TITLE: MULDER, PLEASE STAY AUTHOR: aka "Jake" SPOILER WARNING: Per Manum, Revelations, Fight the Future, The Unnatural, One Breath and a nod to one or two others. RATING: NC-17 (Language, Graphic Sexual Content) CLASSIFICATION: V, MSR, Per Manum Post-Ep SUMMARY: "I should go." I reach for her hand and give her fingers a gentle squeeze. "No, Mulder," she says, curling her fingers around mine, confirming her next words. "You should stay." Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement intended. Entertainment, yes. Profit, no. WARNING: I wrote this fic long before I knew much about IVF, certainly before I knew anyone who went through it. I've since learned how traumatic and exhausting it can be, and especially how heartbreaking it is when it fails. Jumping into bed for feel good sex after miscarrying is highly unlikely. My apologies for my ignorance. If you've been through IVF, please read at your own risk. What follows isn't a realistic scenario. PREVIOUSLY IN "SCULLY'S PROPOSITION": "Never give up on a miracle." Scully dismisses my wishful thinking with a shake of her head. As far as she's concerned, science has sealed her fate, declared motherhood off limits. Her beliefs hang themselves on the combined failures of medicine and religion. She has nowhere to turn for hope. Except to me. She kisses my cheek, returns to my embrace. We buttress one another while her tears dry. Bit-by-bit, our lives slip back to near-normal. We let go. She wanders to the kitchen, makes tea. We sit in silence on her sofa while our untouched drinks cool and evening shrinks the room to nothing but the white flag of her face. She is exhausted. "I should go." I reach for her hand and give her fingers a gentle squeeze. "No, Mulder," she says, curling her fingers around mine, confirming her next words. "You should stay." - - - - - - - MULDER, PLEASE STAY (1/1) By aka "Jake" Stay? Overnight? Yyyyyyy...I don't think so. Or should I? No, it's a bad idea. She's hurting, vulnerable. We haven't...I've never...our first time together should be more than a pity fuck...shouldn't it? Of course it should. I must be misreading her request. "Okay, Scully, I can stay for...a while." She scowls at me as if I've grown two heads. "I was hoping you might, you know, spend the night." "All night?" "Do you have somewhere you need to be?" "No, no, it's just...it's not...um...what exactly are you asking, Scully?" Frowning at me, she stands and gathers our mugs. Yep, she wants to sleep with me. I think. Or maybe not. Does she? Leaving me to figure it out on my own, she heads into the kitchen where she dumps the cold tea down the drain. I trail after her, hoping to decipher the secret code of her scowl. Shit, there's never a Rosetta Stone around when you need one. She rinses the dishes beneath a deluge of scalding water, allowing the faucet to run and run and run, while the question "what does she want?" circles my brain like the tea in the drain. "Mulder," she says to the thundering sink, "please just...Mulder, please stay. For a few minutes, or for the night, whatever. Just stay." Looming behind her, I silence the roaring faucet with a yank on the control and take a stab at her meaning. "We can...we can take this as far as you want to go." My hands skim her arms. She turns to face me and catches my hands in her own. She looks as if she might cry again. "I need to hold on to something, Mulder." She grips my fingers. "I'm here, but...you have to take the lead, Scully. I can't...." I can't be responsible for forcing something she isn't ready to accept. Sex with me, if that's what she wants, shouldn't be a knee-jerk reaction to her disappointment. Let's face it, when she asked me to father her child, she never implied intercourse. Our intimacy is comprised of no more than a friendly New Year's Eve kiss and a sperm sample. Hardly a Harlequin Romance. "I'm so tired of losing." She slumps against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, blanket her with quiet sympathy. Grief sifts in and out of her lungs in great scalding breaths. I stroke her hair and think it's probably the softest thing I've ever touched in my life. "Come on." I snag her hand and draw her toward the bedroom with no more motive than to lure her to sleep. As much as I want to make love to her, she needs a friend tonight, not a lover. I'll tuck her in and then I'll go. At her bedroom door, we're met with an unobstructed view of her bed. I can't help but picture the two of us in it together, unclothed, joined as lovers. Does that make me a bad guy? I suppose it does. A gentleman won't take advantage of a woman who is inebriated, high, vulnerable or otherwise not herself, and I have every intention of being a gentleman tonight, which means I'll say goodbye and then head home. That's what I plan to do. That's what I should do. I should...I should...I shooouuuld...ah, fuck, I pull her into my arms and kiss her, my good intentions flying out the window faster than a starving vampire at sunset. Dammit, I shouldn't want her so much, not tonight. But I do and our kiss ignites a conflagration of apocalyptic proportions in my groin. And although warning bells clang in my head louder than the National Cathedral carillon at Christmas, my body ignores my brain's red alert. My mouth pounces on the wet heat of Scully's lips and my tongue demands to be let in. Have I mentioned I am no gentleman? I'm nothing more than a selfish son-of-a-bitch. Don't open yourself to me, Scully, or we'll both be lost. You deserve a hell of a lot better than my sorry ass. Her eyes widen with surprise and her lips clamp together. See? She isn't interested in sex with me after all. How did I miss the signs? "I'm sorry, Scully...." Summoning every ounce of self-control I can muster, I release my hold on her and step back. It's just a teensy-weensy step, but it's a step nonetheless. A breath of air rattles from my lungs, bemoaning the loss of her lips. My body aches to return to hers. She is a wellspring and I'm so goddamn, fucking thirsty I might die of dehydration right here in her bedroom doorway. She manages to postpone my desiccation by closing the teensy-weensy gap between us and by slipping her arms around my waist. "I think...," she murmurs into my neck, "I need...." What, Scully? What do you need? Me? Or some time alone? "Mulder, I think I need to lie down." Oh. That doesn't tell me a hell of a lot. "I should go," I suggest again. "No. No, I want you to stay." She plucks at my sleeve, doesn't look me in the eye. "I do. I want you to stay." Okay, I'm staying. Now what? Maybe I should-- "I need to get undressed," she says and gestures toward her bureau. "I-I'll wait outside." "No. Grab something for me...from the top drawer." Me? Grab? Something? She slips off her jacket. Then she untucks her blouse! Is she delirious? Drunk? Punch-drunk maybe, from the stress? Doesn't matter. I'll hand her some nightclothes and then wait in the hall. I open the drawer. Oh, this is *so* Scully. Neat rows of folded PJs line her drawer with Martha Stewart precision. Black silk, navy, a peachy color, sky blue. I pass up these satiny possibilities in favor of a pair of sensible plaid flannel pants hidden in the back of the drawer. No need to dress her up sexier than she is already. A small gray t-shirty kind of thing seems to be the mate, so I grab that, too. "These okay?" She nods at my choices and before I have a chance to escape to the hall, she hoists her blouse up over her head. Right there in front of me! Now my feet are frozen to the floor and my legs won't move because beneath her blouse she's wearing a black bra made from some kind of shiny, slippery material that screams, "Touch me! Touch me!" I don't touch her, of course, although I want to, more than anything else in the entire universe...uh, until she unhooks her bra, that is. Then the only thing I want to touch is the beautiful ivory-white skin of her bare breasts. Holy hell. Should I? T-touch them? Could be she wants me to -- she's never undressed in front of me like this before. On the other hand, maybe she's so tired from everything that's happened today she doesn't realize what she's doing. Nah, she knows what she's doing. Doesn't she? Damn it, I have a hard-on the size of Big Blue. Probably the same color, too. Naked from the waist up, Scully takes the little t-shirt from my clenched fist and tugs it over her head. I watch her breasts bounce and then disappear behind the gray fabric. The shirt is tight and my eyes zero in on the hardened tips of her nipples. Oh man, I think I'm gonna spontaneously combust and become one of my very own X-Files. Tomorrow, Scully's new partner, my replacement, will be scraping my ashes from her carpet for a complete lab analysis, after which, my charred remains will be filed away in our...their...office under "P" for "plays with fire" or "S" for "sex-crazed maniac." Wait until Skinner reads the report. "I'm afraid I don't have any pajamas for you," she says. "Could you...could you sleep in your underwear?" PJs, t-shirt, birthday suit, I'm not particul-- Um, did she just ask me to sleep in my underwear? Here? Hoo hoooo, looks like I'm spending the night! She hasn't mentioned the couch even once so I'm guessing we'll be sleeping in the bed...together. But.... "Sleeping together" can mean two different things to two different people who often see things from two different points of view. When was the last time Scully and I agreed on something? On anything? She unzips her skirt. It drops to her ankles and she steps out of it and kicks it away. She toes off her shoes. I barely notice when or how she removes her pantyhose because my eyes are glued to her glorious black panties. Those panties... Those panties... Those panties are the damn sexiest panties I've ever seen. Glossy as the hood of a Syndicate Rolls Royce, they delicately conceal...uh, actually, they don't conceal much at all. Twin straps plunge from her curvy hipbones to a silky patch of fabric that disappears between her legs. A bit of lace decorates the front and I'm left wondering if anything at all covers the back. I picture the ivory swell of her exquisite ass and my greedy male instincts shift into overdrive. Let me tell you, for seven years I've tried to be a gentleman, ignoring my testosterone-crazed tendencies, treating Scully with the same asexual respect I'd grant any good agent. I've tamped down my inappropriate physical urges, ignored my raging hard-ons, pretended Scully didn't smell like the most mouth-watering morsel of femininity to ever grace the FBI's hallowed halls. I think I've been moderately successful, too. However, looking at Scully now, seeing her in those incredible black panties, my horny dick forgets all about equality of the sexes, men of the nineties, getting in touch with my feminine side. Is it my fault my cock refused to pay attention during gender sensitivity training? A very unmasculine squeak squeezes past my vocal chords when Scully hooks her thumbs beneath the waistband of her dainty black panties and inches them down her heavenly legs. Now I realize why we've never gone this far before. The Bureau's anti-fraternization policy suddenly makes a whole lot of sense. There is no way in hell I'll ever be able to look at Scully again and not think about this incredible moment. Partners, shmartners. She's naked from her navel down and I want to fuck the hell out of her. Am I drooling? She snatches the pajama bottoms from my outstretched hand. Faster than I'd like, she steps into them and pulls them up to her waist. A quick tug on their drawstring and she's sealed inside. Damn. "Aren't you going to undress, Mulder?" "Huh?" Does a topless Scully plus a bottomless Scully add up to a totally naked Scully? She turns down the bedspread while I watch her flannel-clad ass and kick off my shoes. By the time I've stripped down to my t-shirt and shorts, she's under the covers. It's strange how some moments in your life seem to crystallize into something almost solid that can later be looked at from all sides, inside and out. Crawling into bed next to Scully is one of those moments: a 3-D, full-sensory experience that I will without a doubt revisit over and over again in my head for the rest of eternity. The girlie smell of Scully's clean sheets. The rustle of fabric as she shifts to make room for me. The soft give of the mattress and the way she rolls into the hollow I create when I settle beside her. The scorch of her skin against mine when we bump together. For the first time in my life I feel as if I am in the right place at the right time. "Mulder, are you...are you going to make love to me?" Now that's a question I've wanted to hear slip from her pretty little lips since practically forever. "How is this an X-File?" or "So what's your theory, Mulder?" -- these I expect. But "Are you going to make love to me?" Ready or not, here I co-- Hit the brakes, Mulder ol' boy. Where are your manners? Is this really the right thing to do? She doesn't look convinced. "Uh...only if you want me to." "Don't you want to?" "Yes, of course...but, Scully," -- aw, shit, I can't believe I'm going to say this, but -- "I'm not sure our timing is right." If she was in the mood, that killed it. Heartache flushes her face. Her infertility hangs between us. "What difference does it make, Mulder?" She turns away from me to glare at the ceiling. "What difference does anything make?" What? I know she's hurt but how can she ask that? How can she feel that? "Scully--" "Nothing we do, nothing we have ever done, makes one bit of difference, Mulder. No matter how hard we try, we always end up with nothing." "So you're giving up?" "Why not? Give up, don't give up -- the outcome is the same. I might as well conserve my energy." "For what?" "Living with failure." I've seen Scully surrender before, but never to this degree. Two years ago, I almost lost her -- to alien kidnappers and to her own sense of defeat. Rescuing her from the aliens was the easy part. **You can't quit now, Scully.** **I can, Mulder. I debated whether or not even to tell you in person.** **After all you've seen, you can just walk away?** **I have, I did, it's done.** **I need you on this, Scully.** **You don't need me, Mulder. You never have.** **You want to tell yourself that so you can quit with a clear conscience, you can, but you're wrong! ...I don't know if I want to do this alone. I don't even know if I can.** To be honest, I couldn't. I still can't. I cannot be without her. And I certainly don't intend to watch her give up hope now. "Scully--" "This isn't your problem, Mulder." I reach for her, draw her to me, despite her stiff-limbed reluctance. Cradled against my chest, she shudders with despair. Tears glide to the pillow but she doesn't make a sound. As always, she prefers to suffer in silence. "It *is* my problem, Scully. That baby was *ours.*" She pushes at my chest, puts enough space between us to give me a watery stare. "That baby was my last chance, Mulder. You...you can have as many children as you damn want." Doesn't she get it? "I don't want any if they aren't yours." "That's your choice. *I* don't have a choice. Don't you understand the difference?" "Scully, don't you understand my choice was lost with yours?" Shockingly, she does. She understands and is transformed by my confession, loosened by the truth that I would never leave her to turn to another woman. My biological imperative to procreate ends at Scully's empty womb. My life is irrevocably intertwined with hers like the spiraled DNA of our unborn child and if Scully never bears a child, I will never be a father. There is no choice in this. There is only my incontrovertible love for her. She blinks and more tears trickle to the sheets. "Mulder...." Now she reaches for me, circles my neck with her embrace and cries openly in my arms. She doesn't hide her tears and she doesn't pare down her grief. Her heartbreak is for the both of us. I wait for her to cry herself out. Then, when her breathing steadies, I wipe her wet cheeks, trying to erase her tears. My gesture only manages to fill her eyes again. I want to make things batter. I want to stop her hurt. "Scully, do you remember you once told me you believed in the idea that God's hand can be witnessed? That He can create miracles, even if science can't explain them? And that that is what faith is?" "I remember. You teased me about 'St. Owen.' You also told me not to let faith overwhelm my judgment." "True. But I can sometimes be an ass, you know." "Yes, I know." Her comment earns a smile. But my humor is short-lived. "Don't you...don't you believe anymore, Scully? In God's miracles?" "Yes, I believe in them." Her loyalty to God pleases me. Not for His sake, but for mine. It proves she is capable of loving unconditionally, despite the hard knocks she receives. Her forgiveness of God's neglect bodes well for her acceptance of my constant foibles. "Then why are you giving up on a miracle now?" "I'm not giving up on the idea of miracles in general, Mulder. I'm giving up on the idea of a miracle for me." "But why?" "I...I drifted away from the Church. It was only my cancer that led me back." "So what? You think God is punishing you for your lapse of faith? Or that your illness wasn't a sufficiently pious reason to return to the fold?" "My motives were selfish, Mulder. I'm not sure I would have returned to God if I hadn't been stricken." "And who do you think passes out the plagues and pestilence and diseases like cancer?" "In my case, it was a man who gave me cancer...and it was a man who took away my chances at motherhood." She curls herself against my body, too tired to keep up this conversation. "It's better if I face the truth and stop hoping for something that will never happen." Her voice is nearly lost in the twist of bedding beneath my chin. I decide to let her sleep, let us both sleep. Tomorrow I'll convince her not to give up. Holding her in my arms, sharing her bed, I'm satisfied we'll find hope...eventually. I count her breaths as she drifts into sleep. My last thoughts are of redheaded children who look a lot like me. * * * "Mulder? Mulder, are you awake?" "Mmmm." "Mulder, I had a dream." "Baddream?" "No, good dream." "Aren't you s'pose to wake me only if you have a nightmare?" "Whose rule is that?" "Ummm...dunno." I had been dreaming, too...of her. Something about black panties. I wanna get back to it. "Mulder, I dreamt you slept with me." "I...m'sleepingwiyou." "No, I mean...I dreamt you made love to me." This opens an eye. She snuggles closer, a satisfied smirk on her face. She's had a definite attitude adjustment and I want to hear all about it. "Was I good?" "Mm hm." She nuzzles my neck, but says nothing more. That's it? No details? A guy *always* wants to hear the details about how great he is in bed, even if the sex is only dream sex. "What did I do that was so good?" Her smile widens and she places my hand on her breast. I think...I think this is the permission I've been waiting for. I give her breast a gentle squeeze. Air hisses from her lungs and she wriggles closer. "You're easy to please, Scully." "There was more to it than that, Mulder," she says, her voice so husky I barely recognize it. "Oh?" I pinch her nipple through her t-shirt and give it a gentle tug, eliciting a small groan of pleasure. "Tell me." "I'll show you." She repositions my hand so that I'm grasping her flannel pajama bottoms instead of her breast. With nothing but fabric bunched in my fist, I'm not appreciating the tradeoff until my knuckles graze her crotch. She is soft beneath her nightclothes. Warm. Inviting. Releasing the PJs, I press a fingertip into her softness. Mmmm, tender enough to eat. I duck my head to-- "Uh uh. You can't steal third without tagging second." Oh. I have only myself to blame for teaching her about baseball. So, Fox Mantle abandons his attempt to round the bases -- at least until the next pitch -- and focuses on the Umpire's smile instead. A quick bite captures her lower lip. "Wha' happen' 'ext?" I ask between clenched teeth. "Ooo kish' me." Sounds good. Sucking on her lip, I cover her mouth with mine and wonder how my slobbery real-life kiss compares to my doppelganger's dream kiss. Scully slips me some tongue, so I pretty much stop worrying about her Dreamland Don Juan. The desire to fill her overwhelms me. I plunge into her mouth with my tongue and roll on top of her. How do I spell "relief"? S-C-U-L-L-Y. She feels incredible beneath me. My twitchy cock prods her belly, eager to make her acquaintance and more insistent to get beyond her front gate than a Jehovah's Witness with a brand new issue of The Watchtower. I'm afraid I'm going to detonate right here, and like a submarine in dry dock, I'm in no position to launch my torpedoes. Shit, I need a distraction before I embarrass myself. Flukeman? Nope. The Peacock brothers? Not quite. Bill Scully, Jr.? There we go. Nothing like big brother to make the ol' testicles shout, "Incoming!" before ducking for cover. I practically leap off Scully *and* the bed. "Mulder, where are you going?" "I thought I might be too heavy." "You're fine. Get back here." I crawl back, intent on taking things very slowly. I don't want to mess up -- literally -- not on my first time out of the gates in half a decade. Especially not with Scully. I still have to work with the woman everyday and don't need to add any ammo to her stockpile of Foolish Fox Faux Pas. "Mulder, you're not nervous, are you?" "Hell no!" Hell, yes. Scully, I haven't made love to a woman since...when? 1994? '95? The spring-loaded Kleenex dispenser I set up beside the VCR should pretty much prove the only sex I'm getting anymore is with Rosy Palm and her five daughters. And even if I were doin' the Naked Pretzel instead of dancing with Johnny One-Eye, we're talking about sex with *Special Agent Dana Scully* here. Does she honestly think our first time, second time, *any* time would be "same old, same old"? I love h-- Hey, when was the last time she had sex? "Are you nervous, Scully?" "Of course I am." She can be so fucking honest she makes me feel like Tommy "Yeah-That's-The-Ticket" Flanagan. "But why, Scully? It's just me." "Exactly my point. Your opinion matters." That's sweet but how terrible would sex have to be to disappoint a healthy, thirty-something, heterosexual male who hasn't had so much as a blowjob in more than five years? I have to say, even Skinner has been looking pretty damn sexy over the last month or so, and he doesn't smell half as nice as Scully does. "Stop worrying," I tell her. "I already like everything about you." She doesn't look convinced. "Mulder, remember when you said you didn't want your, um...contribution...to my pregnancy to come between us?" "I don't really know what I meant by that, Scully." "Well, I think I do, because I know I don't want *this*" -- she waves a hand in the general direction of our laps -- "to come between us either." Her concerns are legit. I've worried about the very same thing at least a gazillion times. It's what's kept me from jumping her bones every day for seven years. What we have is good and I certainly wouldn't want to lose it. The pros of the status quo have always seemed to outweigh the cons of a sexual relationship gone awry, which happens all the time, by the way, despite the Bureau's anti-fraternization policy -- hence the reason for the policy in the first place. "Scully, maybe our partnership will be better with sex." "I thought you once said you weren't a gambling man." "I'm not. But I'm willing to go with a hunch on this." "I think I'd prefer a more analytical approach." Surprise, surprise. "There is no double blind test for sexual compatibility, Scully. We either do it or we don't, yes or no. I vote yes." "With your big head or your--" "We both vote yes. Which, come to think of it, means you're outvoted." "Then I might as well make it unanimous." God bless America, you gotta love the democratic process. "What happened next in that good dream of yours, Scully?" "You put your arms around me..." I do it now. "Then what?" "You kissed me..." I do that, too. "Nowwha'?" I ask, my lips against hers. "We let nature take its course." Oooo, mama. Nature tells me to cop a feel. Is there anything on this entire planet more pleasant than squeezing Scully's breasts? Don't think so. She balloons delightfully between my fingers. Gotta taste her. Lifting her shirt, I expose one luscious mound. I lower my mouth to her nipple and she moans when my tongue brushes across its tip, circles and then sucks her in. She is mm, mm, good and I am one damn happy man. Releasing her, I blow across her puckering wet skin. "Mullerrr..." she purrs. Well, nobody can eat just one, so I nosedive for her other breast. Yep, it tastes just as scullyicious as the first. Whoah! She grabs my cock through my undershorts and gives me a squeeze. "Scully...?" I gasp. "Yesss?" "I'm putty in your hands." I swirl my tongue around her nipple. My cock grows harder in her hand. Life is good. If I'm not mistaken, Scully is nudging my attention southward. She releases her hold on Mr. Happy and I'm thinking I might steal third without tagging second after all. I whisper "You're beautiful" while I trace a path to her bellybutton with my lips. My tongue paints an invisible valentine around her pretty navel while my fingers unknot the drawstring at her waist. Pajama bottoms loosened, I inch them from her hips. Her abdomen feels creamy soft beneath the tip of my nose. Her springy curls tickle my chin. I knead her bare hips with my hands and bite the gentle swell of her belly. The scrape of my teeth causes her to rise up, juuuust enough for me to slip her PJs off her ass and expose the vee of red between her thighs. She smells heavenly. I dip my nose between her legs and breathe her in. My tongue sneaks past the tickling texture of her hair to find her satiny skin below. I taste her. Salty. Thick. Wonderful. Spreading her open with my thumbs, I expose the holy grail of female sexuality. When I touch the tip of my tongue to her, she shivers. She actually shivers! I did that! Me! Wonder if I can do it again? A few more licks and her taste propels me to my knees, scrambling to remove her pajamas altogether and give me unobstructed access. I yank the pants from her legs and toss them somewhere beyond the footboard. Grabbing an ankle in each fist, I part her legs and climb between them. Hardly wanting to blink for fear I might miss something, I massage her thighs with my palms, up and down, moving closer and closer to her Garden of Eden with each pass of my hands. When my thumbs finally graze her pretty, pink folds, she closes her eyes and groans. I take that as a signal to nudge into her with the tip of one finger. Whoa, she's wet! Of course I accept complete credit for her slippery condition. She obviously wants me -- the proof is slicking my hand. I tease her with slow, shallow strokes until the words "please, please, please" skate from her throat. A splotchy blush spreads across her face and her chest. Her fingers dig into the blankets. Either I'm great at this or she is horny as hell. Let's go with the "I'm great" theory for now. She moans something that sounds like "Mullerr" or "M'ler" or maybe it's just "Mmm...rrr" Can she be so close already? If I slide my finger into her all the way, will she come? The temptation is too great; I thrust into her and she barks my name. "Mulder! God, Mulder, I'm coming!" Eyes opened in wide surprise -- hers, not mine...well, okay, mine, too -- she takes in one final lungful of air before a jolt of pleasure spirals through her. With her chin thrust toward the ceiling, her skin bright with sweat, and her body trembling around my fingers, against my hand, she is incredibly, stunningly, perfectly beautiful. I'm overwhelmed -- privileged to watch her. She honors me with this intimate act, allowing me to see her stripped physically and emotionally bare. She lets almost no one inside her assiduously constructed wall of defense, including me most of the time, but tonight she has finally consented, considers me a lover. After all these years, I am more than a colleague, more than a friend. She trusts me to witness her true self. I'm a confidant who won't judge her vulnerability, won't find her weak or lacking. The irony is I have never found her lacking in anything at all. She has always possessed every quality I thought worth having. It's why I align myself with her. She is what I am not. To touch her makes me worthwhile. I wait for her breathing to steady before withdrawing my hand. When her heart slows and she releases her grip on the sheets, she smiles shyly up at me. I slide my fingers from her. They glisten with her passion. Crawling up over her, I want to tell her how much I love her, pour my heart into her heart and my body into her body. Instead I lower myself between her thighs and ask, "Who's the better man, Scully? Dream Boy or me?" "Dream Boy hit a home run, Mulder. You seem to be stuck on third." "Inning's not over." I kiss her nose, her chin, her lips. "I have every intention of sliding home." "Still believing in miracles, Mulder?" "I want to believe," I quote my poster. "Always have." "Can you make a believer out of me, too?" She draws an invisible line from my lower lip, over my chin, into the crease of my neck. "I've been trying for years, Scully, but you're a hard nut to crack." "Maybe you've been using the wrong approach." She prods me with a tickle. "After what I've just seen, that's painfully obvious." Propped on my elbows, I look into her eyes and search for the not-so-painfully-obvious reasons behind her sudden consent to intimacy. I'm almost afraid to uncover the truth. Only a few hours ago she claimed that all our actions are futile. I have to assume she includes lovemaking among our pointless endeavors. And I'm not buying the seductive dream theory, no matter how much I want to do The Nasty. Before we go one orgasm further, I need to know if she allows this act because she cares about me, or because she cares about nothing at all. "Scully, are you still thinking our efforts are pointless...no matter what we do, how hard we try?" She doesn't dodge my stare or my question. "No, Mulder, I don't." "But before we fell asleep--" "I know, Mulder. I was upset." "And now?" "I'm still disappointed. But I don't feel hopeless. I guess...I guess your belief in a miracle is enough for me...for now." "You have the strength of my beliefs?" The words remind us both of another bed where she was returned to me body and soul. "Mulder, you being here...it helps." "So, you don't consider *this*" -- now it's my turn to wave a hand at our laps -- "another road to failure?" "Of course not. But...." "But...?" "I-I don't want to be alone anymore." You're not alone, Scully. You never have been. "I'm not going anywhere." "Mulder, you can't promise that." I can't, but I want to. That has to count for something. I kiss her lips. Once. Twice. A third time. "I'm here now." She brushes the back of one delicate finger across my cheek. "Make love to me, Mulder." "Thought you'd never ask." I reach into my shorts to release my aching cock. "Want to give my Louisville Slugger a swing, Scully?" I waggle my eyebrows and my dick at her. She laughs. She actually laughs! And then her warm little fingers curl around my delighted hard-on. "If I remember my batting lesson, Mulder, I don't want to strangle the bat, I just want to shake hands with it." "That's right." She glances down between us. "Then I concentrate on hitting the ball--" "Well, metaphorically speaking." "And the rest of the world fades away." She guides me between her legs. "All my everyday, nagging concerns...the way I threw away a promising career in the FBI to sleep with my crackpot, albeit incredibly sexy, partner--" "Sexy? You really think so? I-- Ow! Don't strangle the bat, Scully!" She loosens her chokehold and I move into position, wishing I'd taken a moment to lose the boxers, but it's too late now. I'm not leaving this stakeout until I've cracked the case. The boxers are staying. "Ready? Last chance to opt out." "I'm ready, Mulder." Here goes then. I push into her, just a little at first to draw out the suspense...and to feel every wonderful centimeter of her as she stretches to accommodate me. Not that I'm huge; it's just she's so comparatively small. We're mismatched, as usual. However, inching deeper, I find her smallness is perfect for my not-so-smallness. At least as far as I'm concerned. "Everything okay?" "Mm hmmm." She tries to open herself wider, but her legs are spread as far as they'll go and I'm wedged between her thighs. "We could...we could switch positions...if you're uncomfortable." "Mulder, I'm fine." I've heard those words a thousand times from Scully's lips but this is the first time I actually believe her. She is okay with this and with me. So I push deeper into her wet, wet, wet...am I repeating myself? Doesn't matter. Her wetness soothes the entire length of my cock and nothin' says lovin' like a dip in Scully's pool of passion. I dive for the deep end, more than eager to get in over my head. Are those angels I hear singing the "Hallelujah Chorus"? Or maybe it's Madeline Kahn crooning "Sweet Mystery of Life." Or maybe it's just me humming "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." Nope, wrong on all counts. It's Scully. She's repeating my name over and over...uh, at least I *think* it's my name. Might be "Fox Mantle." Whatever. I start pumping. Take me out to the ball game Take me out to the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks I don't care if I ever get back, 'Cause it's root, root, root For the home team. If-- "Mulder?" I can only speak on the down stroke. "Scu...lee?" "You were right." What the...? I must've died and, due to some fortuitous mix-up, wound up in heaven 'cause this can't be real, can it? Did Scully just admit that I was right while at the same time we're... Sorry, I'm having trouble wrapping my brain around this one. "'Bout...what...Scu...lee?" "Miracles." I slow my thrusts. "Uh, you believe...?" "Well, this is rather miraculous, wouldn't you say?" In. Breathe. Out. Breathe. In. Breathe. "After seven years, Scully, yes, I think this pretty much qualifies." "Me, too. I think...I think we'll be fine." Scully, I'm waaaay beyond fine here. I pick up the pace again, select a new, faster rhythm. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. "Mulder?" Oh...my... "Hmm?" "Think you could stay tomorrow night, too?" Wouldn't miss it for the world, Scully. Fox Mantle's got a few more home runs left in him and fate is doling out miracles. "Come inside me, Mulder. Now." The miracles just keep on coming. Uh, oh, I'm gonna come. Shit, I wanted to wait for Scully but my orgasm has plans of its own. Past the point of no return... I'm...I'm...I'm... There! Aaaah! I explode into Scully, my eyes shut, and I roar out her name. "Is that a hound I hear baying on the moors, Mulder?" Scully sighs into my ear. No, Scully. That would be me. - - - - - - - MARIN COUNTY, CALIFORNIA TWO DAYS LATER I'm pretending to study the scrawl of a killer, painted in the victim's blood on the wall of one Dr. Robert Weider. To be honest, I'm thinking more about my night with Scully than the case at hand. Scully wanders over to stare at the grisly mural with me. Her analytical approach is certain to jumpstart my own lagging sixth sense. Her proximity, however, clouds my brain with some very unpartnerly thoughts. "What do you think, Scully, is this a name, possibly? Or a code, or an anagram?" By any chance, are you wearing black panties today? "T-h-e-e-f. I assume it's supposed to be t-h-i-e-f -- thief." "Insert your own Dan Quayle joke here." Ahh, she grants me a rare Scully smile. "Lousy spelling aside, what do you think it refers to? Who's the thief?" "Well, that's certainly one question. I've got many." I'll bet. I'm thinkin' she's thinkin' about our recent lovefest -- probably wants to analyze all the ins and outs, so to speak. As for me, I'm not so much interested in the "whys" as in the "when are we going to do it agains?" I purse my lips and mimic her: "'Mulder, why are we here?'" She's not offended by my mocking. "To be fair, I might have used the words 'Mulder, how is this an X-File?'" "You see that, Scully, you always keep me guessing." Does she ever. Who'd have thought that just a couple of days ago we'd be dancing the Mattress Mambo across her clean sheets? Our future's looking bright for the first time ever. I love her and there's reason to hope I can make her happy. I plan to try anyway because I won't, I can't give up on her. She is *my* miracle. THE END