By Shoshana
shoshana1013@excite.com
 

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere
SPOILER WARNING: Through end of Season Six
RATING: PG
CONTENT STATEMENT: MSR
CLASSIFICATION: VRA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance
SUMMARY: Mulder recovers from surgery at home, muses about events of
the last year.
DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.
NOTES: Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Char and Meggo.

Recovery IV
By Shoshana

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mid-September 1999
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully's gone. Well, not really gone. She's moved back to her
apartment, for appearances' sake. My protests reached deaf ears.
'Mulder, it shouts impropriety! It seems like I'm taking advantage
of a seriously confused man!' I'd never heard something so stupid in
my life. I'd lost memories, not sanity. I don't give a damn what
other people think. But Scully does. And she's home tonight instead
of in my bed.

We started sleeping together. Well, not making love, but close to
it. After cohabitating for three and half weeks, I couldn't resist
crawling in beside her, snuggling close to her warmth at night. She
made only a token protest, questioning the condition of my chest
wound. 'Really, not a problem,' I answered, pulling her back to my
chest, oblivious to what lingering pain remained. I was more
comfortable with her than without her, gulping down some Tylenol 3
before bedtime to dull whatever discomfort I might feel.

It's been just like heaven for half a week. Till she solemnly
pronounced that four weeks was long enough, she couldn't take up
permanence residence here. Just yet. I trust her, I love her,
dammit. But my latent insecurities emerged in a big way, making me
quite miserable the last few days.

She's assuaged those fears a little, promising me this won't last
long. Just till I get back to work, even if only for desk duty.
That's another two weeks from now and I'm going stir crazy, anxious
to get out of the apartment for something other than shopping or
entertainment. I've never been a good patient and I was dismayed
when the doctors wouldn't let me go back this week.

I passed my psychological exam with flying colors, persuading the
psychiatrist that I was dealing with whatever memory loss I've had.
I knew how to manipulate her evaluation, citing the support of family
and friends and my own ability to adjust to swiftly changing
circumstances. There's some truth to that, but really the 'friend'
most responsible for my recovery, my Scully, is my true saving grace.

I was grateful to have her as my partner before I was shot, I am
even more so now. She meant everything to me before this happened
and at long last I can confess that to her openly, tell her my
heart's desires, tell her I love her without fearing rejection.

Losing her constant companionship for two weeks, for two days, is
killing me. She returned to work yesterday, determined to catch up
with four weeks of paperwork. Skinner had told her to take more time
off, but she wouldn't. I didn't need her all day anymore (well, I
*wanted* her all day, but I guess that's a whole different ball game)
and I think she wanted a break from twenty-four hour a day exposure
to Mulder central.

My disorganized apartment is nothing like her orderly, spotless home
and I suspect that she wanted to get back to some of her daily
routines before I returned to the office. They have mandated at
least two more weeks after that until they'd even consider letting me
out in the field. For once, I was O.K. with that. This wound really
hurts and I am actually taking the pain killers, not flushing them
down the john.

Anyway, her absence has allowed me to sprint through my journal,
catching up on events of the last year. I still won't share it with
Scully and she seems to understand that. I still need a private
place for reflection and she knows I don't feel comfortable revealing
*everything* I've thought and wished about her the last seven years.

It's been enlightening, particularly a few cases that put Scully's
life on the line. She's told me about being shot in January, she's
told me how I'd taken care of her for weeks, just as she's been
nursing me back to health the past few weeks. What she doesn't know
is how close I came to cold-blooded murder... Peyton Ritter wouldn't
have lived twenty-four hours if she hadn't made it. And the next
bullet in the clip would have been mine.

I should have blamed Kersh, but it was clear from my rantings that I
was ready to lash out at the closest available scapegoat. Ritter fit
the bill to a T. He was reckless and stupid, placing his temporary
partner in harm's way, shooting first, asking questions later.

I'll never know the complete truth of the matter, but my copious
notes about Fellig, his strange ability to survive for a century and
a half and his apparent sacrifice for Scully entranced me. She'd
told me exactly what happened, but she didn't believe in it. She
couldn't conceive that she'd been saved from death by Fellig. He was
a desperate man, chasing after the ultimate snapshot, one featuring
the grim reaper squarely in its exposure.

Another case from later that spring disturbed me much more. Scully
had been attacked by what can only be described as an apparition in
my apartment. The psychic surgeon had been dead several years and
the weasel of a writer living next door to me conjured him up as a
character in his novel. I know he was a little weasel because I
described as such, clearly venting my jealousy during and after the
case was resolved.

I was so pissed that Scully had fallen for his sensitive, attentive
writer's act. I was angry at the time the events played out and the
details still unsettle me, even now. Had I ignored her needs so
heartlessly? Had I forgotten to show her how much she meant to me?
Was this her way of getting back at me for a multitude of sins, for
her sister's death, her abduction, Emily?

I'd even had to question her judgment, whether she'd slept with the
guy or not. My stomach was tied up in knots for hours after reading
about that. I hadn't trusted her. I'd actually believed that she
might succumb to her stalker's charms. After all, it was all there
in the novel. Other events had come to pass after he'd committed
them to paper. Why not sex with Agent Scully also?

I felt guilty for ever doubting her, for imagining the worst of her.
But I was furious, and still am furious... that she'd entered his
apartment alone, that she'd put herself in a such a vulnerable
position. Yeah, sure she was armed, she could probably kick the
guy's ass. But he seemed to have some mysterious pull on her
emotionally, an ability to see her innermost desires. Who knows what
could have happened?

I'd made a note of what he'd said in the jailhouse, 'Agent Scully is
already in love.' He'd been pretty perceptive about that. He'd seen
something between us that not even Scully wanted to believe. I'd
already accepted that she cared deeply about me at the time. I was
waiting for proof, not scientific proof, but emotional, illogical,
head over heels in love proof. I guess I got it, just not the way I
would have liked to.

It seemed to be a turning point in our lives. After that case, I
noticed a change in the journal, an urgency to spell it out to her,
let her know how I felt. God knows I'd tried for years to let her
know. And I was sick of seeing her pulled by the mystique of yet
another strange and charismatic man. I wanted to take care of her, I
wanted her to let me take care of her. I was determined to draw her
true feelings out into the open.

So I took Arthur Dales' advice and I listened to the mystery of the
heart. I lured Scully down to the baseball diamond and it must have
had a positive effect on both of us. She'd not only let me teach her
how to play ball, she'd allowed me to take her out for ice cream
afterward. Not a real date. Not really. But she'd let me hold her
hand later, sitting up on the hood of the car, watching the rest of
the world fly by.

She'd told me in the last few weeks that things had changed after
that, that we'd become closer, more in tune with one another. But
she didn't go into detail, not like I had in my journal.

I'd been courting her, slowly persuading her, telling her through
lips and hands and eyes that loving one another didn't foreshadow the
end of our partnership. I wanted to make her a believer, a convert
to my faith and love in her.

Somehow I had, somehow we were farther along than I'd ever imagined
we'd be. And then I got hurt and lost those wonderful summer
memories. Until I read them, secondhand, in my unique writing style,
in my personal asylum from the world. She's only hinted at the
events of last summer, enigmatically agreeing that she'd been ready
to become involved, that I'd all but persuaded her of my sincerity,
my constancy, the week before the shooting.

The doctors doubt whether I'll ever retrieve my lost memories. I
don't give a damn about that. I'm only worried about the present
now, about making things right for Scully. I'll do anything to make
her comfortable with this... this romance we're building.

I just hope that her temporary retreat to her sanctuary, her own
apartment, doesn't portend the worst. I've tried easing back, giving
her space, telling her I'll be there for her no matter what happens
between us. Yet... I can't resist her pull; I'm so much in love with
her, I miss her so damn much. I'm going over there tonight,
propriety be damned.

She doesn't expect me... no, she probably knows I'll be sneaking
over there first chance I get. She's probably listening for my
footsteps while she eats her dinner, takes her bath, watches tv
tonight. And it's nine p.m. on a Monday night and I'm on the way to
Scully's place, foolishly, recklessly following my heart to her door.
 

Recovery V
By Shoshana

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mid-September 1999
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ow! Ouch! Oh, dammit to hell!"

That must be Mulder, colliding with my new umbrella stand. Maybe I should have hid that thing till he got used to the layout of my apartment again...

He must be alright, because I sense him leaning against the door jamb of my bedroom. His breathing seems labored as he nurses his latest wounds, probably incurred around the shin or ankle region.

I can't decide whether to feign slumber. I'm pretty sure he's going to try and wake me anyway. It's only 9:15 and I was trying to catnap before he came over. I knew he'd come over tonight. Just tell Mulder he can't do something and you've practically guaranteed that he'll try the opposite.

I had to go back to work today and I left him alone in his apartment all weekend. I had to restock my refrigerator, clean house, do laundry... all those things I'd been ignoring while I stayed over at his apartment and helped him with his injury and apparent amnesia.

It's been a wonderful, awful four weeks. He's shirked another life threatening situation, recovering relatively unscathed. At least physically, that is. Losing memories for the last year was more problematic, but I think he's dealt with it pretty well. It would have been much worse if he had forgotten who I was or even lost his own identity.

And we've given up repressing our feelings for one another. It was easy enough to do. We've been ready for a long time and his brush with near tragedy made everything seem crystal clear. Wise up and stop wasting time with one another, you never know what tomorrow will bring.

I didn't want to leave him on his own, but he's perfectly capable of getting around by himself now. And if I was going to return to work, I needed to get back to my own closets, including matching outfits, shoes and lingerie. Well, not really lingerie, but it makes me feel so much better when everything coordinates...

So I shooed him away for the weekend, promising we'd cohabitate again after he returns to work in two weeks time. I told him we had to preserve some autonomy; it was looking too much like I'd taken advantage of his illness. Of course I hadn't, but I couldn't stay with him indefinitely without stirring the rumor mill at work. And since I was returning to work and everyone would be questioning me about Mulder's condition, I wanted us to be living apart for now.

Easier said than done. I knew he'd be over tonight. I even cranked up the air conditioning, left the chain lock off the door, and 'forgot' to put on jammies. That oughta shock the hell out of him. He won't be expecting that. I just want to prove that he's not the only unpredictable one in this relationship. I can be pretty unpredictable myself, when motivated. And after a very long day dealing with paperwork and bureaucrats, I am *very* motivated.

"Scully?" he whispers softly, approaching my bedside with caution. I am lying on my side, facing away from him, the bedclothes pulled all the way over my shoulders, concealing my state of undress.

"Mmmm..." I purr.

He approaches with more confidence now, kneeling next to the bed, stroking my damp hair with gentle fingers.

"I couldn't stay away, Scully. I miss you so. Can I stay here tonight?"

I sense the misery in his plea and have no intention of letting him leave, but I decide to play coy for a few minutes longer.

"Mulder, didn't I tell you we needed some time apart, some time till you returned to work?"

"I can't, Scully. I can't even sleep at night without you. I've memorized every infomercial on the tube the last couple nights. I've held off till now, but I can't do it anymore. Can't I sleep with you tonight?"

His voice is so pathetically sweet and at the same time inexplicably arousing that I am ready to succumb to the spell he's cast over me, aided in part by the warm, wet kisses he's showering up and down my neck. I am done in by those and I decide that I cannot forestall the inevitable any longer.

"Lose the clothes, Mulder."

"Huh?"

"Take off your clothes and get in bed, Einstein, before I have a change of heart."

In an instant, he is sitting on the bed, struggling with his shoes, socks, pants, shirt, etc. I know he hasn't taken his boxers off, expecting the same bed etiquette we've been following the past half a week. Snuggling and kissing O.K., screwing not.

I'd only insisted on that because I thought he was still in enough pain to make fooling around more a tribulation than a pleasure. But I'd heard nary a whimper from him as he spooned up behind me, crushing my body close to his at night.

I finally turn around underneath the covers, carefully hiding my nakedness. This was my surprise and I wasn't spoiling it for either of us. It was way too dark in the room, only streetlights illuminated the interior through window blind slats.

"Turn the light on, will ya?"

He obliges me by turning the small nightlight on, and I smile up at him, admiring his still well-toned body, despite being laid up for the last four weeks. He'd started physical therapy shortly after his release from the hospital and it was doing his upper body some good in all the right places.

The smile he returns is almost comical. It's a mixture of Mulder joy and apprehension. Even after four weeks of all data to the contrary, he still thinks he's going to lose me, that I'm just going to walk away from this relationship as soon as I'm disenchanted with him.

Well, I don't know what more I can do to reassure him than offer myself, body and soul, to him. And that's what I'm planning to do, right here, right now, in my own familiar bedroom. Not some cheap motel, or the back seat of a rental car. Not even his amazing new bed, with its voyeuristic mirrors.

I think I'll have to work up to that. I've never watched myself doing it with anyone and I'd like some privacy our first time around. Watching our stunt doubles perform sex acts six feet above our heads is not something I can easily deal with.

"Well, are you going to stand there and gawk at me or are you coming to bed, Mulder?"

"Yes ma'am. I will stop gawking at the most beautiful Special Agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation... Right now, ma'am," he says cheerily, leaning down to cradle my face in his hands.

"Good. I thought you might have forgotten who's boss around here," I tease.

"Not boss, Scully. Just beauty..."

And he silences any retorts, sliding down on top of the comforter and covering my mouth with his. We kiss deeply for several minutes, as my covers slide down gradually, revealing my breasts to him.

"Scully! You've nothing on!"

"No shit, Mulder. Get in bed now and lose the boxers too."

"Damn you, woman. No wonder it's as cold as a meat locker in here. You've been hiding under those heavy blankets for a reason."

He still hasn't gotten under the covers and I decide to take matters into my own hands, literally. I sit up, pushing him over on his side, pulling those boxer shorts off with a zeal I've probably only reserved for tackling known criminals before. He's laughing and struggling, making it as difficult as he can. Eventually I get them past his knees and he helps my cause by pulling them down the rest of way.

"Dana Scully, did anyone ever tell you you're completely insane?"

"No, that sentiment is usually directed toward you, Mulder. Now, get over here and make love to me. I've been waiting for you all night..."

"You knew I couldn't resist coming over, right?"

My response is muffled as he kisses me again, pushing the bedclothes aside, covering me with his icy cold body. Boy, I did leave that air conditioner on pretty high, I muse, already beginning to lose higher brain function as Mulder rubs his erection against my sex.

He kisses every inch of my body, stopping to capture my mouth, slow and easy. I'm letting him be the aggressor now; I know I'll turn the tables on him soon, very soon. He works his way down my body, teasing my breasts, kissing them, sucking at them like new found toys. It's clear what he has in mind when he dips down to my navel, and then lower still, kissing my scar from last January's fiasco with care.

He kisses the inner landscape of my thighs, lifting me gently onto a pillow which appears like magic from the other side of my bed. He parts my folds with care and licks me gently. I'm already so wet and ready for him that I shudder as he swipes over my clit, never staying there too long, giving equal attention to every inch of me.

I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, grasping his shoulders, rhythmically moving against him in pleasurable pursuit of orgasm. Gently, he places his fingers in me, stimulating me even more, and bringing me to a trembling climax. He never ceases licking me, soothing me, as he senses my waves of physical and emotional satisfaction.

He kisses my tummy tenderly and moves back up to embrace me, adore me, love me. I nip at him, teasing his lower lip. He responds, caressing me with a deep, sweet, sensual kiss.

Suddenly, I push him off me with a quiet but firm hand, making it clear that I want to be on top now. "O.K., Mulder, I'm in charge now..." I glare at him playfully, as he lies back on the other side of the bed, amused at my aggression.

"Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart. I'm in no shape to argue with you, as you well know..."

"Betcha ya won't think I'm so damn sweet after this, Mulder... I'm planning on driving you over the edge..."

I straddle him, rubbing my curls against him, teasing him mercilessly. His lips twist in an odd grimace, reflecting both exquisite pleasure and pain; he's straining to hold on till he's inside me. I put him out of his misery by slowly lowering myself onto him, pausing as he grabs my hips, then leaning down for another sensuous kiss.

We maintain eye contact the whole time, both aware that this means more to us than just sex. We're making love because we're *in* love. We've waited a long time to get here, but the reality is so sweet I'm tempted to cry. Then I realize that I'm *already* crying. My senses are so overloaded, I'm so extremely happy, that my tears have come unnoticed.

Mulder raises one hand to wipe them away, smiling at me, well aware that they are good tears, the ones he's dreamed about for years. We move against one another and I keep pace with his gentle thrusting as we enjoy new sensations, new love.

He's lost for words now as we kiss each other in rhythm with our lovemaking, increasing our passion with desperate urgency. I whisper his name softly and he reaches between us, touching my clit, caressing my breast, almost bringing me to orgasm.

He senses when I'm about to come, grabbing hold of my hips, flipping me over with gentle finesse. I am momentarily concerned that he might hurt himself, that his chest might ache around his wound; but he's not hurting now, not at all, as he pounds into me, joyfully bringing us both to orgasm. He collapses breathlessly, totally content, totally exhausted.

He tries to move off of me, but I refuse to let him go, wanting to keep us together a few moments longer. He's not as heavy as I thought, his chest feels good against mine, and I wish we could stay like this all evening.

"Did ya like that?" I ask, knowing the answer to my question, just wanting to hear him say it out loud.

"Scully, like is understatement for what I've just experienced. I'm stunned senseless, amazed, knocked damn silly by you. I hope you know how very much I love you now, if you didn't believe me before."

"I believed you, Mulder. I never doubted that. I just wanted to hear you say it out loud. And I love you too, if you didn't already know..."

I kiss him lustily, stroking my hands against the powerful muscles of his back. He moves now, gently rolling over onto his side and gathering me up into his arms. He kisses the back of my neck and puts his arms around my stomach, holding me close.

We don't feel like talking now, we've already said all we needed to just minutes ago. I am slipping off to sleep when I hear him say the words again, "Love you Scully..."

I bring his hand to my lips and mouth "I love you too," as I drift off into oblivion.

fin

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