By Foxprose
Foxprose2003@yahoo.com
 

RATING:     NC-17
WARNING:  Descriptive sex. Smut warning.
CATEGORY:   MSR
KEYWORDS:  ANGST/MULDER POV
DISCLAIMER: Enough problems with real people in my
life, let alone fictional characters.  They belong to
Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting.
SPOILERS:   Very minor for Bad Blood, Anasazi, The Unnatural.
SUMMARY:   A minor injury and the chance to play house
lead Mulder to confession, Scully to action.

A tremendous debt of gratitude to Donnilee for giving
fabulous beta and initiating me gently into the world
of fanfic!
 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
ARLINGTON HOSPITAL, ARLINGTON, VA
THURSDAY, 1 A.M.

The perky resident knocked on the door to my examining
room.  Jeez, what was she?  Eleven or twelve years
old?  Since when did seventh graders get stethoscopes
and M.D.s after their names?

"Okay, Mr. Mulder,  the radiologist and the attending
physician went over your x-rays, and there are no
fractures.  You're good to go, but you'll need to stay
off the basketball court for a few weeks."

"Great.  Thanks, Doc."

"We're going to wrap your ankle and put on a flexible
cast.  I'm giving you a prescription for a painkiller,
and you'll need to take ibuprofen for the swelling.
Is there someone we can call?  You'll need a ride
home, and you'll need someone to fill your
prescriptions and help you out for the next day or
two."

My buddy Jeff had brought me to the ER after our
weekly game, but I'd sent him on his way hours ago.
My ankle, unimpressed by the stellar athleticism I had
displayed in performing a crucial jump shot, had
crumpled upon landing.  I sat out the rest of the
game, icing my injury, but even my teammates agreed
that maybe medical attention was in order.

So here I was:  1 a.m. AM on a Thursday morning in the
ER, in pain and alone - unless you count a physician
who looks like she'd better get home quick or she'll
miss curfew.

Of course! I could call Scully.  She'd bring me home,
get my meds, and maybe baby me a little bit ... Maybe
she'd even let me stay at her place!  I had to jump on
this quick!

"Yeah, yeah, my partner.  Dana Scully," I answered.
There were no outside phone lines in my examining
room, so I jotted down Scully's name and phone number
for a nurse to make the call.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
ARLINGTON HOSPITAL, ARLINGTON, VA
THURSDAY, 2 A.M.

"Okay, Mulder.  We're going to get this 'scrip filled
and get you home.  Do you have any ibuprofen at home -
Advil or something?"

Scully, my wonderful, beautiful, brilliant Scully was
here to take me home and make it all better.  My ankle
felt better already!

The resident's now-familiar knock sounded again, and
she stuck her head in the door.  She nodded at Scully,
who was studying my x-ray that was clipped to the
light box .

"OK, all the paperwork's finished.  As soon as Mr.
Scully arrives, you can take off."

"I'm Dr. Dana Scully," my partner spoke up, using that
cool, supercilious voice adopted by full-fledged
physicians when dealing with those who attempt to
exceed their rank in the medical hierarchy.

The resident blushed visibly.  "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr.
Mulder.  I thought when you said "partner," you meant
..."

"Yeah, no problem,"  I looked away as her sentence
trailed off.

In the lexicon of this politically correct young
woman, a single man in his latest possible thirties
who spoke of a 'partner' probably meant another man.
Apparently political correctness didn't cover those of
us who had no loved ones of either gender waiting to
take us home.  The truth sounded pitiful even to me:
'No, Doc, there's no wife, no girlfriend, no
boyfriend.  In my world, a partner is just someone
sharing fast food during stakeouts.'  To put it
bluntly, I had to call a co-worker to pick me up,
albeit one I've been in love with since I can
remember.
 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
THURSDAY, 3 A.M.

Yes!  I had conned Scully into taking me to her place.
It didn't take much effort, really.  I made sure to
let it slip out that I have neither ibuprofen nor much
in the way of food in my apartment.

She sighed deeply.  "If it's all the same to you,
Mulder, let's just go to my place.  I've got plenty of
Advil, and we'll stop at the 24-hour CVS around the
corner to get the prescription filled."

I was smart enough not to let my elation show.  There
was no need to scare Scully off with over-the-top
displays of rampant neediness.

Probably my most embarrassing secret - and this was
coming from a guy with a significant video collection
- was the increasing frequency with which I fantasized
about Scully's apartment.  Not that kind of fantasy,
although I had plenty of those, too.  No, this fantasy
started a few years ago, and I was finding it more and
more compelling.

See, it wasn't sexual at all.  It was sort of ...
domestic ... I guess.  I loved to stretch out on
Scully's couch, close my eyes, and pretend that we
lived there together, that she was mine.  I could hear
her puttering around in the kitchen or typing on her
computer, and sometimes I half-watched a ball game on
TV.  I felt warm and safe and ... happy.  Pretty sick,
huh?  Was I well and truly whipped, or what?

This fantasy had become part of my standard
repertoire, whether I was at home or in some Bureau-
contracted hotel room.  I closed my eyes and was
transported to Scully's living room, and I felt myself
relaxing.  I even conjured the smell of real food
cooking in her kitchen.  So when I actually got the
chance to camp out in Georgetown, I was in heaven.

I was not such a doofus that I didn't recognize the
meaning of any of this.  I'd flush my fish down the
toilet, donate my couch to Goodwill, and move in with
Scully tomorrow if she'd have me.  I'd make love to
her, marry her, or max out my credit cards for her -
whatever would make her happy.  But here was the
problem:  I was in way, way too deep.  I loved her way
too much to risk rejection.  It was melodramatic, I
knew, but I honestly didn't think I could go on
without her in my life.

So I lived with the status quo, always watching for
some sign that Scully might welcome something more
than what we had, always trying to find excuses to be
with her, touch her, or get her attention.  I know, I
know.  It was behavior more befitting a 13-year-old
boy with a crush.  I wished I could either let go of
her or summon the guts to tell her how I felt.
Amazing, wasn't it?  I regularly risked my life, my
career, my reputation - well, maybe there wasn't much
of that left to risk- in pursuit of the truth.  But
when it came to facing the biggest truth in my life?
Complete, unequivocal cowardice.

"You need anything else, Mulder?" Scully asked as she
made up the couch with a sheet, a quilt, and a couple
of fluffy pillows, including one for my ankle.

"No, I'll be fine.  You get some sleep.  And, Scully,
thanks for everything.  I mean it."  I tried to look
soulful to gain that extra smidgeon of sympathy.

"You know I wouldn't leave you to your own devices
when you're injured."  She ruffled my hair slightly.
Yes!  Three points!  I loved it when she touched me
like this.
 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
THURSDAY, 7 A.M.

It must have been the smell that permeated my
consciousness before I woke up.  Something so
wonderful that my heart soared with what a wonderful
place the world was. And that was definitely not my
usual first waking thought.  I could hear Scully in
the kitchen, so I opened my eyes and sat up.  My ankle
still hurt like a son-of-bitch.

"What're you making, Scully?  Smells good."

"Fresh bread.  My mom got me a bread maker last
Christmas.  You dump in the ingredients the night
before, and you wake up to warm bread.  Get cleaned up
and come have breakfast."

I made my way slowly to the bathroom, grabbing a pair
of jeans and a sweatshirt from the linen closet.  I
always made sure to keep a few things at Scully's, in
case of disaster or luck, I told myself.  Seemed like
it was usually disaster.

A shower felt good, even if I had to balance on one
foot.  Besides, the smell from the bread was driving
me crazy.  I toweled off and dressed in minutes, all
ready to belly up to the trough chez Scully.

Scully had the table set with real plates and a bunch
of jams and spreads.  I went with plain grape jelly
and spread it onto a slice of bread so warm and soft
that it molded to the shape of my hand.  It tasted
better than I could possibly describe; it tasted like
my little domestic fantasy, full of warmth, safety,
and happiness.

"Scully, this is unbelievable.  I knew you could cook,
but this counts as art."

"It's just a bread machine, Mulder.  You should get
one.  They're simple."

"Nah, it wouldn't taste the same if I made it."

"Sure it would.  Listen, I called Skinner's office to
let him know you'd be out for a few days.  I'm taking
off this morning, but I have to go in this afternoon
to review some autopsy results from some field office.
Do you want to stay here or go back to your place?"

"Um, maybe I'll just hang around here the rest of the
day if it's okay with you."

"Of course.  I need to rewrap your foot, anyway."
 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
THURSDAY, 3:30 P.M.

The phone jarred me awake from a nap.  I made a mad
dash to answer it, forgetting about my injured ankle.
I recoiled from the pain and stumbled, nearly knocking
myself to the ground before grabbing the receiver.

"It's me, Mulder.  Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I forgot for a minute that I can't walk."

"How's the ankle doing?"

"Okay, I guess.  Anything interesting on the
autopsies?"

"No X-File, if that's what you mean.  Just normal
mayhem in America.  I'm getting ready to leave in
about an hour.  Do you want anything special for
dinner?"

"Nah, but you don't have to cook.  We can order take-
out or something."

"What about clothes?  Should I stop at your apartment
and pick some things up?"

Now this was getting really tempting.  I would have
loved to stay . . . the rest of my life.  But my
apartment was in the opposite direction.  I really
couldn't ask Scully to fetch clean clothes.  On the
other hand, she had offered.

"That'd be great.  But it's out of the way; it'll take
forever."

"Don't worry, Mulder.  It's what I get paid the big
bucks for."

We disconnected and I thought about dinner.  Even I
was not so insensitive as to make her drive to
Arlington, turn around for the return to DC, and then
present her with the same take-out food we scarf down
when we're pulling marathon paperwork sessions.  I
toyed briefly with the idea of taking her to a nice
restaurant, but hopping along on my injured ankle
wouldn't exactly foster a sophisticated, romantic
mood.  I limped to the kitchen and opened the freezer
and a few cabinets.  Maybe I'd impress Scully with my
own domestic talents, such as they were.  The clock
read 3:07 PM.  I had just enough time if I got my act
together!

I started by opening the bread maker. This thing
looked exactly like that cryogenic chamber for alien
fetuses.  I wondered if they advertised that function?
The menu on top offered choices I didn't even know the
meaning of, but I didn't see 'alien gestation' among
them.  Frankly, I was surprised there were enough
people with the smarts to use these things to make
selling them worthwhile.

A brief rummage in a drawer filled with warranties,
instruction books, and take-out menus yielded a slim
pamphlet entitled, "Secrets to Making Delicious Bread
with Your BreadMaster Plus."  Woo-hoo!
 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
THURSDAY, 3:37 P.M.

Who knew that you keep yeast in the freezer?  Who knew
what yeast does, anyway.  Except for Byers, who told
me where to look after I put in a frustrated call to
the Gunmen.  He said it lasted longer that way.  Okay,
John, I'll trust you on that one.

I pressed  'rapid rise' and 'start,' and we were
jammin'!
 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
THURSDAY, 6:40 P.M.

The key turned in the lock, and I repositioned my
ankle on the pillow.  Scully took a step into her
apartment, and dropped her parcels on a chair by the
door. The expression on her face was gratifying beyond
my wildest hopes.

"Mulder, what have you been doing?  Do I smell food?"

"Um, sort of.  I figured neither of us wanted another
take-out meal, so I made some bread and warmed up some
manicotti from the freezer."

"You made bread?  I'm impressed.  You found the
instructions?"

"Yup.  Now, if madam would care to be seated ..."  I
lowered my injured ankle from its perch and stood up
tentatively while extending my arm to escort her to a
seat at the table I had set two minutes before she
walked in the door.

"Mulder, can I change first?  I hate to eat in work
clothes."

"Do you need help, or shall I wait here?" I waggled my
eyebrows suggestively.

Stupid, stupid idiot!  I was doing so great; then I
had to make some kind of obnoxious sexual joke.  The
partial meltdown of Scully's demeanor was once again
replaced by a look of forbearance for the immature boy
in the class.

While I mentally flagellated myself, Scully reappeared
in some kind of soft, fuzzy pajama outfit in dark
green.  Not overtly sexy, but it made her look relaxed
and infinitely beddable!

Scully sat down at the table, looking genuinely
pleased, as well she should have been.  I'd outdone
myself.  I managed to find a tablecloth, matching
dishes, and napkins.  And all the silverware matched!
I had even rustled up some candles, which I found
buried deep in the cabinet over the microwave.  Scully
assisted in transporting the main dish, and I sliced
the bread.  I also grabbed a bottle of Moscato I had
discovered during my previous search for the yeast and
had stashed in the refrigerator.  Was I smooth or
what?

I poured the wine, and we silently toasted.  Scully
looked more content than I'd seen her recently, and as
we ate, she murmured effusive compliments about my
prodigious skills at operating bread machines and
warming frozen pasta.

"So, have I impressed you enough to get to stay here
and be a house-husband?"

I was joking, of course, but like always, I was
desperately seeking affirmation.  But unlike our usual
repartee, Scully didn't respond with a witty one-
liner.  She stopped eating, replaced her fork, and
reached up to cradle my face with her hand.

"Mulder, you never need an excuse to be here.  You
don't even need to be injured.  You can spend time
here, spend the night here, just because you want to."

Whoa!  This was unexpected.  Had she been seeing
through my little schemes all along?  That was an
embarrassing thought.  I looked away, stuttering
apologies.

"Mulder, it's okay.  I want you here.  I know we need
our own space, but I want you here as often as you
want to be here."

"Scully, I can assure you that when it comes to what
we want, you and I are not on the same page," I said
bitterly, still looking away.

"Oh, really?  And page is it that you're on?  What is
it you want?"

I was defiant now.  Scully had challenged me, and I
felt the pent-up frustration bubbling.  'Just tell
her; just tell her,' I repeated to myself like a
mantra.

"Everything.  I want everything you can give, and
probably then some.  I want to be ...," I searched for
the right word.  "I want to be your lover, your
boyfriend, whatever you want to call it.  I want to be
the only man in your life."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she exhaled
audibly.  Her eyes did not meet mine.  "You've always
been the only man in my life, Mulder."

"You know what I mean, Scully."  Now I was really
humiliated.  I could tell she was going to give me the
'you're a special person and I like you as a friend'
speech.  Why did I tell her?  What made me choose
tonight to leap from the proverbial frying pan into
the fire?

But Scully wasn't responding according to the script.
Instead of giving me an agonizing speech about
friendship, she stood up and moved to my side.  She
lifted my chin and grazed my lips with an exploratory
kiss.

Oh, God!  I was planning for rejection.  I was all
ready to call a taxi, hobble home, and beg Scully to
never mention this again.  But she was pressing her
lips against mine; the same full lips she used to eat
those fake ice cream bars, the same lips that appear
in my fantasies - the non-domestic fantasies.

Need I add that I was instantly, painfully hard?  I
squirmed a bit, certain that Scully would withdraw
once she detected evidence of my arousal.
Nevertheless, I returned and deepened her kisses, and
she responded in kind, the tip of her pink tongue
darting between her teeth.  My tongue met hers, and in
that moment it seemed like the most intimate
connection imaginable.  We both shivered palpably as
we realized that nothing would ever be the same again.
My nipples were erect and almost painfully sensitized.
Scully raked her hands down the front of my shirt, and
this contact alone brought me to the edge of orgasm.
 
Scully moved closer, straddling my good leg, grabbing
my shirt in an almost proprietary fashion.  Surely she
sensed what this was doing to me?  She tasted of wine
and tomato sauce, and I stroked her hair and cupped
her face with one hand while I circled her waist with
my other arm.

"Couch, Mulder," Scully said with the same authority
that makes suspects lie down and hold their hands
meekly out for cuffs.  She slid off me, and I limped
to the couch, unsure if my ankle or my erection was
the greater impediment to freedom of movement.
Apparently Scully had noticed her effect on me, since
she leaned over and carefully unzipped my jeans.  She
knelt in front of the couch, wiggled my jeans down my
hips just a bit, and took me in her mouth.

"Aaaah," I panted, moving swiftly past the stages of
disbelief and self-consciousness to being completely
stupefied by the rhythm and the incredible sensations
she was creating with her tongue.  "No, Scully, you
don't have to . . ." I murmured, but my heart wasn't
in it.  Scully answered by taking me a notch deeper in
her mouth.  Though I didn't want to dwell too long on
this thought, it occurred to me that Scully really
knew how to do this.  While her tongue and lips
expertly sucked me to a new plane of consciousness,
she zeroed in on the spot directly behind my balls,
massaging it with her finger.

Now I began to worry!  This performance was going to
be over way too soon, and while I'd be in heaven, this
wasn't exactly how I envisioned my big seduction going
down, no pun intended.

"No ... more.  Too close ... Don' wanna come ..."

Apparently I made no impression, because Scully
responded by changing the angle of her head slightly
and taking me in to the hilt.  My orgasm was welling
inside me now, as Scully seemed perfectly aware.  She
alternated her sucking style slightly, swallowing my
entire length when she heard my breath become more
ragged.  Finally, she did something that both shocked
and aroused me more than I thought possible.  She slid
a single finger into my ass.  This new sensation of
being fucked combined with the work of her tongue and
lips triggered an immediate, blinding orgasm.  I heard
an inarticulate cry that seemed oddly disengaged from
my body as I surrendered to primordial urges, and
Scully swallowed everything I could pour into her.
 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
THURSDAY, 7:30 P.M.

I slowly returned to the here-and-now and wondered
woozily if I'd ever walk or talk again.  I might just
have to lay here in Scully's apartment the rest of my
life, rendered mute and immobile by sexual
satisfaction.  'Don't drift off, doofus!  This is your
big chance,' an insistent inner voice nagged.

"Scully, I'm sorry . . .," I began.

"That's funny; you didn't look all that sorry a minute
ago."  She smiled and lowered her head slightly to
show me she was teasing.

"I meant, I never expected you ... I mean, I hadn't
wanted it to be one-sided."

"Don't worry.  I'll extract adequate compensation
later."

Later?  My heart again soared!  I went for broke.

"Scully?  You know I love you?  Right?"  Oh, great.  I
sounded like a 13-year-old girl, ending every sentence
with a question mark.

"Yes, Mulder.  I love you, too."  She paused, then,
"Wanna help me with dishes?"

"I mean, I really love you.  I always have.  I always
will,"  I said with just a hint of desperation,
feeling uneasy with how casually she seemed to be
taking all this.

Scully was strangely serene.  She smiled at me as if
she'd always known this moment would arrive, that my
words were predestined.   "I know, Mulder.  And I love
you, too.  Do you think I'd have put up with that
crummy basement office all these years or trailed
after every damned exsanguinated cow if I weren't in
love with you?"

Happiness was so foreign a sensation that I felt tears
start to sting the backs of my eyes.  I blinked back
the sudden wetness and made a joke to reduce the
intensity of my emotion.  "Mmm, basement office.
Maybe you've seen possibilities in a remotely-located
office I hadn't considered."

Scully stood up and rolled her eyes.  She extended a
hand to help me to my feet and then swatted me on the
backside while pointing to the dirty dishes.  We
cleaned up together, exchanging ribs and one-liners.
We even shared the latest office gossip about new task
force formations and what field offices were currently
cleaning shit off their fans for various reasons.

Our banter and conversation was so normal that I'd
almost began to wonder if I had hallucinated the
earlier episode.  I blinked and rubbed my head as if
these actions would provide prompt delineation between
reality and fantasy.  We finished cleaning and Scully
blew out the candles.  I was relieved when she put her
hand on my shoulder and leaned in close to my ear.

"Is there dessert?" Scully whispered with mock
innocence.

"Oh, yeah, I can provide dessert."  Without pausing, I
swooped her into my arms, and while it killed my
ankle, the pain was worth the dramatic effect of
carrying her into her bedroom.  I deposited her on the
bed, trying not to cringe as my ankle protested.  Her
bed, which I confess to having earlier scoped out, was
covered with a thick comforter and four or five
pillows, and she seemed to sink into its depths.  I
slipped off her fuzzy knit pants, and she pulled off
the matching top.  I felt an immediate reload when I
discovered she was wearing no underwear.  Just perfect
breasts with dark nipples peaked in excitement and her
sex covered in dark auburn, damp and musky as I kissed
her thighs and trailed caresses up her belly.

I buried myself in her breasts, alternately sucking
and licking her nipples, less sure of my next move.
Scully must have intuited my indecision, because she
led my hand to her wet, tight channel and silently
urged me to explore her with my finger.  She was every
bit as wet and tight as my most lurid imaginings.  My
body reacted immediately to my explorations,
viscerally recalling a thousand fantasies in which she
moaned my name, just like she was doing now.

"Mulder. . . Yesss!"  Scully hissed and arched her
back.  "Inside me.  Please."

Don't have to ask me twice.  I had already pulled off
my sweatshirt, and I slid my pants and boxers off in a
single motion.

"Yes.  Please, Mulder.  Make love to me."

Scully moved her legs slightly to encircle my waist
and her body swallowed me whole.  I'd figured I could
provide slower, more languorous lovemaking the second
time around.  The rhythm she set up was too
compelling, though, and I was embarrassed to find
myself pounding into her with increasing desperation.
I'd wanted this for so long; no, needed it.  I had to
tell her, really tell her.  Had to makes sure she
knew.

"Scu ... Scully!  Love you.  Love you so much ... Need
you so bad ..."

"Harder.  S'okay - c'mon . . . I know you wanta fuck
me harder."

Was I hallucinating, or did Scully just tell me to
fuck her harder?  I was murmuring how much I loved
her, and she was demanding to be fucked harder?
Somehow this wasn't quite how I'd pictured it.  I
ground my hips into hers, hoping I was hitting the
right spot.  Scully's breathing became shallow as she
arched her back.  She tightened the grip of her legs
around my hips, pulling me in even deeper.  Her
nipples, if possible, became even more erect, and I
felt her body begin to contract around me.  The
strength of her orgasm almost dislodged me, and I
bucked into her uncontrollably and artlessly as my own
climax ripped through me.

Our breathing slowed, and she smiled at me
reassuringly.  I pulled her into my arms and collapsed
on my side.  There was a quilt at the foot of her bed,
and I pulled it over us.  I stroked her hair out of
her face and nuzzled her slightly.

"Why now?" I asked, genuinely puzzled at how tonight's
event unfolded.

"Maybe we were both ready at the same time," she
suggested.

"You really do love me?" I persisted.  While I had
reputation for believing in extreme possibilities, the
possibility that Scully truly felt this way about me
seemed too extreme even for me to accept at face
value.

"Oh, yeah."

"How long?"

"Six years, seven years . . . maybe forever."

"Why didn't you tell me?"  I asked incredulously.

"I guess I didn't think you were ready."

"What made you change your mind?"

"I don't know; I guess the way you've started looking
for excuses to stay with me, or maybe the look on your
face when you woke up this morning.  You looked like
you wanted to be here.  And you were so happy over the
bread . . . something must have resonated, because
everything just felt right," she said, moving slightly
to look me in the eyes.

Okay, enough analysis.  Don't want to talk these
things to death.  Besides, this new, mutual feeling
was like a butterfly.  Hold it too tightly and it
would be crushed.  We drifted off, not really asleep,
but drowsing in the warmth and comfort of the little
nest we'd made in Scully's bed.

I must have fallen more deeply asleep than I realized,
because I awoke a bit later to the sounds of Scully
moving around her kitchen.  I limped to the bathroom
and put my clothes back on, but I couldn't resist the
temptation to lie down again and let myself enjoy the
overwhelming sensation of softness in her bed.  She
apparently heard me stirring.

"You want orange juice, Mulder?  I got the kind you
like - no pulp.  And I warmed up the rest of the bread
you made."

I closed my eyes for a second before answering.  Just
enough time to inhale deeply and recall my fantasy.
But this time, it was reality - or close enough.  I
know:  we're not living together. But she loved me.
She was mine.  I inhaled again and concentrated on the
feel of the bed cocooning around me, the smell of
potpourri on her dresser, the leftover bread warming
in the kitchen.  It felt warm ... safe ... happy.  I
rubbed away a stray tear that escaped my eye and got
up to claim my orange juice, purchased without pulp by
the woman I love, because she knew that's the way I
liked it.

THE END.