to you, too, Scully."
     Scully glanced over at her partner. He had his back to her,
rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. Finally locating his
small nugget of gold in that treasure trove of oddities, he lifted out
the file and placed it with a loud smack on her desk.

     "Christ, Mulder, can't I get a cup of coffee first?" She
instantly regretted her tone, but told herself it was due to lack of
sleep. <Mulder *never* sleeps and he's always chipper in the morning>
scolded the voice in her head.

Long ago, Dana had assumed people who heard little voices in their
head were insane.  As she got older, she amended that to anyone who
*answered* those little voices.

Having worked on the X-Files with Fox Mulder for five years, she had
given up on the notion of defining sanity, let alone claiming any for
herself. "Who am I to challenge anyone else's mental state?" she
thought ruefully.

     "Sorry, Scully, I just thought we should get a head start on this
one." Mulder was staring at the floor as he spoke, clearly
uncomfortable and evading Scully's high-power glare. But Scully had
enough bad mood to share with the rest of the class.

    "How long have you been here anyway? Don't you sleep like the rest
of us?"

Like a lighthouse beam cutting through the mist, Scully's words
belatedly reached the part of her brain that governed speech. She
jerked her head up, as though hearing her own voice for the first
time, only to see the pained expression in Mulder's eyes.

"No, I don't."

His words were without emotion. He set his jaw and turned from her,
walking out of the room.

With a sigh Scully let her head flop down onto her desk, earning her a
bruise on the forehead, which she felt she deserved for her bitchy
little performance.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered to the tabletop. Surprisingly
accepting of humility, office furniture was.

     Sighing, she sat up and began to look over the file, absently
wondering where Mulder had gone to cool off. She didn't expect him
back for a while, although her Mulder-radar told her he hadn't gone
too far. Even so, it startled her when he came back through the
doorway about 10 minutes later to set a steaming mug of coffee on her
desk.

     "Thanks," she said sheepishly, her face burning with shame.

     Mulder raised his hands in surrender, and quietly retreated to
his desk. He propped up his feet and waited in silence until she had
read over the file and looked over at him. He simply raised his
eyebrows at her.
     "Permission to speak, Agent Scully?"

She felt her face burn again, and nodded her assent.

"Man in California convicted of purchasing the services of a hooker,
kidnapping her, and releasing her on his ranch, in the middle of about
50 acres of forest. He tracked her down, hunted her down like an
animal. Shot her twice in the back."
     Scully examined the crime scene photos, nodding as he spoke.
     "Dale Edwin Cahill was arrested last year, charged with
kidnapping and murder one."
     "But how is this an X-..." Scully's words trailed off as she
looked up at her partner, and saw The Look in his eyes.  <I *must* be
out of it not to have noticed that before now> she realized. The
fresh, raw pain she was so familiar with she felt she had experienced
it with him; as though his grief had become a sentient being who stood
between them, pushing away as it simultaneously cried out to be
embraced.
     Mulder stood and silently dropped a photo on her desk. Standard
issue police mug shot. A woman, early to mid-30's.  Heavy makeup,
frizzy brown hair. Unremarkable in itself, except to Scully, who
looked at the photo through Mulder's eyes...

And saw Samantha.

"Mulder, you don't know..."
"No, Scully, I don't and neither do you." Mulder gritted his teeth and
began to pace the room. "It *could* have been her. She could have been
taken, abused, abandoned. I don't *know*.  What kind of person did she
become? What kind of life does she have? I don't *know*. Is she still
alive? I don't *know*. Did anyone love her?" His voice cracked as he
stopped suddenly, and kneeled down in from of Scully, staring into her
eyes, now blurry with tears.
"I don't know, Scully," he whispered. He placed a hand on the photo.
"And it's killing me."

Scully closed her eyes and sighed, feeling the edge of a diving
platform, cold and hard beneath her toes.

"I know, Mulder. So when do we leave?"

And she jumped.
 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
 
 

8:34 P.M.
Somewhere in California

    Driving down the dark interstate highway, Mulder laughed to
himself as he gently braked the rental car in response to the
furiously blinking headlights of the oncoming traffic.
    "Scully, have you ever noticed that people who wouldn't go out of
their way to save someone dying on the side of the road will do
everything in their power to save total strangers from getting a
speeding ticket?"
    A slight gasp emanated from the darkness of the passenger seat.
     "Why, Agent Mulder, I do believe you've become cynical." Scully
smirked and turned to look at her partner. His facial features were
illuminated by the harsh greeenish glow of the dashboard, giving him
an other-worldly quality.
 

Mulder sighed in relief as he stared at the taillights of the Volvo in
front of him. 'She seems to be in a better mood', he thought. He had
no idea what had set her off this morning, except maybe lack of sleep.
Yes, he had noticed the bags under her eyes; but he had also known his
partner long enough to know that she was the guest at the masquerade
who didn't want to be unmasked just yet. She needed her privacy, a
part of herself to hold as her own. So many other things had been
taken from her, he couldn't take that, too. But it was only an
illusion. Because Mulder could read all her signals. And he was afraid
if she knew that, she would bolt like a frightened animal no longer
convinced of the safety of its camouflage.
She would leave.
 The FBI.
 The X-Files.
 Him.
And he couldn't take that chance. So he had perfected his blank stare,
which he wore while trying to decide whether to react to what his
partner *said*--or  to what she meant.

Those rare times when she had opened up to him, let him see her true
feelings, he felt closer to her than ever then. And he wanted so badly
for her to be able to open up to him. He craved her honesty, her faith
in him. Mulder knew that if the day ever came when she laid her soul
bare before him and said, "Here, the good parts, the bad parts, this
is all me. Do you want it? Is it enough for you?"; that day he would
love her completely. But until she could trust him enough to do that,
he knew he couldn't really have her heart.

     And he didn't want Dana Scully.

     Unless he had *all* of her.

    "Scully, I know you were really looking forward to petitioning the
court for the exhumation of the body, but I thought we'd check the
newspaper archives tomorrow, see if any relatives turned up that we
could question."
    "That's up to you, Mulder, but it seems like a waste of time. The
girl was a runaway, probably from another state, her family may still
not know she's dead."

Mulder's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I hope not. Do you
know how it would feel to hold out hope for so long and then..."

Scully reached over to put a hand gently on his shoulder. "I can
imagine what it must be like", she said softly.

Something about proximity in darkness inspires honesty.  Like a church
confessional, the disconnectedness creates a feeling of talking to
oneself, a heart-to-heart with your own conscience. In Mulder's case,
that wasn't too far from the truth.

     "Y'know, Scully, I've lain awake many nights in the past 20 years
trying to imagine what Sam's life was like, what she was doing right
at that moment. If we find out that this is...was...if she..." He
paused and Scully was silent, knowing he needed to say this. "At least
if that smoking bastard raised her--if that *was* her--at least she
was happy. Alive and happy. Part of me wants to prove the bastard
wrong, and part of me hopes he was telling the truth."

Scully nodded, knowing he was aware of her movements. None of this was
a surprise to her. When he'd driven her home from the hospital, he'd
told her about his meeting with Samantha. He'd sat at her kitchen
table, tears streaming down his face, as he told her how she'd begged
him to let her go, how the smoking man had caressed her face. Scully
had stood with her hands on his shoulders. When he was done, he'd
turned sideways in the chair and she'd held him for the longest time,
until the sobs stopped quaking through his body.

Sometimes she could see that the pain had dulled, only to have the
wound ripped open again. It was then that the tears would come.

She knew that Mulder wanted to believe; there were just so many truths
to choose from.

    "Mulder, you didn't choose what happened to her. You didn't cause
it. You were a little boy."
    "But Sam didn't choose it either, Scully."
    "No, of course not. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Mulder looked at her with an ironic smile, fresh tears glistening in
his beautiful green eyes. He took her left hand and held it on the
seat between them.

    "I know you don't, Scully," he sighed. "I know you don't."
 

Even after five years, Scully was still overwhelmed by Mulder's total
devotion to his search for his sister.  Ironically, while his search
was what had brought them together, it was also the very thing that
kept them apart.

So many times Scully had wanted to open up to him. Would have loved to
fall into his arms at the end of a hard day, to show him her fear or
her sadness, or hell, her happiness for that matter. But something
always held her back.

She had lied to Mulder.

When she'd returned from her weekend with Ed. It *had* been about him,
sort of. She'd needed to be enough for a man. Any man. And she found
that she could be. Except that she couldn't be happy with just any
man. Not anymore.

But she also knew that she couldn't have Mulder either.  Not until he
had found his sister. Her abduction had left a hole in him that no one
else could fill.

So Scully held back, not wanting to show him how much she cared. Not
wanting to force him to make a choice.

Because she didn't want Fox Mulder.

Unless she had *all* of him.

So she went back to the nine-to-five grind of beating her head against
the wall and stuffing her libido in her sock drawer with her vibrator.
 Because if being close to him physically was the best she could do,
then she couldn't do anything to jeopardize their partnership. And if
it occasionally meant that she saw him with other women, she'd never
really felt threatened.

She knew they wouldn't be enough either.

Only one person could complete Fox Mulder. And the thought of her
total rejection had almost destroyed him.

So that is why Dana Scully found herself disturbingly hoping to find a
broken clavicle bone on the ME's table tomorrow.

Maybe then she could begin to be enough.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

9:34p.m.
Sleepy-tyme Inn

Idly flipping channels in her hotel room, Scully wondered when Mulder
was going to be out of the shower.  She'd wanted to go over their
itinerary for tomorrow and then get some sleep; but she could still
hear the pipes rattling through the thin plaster walls.

'Finally', she thought, as the water shut off.  A few minutes later
there was a knock at the connecting door and Mulder came in toweling
off his hair.  He was wearing a faded denim button-down and grey
boxers. She knew he'd probably sleep in just the underwear, but they
tried to maintain some semblance of decency when they were on the road.

Scully tried to ignore her body's response to Mulder's damp, musky
smell, his tousled hair.  He reminded her of a little boy ready for
bedtime.  That was the only one of her thoughts concerning him that
was maternal. <Dana!! Snap out of it!! Now, get to work. Remember work?>

     "So what's the plan for tomorrow, Scully?"

     "Well, you may as well go question the local sheriff, see if
there's anyone who can tell you anything useful. I suppose I'll be at
the courthouse, filling out forms. And if I get *really* lucky, I'll
be examining the body tomorrow evening."

     "Contain your excitement, Scully," snapped Mulder. "Sorry this
case isn't fascinating enough to keep your attention. If you want I
can go drag up a good old-fashioned fluke boy or something."

Scully sighed loudly.  "I'm sorry Mulder. I just--I haven't been
sleeping well and I know that's no excuse. I know how much this means
to you. It means a lot to me too."

Mulder's peevish expression quickly turned to one of concern, making
Scully feel even worse. "Why haven't you been sleeping? Nightmares?"

Scully nodded. "I think my hypnosis triggered something. Nothing
definite, just images really, feelings". She wasn't ready to tell him
about the other dream yet.

Mulder sat down beside her on the bed. "Scully, do you think you, I
mean, would you remember, if you'd, seen her? Or someone who looked
like her? While you were--away? You could have been in the same place
she was. Maybe someone mentioned her name."

Almost since he'd met her, Mulder had used her two names to
differentiate between personal talk and office talk. Mulder's mistake,
he would later realize, was that he thought he was talking to Scully.

But it was Dana who answered.

     "I don't know," she said thoughtfully.  "There's just so much I'm
unsure of," she looked at him.  "I'm sorry."

"You know, the doctor said that maybe the memories are too frightening
for you. That you feel threatened by them and..."

"Are you saying I don't want to remember where I was for *3 months*?"
Scully knew she was shouting but didn't care. "To remember the people
who gave me cancer so I could see them punished?"

Mulder was lost somewhere inside himself, his voice distant. "No, I'm
not saying that. I just think that if you realized how much this meant
to me, you might try a little harder to remember something." He sighed
loudly.  "Can you just think, maybe a face, a voice, something,
anything..."

Dana recognized the look on his face. It was the same look her father
had had when Melissa told him she had quit college. The same look Ahab
gave her when she'd told him she had joined the FBI. <A Scully can do
better than that> Scully could feel the insecurities that had been
swirling around her subconscious since the burnings on the bridge
begin to multiply like the cancerous cells that had so recently
invaded her body.

The feeling that he had been disappointed at her returning with no
memory of what happened (again, no information useful to his quest.

The feeling that, given a choice, he would have wanted Samantha back
instead.

The feeling that her relatively short absence was somehow an affront
to Samantha's longer one.

If there was one thing a Scully hated, it was not quite measuring up.

And whether it was from that anxiety, the insecurity, lack of sleep,
jet lag, raging hormones, or a combination of all of those, Dana
Scully finally did the one thing she had vowed to never do in front of
her partner:

She lost it.

Tears began to well in her eyes.  She lowered her head so that he
wouldn't see. When she spoke, it was in a small voice, that not only
belied her tears, but exposed her heart.

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

Mulder looked down at his hands, willing them to do something
appropriate. Finally, his right hand ran up and down her arm, coming
to rest on her shoulder.

    "It's okay, Scully. When you're ready we can do more hypnosis."

Her head shook, hair swinging out to brush lightly over his hand. She
rose to walk away from him.  She was tired. Tired of holding up both
ends of a silent conversation. Someone needed to fill in the blanks.

     "No, Mulder. I'm sorry for coming back when she didn't. I'm sorry
that she's still gone. I'm sorry that there is this gigantic hole in
your life that no one can fill. I'm sorry that the person you need
most isn't here with you. I wish I could do something to get her back
for you. I..."  Her head snapped up. "Dammit, Mulder! I'm *here*!!
What's wrong with*me*?" Scully sank down in the chair and let her head
fall into her hands, sobbing. Her voice was small now, as though she
had regressed into childhood.

    "I just can't compete with her anymore."

Mulder stood, astonished. Not at her words, but at the catharsis of
emotion he had just witnessed. Scully was always on such an even keel.
He knew that what she'd said had been extracted from the depths of her
soul. And that it had hurt her, much more than it hurt him.

     "Oh, Scully," he moaned, reaching down to stroke her hair. He
kneeled in front of her and spoke firmly to her still-bowed head. "I
know you're here. You give me strength every day. You're a part of
me." He took her hand from her face and placed it over his heart. "The
best part."

Scully looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Her wet cheeks quivered,
and she jerked quickly away from him, ran through the connecting door,
and locked it behind her.
 
 

Enough Part 2
by Pam Gamble

For disclaimers, see Part 1

Mulder could actually feel himself going into shock. Each word out of
her mouth was like a razor blade cutting into his conscience. He
thought he knew everything about her; he hadn't known this.

'This is what I've done to her. This is what I've reduced her to. How
could she think...?'

<Because you *told* her, you asshole> said the voice in his head. And
he had, hadn't he? In a thousand ways. Many times. He had explained to
her how important it was to find Sam, how it was the *only* thing that
mattered.

And it was.

Then.

But now...

Like the ghost of an infant that enters its mother's vision when she
beholds her grown child, Mulder could never look at Scully without
remembering what she had been when he met her.

New.

Innocent.

Naive.

So many things had happened to them in the course of his search. And
what did he do? Kept dragging her back for more. Hell, sometimes she
jumped in with both feet. Why? Why did she keep coming back to this
job, to this life with him...

Him.

The thought alone shook his brain, made him dizzy. He sat down hard.

Him.

She did all this for *him*.

Without reservation. And he had hurt her. Had seen her hurt. So many
times.

She had never asked for his sympathy. Wanted his comfort only once or
twice. She had endured so much pain. And for what? Not for some grand
belief in this noble cause.

But for him.

All those times she had defied her superiors, risked her career with
the Bureau, he had admired her strength, her determination to complete
what they had begun.

No matter what.

No matter who lived, who died, who fell along the way.

And when their search had been detoured by the Bureau, he had seen
that look in her eyes that told him they were wasting time, there were
truths to be found.

And sitting in that cheap motel room, Fox Mulder, a man with three
degrees and a reputation for brilliance, realized just how
staggeringly stupid he really was.

He *had* read all her signals.

He had just read them all wrong.

Now he had to tell her that.  And maybe she would forgive him.

If it wasn't already too late.
 

Mulder waited a few minutes, then knocked on the narrow door. "Scully?
Please let me in. I want to talk about this, please?" He turned to
walk away from the door, then heard the lock snap behind him. Mulder
took a deep breath and turned the knob.

Scully was standing with her back to the window, arms folded. He sat
on the edge of the bed, bracing himself for her prepared statement.

"I'm sorry, Mulder, for falling apart like this on a case. Without
proper rest my body is reacting inappropriately to stress and..."

"Scully, don't," his tone quieted her instantly. She read his
expression and her face crumbled as she sank down on the bed beside
him sobbing. He rubbed her back as she cried, finally pulling her body
into his chest and holding her until she calmed down.

She looked up at him hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I want you to
know I understand if you want me off this case."

Mulder took her face in his hands and looked in her eyes. "Scully," he
looked at her in wonder. "Why would I...?"

"Maybe because I just told you I'm jealous of your kid sister," she
replied with a harsh laugh. "Maybe I should get a psych evaluation
when we get home."

"Scully, let's not waste my Oxford education. Why don't I just apply
my professional expertise, save us some time?" Mulder picked up her
hand and began to study it carefully.

"What *are* you doing?" she asked in a weary voice.

He flashed her a quick goofy grin. "Reading your palm."

Scully rolled her eyes and tried to pull her hand away but he held her
wrist, running a finger across her palm. She sighed, "Okay, doc, am I
certifiable?"

"Hmmm, it says here you are the only partner I would ever work
with."<Can I take this chance, or will it mean losing her forever?>
"And this line over here, says that you need me." Seeing the fear in
her eyes, Mulder held his own hand up in front of her face. "And see
this line here?" He traced his finger down his own palm. "It says I
need you too." He placed his hand on top of hers, fingertip to
fingertip. The lines he had indicated were now touching.  Folding
their fingers together, he whispered in her ear, "Must be fate. I love
you, Scully."

Mulder gently pressed his lips to hers, tasting the saline-sweet tears
that were coursing down her face. His tongue softly licked them away
as it searched for entrance into her mouth. Scully's lips parted,
moving to surround his and caress them with her own. Mulder's arms
slid down her arms slowly, winding around her back to pull her closer
into him. Scully lifted her left leg up into his lap to press herself
closer into him. His body responded immediately, and he pulled her
tightly against him. Her stocking foot slid further around to rest
above his hip, so that she was sitting in his lap. Mulder's fingers
ran up and down her sides. Tightening on her hips, he pushed her away
for a moment to catch his breath.

"Mulder..." she looked at him questioningly. He had never seen her
look so amazing. Her eyes were wild and feverish, her cheeks flushed,
her lips swollen and open, inviting him in.

Mulder put both hands on her shoulders and began to press her back,
following to lay beside her on the bed. As one hand stroked her flat
stomach, the other stroked through her hair. "I love you, Scully. For
a long time now."

"Why didn't you ever tell me before?" she asked as her hands began
their long-awaited exploration of Mulder's body.

"I was afraid you would leave me. I still am. But I couldn't let you
go on thinking I didn't care about you." Mulder stopped talking
because he had found a much more enjoyable use for his lips.

Suddenly Scully jerked her head up. "Skinner."

Mulder shook his head impatiently. "No, Scully," he pointed at his own
face, "me-Mulder. Can't you tell us apart yet? I'm the one with hair."
Mulder went back to kissing her shoulder.

"No, Mulder, I mean if he <gasp> finds out he'll separate uuusssss..."
Scully bit down on her lip as Mulder's fingers explored.

He paused for just a second to whisper in her ear. "Well, I wasn't
planning on showing Skinner the home movies, although *video* is an
appealing thought." His hands moved between her thighs and he was
pleasantly surprised at what his voice had done to her.

"I just think we need to be, ahhh, totally pro-professional at work,
that's all. You don't know how many male agents look at me like I'm
Bachelorette Number Three. I don't want to be just your girlfriend."

He looked intently into her eyes. "You've never been 'just' anything
to me, Scully. And if you don't know that, I've really screwed up
somewhere."

Scully was still hesitant. "Mulder, I want this...want you.

"Do I sense a 'but'?" he smiled at her.

"But," Scully said with an evil grin as  she squeezed his firm rear,
"I need to know what this is to you--sex, or love?"

Mulder's hands stopped. He knew her analytical mind would need solid
proof. He sat up smoothly and Scully propped herself up on her elbows.
He straddled her, running one fingertip from her collar, straight down
until he reached her waist.  Then he spoke, softly, honestly.  "Well,
Agent Scully," he unbuttoned her skirt, "*this* is about sex."

His voice lowered to a whisper.

"All those times you put up with me calling you at 3am, every time
your voice was the last thing I heard before I went to sleep..."

His finger deftly pulled her blouse free from the waistband, and moved
to unfasten the lowest button.

"That was about love."

"When you risked your job and your life to rescue me, in Puerto Rico,
and in a hundred little towns.."

Scully lay completely still, her body taut and aware of his every
movement; her mind reeling with his words.

"That was about love."

His hands moved up to unfasten the next button.

"When you went through 'unofficial channels' to drag my frozen ass out
of the arctic and were the first thing I saw when I woke up..."

Scully's mind was reeling. She should have known that Mulder's
photographic memory would have stored and catalogued these things; she
just didn't think he gave a damn.

"That was about love."

Mulder's fingers teased the next button, which lay just above the
cleave of her breast, still warm from his touch minutes before.

"When you were so close to dying, and fought to come back to me--not
once, but twice--I tried to make myself worthy of the life you had
chosen."

The small ivory disc slipped free of the buttonhole as tears filled
his eyes.

"And that *is* love, Scully. All of it. All of you."

Oh God, all these times she thought he took her for granted. When all
she wanted was a simple 'Hey, Scully, thanks for saving my ass!' But,
Mulder had stored them all away in his heart, and now he was gently
and graciously handing all of that love back to her.

And so much more.

"Please don't hate me for not realizing it before, Scully.  But I do
love you."

Mulder slipped the last button free. "You see," he said as he slowly
pushed open her blouse to reveal her body, "before I met you, Samantha
was my life. *Finding her* was my life. She was all I had. The only
person who ever loved me."  He reached down to take her hand as she
lay flat, eyes searching his.

"But now, Samantha is my mission, my quest. I still love her."  Mulder
lowered his face until it was just a breath away from hers.

But *you* are my life."

Tears welled in Scully's eyes at the same time the passion overwhelmed
her. She clutched Mulder's head and pulled it down to her own, kissing
his beautiful mouth and pressing her chest against his. The teasing
her body had endured during his revelation had driven her internal
temperature up to boiling, and she couldn't stand one more second away
from his body.

Mulder managed to unstrap her bra clasp and his lips traveled down her
body to suck on the taut pink nipples. Scully moaned and twisted
underneath him, wanting his lips and hands everywhere at once.

Her hands ran eagerly through his hair, then in desperation for the
touch of his skin ripped off his shirt, sending buttons flying. Her
fingers danced over his chest, memorizing every part of him, every
angle, every surface. She felt his back muscles flex beneath her hands
as his arms slowly pushed her skirt down over her legs, taking her
hose and underwear with them in one smooth motion. Mulder's hands them
moved between her legs, where they proceeded to give Dana a new
definition for the term "Magic Fingers".

As Scully's body arched, her muscles clenched around his fingers and
she screamed his name, silenced only by his lips once again on hers.
His wet fingers now stroked her thighs, almost roughly. Scully had
never felt such a physical *need* for anyone in her life. She wanted
him inside her, and she knew that was where he wanted to be. Her hand
reached down to grasp him, and stroke him firmly as she moved herself
beneath him.  She could feel the warm damp spot that had already
formed on the front of the boxers. She shoved them down out of the way
to get at what she needed. She rubbed her palm over his tip, and he
moaned, throwing his head back. A lock of hair fell into his eyes, and
Scully felt another surge of desperate need."

"God, I want you. Now, Mulder. Please," she panted.

Mulder's dark eyes looked deeply into hers as he plunged into her.
Their bodies seemed to recall this motion, this emotion, from some
long-forgotten past, and soon neither could tell where one ended and
the other began. Their rhythm was an echo of the perfect cycles of
nature, each giving, each taking, until they spun into orbit, clinging
to each other, spinning, spinning, and finally falling softly back to
earth.

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

The smell of her hair.

That's what woke him.

The smell of her hair.

He inhaled deeply as his eyes blinked open, his heaving chest causing
Scully to stir in her sleep. He lifted her shoulders and rolled her
off him and onto the mattress. Scully's eyes half-opened and he leaned
down to kiss her.

"Go back to sleep, I'll be right back."

"'Kay," she smiled at him and closed her eyes.

Mulder returned to the hotel half an hour later, carrying a brown
paper bag. Opening the door, he found Scully sitting up in bed,
watching the news.

"What's that?"

"Breakfast," he announced, sitting Indian-style on the bed beside her.
"Coffee," he handed her two white styrofoam cups, "and bagels. With
*real* cream cheese." He smiled and kissed her.

"Thank you," she said and leaned her head onto his shoulder as she
ate. Mulder thought he might explode from happiness. And that wasn't
usually an emotion he had an excess of, so his body wasn't sure where
to store it. He felt it bubble up into his throat, until all he could
do--was laugh.

Scully looked at him, slightly confused. "What's so funny, Mulder?"

"Us, I guess. Me. I don't know." He smiled down at her and ran his
hand through her hair. "You know how sometimes you go looking for your
glasses, and you search the entire house, under the sofa cushions, in
your pockets, in the car. And then someone comes along and says, "Hey
Einstein, they're on your head."

Scully smothered her instant reaction to the thought of Mulder in his
glasses. "Yeah..."

Mulder brushed the hair away from her sleep-softened face. "Sometimes
what you're looking for, searching for your whole life, is right there
in front of you."

Following some after-breakfast 'consorting', Scully came out of the
bathroom, her hair still wet, face flushed from the heat of the
shower. Mulder looked up from his spot on the bed to see that she was
wearing her white flannel robe.

"Hey Scully," he said with a leer. "Want me to check you for mosquito
bites?" The hairbrush missed his head by an inch, but Scully's body
hit him full-force, knocking him backward onto the bed. Sitting on top
of him, she smiled wickedly down at him.

"I don't know, Agent Mulder. How thorough can you be?"

"Pretty *damn* thorough, g-woman." He rested his hands on her hips,
taking all of this in with amazement. Mulder Jr. was having his own
reaction, but Mulder told him to cool it for a while.

Scully settled onto the bed beside her partner, and kissed him.
"Mulder, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"What really made you think this might be your sister?"

Her eyes followed Mulder as he walked over and picked up the file.
Sitting on the end of the bed with his back to Scully, he opened it
and stared at the mug shot.

"Her eyes."

"Her eyes?"

"Yeah. Something about her eyes. Could just be that 'lost little girl'
look that some women have. Women whose lives haven't turned out the
way they'd hoped. But there's just something about her eyes."

Scully moved to sit behind him on her knees, her small hands on his
strong shoulders.

"When you came back," he began again, "when they brought you back to
me." She felt him begin to shake.  "The doctors, somebody, had taped
your eyes shut. They said they do that with coma patients sometimes.
When I came to see you, they were like that." She could feel him
crying, his chest heaving.

"And I couldn't see your eyes, Scully. All I wanted to do was look
into your eyes, to know you were there, that you were okay, and I
couldn't see..." He dropped the photo and turned to take her face in
his hands. "I can take anything the world throws at me, if I can just
look into your eyes. That's where I feel safe. Trusted. It's where
things make sense."

Scully was crying again.  With a clarity she had never known,
something suddenly made sense. <Eyes...his eyes.>

"I swear Scully. If you looked me in the eye and told me that this was
all too much, too much pain for you, I would walk away from it today.
I'd follow you anywhere. I need your strength, your spirit, and..."

"Samantha," Scully interrupted.

"What?" he whispered.

"You need Samantha." She pulled his head into her chest and held him
tightly. "You need her to complete you. To fill the hole in your heart."

"But I almost threw away the best thing that ever happened to me to
find her. And I won't take the chance of losing you again."

"Mulder," she tilted his face to hers. "Do you know what I see when I
look into *your* eyes?"

He shook his head slowly.

She smiled through her tears. "I see this angry, scared little boy who
thinks the whole world is against him. Who feels like a failure
because of something that wasn't even his fault." She ran a soft hand
over his cheek. "Who needs someone to love him and tell him that
everything is going to be alright."

He reached up to take her hands, as she slid down to sit beside him.

"*I* love the man you have become." She reached up to brush the hair
from his face. "But I'm not the one who can heal that little boy." She
shook her head sadly and kissed his forehead. "You need her." She
kissed his lips. "We need her."

Mulder reached down to pick up the picture again.
"And if it isn't her?"

"Then we keep looking. Together."

He pulled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head.

"I need you, Scully. You have no idea..." He looked at her face then,
and wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks as they lay back on the bed.
Somehow her tears seemed much more intimate than the other things they
had experienced together that night. Sex just gave him her body; tears
gave him her soul.

"I love you, Mulder," she said, running her hands over his chest.

"You're the only one who does, Scully," he said quietly, seriously.

There was a slight hesitation in her voice, and she glanced away for
just a second.

"Am I enough?"

Mulder pulled her down on top of him, holding her head tightly to his
chest for a moment. Releasing her, he let her look into his eyes,
knowing it was the only way she would believe him.

"You're everything, Scully. Everything."
 
 

The End
 
 

"The end of understanding is not to prove and find reasons, but to
know and believe."

                                  -Thomas Carlyle
 
 

Please let me know what you think!!!
 

_________________________________________________________
 
 
 

From: Pam Gamble <eksphyl@yahoo.com>
Date: Mon, 17 Aug 1998 15:49:15 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Indiscreet Part 1
 
 
 

Indiscreet
Part 1 of 3
by Pam Gamble
eksphyl@yahoo.com
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY:  Sequel to Enough. Mulder and Scully are together, but
discreet (hence the title!); until something happens to Scully that
threatens her life and their relationship.
NOTE: You should probably read Enough first, so you'll know what's
going on at the beginning.
CATEGORY: MSR, XA, loads of Mulderangst
DISCLAIMER:  Are you kidding? If they belonged to me they'd have had
sex by now!
ARCHIVE: Sure. Fine. Whatever.
This one is dedicated to Laurie, who asked for it!
 
 

In your eyes
I see the doorway
To a thousand churches
The resolution
To all the fruitless searches.
-"In Your Eyes"
Peter Gabriel

10:41 a.m.

"So you'll let me know as soon as you know something, right?"

Exasperated, Scully crossed the dingy hotel room to stand in front of
her partner. As usual, she had to look up at him to look him in the
eye. "Yes, Mulder. As soon as I know. Trust me." She was fumbling with
the clasp of her necklace, and her partner took her shoulders and
turned her around. He finally snapped it into place, and turned her
back to face him.

Mulder opened his mouth to say something, then abruptly changed his
mind and began to stalk around the room. "So you'll call me later?"

"Mulder, that's the fourth time you've asked me the same question."
She rubbed her hand over her face. "Just let me do my job and you do
yours."

"Sorry, Scully." He stopped pacing and braced himself against the
wall. "I just, just don't want you to..." He sighed. "I want you to
tell me the truth, not what you think I want to hear."

Scully's eyes shone with laughter. "Mulder, when have I *ever* in five
years told you *anything* because it was what you wanted to hear?"

Mulder lowered his head. Turning to her, he smiled. "Guess no one
could accuse you of being my yes-man, huh?"

Scully shook her head. As she lifted her briefcase off the dresser,
she asked, "So why would this be any different?"

Shifting his weight, he nodded toward the still unmade bed. "I guess I
thought...since we...you might..."

Scully once again walked up to her partner, reaching up to pull his
face down to hers. "Mulder," she smiled but her tone was serious.
"Just because I enjoy using your ass for recreational purposes doesn't
mean I'd be afraid to kick it if you got out of line." She kissed him
quickly then turned toward the door. As she reached for the doorknob,
she turned. "Good sex doesn't take away a woman's backbone, Mulder."

" *Good* sex?"

She sensed his anxiety. Knew he was trying to stall her from where
they both knew she needed to go. She smiled at him.

"Amazing sex. Goodbye, Mulder."

He nodded at her, then sat down to wait for the sheriff's car which
was coming to pick him up.

Since he'd slept with his partner, he found he only needed her more.
She'd already been such an integral part of his life, and now she was
an intimate one, too.
He found himself wanting her to stay until his car arrived, wanting
her to go with him. Even though he knew she had her own appointments
to keep.

<I am so pathetic.>

He didn't want to smother her, but he didn't know how to keep from
being, well...

<clingy>

<That's what I am, clingy.>

But he didn't know how to stop wanting her.

And he didn't know how to stop needing her.

He wasn't sure he could turn it on and off the way she seemed to be
able to.

And he was afraid that if he couldn't figure out a way to control it,
his neediness would consume them both.

A knock at the door interrupted Mulder's little pity party. He quickly
glanced in the mirror.
"Yep, still *look* like a big, macho, professional, gun-totin, G-Man,"
he said quietly to his reflection.

Looking down at the dresser, he noticed Scully's hairbrush, and felt
his heart melt at the thought of her. He looked up at his reflection
again.

"You are soooo pathetic."
 

2:07 p.m.
Office of the
County Medical Examiner

Scully placed the photos and notes in her briefcase, then thanked the
medical examiner for his cooperation. He was very gracious, and she
was vaguely aware that he was flirting with her. She smiled
dismissively and walked outside. Stepping out of the building, Scully
put on her sunglasses and then pulled her cell phone from her pocket.
She pressed the number one, wondering vaguely how her mother would
feel about being number two on her daughter's speed-dial.

<What she doesn't know won't hurt her>

After two rings, Scully heard the familiar voice in her ear. "Yeah?"

"Mulder, it's me."

"So what have we got?"

"Two plane tickets home, Mulder."

He exhaled loudly. "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." She sensed he couldn't really talk. Only she could
read the vulnerability in his guarded tone.

"I'll meet you at the airport with the bags, alright?"

"Sure."

"Mulder?"

"Yeah."

"We'll find her."

"Thanks, Scully."

The line went dead, and Scully called information to get the number
for the airline.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
 

On the plane ride home, the two agents had been assigned seats in
separate rows. After some initial protests and pouting from Mulder,
Scully finally convinced him to just get on the damn plane.

She had only been seated for five minutes when Mulder came back and
whispered something to the older man beside her. The man listened for
a second, then turned to smile at Scully as he vacated the seat.
Mulder sat down, stretching out in his seat.

Scully stared at him, bewildered.

"Mulder, what did you say to him?"

"That you had a rare communicable disease and were highly contagious."

Scully folded her arms in disgust and looked away.

"You didn't," she looked back at him, trying to catch his eye.

The smile appeared in his eyes before it crept down to his mouth. "No,
I didn't. I told him that I thought you were very beautiful and that I
just wanted to sit next to you for a couple of hours." He shrugged.
"See if I could get lucky."

She covered her eyes with her hand. "Mulder, what am I going to do
with you?"

"I have some suggestions."

The stewardess was explaining how to use your seat cushion as a
flotation device. Scully was positive she could recite this speech
word-for-word she'd heard it so many times.

"Are you okay?"

Mulder nodded.

Scully rested her hand over his.

"No, I mean *really*."

He nodded again. "I'm relieved that her life didn't end that way." He
ran a hand through his hair. "It was a longshot."

Scully drew his chin around so that he faced her.

"So were we."

She felt her heart constrict as he gave her that smile, the one he
saved just for her.

"I'm really okay."

He leaned forward to kiss her, then pulled back abruptly.

"We need to talk about this."

Now Scully was afraid her heart would stop altogether. Was he having
second thoughts? What was she, a conquest?

"How, um, public do you think we can be?" He twined his fingers
through hers, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Oh," she said with obvious relief. She leaned back in her chair to
think for a moment, still very much aware of the touch of his hand.

"I think," she said slowly, "we should be okay as long as we keep it
out of the office." She turned to him. His eyes were full of doubt.

"You don't think they'll do something to separate us?"

Scully thought for a second. "Mulder, they've already tried that so
many times. I don't think they are as concerned with the *degree* of
our relationship, just at its existence. Honestly, I think if they are
going to do something, they'll attack both of us together."

"Scully, you're such a romantic," he deadpanned.

"But we should probably be...discreet. At least for a while."

"Discreet. I can do that," he nodded. He then proceeded to nail her to
the seat with his tongue, cutting off her oxygen for a full thirty
seconds.

Gasping for air, she looked into his best lecherous grin. "Discreet,"
he said, "starting..." he checked his watch, "now". He plucked the
airline magazine from the pocket before him and settled back to read.

Beside him his partner was still sucking for air. She stared at him.
He was doing his best to appear nonchalant.

<Don't start things you can't finish, Spooky.>

Scully trailed her hand up the inside of his thigh. Leaning over she
breathed into his ear, "Or we could start when we get back to D.C." He
looked up just in time to see her lick her lips.

<Oh, God>

His entire body stood at attention at that one little movement. "I..."
he croaked.
 

"No, you're right." She sat back in the seat, a smug smile on her
face. "Better safe than sorry." Whipping out her glasses, she pulled
out a notepad and began making notes to herself.

Mulder let out a long sigh. He wasn't sure right now whether to kiss
her or throttle her.  What he was sure of, though, was that he had
something to take care of, with or without her.

Scully stifled a laugh as her partner rose awkwardly and made his way
to the restroom. <Poor guy. That wasn't very nice, Dana.>

Mulder was just unzipping his pants when he heard a knock at the door.
<Read the sign, moron> "It's occupied."

Being an atheist he couldn't really compare her voice with the angels
in heaven, but right now...

"Honey, you forgot your pills," Scully stage-whispered through the
locked door. The door opened slightly and she stepped inside,
oblivious to the stares of the few passengers who were paying them any
attention. <I'll never see these people again, anyway>

She locked the door and turned to him. Mulder's expression was
priceless. She laughed in spite of herself. Sheepishly, he looked
down. Pants around his ankles, erection tenting his boxers. "Well, I
would have dressed but I wasn't expecting company."

In the tiny cubicle, Scully did something to Mulder that good little
Catholic girls were never taught to do on their knees.  When she
exited the bathroom, Scully casually strolled back to her seat.

Mulder exited a moment later with a wide, relaxed grin on his face.
Making his way down the narrow aisle, he felt a hand grab his arm. He
looked down into the rapt face of the man he'd switched seats with.

"Buddy, you work fast."

Watching from her seat, Scully was well into turning her sixth shade
of red when Mulder returned. He chuckled at the look on her face.
Resigned, Scully sighed.

"Five years. I waited five years and a total stranger now thinks I'm a
slut."

Mulder wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "No, he doesn't. That's our
little secret."

"So much for discretion," she muttered, throwing an arm over his
chest. Leaning against his shoulder, she closed her eyes.

Mulder reclined his seat (a whopping 5 inches) and closed his eyes,
too. "Hey, Scully."

"Hmmmm..."

"Know anybody who'd want some slightly used videos?"

Scully raised one eyebrow over her closed eyes. <How does she *do*
that?> "They don't bother me, if that's what you're asking."

Mulder looked down at her, wide-eyed in amazement. "Dana." She opened
her eyes. "Nothing I've ever seen on those tapes can do what you just
did to me."

Scully blushed, then closed her eyes again. "I never understood what
you saw in those things anyway."

Mulder stroked her cheek and pulled her closer to him. "Neither do I."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Through some amazing airline phenomena, none of the bags which had
swirled around the luggage carousel for the last twenty minutes seemed
to belong to anyone on their flight. Tired of waiting, Scully had
picked up a copy of Time at the newsstand. She chatted with the clerk
for a moment, then sat down in a chair in the broad hallway near the
payphones.

Mulder's method of passing the time was to chew sunflower seeds and
pace in a semi-circle around Scully. She tried not to notice the track
he was wearing in the linoleum. Not looking up, she commented,
"Mulder, you're making me dizzy. Why don't you just piss in a circle
around me to mark your territory and get it over with?"

To his credit, Mulder feigned ignorance. He looked around as if just
noticing for the first time that day that there were other men on the
planet. "I don't know what you're talking about, Scully."

"Like hell," she muttered. But amusement crept into her tone, mostly
at herself for knowing him so well.

Mulder settled down on the vinyl chair beside her. "Besides," he
drawled, "I have a gun. Much classier than pissing in a circle."

Scully chuckled in spite of herself. She laid the magazine in her lap
and looked over at him. "Murder-or castration?" she asked lightly.

Mulder folded his arms and answered in a smug voice. "I'm a fair man.
They can choose."

"Not much of a choice. Not too many men I know would want to live
without their manhood."

"Nah, Scully. Frohike has managed for all these years."  He smiled.

Scully rolled up her magazine and whacked him on the arm. "I'm going
to tell him you said that."

"He probably already knows. Didn't I tell you my boxers actually
contain a listening device?"

Scully smiled. "Oh, is *that* what that is? And I thought you were
just happy to see me."

Mulder turned to look at her then. "Always," he said seriously.

Funny how their conversations hadn't really changed. They'd always
been full of sexual innuendo. But now they had to put up or shut up.

Or put out. Whatever.

He could still make her blush. But it wasn't always from discomfort
anymore.

She met his gaze. "I know." She felt that in some ways
he was still trying to prove himself to her, to quell the doubts she'd
expressed last night <Jesus, was that last night?> She couldn't seem
to find a way to reassure him. She wanted him to be as sure of her as
she now was of him. She just couldn't find the right words.

Finally exiting the terminal with their bags the two walked to a
waiting cab. Scully started to direct the driver to her house, but
Mulder nudged her. "Actually, could you show us the monuments? We
heard they're really pretty at night." He leaned into Scully's ear.
"Discretion starts tomorrow."

While our country's great alabaster memorials slid by the windows,
Mulder and Scully found some points of interest that definitely
weren't in the guidebook.

Finally dropping Scully off, he watched her work the lock, then turn
to smile at him. He grinned, and settled back for his ride home. The
cabbie, wide-eyed but silent to this point, now laughed and turned to
his passenger. "You the lucky man, yes?" he said in broken English.

Mulder smiled. "My friend, you have *absolutely* no idea."

Rajid went back to the dispatcher that night with a 50-dollar tip.

And a story to tell.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Work wasn't as hard as they'd thought it would be. Neither of them
would have felt comfortable pawing each other in the elevator. And
they were always aware of the possibility of surveillance, so during
the day things were business as usual in the basement.

But the nights...

Mornings were the worst. Early mornings.

5:30a.m.
Scully residence

The mechanical beeping startled Mulder awake, and his hand flailed in
the air, mercifully hitting the snooze button. Letting his eyes become
accustomed to the darkness, he squinted back over his shoulder. In the
pale light that filtered through the blinds, he could see her sleeping
face. She was smiling. Part of him hated to wake her, but he couldn't
leave without saying goodbye. <You are *so* whipped.>

Pushing her hair from her face, he spoke in a gentle voice. "Scully?
Scully...I have to go now."

Scully moaned a protest and swung her arm out to capture his body in
her grasp. Her eyes blinked open and she stared at his face through a
sleepy haze. "Mmm, don't..."

Mulder couldn't resist kissing her lips. Her mouth tried desperately
to follow him as he pulled away.

"I have to," he said softly.

"I know," she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep. "I hate
this." Her hand ran up and down his thigh. "I just never seem to get
enough of you."

Mulder smiled. "I know the feeling." He stood and dressed, staring
longingly at her body adorned in the white sheet. "Think you could
wear that into the office?"

Scully's eyes closed again and she smiled, mumbling something
incoherent into the pillow.

"What?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed to tie his
sneakers.

"I said," she popped up over his shoulder, "only if it will get you to
do more paperwork."

Mulder turned to kiss her again, his hands running over her face. "I
don't work well when I'm distracted."

Scully let her hands run down his sweats, running her fingers between
his legs. With an innocent pout, she asked, "Do I distract you, Agent
Mulder?"

Nearly speechless with desire, Mulder shook his head. "Scully, I have
to go."

Scully fell back on the bed, and listened to him call a cab. She
sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "I feel like we're having an
affair."

"Not quite what you expected?" he asked nervously.

Scully turned to look at him. "I'm a big girl. We knew what we were
getting into."

"Doesn't make it any easier," he said from the doorway of her bedroom.
"I'll see you at work."

Scully rolled over on her stomach. <Not what I expected>

She had long ago given up the Cinderella dreams. The games she used to
play with Melissa. One of them would be the princess and they would
force Charlie to be the prince. So he would wear the aluminum foil
crown and get down on one knee and put the plastic slipper on
Melissa's foot. Dana hadn't enjoyed the game that much-she'd rather
have been out playing army men with Bill. But once he'd reached the
age where she was just a "stupid little sister", he didn't have time
or patience for her anymore. In a way it was a good thing; she and
Melissa had developed a closeness they would share until her death.
But it also showed Scully the ways they were different.

Melissa fully believed that one day her knight in shining armor would
whisk her away.

She grinned at the thought of Mulder in armor.

No, it wasn't quite what she'd expected.

Her whole life wasn't exactly what she'd expected.

Screw fairy tales.

Hell, she cut up dead bodies for a living-how glamourous was that? She
couldn't remember any fairy tale where the prince came upon the
princess kneeling in the forest, elbow deep in someone's thoracic
cavity.

<Jesus, Dana, don't start writing children's books anytime soon.>

She smiled to herself.

Realizing she wasn't going back to sleep, she got out of bed and
headed toward the shower.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Their lives fell into an odd sort of routine. They worked, they went
home, snuck over to each other's homes, checked for bugs, had dinner,
rented a movie, and went to sleep. They had decided not to risk going
out. Sometimes they brought work home with them, but mostly they kept
their personal lives personal. They talked. Now that Mulder realized
that he couldn't *always* read her mind, he wanted to know her opinion
on everything. And except for the fact that they never went out and
were being targeted by a shadow government conspiracy, their lives
felt fairly normal.

That should have been their first warning.
 

From: Pam Gamble <eksphyl@yahoo.com>
Date: Tue, 11 Aug 1998 16:10:57 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Indiscreet Part 2
 

Indiscreet Part 2
by Pam Gamble
See Part 1 for disclaimers
 

Sometimes Mulder still couldn't believe this was all happening. That
this woman could love him so much with all his faults. He kept waiting
for her to come to his senses. To realize that she could do so much
better. To tell him that nothing he could do could make up for the way
he'd treated her before.

But she stayed.

She had even helped him clean his apartment one weekend, and if that
wasn't love, he didn't know what was. True to his word, he really had
disposed of all his videos. When she'd asked him, he told her he'd
taken them to the gunmen's office. "Frohike practically cried."

She'd lifted her eyebrows. "From happiness?"

"Uh, no," he'd stammered. "He, kind of, figured, I wouldn't be giving
them to him unless..."

"Oh." She pursed her lips. " So the guys know," she stated.

"Yeah." He looked down at the floor. "You okay with that?"

She nodded. "But you don't think they'll do anything perverted with
all their surveillance equipment, do you?"

Mulder's head flew up, his eyes open wide. "Aw, shit."

She had laughed in exasperation as Mulder had trashed the apartment
they'd just cleaned, searching for bugs and cameras.

They'd fallen asleep that night curled up on his couch.

But tonight, they were at Scully's place.

And all hell was about to break loose.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder felt the mattress shift as she got out of the bed. He lazily
watched her walk into the bathroom, squinting as she turned on the
light. He'd almost gone back to sleep, when he heard the sound of
drawers being pulled open. "Scully?" He sat up. She was getting dressed.

"Scully-what the hell? It's," he glanced at her clock. "Almost 4 in
the morning."

She pulled on a pair of slacks.  "I have to go."

Mulder clicked on the bedside lamp. "Go where?"

She didn't answer him.

"Scully-go where? Did I do something?"

She pulled the shirt over her head and he noticed the blank look in
her eyes. He got up out of the bed, and shook her gently. <Maybe she's
sleepwalking>  "Scully, can you hear me? *Answer* me, Dana!!" His
voice was tense now. She wasn't responding to him at all. He may as
well not have even been in the room.

"I have to go," she repeated dully.

Mulder shook her, harder this time. She worked her way from his grasp,
and crossed the room to put on her shoes. Mulder grabbed her
shoulders, turning her to him. He forced her face up to look at his.
Her eyes didn't focus. "Scully!" he shouted. His hand dragged through
her hair, landing on the back of her neck.

The back of her neck.

It was so hot.

He felt her forehead. Cool.

"Shit."

The implant.

The bridge.

The bodies.

"I have to go," she stated firmly in that monotone that was now giving
him chills.

"No, Scully. Dammit, listen to me! You can't go anywhere, Scully!"

She was trying to get away from him with a vaguely confused look on
her face. Then her head jerked up, and she reached for her gun on the
dresser.

With a quick sweep of his arm, he knocked the weapon off into the
floor. He was trying not to hurt her, but could already see th
beginnings of bruises on her arms.

He reached for her cuffs, and had one around her wrist, when her leg
swept out to knock him off his feet.

He landed with a heavy thud against the dresser.

"I have to go."

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his skull, he launched himself from the
floor to tackle her ankles. Her shoe crunched down on his face, and he
cried out, still blindly reaching for her. Rolling over on the floor,
his eyes lit on her gun still laying on the floor. A thousand
arguments flew through his head at once.

<I can't shoot her>
<If I don't, she'll die>
<If I do, she might die>
<I don't know where>

She was picking up her car keys in the living room now.

Reluctantly he abandoned the gun. <I just can't shoot her. Even to
save her life>

It wasn't a big revelation.

He'd always known she was stronger than he was.

His one advantage was that she really didn't seem to be aware of his
presence unless he was touching her.

As she walked down the hallway to her front door, Mulder leaped on
her, shoving her up against the wall. Pinning her by the throat with
one arm, his free hand fumbled for the cuff still dangling from her
wrist. Quickly he clipped it around the radiator in the hall.

He backed away from her, and she once again moved toward the door. Her
breath was raspy, and he worried he'd injured her windpipe. The cuffs
clanked against the metal of the radiator and she desperately pulled
at her hand, trying to free herself.

Mulder backed up to the wall, and slid down to the floor. He reached
up to feel a tear running down his face.

"Oh, Scully."

She was pulling as hard as she could against the cuffs. He could see
her wrist beginning to chafe already.

"I have to go."

Her hand flew to the back of her neck and she cried out in pain.
"Scully," he whispered, resting his head on his knees. "What have they
done to you?"

Fiercely tugging at her restraints, she changed tactics and pressed
her feet against the wall, trying to push her body away.

Tears streamed down his face. When she'd had cancer, she had been so
determined to live.

And now, she seemed so determined to die.

<No>, he thought, <someone *else* was so determined to see her die.>

Reluctantly, Mulder got to his feet. He was limping, had a pounding
headache, and he would have one hell of a black eye in the morning.

But she would *not* leave this apartment.

Returning to the bedroom, he picked up her gun from the floor,
automatically checking to see that it was loaded.

<Shoot her, Mulder. She shot you. I read it in her file.
NO!>
He couldn't do it.

But to save her life--not to end it. Maybe then, he could.

He hesitated for a moment, but the thought of all those bodies burned
beyond recognition removed any doubt from his mind.

Checking quickly to see that she was still involved in a futile
attempt to remove herself from the cuffs, he grabbed her car keys and
threw them under the bed. At least if she did get away, she'd have to
walk.

He looked down at the gun in his hand. He didn't plan on letting her
get as far as the car.

Positioning himself at the end of the hallway, he clicked the safety
off.

"Scully, can you hear me?"

She didn't respond.

"I love you, Scully. I don't want to hurt you. Please hear me."

He began to think she was going to break her wrist.

"Let her go!!" he screamed in rage.

Taking a deep breath, he began to try and decide where he would shoot
her if he had to.

She had shot him in the shoulder. In her condition he wasn't even sure
a bullet *would* stop her. He had to hit her in the legs, so she
couldn't walk. Lower leg. Avoid the femoral artery.

Mulder slammed his fist into the wall. He knew that if at any time in
the future his dedication to killing these assholes waivered, he would
think of this moment.

His beautiful, amazing, brilliant partner trying desperately to wander
off to certain death, while he sat half-naked in the hallway trying to
figure out the optimal location to put a bullet into her incredible
body.

He could see blood dripping from her wrist now. She grunted with the
exertion of trying to escape.

Then she stopped.

Mulder watched in horror as she moaned, clawing at her neck. Her nails
left bloody red scratches in their wake as she slumped to the floor.
Her eyes rolled back in her head. Then she fell limply against the
wall, and her eyes closed. "I have to go," she muttered.

"Scully?"

Nothing.

"Scully?"

He was afraid to touch her, knowing he could only protect her from a
distance right now.

But he wanted to.

Frustration built up within him and he punched his fist through the
wall.

Mulder added 'possibly broken hand' to his running inventory of
injuries.

She hadn't moved in a while, but he wasn't taking any chances. He
would not take off the cuffs until she was cognizant. She could just
sleep there. Anything was better than her dying with the others...

<The others>

Mulder walked quickly to the phone, dialing the A.D. at home. Skinner
answered the phone as though he hadn't been asleep. Mulder quickly
explained the situation, telling Skinner to expect another cult
suicide in the morning.

The words were barely out of his mouth when he realized what he'd
done. What they may have given up. To save the others.

"Agent Mulder, what were *you* doing there at 4am?"

Mulder was silent. He wouldn't insult this man by lying.

Skinner sighed.

"Do you have any idea where she was going?"

"No."

"I'll put the word out, but I'm not sure there is anything we can do
at this point."

"Yes, sir."

There was a long pause. <He's going to separate us. We've been so
careful. This isn't fair>

"Agent Mulder, do you remember what I told you at the Senate hearing
after you returned from Russia?"

The line went dead.

Mulder thought for a moment, then smiled.

<If you explain it to me, I'll have to explain it to them>

Skinner wasn't going to say anything.

As long as they were careful.

With a sigh of relief he returned to his post in the hallway.

He'd almost lost her. But now they had one less thing to worry about.
 

From: Pam Gamble <eksphyl@yahoo.com>
Date: Tue, 11 Aug 1998 16:04:32 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Indiscreet Part 3
 
 

Indiscreet
Part 3
by Pam Gamble
See Part 1 for disclaimers
My sincere apologies to the Foo Fighters for kind of ripping off their
song.
 

6am

She was cold.

Mulder must have taken all the blankets. She reached over, but found
she couldn't move her hand. Her eyes opened slowly and her head
scratched up against the...wall? She looked down at her hand. Pain
shot through her arm as she moved it.

<I am handcuffed.>

She glanced around.

<To my own radiator.>

Her free hand rose to her throat. It was sore, like someone had been
choking her. Then the finger-shaped bruises on her arm caught her eye.
She looked at the other arm.

<Yep, it matches.>

Had she walked in on someone in this-condition-her first thought would
have been 'rough sex'. She searched her memory, but was reasonably
sure she hadn't had *any* kind of sex last night.

And when had she put on these clothes? And where was Mulder? <Oh God
is he hurt is he dead did someone break in why don't I remember?>

"Mulder!"

"Scully?"

The voice had come from behind her. She twisted on the floor. Her
partner sat in the floor, bleary-eyed, wearing only his boxers.

Holding her gun.

<Curiouser and curiouser>

"Must have been some party. Sorry I missed it."

He looked at her hesitantly. "You can hear me?"

<Bizarre. My life is bizarre.>

"Of course I can hear you Mulder," she spoke slowly. "Did you sleep
last night?" She moved toward him but remembered the handcuffs. "Ow.
Can you...?" She jerked her head toward the captive wrist.

Mulder stood, sort of. She was afraid he was going to fall over. He
seemed to be limping. He disappeared into the bedroom and came back
with the key. Kneeling beside her, he inserted the key and twisted.
Scully was rubbing her wrist when she was suddenly enveloped in her
partner's arms. He crushed her to him and she felt hot tears dripping
onto her skin. He rocked her back and forth like a child. She heard
the gun clatter to the floor.

She looked up at his face, and ran her fingers over the purple bruise
on his forehead. "What happened to you?"

He kissed her eyes. "Oh, Scullly." His lips moved down to kiss the
sore place on her neck. His hands moved to the bruises on her arms.
"Oh, Scully. I am so sorry." He looked in her eyes. "I didn't want to
hurt you. I tried not to."

Scully swallowed hard. "*You* did this to me?" she asked, disbelieving.

He nodded. "You don't remember." It was a statement, not a question.

She shook her head slowly, eyes wide. "No, but I think you need to
tell me."

He got to his feet, pulling her with him. "I'll get dressed. Can you
make some coffee? I'm going to need it."

Confused, Scully wandered into her kitchen. She quickly bandaged her
wrist, then joined Mulder on the sofa. She handed him a cold washcloth
for his eye, and waited for him to speak.

"They called you again. Like that time in Pennsylvania."

Scully felt the blood drain from her face.

"You got out of bed, got dressed. You couldn't hear me. I don't think
you saw me. It was like I was invisible." He took a long gulp of
coffee. He was relating the facts like a witness to a crime, she
thought absently. There was a faraway look in his eyes, and she knew
he was watching it all again. "I tried to stop you. You were sort of,
defending yourself." He rubbed the bruise on his head.

Realization was dawning on her. "I did that?"

He nodded. "I think you were going to shoot me. Not me, really, just
anything or anyone who tried to stop you. You kept saying, "I have to
go." He looked at her. "Do you remember any of this?"

She shook her head. "I was talking to you?"

He nodded again. "You were talking, but not really to me. Like I said,
you didn't seem to know I was there. I kind of tackled you and cuffed
you to the radiator." His long fingers wrapped around her wrist. His
lips twisted into a grimace. "You tried so hard to get away from me."
His eyes filled with tears. He couldn't look at her when he said it.
"I was afraid...I was ready," he said more firmly, "to shoot you. To
keep you from going."

Scully ran a finger over the bruise on his head. "I did this to you,"
she said quietly.

He nodded again. "Yes." She saw the intense pain in his eyes and could
only imagine what his delicate psyche had been through last night.
"And *I* did this." He kissed her neck. "And this." He kissed the
bruises on her arms. "And I am so, so sorry." He dropped his head into
his hands.

Scully lifted his face to her own, kissing him fiercely on the lips.
Then she gently shook his shoulders. "Mulder, you saved my life. My
God, you don't have anything to be sorry for."  He reached around her
waist and pulled her into him, resting his head on her shoulder.

"I know you worry about putting me in danger," she whispered into his
ear. "You think that I can't be with you and be safe." He sat up and
searched her eyes. "But if you hadn't been here, I would probably be
dead now,"
she said quietly.

He shuddered. "You've never said that before."

"What?" She was confused.

"That you need me."

She reached to touch his face. *That* was what he needed to hear.
She'd probably known it all along, but it felt like too much of a
weakness to admit it.

"Of course I need you. I always have. Especially when we're like this.
But you can't always be there, and we definitely couldn't do our jobs
if I couldn't take care of myself."

"Which you can," he winced as he rubbed his shin.

Scully's phone rang loudly on the endtable beside them.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully."

"Yes, sir?"

"I need to speak with Agent Mulder."

"Mulder?" Her eyes widened. "He's..."

"I know he's there, Agent Scully." There was a pause. "How are you
feeling?" he asked gruffly.

"I...fine." Her mouth was still hanging open as she handed the
receiver to Mulder.

After a brief conversation he hung up.

"They didn't find them in time."

Scully knew immediately what he meant. "How many?"

"Hundred and four. All of them. No survivors this time." He reached
for her but she got to her feet and crossed the room.

Scully leaned back against the door, arms crossed in front of her. She
spoke slowly, carefully. "If you had let me go, you could have
followed me..."

"And you would be dead now," he said through gritted teeth.

"You could have seen them, seen what they were doing." She kept her
voice even.

"No," he shook his head violently. "No." He stood up. "You are not a
human sacrifice, Dana."

"What about what you're sacrificing, Mulder?" She wasn't angry. But
she needed to hear him say this. "Don't you want to know what they're
doing? Don't you want to know who they are?"

He braced himself. "Of course I want to know. But trying to stop them
by myself last night could have gotten you killed." He crossed the
room to stand in front of her. "There was a time when I would have
died for this. To know." He took her by the arms gently. "I risked my
life and my job everyday. But I have too much to live for now."

His words were forceful, deliberate.

"And I will *not* risk you."

She turned her face up to his.

"We will find them, and we will stop them," he promised. "But what if
I got all the answers to everything I wanted to know, and I was alone?
Again?" He stroked her hair. "I can't be without you, Scully. I don't
remember how."

He stared into her eyes for a long time, then turned his back to her.
"Skinner wants us at the site. They were in Georgia this time. I told
him no."

"Why?"

He whirled around. "You want to go."

She hesitated. "No. But I think we should."

Irritation flashed across his face. "There are plenty of other agents
who can handle this, Scully."

She nodded. "First of all, we said we wouldn't let our personal lives
interfere with our work. And second, it could have been me. I think we
owe it to the victims to bring these people to justice. You can
understand that, can't you?"

His face relaxed and he nodded.

"And we need to do everything we can to stop them. Before they do it
again."

He held her tightly and she savored the warmth of his body.

"We have to go," she said quietly.

We.

And to Mulder, that one word made all the difference.

They walked into the bedroom together and began to dress for work.
Scully noticed that Mulder seemed to be fumbling with his buttons, and
for the first time got a good look at his swollen right hand.

"Oh my God! Mulder! What happened to your hand! Did I do that?"

He shook his head. "I got mad and took it out on your wall. Don't..."
He bit his lip as Scully prodded.

"I don't think it's broken. Why didn't you say anything?"

He just shook his head.

"I can bandage it and give you something for the pain, but you need to
have it looked at when we get back."

"Okay." He sat still as she wrapped his hand in gauze, rendering it
even more useless.

Mulder tried to finish dressing but his clumsy efforts were getting
him nowhere fast. He didn't even have the energy for crude comments as
she helped him button up his shirt and zip his pants. When she got
down on one knee to help put his shoes on, she stopped suddenly and
laughed.

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking of a game Melissa and I used to play
when we were little." She blushed. "It doesn't matter now."

"Oh."

Maybe happily ever after was too much to hope for, considering all
she'd been through, thought Scully.

But they had each other.

And they had right now.

And maybe all knights don't wear armor.

Maybe some of them wear suits with loud ties and need reading glasses
and believe that Elvis is still alive.

And maybe some princesses *did* cut up dead bodies for a living and
pack heat and know self-defense.

<Maybe I *will* write a children's book>

"Ready?" he asked, limping to the door.

"Right behind you." She checked to see that her makeup job had covered
the worst of her bruises.

She stepped outside as Mulder was slamming the trunk of the cab
closed. He hurried over to the door, and, with his good hand, opened
it for her. "Your carriage awaits, your highness."

Scully looked at him, startled. <How did he...?>

He gave her a knowing grin. "I had a little sister, too, Scully." It
was the first time he'd really smiled all morning.

As he followed her into the backseat of the cab, he crossed his arms.

"But I am *not* wearing an aluminum foil crown, so you can just forget
it."
 

The end.
Feedback would be very, very nice!!
 

_________________________________________________________
 
 
 

Date: Thu, 1 Oct 98 02:25:47 UT
Subject: " Access Denied" (1/2) by Pam Gamble

Access Denied
by Pam Gamble
eksphyl@yahoo.com
8/22/98
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, ANGST and more ANGST!!
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully have been dating for some time, but
secretly. Scully is missing (and I *swear* she wasn't abducted by
aliens this time) and Mulder's search brings back haunting memories
for both of them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is part three of three. Enough is first, then
Indiscreet.
ARCHIVE: Sure. Fine. Whatever.
DEDICATION:To everyone in Gertie's chat room, especially Lynda for
helping me to get this out! What good is a story if no one reads it?
SPOILERS:Little Green Men, Folie a Deux, Tempus Fugit, End Game

*******NOTE*******
Because this story contains a lot of flashbacks, I've set them off
with asterisks in an effort to make it less confusing. Changing tenses
became too complicated.
*************************************************

ACCESS DENIED
PART 1

Mulder was getting antsy. Where was she, anyway? They should be
halfway there by now. She was almost never late. He zipped his coat
against the November chill, and yanked his phone from his pocket.

Her home number rang, followed by the click of the answering machine.
He looked around, waiting to see her car flying down the street. He
would get in and she'd spill out some apology about traffic or
stopping at the ATM, some excuse. And he would blow it off with a
smartass remark, really just happy to see her.

Where *was* she?

He tried her cell phone. No answer there either. Why would she turn it
off?

Mulder paced the sidewalk in front of his building. This wasn't like
her. They had planned on driving into Baltimore to meet with the
police chief regarding their latest case, but there was just no way
they would make it now.

<Give her five more minutes.>

Fifteen minutes later, panic had conquered his thoughts. He flagged a
cab and ordered the driver toward Scully's apartment. Just before he
got in, he thought to scribble a note and jam it in the frame of the
door to his building.

"Scully-wait for me here. Be right back-M"

He directed the driver to her place, but had no idea what route she'd
taken. Maybe she had car trouble and forgot her phone.

Arriving at her place, he felt a lump form in his throat. Her car was
still here.

He was running now, reaching her door, and quietly inserting his key,
not knowing what he would find on the other side.

He could feel the silence around him, sense his aloneness, yet felt
compelled to check every room for her, calling her name as he ran.
"Scully!!"

Coming back to stand in her living room, breathing heavily, he noticed
the blinking light on her answering machine. Three messages. All from
him. Hang-ups. Locking her door he stormed out onto the street, where
the cabbie still sat, happily running his meter. Mulder searched
wildly up and down the street. Nothing.

Turning to go inside and interrogate her neighbors, he caught a
glimpse of something metallic in the bushes by the door.

Her keys.

He stooped to pick them up, gingerly in case there were prints. They
were definitely hers, the Apollo keychain swinging prominently from
the ring.

He carried them back inside, sliding them into a plastic bag.
Reluctantly, he reached for his phone, about to make a phone call he'd
prayed he would never have to make again.

Two rings. "Skinner."

"Sir. It's about Agent Scully."

Silence.

"She's missing."

The word, unspoken, hung in the air.

<Again>.
 

ACCESS DENIED
Part 2

A.D.'S OFFICE
FBI BUILDING

"Let's go over this again, Agent Mulder."

Mulder leapt from his seat, knowing he was out of control, beyond
caring. "I do not have *time* to go over this again. We should be out
looking for her," he shouted, his face an inch from Skinner's.

Tension raised Skinner's voice to match Mulder's. "OK-then let's get
down to it, Mulder. You want me to commit Bureau manpower to this. How
do you know she didn't just leave, not tell you where she went? How do
*I* know that, Mulder?"

Skinner relaxed slightly as Mulder sat back down. "She wouldn't do
that," Mulder said forcefully.

"You've done it to her, maybe she's turning the tables on you."

Mulder shook his head. He needed Skinner to understand, to believe
him. It was worth the risk to say it here, no matter who else might be
listening.

"You know it isn't like that now."

Skinner leaned across the desk, leaning closer to Mulder's ear. "But
how do I know this isn't something--personal. Did you have a fight?"

Mulder met his gaze evenly. "No." He took a deep breath, realizing how
important it was that he seem rational. "And I would not be attempting
to drag you into this if that were the case." He chose his words
carefully, clinging to the facade they had all agreed to perpetuate.

Skinner nodded and picked up the phone.

"I need all available agents in the conference room in fifteen
minutes. We need to organize a search and rescue. I also need you to
notify local police. I'll be out in a moment with the details."  He
dropped the receiver and addressed Mulder. "Last time you saw her?"

Mulder shook his head. He didn't like thinking of it that way. "Early
this morning. At her place. Around 6 am."

Skinner walked towards the door, trailing Mulder in his wake.

Skinner pulled up Scully's personnel file on his assistant's computer,
and told her to get the necessary details from there. He then
requested 30 copies of her file photo. He waited a moment for the
printouts, swept them from the printer, and they headed for the
conference room. Mulder could only watch as Skinner efficiently placed
all the papers on the long table, pinning one photo to the easel
behind him. Using a large black marker, he wrote:

Agent Dana K. Scully
Last seen 6am 11/21
Circumstances of disappearance: unknown

Mulder leaned against the wall, dizzy with confusion. What was
happening? Scully's face stared back at him, the photo's empty gaze
providing no answers. It was an old picture, from her first days at
the Bureau. So much had happened to her since then, it was as though
she wasn't even the same person.

Doubt began to creep into his confused mind.

<*Would* she have left me?>

<No> he answered. <Not like this. Not now.>

<Not after she told me about the nightmares.>

Of all the things that had surprised him about Dana Scully, the one he
still couldn't grasp was the nightmares.

She had them, too.

And he had thought only he took his work home.
******************************************************
They had only been together for a few days when he had awoken one
night to blood-curdling screams, adrenaline pumping through his body
before his brain was able to coordinate thought or movement. Reaching
blindly into the darkness to snatch her back from a danger he couldn't
see, he had encountered only her sleeping form, twisted in the sheets,
body flushed and shivering. Blood pulsating in his ears, he picked her
up gently, whispering to her.

"Scully, Scully, wake up. It's okay, I'm here. You're safe. Shhh."

She had whimpered, then, and his heart shattered like a fracture in
the Arctic ice.

He'd rubbed her back gently, talking to her until her eyes opened
slightly, unseeing. He felt her body stiffen in his arms as a panic
reaction attacked her nervous system, and he tightened his arms around
her.

Louder, now. "Scully, wake up. I'm here. You're okay." At his voice
her body went limp, while her heart raced on, unable to slow so
quickly. She groaned and turned her face into his body, her entire
being reverberating with exhaustion.

She'd grasped his t-shirt in one hand, clutching it for dear life.
Sleep overtook her almost immediately, but she never let go of his
shirt, and he held her close the rest of the night.

The next morning he'd confronted her about the night before, and she
seemed embarrassed. "Not again."

His head had jerked up. "Again?"

Scully looked away. "I have them sometimes. More often lately."

"What are yours about?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "I don't always remember. Mostly vague, being
chased, lost...you..."

"Me what?" His eyes opened wider.

Scully leaned against the back of her sofa, and folded her arms around
her. Her gaze never moved from the floor as she spoke.

"Sometimes I dream that you're hurt, and I can't get to you."

"Me, too," he interrupted in surprise.

"And sometimes," she continued, "I dream that you...you...become so
single-minded in your search that you...forget about me."

Mulder nodded.

"It hurts more," she continued, "for you to leave me. Someone taking
you from me," he had to strain to hear her words, "you can't control
that." She looked up finally, tears glistening in her eyes. "It hurts
when you leave me."

Mulder could see the pain in her eyes. He knew what it took her her to
reveal these things to him, to herself. Knew they weren't talking
about dreams anymore.

Physical intimacy had been easy compared to this.

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his hands over his face.

"I'm sorry, Scully." He moved from the wall to stand a few inches from
her. "I never meant to hurt you. I've always done what I've done to
protect you."

He reached out slowly to run his hand along the slope of her jawline.
"I can't live with myself if I am the cause of your pain." He shook
his head. "Not anymore. I can't do that to you."

She sighed, releasing a new rain of teardrops down her face. His thumb
brushed them gently away. The shuddering breath that preceded her next
words told him how painful honesty was for her. "I would never
begrudge you your freedom."

His eyes narrowed in pain as he tried to get his mind around her words.

"But you tear me apart," her voice crashed over a sob, "every time you
leave me."

He reached for her and she backed away as much as she could against
the sofa. The rough edge to her voice was gone. Her head shook as she
spoke, causing his hand to fall away from her face.

"And I don't want you to stay out of pity. And I don't want you to
stay because you..."

Mulder found his voice, surprised to find it drenched in tears. "What
if I stay because I love you. What if I stay because I can't live
without you." He took her face in his hands now, and her eyes fell
closed, unable to accept the honesty of his gaze. "Would that be
enough?" Her eyes opened at the familiar question, and she nodded
once. "I *love* you, Scully. Hurting you is the last thing I ever want
to do. As long as you still want me, I won't leave you. I can promise
you that."

In the silence, Scully's composure returned, and she opened her eyes
to look at him. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping the tears from her face.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't be sorry." He reached for her again and
this time she came willingly into his arms. "We have to stop
pretending that we don't need each other." His arms tightened around
her, and she lowered her head against his chest, nodding, agreeing to
let him in, agreeing to no more secrets.

No more nightmares.
*******************************************************

Mulder shook his head, concentrating on the room of agents before him.

No, she wouldn't have left him. Not voluntarily.

But a small part of his mind still wondered if they weren't just
creating new nightmares.

<Is she having a nightmare right now?>

<Am I?>

ACCESS DENIED
Part 3

Stalking throught the bullpen, he ignored the sympathetic stares of
his co-workers. At least, that's how their badges identified them.
Mulder wouldn't have known any of them if he'd passed them on the
street.

Too impatient for the elevator, Mulder flew down the steps, barely
slowing down to unlock the door.

Once inside, he experienced a sickening loss of equilibrium. A place
that was once so familiar suddenly seemed so foreign. He felt like a
tourist in a Russian McDonald's. Outwardly, things seemed the same;
but something was different, something intangible.

Mulder moved slowly through the room, seeing everything as if for the
first time. He picked up the stapler and examined it as though it was
a precious archaelogical find. Moving behind his desk, he sat down
hard in his chair, and noted that it was positioned to face the area
where Scully usually sat.

He glanced over at her things, his eyes following a path they'd taken
a million times. Lamp, pencil holder, Scully's laptop, calendar,
coffee mug...

Calendar.

There was something scrawled on it. For tomorrow, it looked like.
Cautiously, Mulder got out of his chair and stepped closer to read her
handwriting.

<Oh, Scully, no.>

The Consortium hadn't done this, as he'd first believed.

There were no aliens involved.

And he still didn't know *where* she was, but now, he thought he knew
*why*.

Grabbing her laptop, he sat down at his desk again. While it booted he
put on his reading glasses, and picked up the phone.

"I need the number for the D.C. Criminal Courts building."

Scribbling the number on his desk blotter, he began to tap the keys.

It wouldn't help to find her, but he knew it was what she would have
wanted him to do.

He had to try.

ACCESS DENIED
Part 4

Three days. There had been no sign of her for three days. His usual
channels had turned up nothing.

Mulder stood in the doorway of his apartment, hopelessness and defeat
crushing his heart within his chest. He was finding it difficult to
breathe. Had he known for certain that she was dead, breathing would
have been too much effort. An effort he wouldn't have made at all.

If he knew.

He couldn't sit on his couch. It was something close to comfortable,
and that was a place he couldn't bear to be. He needed to hurt, needed
more pain. He wanted to be numb.

Numb.

<Drink> ordered his brain.

<Okay>

He opened a cabinet in his kitchen. The bottle stood there, framed by
the black emptiness of its solitary confinement. It looked almost
dignified.

He twisted off the cap and took a swig from the bottle. It was about
half-full. Probably not enough for numb. He wondered if he had some
sleeping pills or something. Just one or two.

Numb.

How do you get there from here?

Sitting in his floor, he leaned his head back against the desk chair.
The bottle sat between his legs. Absently, he ran his fingers over the
warm neck of the bottle. He stared into the brown darkness of his
apartment, unseeing.

It was too painful even to think her name. To say it would have sent
him over the edge.

Numb.

The human body seems to enjoy inflicting pain on itself. When you have
a toothache, your tongue sadistically seeks out that spot time and
again. Sore arms and legs seem to attract things to bump into.

Pain becomes almost exquisite. And unbearable. The body becomes
addicted to the adrenaline rush. And the pain becomes almost
necessary, familiar. It reminds you that you're human, mortal.

Mortal.

Mulder's mind kept coming back to her. Every flash of her voice, her
body, her scent inflamed the open wound. He tried to push his thoughts
away. Tried to drown them. Nothing worked.

He gulped a deep breath of air. It wasn't fair. He had nothing. If she
was gone forever, he had nothing. No pictures, no clothes, no jewelry.
They'd been so careful. Left no evidence. And in doing so had left him
with nothing to hold onto.

His eyes blinked open and he swallowed a long, searing drink. Nothing.
His eyes roamed the room, seeking some proof that she'd ever been
here. A stray hair, books arranged a certain way, anything.

<That's just like you, Mulder. No proof. Nothing concrete. Do you
think everyone is just going to take your word for it?>

'Do you think everyone is just going to take your word for it?'

Her voice echoed in his head. For a second he thought his muddled
brain was playing tricks on him. No, she'd really said that...when?
The liquor was obliterating brain cells as he sat there. He quickly
tried to cling to the ends of that memory, of her voice, that were
slipping away into the darkness. When? When?

His gaze landed on the VCR.

<Oh my God.>

<The video.>

Stumbling over to his desk, he leaned against it and stood before his
bookshelves. <pleasepleaseplease>
*******************************************************

It had been about 6 months ago. Scully had been lightly teasing him
about never being able to collect any hard evidence...

"Six years. Six years of searching for UFOs and it never occured to
you to carry a camera? What, do you think everyone is just going to
take your word for it?"

He had, actually, but he certainly wasn't going to admit that *now*. I
mean, his credibility may have been a *little* questionable, but...

Okay. He had no credibility. *She* was his credibility.
The only one who would ever believe him.

<My one in five billion>

So that weekend he'd gone out and bought a camcorder. Now he would
show her *proof*.

He'd been sitting on her sofa trying to read the instructions.
Apparently they'd been translated from Japanese into something which,
superficially, resembled the English language.

'To depress button and see image pressing red circle.' "What the hell
does that mean?"

Scully had shrugged and shook her head. She was sitting at the kitchen
table, trying to balance her checkbook. "You're the genius, you figure
it out," she'd smiled.

Mulder had flung the sheet of paper away, and just started pushing
buttons on the small black box.

"Ha! Got it!" He squinted as he peered through the viewfinder, seeing
the little red light blinking in the corner.

He swung the camera around for a moment, lighting on Scully's...hands?
His fingers searched for the focus, and abruptly he could see her
clearly. He had pulled the lens back, until she was framed in his
viewfinder.

"Hey, Scully."

She smiled without looking up. "Mulder, put that thing away."

"Testing 1-2-3. Come on, Scully," he said playfully. "I'll make you a
star."

She looked up then. "Mulder," she warned.

He kept the camera trained on her.

"Scu-lly", he mocked her.

She dropped her pen in resignation, then, and took off her glasses to
lay them on the table.

She turned to him. "What do you want me to say?"

"Stand up," he grinned.

She stood slowly, leaned against the table. She looked uncomfortable.

"Okay. Now what?"

"I don't know. Talk to me."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Mulder, this is ridiculous."

"Tell me you love me."

She smiled then. "I love you."

"Tell me you're crazy about me."

"I'm crazy about you." She pushed her hair behind her ear. "Mulder."

"Ready for your close-up, Miss Scully?" He zoomed in on her face.
"You're blushing!"

"And *you* are like a kid with a new toy."

"You're beautiful when you blush." His voice registered an octave
deeper, and turned Scully's face a deeper shade of red.

"Okay. Enough practice," she said lightly.

"Got something else on your mind?" She nodded and with a wicked smile
began walking toward him.

He hit the stop button on the recorder and they...
*******************************************************

Where the hell was it?? He ripped furiously through his desk drawers.
Finally at the bottom of one, he found it. What if he'd recorded over
it? What if it was erased? What if it hadn't worked? He'd forgotten to
check. He hadn't known what he was doing...oh, please...

He shoved the tape in the VCR and pressed rewind, then play.

Two or three heartstopping seconds of blackness, and then...

"Hey, Scully."

<Thank you God.>

Before, he couldn't bear to even think of her. Now he just wanted to
see her face.

"Come on, focus."

There she was. Sitting at the table. Before. She'd been so reluctant
to look at the camera.

"Come on Scully. Look at me. I wanna see your face." His voice echoed
in the empty room.

There.

He hit 'pause' for a moment, then 'play' again.

He watched, waited for the part he knew was coming.

'What do you want me to say?'

"Tell me you love me?", he spoke now into the darkness.

"Tell me you love me," his own voice echoed from the tape.

"I love you," she answered them both.

"Tell me you're crazy about me," he begged the stillness. Tears were
streaming freely down his face now. He listened to his voice repeating
the question on the tape.

"I'm crazy about you," she replied. Mulder watched her walk toward the
lens, then the picture dissolved into grey static.

<What good is proof when you can't show anyone, Scully?>

He stared a moment, then reached for his remote, alternately pressing
rewind and play.

'I love you.'
'I love you.'
'I love you.'
'I love you.'

Pause.

He looked now into the close-up image of her beautiful eyes. "Scully,
where are you?" he cried. He reached up to touch her cheek, his hands
finding only the cold glass of the television screen.

With a surge of rage, he grabbed the bottle and slammed it against the
wall. His body recoiled from the bits of flying glass, and in his
anger he reached down and found the will to keep going, for her sake.
To stop feeling sorry for himself. To find her.

He looked once more into her face, unanimated, frozen on his TV screen.

"I'm coming, Scully," he whispered hoarsely. "Wait for me. I'm coming."

At least he had something. Something to hold onto.

ACCESS DENIED
PART 5

Scully sat alone in the semi-darkness. She shook her head and watched
the walls swim in front of her, the floor seeming to undulate beneath
her.

<Concussion> she observed to herself. <Don't go to sleep>

But sleep seemed such a sweet escape from the waking nightmare she'd
found herself in.

She was accustomed to trading her safety for his. To being used as a
pawn, to playing her role, being manipulated, as she and Mulder
desperately tried to manipulate the odds into their favor.

She had felt invincible. She had survived so much, had beaten her
cancer, was trained in self-defense, she carried a gun.

Now she was not just literally, but figuratively, in the dark.

The last thing she could remember was leaving her apartment. Coming
to, she was being roughly dragged into this-closet?-hands cuffed
behind her.

"Who are you? Where's Mulder?"

The blank stares and the kick in the stomach she had received didn't
exactly provide a wealth of information.

Why was she here? What did they want? The questions ran endlessly
through her mind, but stubbornly refused to attach themselves to any
answers.

She'd gone over their recent cases in her mind, but narrowing down
suspects with a motive of revenge would have been an insurmountable
task, even if she had been able to think clearly.

And knowing why wouldn't get her out of here.

She'd tried to throw her body against the door, worked the lock with
her cuffed hands. The door had opened, earning her a glimpse of
freedom and another blow to the head. When she'd awoken, her feet had
been bound as well. She'd considered getting them to open the door
again, but she had no weapon, and didn't know if she would survive
another head injury. Tears formed at the painful pressure building
behind her eyes. If she could just close them...

<Stay awake, Dana> she ordered herself.

<I never was much at taking orders> she thought groggily.

She was so tired. And lonely. Usually they got into trouble together.

Scully tried to focus on the past. Memories of waking up beside him,
running her fingers through his hair, the way he said her name when
they made love, only accentuated her pain. Thinking of a time when
they had only been friends was easier.

Although it was hard to remember when that was anymore.

It was hard to believe there had been anything before those lips on
hers, those eyes, those hands on her...

<Stop it. Think about something else.>

But all her thoughts were of him. He had been her whole life for so
long.  Good memories and bad, he was centerstage in every one.

<Think about when they shut you down. What did you do then?>

Mulder had run off to Puerto Rico.

<And you ran after him...>
*******************************************************

She could remember sitting in the office at his computer a few days
later. With the X-Files decommissioned, they had done what they could
secretly to salvage something, sneaking in and out of the basement
office.

She'd called up a protected file, and the computer had prompted her
for the password. Assuming it was the same as his home computer, she'd
typed:

TRUSTNO1

Invalid password.
Access Denied.

A small frown creased her face.

She tried again with the same result.

<He changed it already?>

Maybe some egocentric part of him had been angry with her for breaking
into his files. <Even though I did it to save his ass>. He hadn't
seemed angry before, though.

She tried to think of other 8-character possibilities.

SAMANTHA.

Access denied.

MAXFENIG.

Access Denied.

DKSCULLY

Access Denied.

Scully was so deep in concentration that she hadn't heard her partner
come in until he moved to stand behind her.

She glanced up at him, but was too preoccupied with her task to even
look sheepish. She was more embarrassed that she hadn't cracked it yet.

Mulder retrieved a file from the cabinet, then turned to leave.
Stopping, he stood behind her, watching for a moment. Leaning over her
shoulders, his arms reached down and his long fingers gently stroked
the keys.

Even now, tied up in a cold, empty room, she could feel his warm
breath on her earlobes as he bent over her.

Scully's eyes had widened as the letters had appeared, one by one, on
the screen.

TRUSTYOU

Access Granted.

Without a word, he had turned and left the room.
*******************************************************

Tears formed in her eyes now, as they had so many years ago.

Access granted.

It was a good phrase for the two of them. All the pain and the sadness
and the joys they had carefully locked away from everyone else for so
long, they now revealed only to each other.

No one else knew what they saw in each other, because no one else was
*allowed* to see it. No one else *could* see it.

Only him.

Only her.

Folie a deux.

<Maybe the madness we share is what keeps us sane.>

Scully sighed.

<God, I miss him.>

ACCESS DENIED
Part 6

Mulder darted through the heavy midtown traffic, headed for the
office. He slammed on the brakes as the car in front of him turned
without signaling.

<Dammit! Doesn't anyone think about anyone else? Why is everyone so
self-centered?>

Mulder was a very perceptive man, <sometimes>, and the irony of that
thought was not lost on him. He had been self-centered most of his
life. Remembered a night in a darkened submarine when he'd been
willing to die for the sake of the truth.

And, just as surely, he knew now that he was no longer willing to die
for those answers. The thought scared him as much as it elated him.

In any war, the most fearsome enemy is the one who is ready to die for
their cause.

He wasn't quite the soldier he used to be, perhaps. But now, he had
someone to be accountable to. It seemed to make his life worth
something. Full. Complete in a way his search for Samantha never had.

Now he just felt empty.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

See Part 1 for disclaimers
ACCESS DENIED
PART 7
Scully tried to keep her mind occupied.  She didn't want to exhaust
her vigilance before it had a chance to do her any good.

She had no idea how many days she'd been kept here. She'd fallen
asleep four times, but didn't consider that an accurate measure of
days. She could smell herself, though, and knew she must desperately
need a shower.

They had taken her to the bathroom every few hours, but not on any
sort of schedule she could determine. She didn't have anything in her
system, anyway.

Since the last time they'd come for her, she had managed to contort
her body and step over her hands, so that the cuffs were in front.
With her short legs it wasn't too difficult. With her hands in front
of her, it was easy to work the ropes from her feet.

*If* she had enough time.

She kept busy by reciting lists she'd had to memorize in med school.
Bones in the arm, bones in the leg, anything mundane to keep her mind
off that doorknob. She was a third of the way through the Periodic
Table when she saw the knob begin to twist.

Her only advantage was the element of surprise. If she were
outnumbered, she would be dead in a moment.

As the door opened, Scully crouched, quickly bringing the chain of the
cuffs under the man's foot. Pulling her hands together, she yanked
hard, leaning to the left as his foot flew up and he landed with a
smack on the unyielding concrete floor.

In the second it took him to realize what had happened, Scully got her
hands off his foot and onto his weapon. Only reflex caused him to hold
onto it, as she tenaciously gripped the butt of the gun. Seemingly in
slow motion, his finger began to squeeze the trigger. At the same
moment, Scully pulled as hard as she could.

Still pulling on the pistol, Scully pulled her knee up. With one swift
motion, she jammed her knee between his legs, and he released the gun.
She pulled the trigger without thinking, without remorse.

She knew that despite what she had promised Mulder, she would see his
horrified face in her dreams for the rest of her life.

Scully shuddered, ignoring the smell of powder and flesh, the spatters
of blood on her clothes.

As she'd expected, the gunshot brought with it unwanted attention. She
heard footsteps at one door, approaching quickly.

Clutching the gun, she ran to the other door, flinging it open and
propelling herself down a long corridor.

There was a door at the end.

<Please.>

Shoving the door open, Scully ran outside. Into the kind of drizzly
rain that defines the District in the winter.

She was still looking over her shoulder, knowing they were right
behind her.

Taking a chance and turning right, she dove into the first doorway she
saw. Her head was spinning from the sudden movement. She'd had no food
or water for days, and she was so weak. Black spots danced before her
eyes. She knew if they caught her again she would have no resistance
to offer.

ACCESS DENIED
Part 8

Officer Richard MacArthur, retired, of the A-1 Omega Security Company,
had worn his uniform proudly for almost five years now. A younger
Richard had been a proud member of the Chicago Police force, until age
had forced him behind a desk. He didn't mind, though. He'd let the
boys be out where the action was. His wife was happy to have him home
for dinner, and she hadn't had to worry as much. The worst injury he'd
had recently was a serious papercut. And in his new job, even the
arthritis that plagued him was less of a nuisance, because A-1 Omega
did not require its employees to carry a sidearm.

His company had sent him to this small bank branch last year, when a
noisy bar next door had been scaring away customers. They wanted their
bank to seem a bastion of security. The bar had come and gone, but
Richard had stayed. He knew the owner was just too good-hearted to let
him go, but he considered this lobby his beat, and he liked having
something to do every day.

He knew he wasn't a real cop anymore, but he knew he had been once.

And that was something.

In the span of his 20-year career on the force, he'd been witness to
many people leaving banks in handcuffs.

Today, he reflected, was the first time he'd seen someone come *in*
with them.

The gun was an interesting touch.

ACCESS DENIED
Part 9

Scully stumbled through the doorway, conscious of little that
surrounded her. She felt herself slowly sliding, blacking out,
couldn't stop it...

Suddenly a greying, weathered face was in her own. "Miss! Miss! Are
you all right?"

Even in her condition, Scully felt the answer to that question should
be blatantly obvious. "Call Police," she sputtered, before her body
crashed to the ground, the gun clattering to the floor. "Mul-"

"Call the police!" Richard shouted at the small group of tellers
cowering behind their bulletproof windows. In a lower voice, he spoke
to the woman he'd gathered in his arms. "Don't worry, we'll get your
mother."

The now unconscious woman lay limply against his chest. She was still
breathing, shallow but steady.

Richard began to check her pockets for some kind of identification.
The handcuffs made him suspicious, but she didn't look too much like a
criminal.

<Course, you never know these days.>

Slipping off his company-issue grey jacket, he bundled it and placed
it on the floor, resting her head just beneath the black and gold
'SECURITY' patch on the sleeve.

Glancing up only for a moment as the door opened again, he was
immediately alerted by some sixth sense that something was not right.

This bank had regular customers, and this man was not one of them. His
eyes locked onto the woman in the floor, and his hand reached under
his jacket.

With the reflex that comes with 20 years of experience, Officer
MacArthur reached for his weapon, remembering too late that the only
thing on his belt these days was his keyring.

Richard's eyes darted around the floor. The weapon was on the other
side of the woman, lying where she had dropped it. He didn't even know
if it was loaded.

Reaching over her, he scooped the gun from the floor, and could see
the man's trigger finger move ever so slightly.

His eyes widened as the bullet tore through his right arm. Had he not
been bending over her, that bullet would have sunk straight into her
skull.

Unable to ignore the pain, he gritted his teeth and squeezed off a
shot of his own.

Too high. Pieces of wood moulding flew apart, sprinkling around the
gunman, causing his concentration to waver for one precious second.

The officer's next shot went straight into his chest. Vaguely aware of
screams behind him, Richard allowed himself to sink to the floor on
his knees, one shaky hand trying in vain to stanch the flow of blood
from his arm.

<It's not too bad> he reassured himself.

Propping himself against the wall, he studied the two prone bodies now
lying in his lobby, and wondered what had happened between them that
led to this.

The wail of sirens that was so familiar in this part of town was music
to his ears.

<Guess I'll find out soon enough.>

The D.C. police who arrived on the scene immediately recognized Scully
from the APB they'd been issued earlier in the week, and quickly
removed the handcuffs. They took a moment to congratulate Officer
MacArthur for his quick thinking and bravery as Scully was loaded onto
one ambulance, he into another.

Once inside their patrol cars, they called the contact number on the
APB printout, then reported to the station that they could call off
the search for Agent Dana Scully.

ACCESS DENIED
Part 10

The doctor nodded and disappeared through the automatic doors, leaving
Mulder and Skinner alone in the ER waiting room.

Mulder's tongue ungracefully formed itself around a few words. "Does
her mother know?" Skinner nodded quickly. "I called her. She's on her
way here."

Mulder sat down hard in one of the orange plastic chairs that filled
the small waiting room. He was vaguely aware of car wreck and gunshot
wound victims being brought in on stretchers. Some screaming, some
disturbingly silent. But he could focus on nothing but her. His brain
repeated her name over and over again, so that it no longer had any
meaning, but became a mantra.

He felt Skinner touch his arm and say something about going. Mulder
nodded in his general direction but later wouldn't even remember him
leaving. He also wouldn't remember getting up and passing through the
double doors, absently flashing his badge at anyone who tried to stop
him.

So, finding himself in the doorway of Scully's room, he felt as though
he'd been transported there just by focusing on her face, her name.

"Scully," he whispered in awe.

Still on auto-pilot, he stumbled over to her bed and sat down beside it.

All he had wanted for four days was to see her, to touch her, and now
he just couldn't do it.

Because he knew--once he started he wouldn't be able to stop.

His gaze landed on a blackish-purple knot on her temple, slightly
swelling one eye. Beneath her hospital ID bracelet, he could see the
red ligature marks on her wrist. Anger surged up within him, then
fizzled because he had nowhere to direct it.  The men who had done
this were dead. Anyway, Mulder had no energy left for vengeance right
now.

Walking his fingers across the sterile white sheet, he let the tips
graze over the back of her hand. The feel of her skin was so sweet, so
missed, so bittersweet in its association with happier moments, that
it caused him physical pain.

He couldn't bring himself to hold her tightly. Every time he had done
that in the past, she'd pushed him away. Or they'd taken her. He knew
it was dangerous to love her so much.

But it was the one thing he would not live without.

He lay his hand flat across hers, adjusting to the sensation,
listening to her heart monitor's reassuring beeps. Slowly, he allowed
his grasp to tighten around her fingers, and closed his eyes.

Had Scully's entire corporeal being dissipated into the mist at that
moment, he wouldn't have been surprised.

And as he'd been sure she would disappear if he closed his eyes, he
was just as sure that she *would* be there when he opened them.

Because she'd promised him.

No more nightmares.

Gently he laced his fingers with her smaller ones, and lay them on her
stomach. Her deep, slow breathing lifted their hands atop the white
sheet. Mulder watched, entranced, as his own breathing took on the
rhythm of hers, of their hands rising, falling, rising, falling.

The anxiety that had driven Mulder for the last few days ebbed,
floating away on the hypnotic waves of her presence, her warmth, her
very being.

Succumbing at last to the sensation, Mulder let his eyes fall closed,
tucking his head in close to her waist.

ACCESS DENIED
Part 11

As Scully awoke, the muscles in her right arm spasmed. As she pulled
her hand away in pain, she found it locked in place yet again.

<Handcuffs> she thought, dread filling her like sand, its granules
reaching every crevice. <I didn't make it. Why am I still alive? What
do they need me for?>

Gently she rotated her hand, trying to relax the muscle, until another
flare of pain caused her to cry out softly, her hand finally coming
free.

Heart pounding, she dared to open her eyes.

And met his.

Her eyes closed with a sigh, and her hand reached blindly for his,
finding only empty space.

Mulder looked down and slowly took her hand once again, reaching with
the other to brush the hair from her eyes.

Relief flooded her body at the familiar gesture, and tears forced
their way to the corners of her eyes.

When she opened her eyes, she felt the tears fall, taking with them
the powerlessness and frustration and fear she had lived with the past
few days.

If she were being truthful, she had never been afraid for herself.
She'd faced death many times. She and death were old drinking buddies.
But what her death would do to Mulder was something she couldn't bring
herself to think about.

Scully opened her mouth but no sound came out. Words seemed hopelessly
inadequate. Their eyes said everything at a glance. Scully squeezed
his hand tightly. His gaze never left her face.

"Why?" she whispered.

"The Edwards case," he replied.

Her eyes widened in recognition. She'd only been thinking of her cases
with Mulder, assuming that she'd been taken to control him. Had she
for one second considered herself to be the target, the motive behind
the kidnapping would have been clear.

"Forgot," she said, and he nodded.

Almost two years before, Scully had been called in to consult on a
Violent Crimes case in which Jerome Edwards was suspected in the
poisoning deaths of his two ex-wives. Exhaustively examining autopsy
reports, Scully not only proved that the deaths were not accidental,
as Edwards had claimed; she'd also linked him to the deaths of three
other women.

Scully had provided the forensic evidence which would convict the man
and keep him in prison for the rest of his life. Her testimony at
trial was crucial.

With the legal system the way it was, the case had been postponed and
continued and postponed some more, until a final date had been set.

November 22.

The day after her abduction.

Mulder spoke to her quietly, stroking her hair. "He must have thought
if he could keep you from testifying, he'd get off."

She questioned him with a look.

Mulder shook his head and smiled at her. It was a welcome change, he
hadn't smiled in days.

"I contacted the judge and asked them to accept your written report as
evidence. The D.A. said there was enough in there to put the guy away.
Due to extraordinary circumstances, they agreed to keep the report
private, until you were found. We expect prison phone records to
confirm that Edwards hired the men who took you."

Sheepishly, he looked down at the bedsheets. "I had to hack into your
laptop to find your report. Took me most of a day." He looked up. "I'm
not as good at guessing your passwords as you are at mine."

She sat up a little and smiled, struggling to regain her voice. "So
you got it, huh?"

"MsSpooky" he announced proudly. "Nice ring to it."

He held his face close to hers, smelling her, feeling her, tasting
her, touching her. His shaking hand gently combed through her hair,
drifting down her back, and suddenly he was pulling her fiercely to
him, clutching her body to his. She moved her head to rest against his
shoulder, and locked her hands around his waist.

He opened his mouth slightly, inhaling her, his lips brushing her
hair. She felt the sobs come over him, rocking his body against hers,
as he held her impossibly tighter.

"Mulder," she whispered, burying her face in his neck, her right hand
tangled in his hair. The left hand, tethered by the IV, stroked his
waist.

"I know, I know," she crooned, not feeling at all strange about being
the one to do the comforting.

Mulder sat back, smoothing the tear-dampened spots in her hair as he
caught his breath.

ACCESS DENIED
PART 12

There was a soft tapping on the door. An elderly African-American man
stood in the doorway. He had one arm in a sling, and a dark blue
sweater draped over his shoulders.

"Hello. I don't mean to disturb anything. I know you're not up for
company."

Mulder put a hand protectively over Scully's. "I'm sorry, you're...?"

The man extended his hand to Mulder. "Richard MacArthur. Officer
Richard MacArthur--retired, now. I was working security..."

"At the bank," Scully interrupted, the memory linked to that face
flooding back to her.

The man nodded proudly. "First I thought you'd got yourself in with